I hesitated for one moment, waiting for him to say something else—something to bring meaning or closure to what had just happened. When he didn’t, I grabbed my purse and ran.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I Thought This Was Speed Dating
“Fuck.” Every other minute or so, as I drove out to Rob’s house on the far Northwest Side, I’d smash the steering wheel with my palm as the scene between Dax and me played out in my head. “Fuck.”
I turned up the sound on my Spotify playlist—the one that was just bands and artists I’d listened to back in high school and college, because my musical tastes hadn’t really evolved since then. “Closer to Fine” came on, a song my senior year Kairos retreat had introduced to me. I tried to belt out the high harmony with Emily of Indigo Girls, but I kept getting choked up.
Good lord, I could not be further from “fine” right now if I tried.
What had I been thinking—kissing Dax, sitting there on the piano bench half-naked for all the world to see, then jumping up to leave with his finger still inside me. Who does that?
I smashed the steering wheel again. “Fuck.”
By the time I got to Rob’s house, I’d decided that I was an awful, unlovable person who did not deserve happiness. So, in other words, it was a very productive drive.
I texted Rob just outside his front door to let him know I was there, to avoid ringing the doorbell in case his mom was sleeping. Rob was the one who’d texted me while I was…indisposed…with Dax. He said his mom had gotten some bad health news, and he wanted to talk about it. Instead of calling him, I responded immediately that I’d be right there.
A few moments later, he opened the door and let me inside. I glanced around the Caseys’ house, noting a sense of familiarity. I hadn’t been in here since high school, probably, but it looked and smelled just like it had back then. I knew for certain that if I opened up the cabinet over the fridge, the one too high to reach without a step stool, I’d find a half-empty box of Little Debbie Swiss Rolls.
I plastered on my reassuring “concerned doctor” smile. “How’s your mom?”
“She’s sleeping.” He shook his head. “You really didn’t have to come over tonight. This could’ve waited ’til tomorrow.” He glanced at the clock on the mantel. “Did I wake you?”
I shuddered. Fuck. “No,” I said brightly. “You didn’t wake me.” I squeezed his forearm. “And it’s no problem. I told you to call me with any questions or concerns about your mom’s health. I’m here for you both. What’s the bad news?”
Rob led me over to the bulky blue sofa in their front window—the one I viscerally remembered spilling Capri Sun on back when I was in fourth grade, just after Mr. and Mrs. Casey had bought it. I sat gingerly next to Rob.
He leaned forward and folded his hands in his lap, just like Dax had when I walked out tonight. I dug my fingernails into my thigh.
“Do you want me to look at any test results?” I asked.
He shook his head, then glanced over at me with red, watery eyes—the second time tonight a man was looking at me like he had been crying or might cry.
I blew out a long, shaky breath.
“It’s not good, Annie,” Rob said. “The cancer has spread.” Biting his lip, he shook his head. “I knew this would happen. I should’ve made her go to the doctor more often and eat better—”
I squeezed his hand and held on. He laced his fingers in mine, just like Dax had. But the moment was different; the sensations were different, almost fraternal. We were joined in solidarity and support, not lust stemming from hopelessness. Rob and I were two people with a long history; I knew his family almost as well as I knew my own. Holding Rob’s hand was like physically linking myself to my roots—grounding, not distracting.
“Rob, you’ve taken such good care of your mom. You’ve been there for her every step of the way, for your entire adult life. You should have no regrets.”
He nodded, though I could tell he’d immediately dismissed my words.
“What’s the prognosis?”
“A few months.” He set his lips in a line. “Maybe.”
“This was one doctor’s opinion. I can make some calls—”
He shook his head. “It’s her,” he said. “She doesn’t want to fight it anymore.” He let go of my hand and leaned back against the couch, running his hands through his thick blond hair. “The chemo has been rough on her, and she doesn’t want to spend the rest of her…time…too sick to live.”
