I'd Love It If We Made It

FIVE

As soon as the diner door swings shut behind me I pull out my cell phone. I've never been great at the whole texting while walking thing, and the boot wrapped around my foot does nothing to help matters. I only manage to have one word typed out when I hit the first crosswalk. The forced but brief pause while the city cars race by gives me time to spell check that word and press send. One word, two-syllables, seven letters, rhymes with Quaker and also happens to be the title of my favorite Olivia Rodrigo song.

Almost immediately, I see the three dots appear under my text and know that means Stan is crafting his response. A minute later his reply pops up on my screen.

You're such a drama queen.
Stan knows best, don't you forget it.

I chuckle at his sass, my fingers moving across the screen as I write out my short response.

Already forgotten.

The street light has since changed back to red, the walking sign flashing in front of me as it counts down the seconds left. I slip my phone back into my pocket, taking a careful step off the sidewalk ledge and into the street. My apartment is just around the corner so I don't have far to go, Stan had picked the diner for that reason. I'm grateful too, especially after I banged the boot into the door on my particularly graceful and not at all undignified exit from the diner. The ache in my ankle is now traveling up to my knee, each step sending a sharp pains shooting through every bone and nerve in my leg. 

I dig through my purse, looping a finger around my key ring. I avoid a particularly large puddle, careful to skirt around it to avoid getting my boot wet. Once I'd avoided that disaster, I glance up as I turn the corner onto my street, only to be greeted by another potentially even bigger but walking disaster.

"What the fuck?" I try to cross my arms, but I've got my keys in one hand and my hot chocolate in the other, making the attempt futile.

"Surprise!" Steve leans against my door, taking a long and drawn out sip from a styrofoam cup I assume contains what was left of his strawberry milkshake.

"How the hell did you beat me here?" I ask, exhasperated.

He swallows a large gulp, dropping the straw from his mouth.

"I passed you at the crosswalk." He answers, simply. "You're not exactly moving at warp speed these days."

"Warp speed?" I repeat with a laugh. "Oh my god Cap! Are you a Trekkie?"

I watch as his eyebrows scrunch, and his eyes crease distastefully.

"No, I've just seen the movies." He replies like it's obvious.

"Oh you so totally are!" I point at him with a grin, knowing it'll piss him off.

"Am not." He sips on his milkshake again.

"Warp speed Mr. Sulu!" I quote with a laugh.

"I'm not a Trekkie." He grumbles.

"I believe denying being a Trekkie is breaking the very first rule of being a Trekkie. Live long and prosper." I hold my hand up with my ring finger and middle finger pressed together, Spock's traditional traditional signal.

"I'm not a Trekkie." He repeats, staring me down.

"Beam me up, Scottie!" I salute Steve mockingly. "Khan is in pursuit, time to giver her all she's-"

"You sure know a lot of Star Trek references for someone accusing me of being Trekkie." He cuts me off with an annoyed glare.

"Well thanks to a recent injury I've had plenty of time to watch re-runs." I answer unfazed.