“Both. My moms are hardly that strict beyond the major Jewish holidays, but they don’t usually cook it. My grandparents were more strict. But pork has always felt like breaking the rules. I don’t like breaking rules.”
“I’ve noticed.” I laughed, but quickly stopped when he didn’t. “It’s cool with me. We can split a pizza with some vegetables or something. I’m not incapable of eating green stuff.”
“Good to know. We wouldn’t want you getting scurvy or something.”
“I’m not that bad. I ate the banana.”
“And mine,” Alden added, his voice as dry as the granola had been.
“See? Healthy.” As we hit the mess of highways intersecting on the Illinois side of St. Louis, I had to focus more on driving. The GPS wasn’t a ton of help as the exits and merges came fast, and somehow we ended up approaching the city on I-64, not I-70, but I decided to roll with it rather than double back. I knew from past trips with my folks that we’d hook back up with I-70 soon enough.
“When do we see the Arch?” Alden dealt far better with this interchange mixup than he had in Philadelphia.
“Soon. But the view from the car isn’t the best. We need an actual picture.”
“Our schedule—”
“Can wait thirty minutes. I’m already taking the fast way through, and we’re after the worst of rush hour—”
“I know.”
“So another detour isn’t going to be that big a deal. Trust me.”
Alden made a noncommittal sound, but he didn’t protest when I took the downtown exit coming off the bridge. Parking downtown was as much a pain as I remembered from trips with my parents, especially with this boat of a car that didn’t parallel park easily.
“It’s not going to fit,” Alden warned.
“That’s what he said.” I couldn’t let the opening pass, and even if Alden sighed, I still laughed before I proved him wrong. “See. Didn’t even need lube.”
“Don’t be crass.” Shaking his head, Alden followed me out of the car and onto the sidewalk where the humidity smacked into us. It was only early June, but the day was still warm and sticky.
“You’re no fun.”
“So I’ve been told.” Alden’s face subtly fell, and I instantly regretted my crack.
“Sorry. That was rude. I’m sure you’re plenty of fun in the right situation.” I dug in my pocket for some change for the meter. I wasn’t going to use my already-strained card for less than an hour of parking.
“Is that a very polite way of saying that I’m an acquired taste?”
“Possibly.” Trying to show no hard feelings, I grinned at him as I led the way to the riverfront park and historic area that housed the Gateway Arch. I’d been as a kid, more than once, but Alden’s look of awe as we approached the mammoth structure had me wishing we had enough time to go up to the top. “Hey. What do you say we plan on stopping again on the way back? We can do the museum and tour both. The pictures from the observation deck are worth it.”
“Maybe.” Alden sounded thoughtful, but I could tell from the way he worried his lip with his teeth that he was interested. “Won’t you be in a hurry to get back to work?”
“Not if I win the tournament.” I winked at him to cover the lie-by-omission. I wasn’t quite ready to confess the direness of my situation to him. We might be getting along better, but I still didn’t want his pity. Or worse, his lectures about poor life choices and lack of planning.
“Well, if I win, I’ll buy your ticket to the top.” He probably meant the offer to sound generous, but my back muscles still tensed at the reminder that he wanted the win too. And I didn’t like the way he sounded so confident about his chances and so dismissive of mine.
“Don’t be so sure I’m going to lose. I wouldn’t want you pissy the whole way home when I win.”
“I’ve calculated my chances—”
“Seriously?” I took the steps up to the base of the Arch. “That’s some faith in math right there.”
“Most people don’t understand probability and prediction.” Alden launched into a series of examples worthy of any stats class. He was impressive when he got to talking math, showing the same sort of thoroughness and patience he had for explaining Odyssey to newbies. Somehow his intensity made him even more attractive, made it hard to concentrate on his words.
“Professor Tuttle would be proud, dude. Since medical school was a no-go, maybe you should think about being a professor or something. I mean, it’s not as fun as being like your Miss Betsey, but you could talk math and calculations all day.”
“Maybe.” Alden sounded deflated, which I could get. Moving on from a tightly held childhood dream was hard. The way he sighed said he was ready to change topics, and I wasn’t surprised when he asked, “What was your major anyway?”