“Here we go. Do I even want to know what’s in there?”
We both eyed the box with mounting trepidation.
“Wait.” He cocked his head. “Don’t open it if you hear ticking.”
I lowered my face and sniffed the shiny red bow. “I don’t smell gunpowder. Or peanuts, for that matter.”
We tore off the paper together, revealing a big white box sporting grease stains on one side. She’d bundled my gift into a used bakery container. Classic Renée. When I lifted the lid and rummaged through the crumpled tissue paper inside, I burst out laughing.
“What?” he demanded as I pulled out the green-and-yellow hunk of ceramic. “What is it?”
“It’s a Chihuahua taco holder,” I finally got out.
“You sure? It looks like a cat with massive spinal deformities.”
“I’m sure. This is what I was going to give her for Christmas.”
“And she’s regifting already?”
“She must have found it when she packed up all my stuff.” I signaled the passing waitress for two beers. “Touché, Renée. Touché.”
He curled his lip at the misshapen Chihuahua. “We’re gonna have to move overseas to get rid of her. And change our names.”
“You know we’re going to have to put this on display every time she comes over.”
“I see an unfortunate accident in this little dog’s future,” David predicted.
“Is that your way of asking me to get married again?”
“Are you saying yes?”
“Do we still get to go to Hawaii?”
“As long as we go alone.”
“Done.”
30
CASEY
Do you think David’s in Boston yet?” I asked as Nick and I left the White Birch. After a delectable four-star meal followed by a molten chocolate soufflé, we were stuffed but happy.
Nick consulted his watch. “He might be.”
“I wonder what he’s going to say to Erin?” I mused. “Do you think he’ll beg for forgiveness or just kick down her door and kiss her like Clark Gable in Gone With the Wind, or what?”
“Casey. Am I boring you tonight?”
I unlocked the driver’s-side door of my truck. “Of course not.”
“Then stop thinking about Erin and David. Who cares what’s going on with them? The question is, what’s going on with us?”
“We’re having a great date night.” I handed him the Styrofoam carton containing the cranberry tart. “And it’s about to get even better.”
“Not so fast.” Nick buckled up in the passenger seat and turned to me with a mischievous glint in his eye. “We’re taking a detour on the way home.”
“But…” I gazed longingly at the Styrofoam box. “I wanna do the dessert thing.”
“We will,” he promised. “Later. Right now, I have a surprise for you. I’d drive, but…”
“No. The doctors said no night driving for at least another week.”
“So play along and follow my directions. Trust me.”
“This better be good, is all I have to say.”
He directed me through the main street of downtown, past the country club and the golf course, until we reached the high school.
“Turn here.” He pointed toward the school parking lot.
“Here?” I groaned. “This is the surprise? Nick, I hated this place when we were teenagers and I still hate it now.”
“Trust me,” he repeated.
As I steered the truck down the long, dark drive, my heart plummeted. A return to high school was his fantasy, not mine.
“Nick, I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“Stop here,” he instructed as we rolled around the back, by the gymnasium doors.
“I don’t want to.”
“Casey, come on. Five minutes. Please.”
“You can’t make me go in there,” I warned him. But I turned off the truck’s ignition.
He sat back and sighed. “You’re right. I can’t make you do anything. But I’m asking you. As a favor. Five minutes.”
I gazed out the window at the bare, black trees and the icy asphalt. “Give me one good reason.”
“Because I love you,” he said quietly. “And I promised I wouldn’t screw this up again.”
“Oh, all right.” I jerked the door handle. “Five minutes. The clock starts now.”
“Not so fast.” He fished a long, gauzy scarf out of his pocket. “Put this on.”
“You’re blindfolding me? Are you going to stuff me in a locker, too?”
“Relax.” He wrapped the thin material around my eyes and rested his warm, capable hands on my shoulders. “No need to panic.”
“That’s what the popular kids always say,” I said. “Right before they pants you in the cafeteria.”
“Let’s go.” He nudged me forward, his breath warm in my ear. “Hup, two three four.”
We paused after a few yards, and I heard the telltale clink of the padlock against the metal gym doors. When he led me inside, I immediately recognized the chalky, sweaty smell of high school athletics.
“How did you get a key to this place?”
He shushed me, brushing his index finger over my lips. “Try to soak up the moment.”
“I’m doing everything I can to avoid this moment. Seriously. How’d you get a key?”
“I applied for that basketball coaching job.”
“Yeah. And?”
“And the old coach remembers me fondly. How could he deny his favorite point guard from the good old days?”
“Sad.” I winced as the doors shut behind me with the resounding clank of a jail cell. “I feel nothing but pity for people who never get over high school.”
“Unlike you, right?” he teased.
“What is that supposed to mean?” I yanked at the blindfold.
“Not yet.” He tightened the blindfold and urged me forward. My wet heels skidded on the slick varnish, but he held me steady.
“Here’s the thing,” he said. “If I start coaching here, you’re going to have to go to a game every once in a while.”
“So?”
“You’ll have to at least pretend that this place doesn’t make you break out in hives.”
“Fine. Give me a big thermos full of vodka before every game and we won’t have a problem.”
