32
Conversations with the Cat
Zeus
Along the trail, the cat sniffed leaves, darted after birds, and stood lookout on the canoe as he and the man enjoyed an hour on the water. The sun shone brightly in the big blue sky, warming his lush fur with so much heat, he purred his appreciation for the great outdoors.
He was a simple cat. Give him some fish, a spot of sunshine, and his favorite person, and he was good to go.
Sometimes, though, he also liked bugs.
Tasty creatures. Crunchy and savory at the same time. Such a wonderful combination.
The hunter in him kept his eyes peeled for his favorite flavor—something the man had called moth. Back on the trail, a winged insect had the good fortune to zip too close to him. In one fast lunge, Zeus sprang forward, caught it, and crunched into the snack.
He considered playing with it. Batting a paw to it. Torturing it. Bringing it home to share with the calico lady he’d been getting to know.
Quite well, in fact.
But today, Zeus opted for instant gratification and devoured the moth.
The man laughed. “Sometimes you just have to go for it, right, buddy?”
The moth went down easily. So satisfying.
The man stopped in his tracks, tugging on Zeus’s leash. He looked up at him, wondering what had prompted him to pause. “Meow?”
“Don’t you think, Zeus? This is one of those times, isn’t it?”
Zeus asked again. “Meow?”
The man talked and talked as they clambered down the hill, and Zeus curled up on the front seat of the Jeep, pleased that he had once again proven why he was a most excellent companion.
Then, he slept. After all, he’d only slept ten hours so far that day. And he needed fifteen for his beauty routine.
33
With my duffel on my shoulder, I stop by to see Max.
His eyes register surprise as we talk, but then he claps me on the shoulder, and wishes me luck. My flight leaves in two hours, so I don’t have much time. But that’s where my life-hacking skills come into play.
Or my simple, go-with-what-you-have skills, really.
At Kennedy airport, I zoom past security thanks to TSA PreCheck, then I do something I rarely do at airports. I shop. I pop into a specialty shop then a gourmet store. As I buckle up on the plane, I call my sister, and she shrieks so loudly I have to pull my phone away from my ear. After an endless flight across the country, I finish my commerce at San Francisco Airport, settling for a photo since the store is closed. I catch a Lyft to Mia’s apartment in the heart of the city and wait for her to buzz me up. My duffel is on my shoulder, and I carry a plastic bag with all the items I’ve bought on the way.
I’m hopped up on nerves and excitement, adrenaline and possibility. I’m not sure I’m fully prepared for what I’m going to do, but I also know that preparation isn’t what matters.
This is a spur-of-the-moment decision, and sometimes the best things in life happen that way.
When Mia opens the door, I drop my bag, cup her cheeks, and look into those eyes I love. Eyes I’ve missed. Big, beautiful hazel eyes. “Let’s make a stop on the way to New York.”
She raises an eyebrow. “A stop where?”
“Vegas.”
She blinks. “You don’t even like Vegas.”
“I know. But I don’t want to play the slots or see a show. I want to marry you. I want you to walk into our apartment in New York as my wife.”
Her jaw comes unhinged. I watch her as she swallows then tries to speak again.
I don’t pressure her. I wait.
Finally, her voice nearly cracking, she asks, “Are you serious?”
“Do you really think I would joke?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
“Is that a no?” I ask, but I’m honestly not scared. I know deep inside, in the marrow of my bones, that this woman will be my wife. That doesn’t make me cocky. That doesn’t make me overconfident. It just means I believe in our love. I believe in it so heartily that I’m not afraid.
“It’s not a no. I’m just shocked. I didn’t expect this.”
“That’s okay. I didn’t, either. But then I went for a walk in the woods with Zeus this morning, and I knew it was time to go for it. I had an epiphany, you could say. Like what happened to you a month and a half ago in New York,” I say, reminding her of the day she decided to begin changing her life. A faint smile creeps across her face. “And everything was clear. Sometimes in life you just have to go for what you want.”