I sat back, too, our arms touching, moving up and down together as we breathed. My mind went to my own mom, wondering if she knew about this yet, imagining how I would feel if Kelly was the one who’d gotten this diagnosis. Then I remembered my fight with Kelly this afternoon and wondered if I was even on her emergency contact list anymore. Probably not. It wouldn’t make sense to have a person three hours away as your in-case-of-crisis person.
I wiped away a tear.
Now Rob was the one squeezing my hand. “Are you okay?”
I furiously rubbed my eyes. This was not about me. None of this was happening to me. Rob was the one with the dying mother. Mine was next door and totally fine. I was feeling off after a row with my friends and a near-boink with my roommate.
“I’m okay,” I said, straightening up. “Just tired, probably.” I smiled at him. “Rob, please know that I’m still here for you and your mom, whatever you need—help with medical questions, navigating the paperwork. I’d say I’d make dinner for you, but you know I can’t cook.”
I chuckled, and suddenly Rob’s lips were on mine.
I pulled away instinctively, like I’d been burned.
“Sorry,” he said, eyes wide.
“No.” My hand brushed my lips. Fuck. “It’s okay.” I smiled reassuringly. “You just surprised me.”
Rob hesitated a moment, then stood, straight and tall, determined. “Wait here.” He left the room.
I rested my head against the back of the couch, listening to the intermittent traffic roll by down Touhy. I was spiraling. Everything I did today, except when it came to my job, was a hot mess. Maybe I’d been right to focus my attention solely on my work for so long. When I opened myself up to more interpersonal relationships, it only ended in disaster.
Rob came in a moment later, carrying a bottle of wine and two of his mom’s ornate wineglasses. I sat up straight, grinning, cheerfully overcompensating for the twisted-up knots in my head. He set the beverages on the coffee table and sat down on the couch at an angle, facing me. “Want some?” he asked.
“I’ll have a little bit. I’m driving.”
He opened the wine bottle, poured a smidge in one glass, and handed it to me. I took a sip.
“I was thinking.” Rob’s own pour went right to the brim. “Today has been really hard.”
“I’m sure it has been,” I said, frowning. “I’m so sorry for what you’re going through.”
With both hands, he carefully lifted the glass to his mouth and sipped it. I immediately worried about him spilling—like I’d spilled the Capri Sun all those many years ago, though I supposed Mrs. Casey probably couldn’t care less about the state of the couch fabric after thirty years. “After we got the results today, I called my friends, T.J. and George, to tell them what was going on. They were sympathetic, but they have their own lives, and I get that.” Rob’s brow furrowed. “They wrote back something to the extent of, ‘I’m really sorry, man, but I’m on my way to tee-ball.’”
I nodded.
He sipped his wine again. “But when I texted you, you showed up. You didn’t have to, but you came right away.” His eyes softened.
“It’s the doctor thing.” I played with the octagonal stem of my wineglass, pushing thoughts of Dax—his hands, his mouth, his eyes—out of my head. “I have a hard time saying no when someone’s in trouble. Especially when it’s someone I care
about.” Or when I wanted to escape a situation that was quickly spiraling out of my control.
He scooted closer to me, and my stomach knotted up. “I’m glad to know you care about me.”
I had meant his mother, but…yes…I also cared about Rob. We were, in many ways, extended family. I pasted on a smile, wishing he’d just say what he wanted to say.
“I care about you, too,” he said finally.
“Well,” I said, flashing a happy grin, relieved that the extent of this conversation appeared to be a rehashing of our mutual fondness for each other, “we’ve been neighbors forever, and I’m closer to your family than most of my aunts, uncles, and cousins.” Changing the subject, I said, “Did you hear my cousin is marrying her ex-husband’s sister?”
Rob set down his wineglass and reached for my hand. I let him, even as my skin grew cold, and he examined my fingers, turning my hand over in his. “I know we talked before about taking things slow and waiting to see what develops, but I realized today life is too short and we’re not guaranteed time.” He glanced up at me.