“That’s one way to go,” he admitted. “But I was thinking more along the lines of, well, here.” He whisked the blindfold away.
A revolving, mirrored disco ball threw flecks of light across the hardwood floor and the fluffy rolls of cotton batting that were draped atop the first row of the bleachers. Green, white and red streamers hung from every rafter.
I started to smile in spite of myself. “Did you do all this yourself?”
Nick regarded the sagging, uneven loops of crepe paper with great pride. “Yep.” He pointed at the mounds of cotton. “That’s supposed to be snow. Christmasy-like.”
“It’s very Christmasy,” I assured him.
“Good, because this is the winter formal.”
“As in dance?”
“Exactly. Oh shit, I forgot.” He loped over to the corner and turned on an ancient boom box resting by the bleachers. Smashing Pumpkins blasted out at brain-liquefying decibels.
“Son of a…” He turned down the volume and jabbed at the control console. “This was supposed to be my other nineties mix tape.” When I offered my assistance, he waved me away. “Everything’s under control. You go in the girls’ locker room.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Ew. Why?”
“Would you stop second-guessing everything I say and just go?”
As the voice of Billy Corgan continued to snarl about how, despite all his rage, he was still just a rat in a cage, I retreated to the relative peace of the locker room. The fluorescent lights flickered above the battered, puke-green lockers, the initial-carved wooden benches, and the prom dress.
At least it had been a prom dress, once upon a time. The tea-l
ength skirt and pouffy sleeves were crafted of the shiniest taffeta I’d ever seen. Magenta. A pair of dyed-to-match pumps were lined up under the dress, along with a huge corsage of pink roses and baby’s breath.
I had boycotted my senior prom the first time around. (In large part because no one had asked me.) But apparently, Nick had decided I deserved another chance.
So I stripped down to my bra and panties and wriggled into the garish, vintage dress. But I could only tug the zipper halfway up my rib cage—because somehow Nick had gotten the idea that I wore a size four. If only. At least the shoes fit perfectly.
“Casey?” Nick sounded impatient. “You ready yet?”
“Hang on.” I took a moment to inspect myself in the mirrors above the rusty, dripping faucets and applied an extra coat of lipstick and mascara.
I clutched the corsage box and headed back out to the gym. The frenetic angst of Smashing Pumpkins had been replaced by a mellow Chris Isaak song.
“You look beautiful,” Nick said when I made my grand entrance, and I decided to believe him.
“You look pretty spiffy yourself.”
He brushed off the tailored black jacket he’d changed into. “Look who brought a tux. And check it out—it actually fits this time.”
“I’m impressed.”
“Do you like that dress?” he asked. “I asked Tanya for advice, and she said you liked pink.”
That would explain it. I had liked pink…in high school. Back when I’d worn a size four. “You did a great job,” I beamed. “I love it.”
He threw me a cagey look. “You hate it.”
“I do not!”
“Liar.” He started to laugh as he noticed the gaping zipper in the back. “You’re going to throw it in the Dumpster as soon as we get home.”
“Never. I’m going to keep this dress forever,” I vowed. “To remember our winter formal.”
“That reminds me.” He handed me a plastic box containing a pink rose boutonniere to match my corsage. “We have to pin these on each other.”
I felt oddly shy as I positioned the rose on his lapel. “Then do we do our spotlight dance?”
“Not yet.”
“There’s more?”
“Much more.” He ducked behind the bleachers and emerged with a huge bouquet of pink roses. Huge. Think beauty pageant. Think Broadway curtain call. Think…“For the prom queen.”
“Wow. Do I get a scepter and a tiara, too?”
“No, but you get to order the prom king around.”
“Excellent.” I waved my hand imperiously. “I order you to smooch me.”
He obliged, sliding his hand over the exposed skin of my back.
“Somewhere, Anna Delano is writhing with envy,” I teased.
“Forget Anna Delano. That’s what I was trying to tell you that day in the woods—you’re the only one I want.”
I stroked his cheek. “And here I thought you were hallucinating.”
“No,” he growled. “I was trying to be sweet.”
“You are sweet.”
“Even though I can’t pick out dresses and I can’t make a turkey and I can’t hang streamers worth crap, I’m trying.”
“I know.”
He suddenly drew back, then hit the floor so hard with one knee that I heard the thud over the music.
I flinched. “Honey, are you okay?”
He produced a small, red velvet box from his jacket pocket and thrust it toward me. “Here.”
I snatched my hands away as if scorched. “Nick, what are you doing?”
“What I should have done the first time.” He waved the box at me. “Open it.”
My hands were trembling so much that I dropped the box twice. I ended up sitting next to him on the dusty gym floor, fumbling with the lid.
“Give me that; the suspense is freaking killing me.” He flipped the top back to reveal a deep green emerald set in a white gold band.
I’d always wanted an emerald ring. Apparently, Tanya had divulged more than just my dress size.
“Okay, I know I was a tool before, but I love you so I have to ask: Casey, will you please marry me?”
I looked at the ring, then I looked at his hopeful face and the belated re-creation of all my teenage fantasies. “I want to say yes.”