“Yeah, you do,” she says, her dimples appearing. That smile makes me press on.
I hold up a finger. “But just so you know that I’m not a schmuck who’d propose empty-handed, I did a little shopping.”
A laugh bursts from her lips. I’m not sure if it’s from surprise or shock. She hasn’t said yes yet, but that won’t stop me from diving into my impromptu proposal.
I dip into the bag and take out a small royal-blue box. Her eyes are drawn to it, like lasers. “It’s not a ring. I want you to have the ring you want. But the jewelry store at JFK did have this adorable bunny necklace.”
Laughing, she clasps her hand to her mouth as I click open the box. A small silver pendant of a rabbit rests on the velvet. “I can’t ask you to marry me without some kind of jewelry. So for you, Jackrabbit, a bunny seemed perfect. And I can take you shopping tomorrow at Katherine’s in the city if you’d like.”
She starts to speak, but I press my finger to her lips. “Don’t answer yet.”
I hand her the box, and she takes it, clutching it tight. She doesn’t speak, but she smiles so wildly it's like she can’t even contain it.
That grin is magic to me.
“And then there’s this,” I say, fishing around for the item I picked up at the gourmet shop. A bag of Marcona almonds. “Since I know you’ll get hungry, and I want you to know I’ll always be thinking of you.”
“I will, and I love that you’re thinking of my belly and me.”
My heart thumps hard. “One last thing. The day we went to Cold Spring, you mentioned a magnet store at the San Francisco Airport.”
“You remember that?” she asks, wonder in her tone.
“When the woman you love tells you things, you listen.” I tap the side of my head. “You store it up here. You never know when it might come in handy. Now, since it’s ten p.m., the store is closed, but you said you never shopped there anyway, just stopped to read the quotes. And tonight, this one reminded me of you.” The corner of my lips curves up, and I shrug hopefully. “And maybe, of you and me.”
“Show me,” she says as I reach for my phone. Her voice is a whisper now, but in it I hear hope. I have faith she wants the same things that I do.
Sliding my thumb over the screen, I find the magnet I snapped a picture of. “Bear in mind, this isn’t some great philosopher’s quote. This isn’t from one of the writers I studied in my lit classes. In fact, I’m not even sure anyone knows who said this. But it seemed the most fitting quote of all.”
I show her a magnet with four simple words on it:
Why the hell not?
And she cracks up. Her hands fly to her belly as she laughs. “Oh my God. Are you seriously proposing to me with a bunny necklace, some nuts, and a pic that says ‘Why the hell not?’”
I square my shoulders and give her my honest answer. “Yes. I am. This isn’t complicated. It’s simple. I don’t need to weigh this. There’s no need for a pros-and-cons list. Marrying you is all pro. I have no doubts. I have no questions. My only hope is that you’ll say yes.” I run my thumb along her jaw, and she leans into me. Then I whisper, “But if you’re not ready, I’ll wait for you. I’ll wait until you’re ready, whenever that is.”
She raises her chin, her eyes locked on mine. “You’d wait for me?”
“Yes.”
“Even if I’m not ready?”
My answer is truthful. “I’ll wait as long as it takes.”
<
br /> She wiggles an eyebrow. “So, like, say, a day?”
I grin wildly. “Is that a yes?”
She sets all the goodies inside her apartment, then she loops her arms around my neck, rises up on her tiptoes, and kisses me softly. “It’s a why the hell not?”
Then she tugs me into her place, kicks the door closed, and kisses the hell out of me.
I lift her up, wrap her legs around me, and spin her against the wall.
She’s laughing and smiling and kissing and beaming, and it’s all so insanely awesome. “I’ve always liked surprises, but this is the best one ever.”
And she kisses me more.
“I never pictured us getting married in Vegas,” she says, when she takes a break from kissing me.
“Wait. Does that mean you pictured us getting married?”