My mouth dried into a desert, and I nodded. “Mmm-hmm.”
He shot me a warm smile. “Well…since I believe we were headed this way anyway, and because you and I both know it’d make my mom so happy in the last weeks of her life”—he let go of my hand, knelt on the floor in front of me, and pulled a ring out of his pocket—“Annie Kyle, will you marry me?”
My hand flew to my mouth as my eyes nearly bulged out of my head and my stomach plummeted all the way to my feet. Less than an hour ago, I’d been rounding third base with my hot young roommate, and now the first guy who’d touched my breasts back in junior year of high school was holding an antique diamond ring in front of me.
Was this really my life?
I jumped up, ready to bolt. “Rob, I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes.” He stood, beaming, as if he’d mistaken my nervous energy for enthusiasm.
I swallowed, taking a few beats to collect myself and my thoughts. “This is all just…very sudden.”
“I know,” he said, “and I’m sorry about that, but the whole point of us even going out in the first place was to end up here.” He showed me the ring, which glinted in the lamp light. “Right?”
My heart pounded against my chest. I supposed he had a point. “Right.”
“I don’t want to be alone, and I know you don’t, either.”
My skin crawled on the back of my neck. I could hardly recall the last big, huge life decision I’d had to make. Maybe buying the house? Now a guy I barely knew as an adult was standing in front of me, asking me to be his wife…and I had brought this on myself.
It was too much for a Sunday night.
“So, please,” he said. “Please say you’ll marry me.”
I glanced at the windows behind the couch and caught our reflections there. For some reason, it worried me more that someone might catch me and Rob in this position than the one I’d been in earlier tonight, sitting half-naked on a piano bench, with Dax.
And my reflection now didn’t look free and happy, as it had with Dax earlier. My face appeared pinched and scared.
I turned to Rob. “I can’t say yes yet,” I said, “but I’m not saying no, either.”
He stood still.
“It’s a big decision,” I said. “The biggest, and I don’t want either of us to rush into something we might regret.” I racked my brain for a way to delay. “I think we need a little time to let this breathe. Give me to the end of the month,” I said. It was mid-July, and August seemed far enough away right now.
“July thirty-first,” he said, putting the ring back in his pocket.
I stepped over and kissed him lightly on the cheek, relieved that I wouldn’t have to make any decisions tonight. “Okay. July thirty-first.”
Chapter Thirty
The Small Wonders
“I’m Darius Carver,” he told the bouncer, flashing his press pass. He pointed a thumb back at me. “And she’s with me.”
The bouncer shrugged, letting us both inside.
I glanced around the loud, crowded club. I’d called Darius this morning to set up a date to talk at my house (Dax was going to be out—otherwise, yikes!). Darius had agreed to the tête-à-tête at my house before changing venues on me. There was a band he wanted to hear that was doing “really revolutionary stuff—new wave meets jazz meets big band.” Apparently I, the woman who still thought the Talking Heads were cutting-edge, was going to “love it.”
Eh, who knew? Maybe I would. I was just pissy because I was about to attempt a very difficult conversation in a noisy bar.
“I know the manager here,” Darius said, neck craning. “Oh! There he is. Joe!” Grabbing my hand, Darius led me over to one of the only people about our age in the whole building. “Joe!”
Joe shook Darius’s hand. “Great to see you.”
Darius gestured to me. “This is Annie. We were hoping you could get us a good spot tonight.”
Joe looked me up and down, and I squirmed under his lecherous gaze. There was a reason I stopped going to clubs like these when I hit thirty. “Oh, absolutely.” He pushed through the crowd, leading Darius and me up to the front, to a roped-off section of tables marked VIP just to the left of the stage.
As we took our seats, Darius leaned in and whispered, “You didn’t think I’d make us stand the whole night, did you?”
