Free Lullaby of Love by Lucy Lacefield

“ Maybe tomorrow morning we can talk about where to meet at the stadium and the time. . . if that’s okay with you? ” I see her lips form a small smile.
    “Sure, that’s alright. . . I’d like that.”
    “Same time. . . 7:05?” I suggest somewhat playfully, trying still to calm her from the nerves we both felt earlier.
    “7:05,” she agrees, smiling forward as we continue our walk.

 
     
     
     
14
     
     
    shay
    I stop by my apartment on my way up to Jenny’s. I told her not to make anything for herself for supper, when I asked if she wouldn’t mind some company later on.
    The aroma of the small roast and vegetables that I turned on in the crock pot before I left this morning, makes my stomach growl. I grab an oven mitt from the drawer and slowly lift the lid, checking it. Just right. I unplug the cord and take out another oven mitt so I can get it upstairs.
    Before I go I want to change into sweatpants and a sweatshirt. I hurry getting ready, knowing we’re both starving. Lunch came early today when Professor Richards decided we all needed to meet on his lunch hour at 12:00 in his office. I don’t think anyone is too comfortable with the thought of breaking bread in his company. So when word got around, we were scrambling to force down any lunch that we could.
    Sorted. I grab the crock pot and head out, steadying it with one hand underneath as I reach and shut the door to lock it.
    As I get to the third floor and make my way down the hall, I can see Jenny’s door is slightly open. I knock lightly with my foot, pushing it, and walk inside. “Hey, I’m here,” I call. No sign of her.
    “Be right out.”
    I put our supper on the counter and plug it back in, looking around at the table to see if it’s cleared off enough to eat on—just her backpack and some papers that she’s been grading. I won’t disturb it.
    “Hey,” she steps out from around the corner, putting her hair up into a ponytail. “Yum! What’s that smell?!”
    “You like it? It’s just a rump roast and some vegetables that have been cooking all day.”
    “ Yeah! —Great! Let’s eat! Can we?” She slides her papers into a pile, tapping the edges smooth and putting them into her open backpack and onto the floor. “Would you grab a couple of plates out of the cupboard and some silverware? I’ll get us some drinks. What would you like? I’ve got Sprite, lemonade. . .” I see her bent down in the refrigerator, sliding some things around on the metal shelf. “And some expired milk—your pick.”
    “Lemonade. Do you mind if I make you a plate, so I can get everything out of the pot?” I ask, trying to decide in our meager existences the best way to get our food to the table.
    “Sure—thanks. What veg do you have?”
    “Carrots, potatoes, and onions,” I say, looking in fishing around for them after taking out some tender chunks of meat.
    “A pass on the carrots.” She sets barbecue and Worcestershire sauce out on the table, along with some salt and pepper and butter. I put our plates down next to the drinks in front of her. “What a feast!”
    “Tomorrow I’ll bring us leftover barbecue beef sandwiches for lunch. Don’t pack anything,” I say, pleased that she likes it.
    “We’re going to make each other into walruses. You know that don’t you?” she laughs, putting a spoonful of butter onto her potatoes.
    “Albeit—happy walruses,” I say, unscrewing the cap of the Worcestershire sauce.
    We mull over the day and mock Richards’ thrashing during lunch while eating, when I get the courage to change the subject.
    “Hey Jen, can I ask you a serious question?”
    “Sure you can—I’m all ears.” She reaches for the lemonade pitcher pouring us both more. “What’s up?”
    “Well, it’s Dane, you know,” I say a little hesitantly, introducing the subject, and just nervous myself to be talking about things like this.
    “Yeah,” she offers encouragingly, “go ahead. I’m listening.”
    “Well, he