His whole body wilted. “But you’re not saying yes.”
My eyes welled with tears. “I’m scared. What if things go back to the way they were? What if we can’t make it work?”
“We’ll make it work.”
“But what if we can’t? I don’t want to lose you again.”
“You didn’t lose me, you kicked me out,” he clarified. “Look, I can sit here all night and promise you that you’ll never have to do that again, but talk is cheap. I’d rather show you. Day after day, year after year, I’ll be with you every step of the way.”
“But how do I know for sure?” I whispered.
“You don’t. You have to take a chance. But I swear I won’t let you down again.”
I nibbled my lower lip. “Well. I do like emeralds.”
“Say yes.”
I slipped the ring onto my finger.
“You’re saying yes, right?”
I nodded vigorously. The dress slipped off one shoulder, revealing half of my bra. “But what will I do with my other engagement ring?”
He raised one eyebrow. “Did you ever pick it up off the floor after you threw it at me?”
“Tanya did.”
“What a girl. You can wear it on your other hand. Or make it into a necklace. Or keep it in reserve for whenever you need something to throw at me.” He got to his feet and extended a hand to help me up. “Come here.”
“Now is it time for our spotlight dance?”
“No. Now it’s time for the time-honored tradition of making out under the bleachers.”
I feigned reluctance. “But I’ll ruin my dress.”
“Luckily, you hate it, anyway. Come on.”
While the disco ball turned and the music of our lost adolescence played, we left our formal wear on the dance floor and chased each other under the bleachers.
My prom night wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t the glitzy, ribbon-trimmed fairy tale that the seventeen-year-old me had daydreamed about. But it was more than the twenty-nine-year-old me had ever dared to hope for, and the perfect start to our new marriage.
31
STELLA
Here, Cash!” My breath came out in bursts of white condensation against the darkening twilight sky. “Come on!”
Cash skidded to a stop by the far corner of the fenced dog park, then turned and raced toward me.
“Oof!” I braced for impact as the huge black dog slammed into my knees.
Together with our trusty tennis ball, Cash and I had spent most of the afternoon churning the snow-covered dog park into muddy slush. The weather had been so bad for the last few days that we’d been forced to skip our usual long walks, so today, Christmas Eve, I’d loaded him into the back of the Jeep I’d traded in my convertible for and driven down to the park.
Considering that I’d been planning to spend the holiday in Belize with Mark, I thought I was handling the night before Christmas very well. Mark had given me the car and enough of what his lawyer deemed my share of the house to pay for most of my nursing school tuition, but I hadn’t heard from him directly since he’d left me at the courthouse. My mother had lowered herself to speak to me again, but all she had to say was, “Why, Stella? Why? You were so close! If only you had learned to compromise!”
Casey had generously invited both me and the dog to her apartment for Christmas dinner tomorrow, and we’d accepted, even though I’d knew I’d feel awkward watching her and Nick grope each other eyes like a couple of high schoolers, which was basically all they did these days.
Alden was a very small town, and rumor had it that Mark had already started dating again. Since I’d moved out, he’d been seen brunching with Linda Lund, head of the hospital’s charity fund-raising comm
ittee. She was older than me, with grown children already in college, and I could picture her sliding right into the space I’d vacated. Replacing the rugs Cash had ruined. Buying a new mattress to share with Mark. Winning over Taylor and Marissa with spa days and shopping trips to New York. Mark didn’t like to be alone.
“Let’s go.” I clipped the red leather leash onto Cash’s collar. He trotted over to the gate, sniffed the wind, and whined.
“I’m going, I’m going.” I fumbled with the latch, clumsy in my mittens.
He pawed the ground and barked.
“Settle down,” I commanded. “You just ran around for two hours. Aren’t you tired yet?”
The second the gate swung open, Cash took off at top speed, ripping the leash out of my hand as he raced across the park toward the ice rink.
“Hey!” I lumbered after him, hampered by the knee-high snowdrifts that sucked in my boots like quicksand. “No! Bad dog!”
He streaked across the soccer field, a black blur against a background of pure white, on a collision course with the novice skaters wobbling on the public rink.
“No!” I yelled, falling farther behind. “Look out! Dog coming through!”
I knew I would never catch him. Cash would come back when he was good and ready, and not one minute sooner.
The dog yipped in surprise as he reached the slippery surface of ice. All four legs fell out from under him, and he spun toward the center of the rink, miraculously missing a pair of snowsuited toddlers clutching their mother’s hands.
“It’s okay!” I hollered. “He’s gentle! Don’t be scared! He’s just…insane!”
The mother herded her children toward the bench at the far side of the rink and threw me a filthy look.
“Sorry!” I panted as I stumbled up to the edge of the ice. “I’ll get him, okay? You don’t have to—Augh! Cash, no!”
Cash had regained his footing and was galumphing toward a little girl in a fleece-trimmed pink jacket and matching pink skates. His tail wagged frantically as she toppled to the ground.
Since I didn’t hear any terrified shrieks of protest, I assumed the poor kid had either gone catatonic from fear or been knocked unconscious.
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