She rolls her eyes. “Of course I’ve pictured us getting married.”
I kiss her neck then meet her eyes. “And what did you picture?”
“I saw us getting married on a hillside at sunset.”
“That’s what you imagined?”
She nods. “The rest was a blur. The only part that mattered was that it was you and me.”
Mia and me. That’s what the rest of the night feels like—a blur of her and me.
34
She’s right. All that does matter is the who. But color, cut, clarity, and carats are pretty important, too. Sometimes in life, you can streamline. You can simplify. You can lean on a life hack.
Choosing an engagement ring is not one of those times.
As promised, the next morning I arrange to take her to Katherine’s in Union Square, but first we have details to tend to.
As Mia showers, a burly man with a beard knocks on the door, and he’s flanked by a redheaded dude with tattoos down his arms. “Hey there. You’re here for the couch and stuff?”
“Yep. Salvation Army.”
I let them in and help them lift then carry the sofa down to their truck full of donations. The next item to go is her desk, along with a coffee table. I help them carry boxes of books, cookware, and other items that are on their way to a second life. She already donated her car to the ASPCA.
I thank the guys, give them a tip, and head upstairs to Mia’s increasingly empty apartment. She stands in the middle of the tiny living room, eating the almonds and scanning the place where she’s lived since she started Pure Beauty in her kitchen with an idea, a vision, and a business plan.
“Will you miss it?”
“Probably,” she says, a tinge of sadness in her sweet voice.
“That makes sense. It would be strange not to.”
“I have a lot of fond memories of this city. This whole coast. But I also know I’m going where I want to be.”
“And you don’t mind ditching so much of your stuff?” I ask her for probably the twelfth time.
“I don’t need two couches. I don’t need two beds. All I need is to add a metric ton of pillows to yours and I’ll be good to go,” she says, not for the first time since we discussed this idea.
“Good. As long as you’re sure,” I say.
She meets my gaze across all the space in her home and taps her finger against her lip. “Let’s see. In exchange for stuff, I get new pillows, access to one brother in the city, another in the building, and the master sandwich maker in the same home. I’m okay saying goodbye to a little thing known as a couch.” Then she walks to me, sets the bag of almonds down on her purse, and presses her hands to my chest. “Also, now I have twenty-four-hour access to my own personal mover anytime I need something heavy lifted.”
“That is, indeed, one of the perks of living with me.” I shake my head, amused at my own faux pas. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Almost-Milligan. I meant to say that’s one of the perks of being married to me.”
And an hour later, I introduce her to another one of the perks.
Ring shopping.
Since Spencer’s family owns Katherine’s, which has locations around the world, he arranged for the store manager in San Francisco to personally assist us in picking a ring and sizing it today. Mia takes her time, trying on as many rings as she wants.
She shows them all to me. “I really don’t know what to look for.”
“You didn’t imagine what you might want when you helped Max and Chase pick rings?”
She shakes her head. “No. I swear. I wasn’t thinking of anything but what Henley and Josie would want.” She takes a beat. “Which is kind of funny, since I was definitely crazy for you when I was helping Max pick out the ring.”
“And you never fantasized about what you’d want?”
She leans in close and brings her mouth to mine. “All my fantasies about you were of the bedroom variety.”
I growl my appreciation under my breath. “Be sure to share all your fantasies with me, but right now, let’s keep looking.”
The helpful brunette manager brings her more rings. Mia tries many on, and when she slides an emerald-cut ring onto her finger, my phone buzzes with my sister’s text tone.
Evie: HOW IS IT GOING? ARE YOU RING SHOPPING? DID SHE PICK? DYING TO KNOW. SIMPLY DYING.
Patrick: She’s trying on the whole store. It’s adorable.
Evie: GAH. I WISH I WERE THERE.
I stuff my phone in my pocket as Mia shows me another solitaire.
“What do you think?” she asks.