I laughed. “I kind of did, yeah.”
He perused the drink menu. “My bumping around in a crowd of young strangers days are over.”
“Yeah. Mine, too.” I respected that Darius was mature enough to recognize that sitting during a concert was an underrated thing. We could be cutting-edge and old at the same time.
“I wanted to talk to you about something!” I yelled over the thumping bass of the DJ.
Darius didn’t hear me. The waitress came by, and he pointed at the menu to place our order. I couldn’t hear what he picked for me.
I opened my mouth to try again, but Darius jumped in first. “How’s Gayle doing?” he shouted.
“Gayle?”
He nodded.
“She’s doing well!” I yelled. The music cut out at just that moment. “She’s doing well,” I repeated more quietly.
He frowned. “I went to visit her yesterday, and she looked so frail. Her husband said they gave her a…throm…something?”
“Thrombolytic,” I said. “Her husband’s the real hero. He noticed the symptoms early and was able to get her to the hospital fast, which is excellent because it increases her chance of a full recovery. Still, it’s possible she has a long rehab ahead of her. We just don’t know yet.”
“But she’s going to make it,” he said, his eyes watery.
I squeezed his forearm. “She’s going to make it.”
He blew out a long breath. “Good.”
“I didn’t realize you two were that close.”
A guy came out and closed the stage curtain.
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “She’s my mentor. She found me when I was doing man on the street spots in Dubuque.”
“Iowa?” I accepted my drink from the waitress. Darius had ordered me a glass of red wine. Not my first choice for my one drink of the night, but not the absolute worst pick he could have made. Kelly’s True Love’s Kiss probably would’ve fit that bill. I tamped down the wave of sadness washing through me. Kelly and I no longer had anything in common. It was time to start getting over that.
“Iowa,” he repeated.
I took a sip of my wine. “I can’t picture you in Iowa.”
He chuckled. “You couldn’t picture me on the farm, either.”
“Still can’t.” Okay, now was the time to bring up Rob’s proposal. I opened my mouth.
“So, hey…” Darius leaned across the table. “I have an important
dinner coming up. It’s a Wednesday, the thirty-first—”
My stomach dropped at the mention of that date. “Oh yeah? The thirty-first?” I shrugged, casually scratching the back of my neck.
“The head of the news department is organizing a magnificent summer bash at the Brookfield Zoo.” He laughed. “We’ll be dining near the giraffes.”
I focused hard on swirling the wine in my glass. “That sounds like fun.”
“So, you’d like to attend?”
“To watch a giraffe steal my dinner roll? Who wouldn’t?” I glanced up, and my eyes met his wide, hopeful ones. My chest tightened in advance of having to deliver this bizarre bit of information. “But I, um…well…I have to tell you something.”
At that moment, the curtain onstage opened, revealing a cache of shiny instruments from guitar to drums to keyboard to saxophone.
“Here we go!” Darius jumped up, the crowd enthusiastically cheering for the band, for this group apparently called Farouche, who were making their way out onto the stage.
I shifted around the table so I was next to Darius. The roar of the crowd resonated in my chest cavity, and I could barely hear myself think. “I wanted to tell you,” I shouted, “I saw Rob last night—you know, the other guy?”
I could feel Darius’s eyes on me.
The band all wore the same silver jumpsuits and white New Balance sneakers. They kind of resembled a cult, actually. The lead singer, a guy with chin-length bleached blond hair, leaned into the microphone and said, “We’re Farouche.”
The crowd roared.
“Rob proposed to me last night!”
Then the drummer counted the band off, and they launched into a song that was, yes, somehow new wave and house and big band. It was actually really amazing.
“He proposed to you?” Darius asked.
“Yeah!”
I took a moment to scan the various members of the group—the small woman on bass, the very tall, bearded man on lead guitar, and the hot guy with the dark hair and stubble on the keyboard.
“He proposed to you?” Darius said again. “What did you say?”
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