“Mia, I think they’re all beautiful. Because they’re on you.”
She narrows her eyes, then glances at the manager. “He’s no help,” she says playfully.
The woman laughs and then holds up one finger as an assistant scurries over to her. “Just one moment.”
She steps away from us to chat with her employee, then rejoins us to tell us she has one more ring she thinks might be perfect.
Mia shrugs happily. “I’d love to see this perfect ring.”
“One moment,” the manager says, then heads to another side of the display case, roots around amid all the gleaming diamonds, and returns a minute later. “I think you might like this one, Ms. Summers.”
When Mia slides on the ring, she gasps. “I think this is the one,” she whispers reverently. “Can I take a picture and show your sister?”
“I assure you there’s nothing Evie would like more than to be a part of this.”
“Wait. Did she know you were going to propose?”
I rub my knuckles against my ear. “I have the pierced eardrum to prove it,” I say, then tell her about Evie’s excited reaction when I called her while we were taxiing for takeoff yesterday.
I snap a photo and send it to my sister.
Patrick: Mia loves this ring. She wants to know if you approve.
I look at my bride-to-be. “Now, we wait.”
But not for long. Ten seconds later, my phone beeps.
Evie: I BOW DOWN TO THAT STUNNING TWO-CARAT ART DECO-STYLE VINTAGE RING THAT I JUST PICKED OUT FOR YOUR BRIDE!!!!
I laugh and show Mia the message.
“Your sister picked this out?”
“Evidently.”
Mia turns to the manager, question marks in her eyes.
The brunette’s eyes twinkle. “My associate just received a phone call from an Evie Milligan, recommending we show you this ring.”
Mia’s smile is one I will remember for all time. “Sisters always know best.”
Then, we choose two platinum bands and opt to have them engraved.
The next morning, the movers arrive, and they pack up Mia’s remaining items. The head mover tells us the boxes should be at the destination in Battery Park City in seven days.
I grab her suitcases and my duffel bag as she locks the door behind her. For a moment, she simply stares at the door, then she takes a breath and turns around.
“Are you good?”
“So good.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m positive.”
She drops the key with the landlord, blows a kiss to her building, and then threads he
r fingers through mine. “I am so good with everything.”
We pick up the bands and the resized engagement ring, and catch a flight to Vegas.
35
“You bought me a suit?”
She bounces on her toes. “Yes!”
“Why on earth would you buy me a suit?”
She parks her hands on her hips and stares daggers at me in our room at the Luxe, a hotel run by one of Evie’s good friends.
“Patrick, do you have any idea how handsome you look in a suit?”
I shake my head. “Oddly enough, I do not.”
“You’re stunning. I happen to be a big fan of you in a suit, and you’re going to marry me in a suit. That’s just the way it goes.”
“But will it fit?”
She rolls her eyes. “Kangaroo, where there’s a will, there’s a way. That same sister who picked my ring also went to your apartment and snagged your suit measurements for me. She helped me find a tailor here in Vegas, and he made sure it would fit you. I had it sent to the hotel, and the rest is going down in quickie wedding history.”
And so, I put on the charcoal suit my bride chose for me, while she slips into a simple, shimmery white dress that stops at her knees. The bunny necklace rests on the soft skin of her neck. Her diamond ring gleams on her hand.
On her feet are flats. “I don’t care if I’m a foot shorter than you. I’m not hiking up a hill in heels.”
And that’s another reason why I love this woman. She likes simple solutions.
With our marriage license in hand—that is one thing I do love about this city, you can get a marriage license with a snap of your fingers—we climb into the limo that picks us up at our hotel. It’s part of the wedding package I ordered. The car whisks us away to Red Rocks Canyon, on the horizon west of Vegas.
There, we walk along a trail, framed by rust-red cliffs and rocks, and meet the officiant. His name is Walker, he wears a black suit and a white shirt, and his glasses slide down the bridge of his nose.
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