Brooks grinned. “I doubt he could do much damage.”
“Never underestimate a toddler’s ability to make a mess. I’ve learned that lesson the hard way.”
“Duly noted,” Brooks said. “I’ll walk you out.”
I offered my final condolences to Theo and peeled my son off him. When we reached the car, I unlocked it and strapped Elliott into his car seat. I moved aside so that Brooks could lean in.
“See you later, Elliott,” he said.
Elliott waved. “Bye, Bwooks.”
When Brooks straightened up, he said, “I’d like to take you to dinner Saturday night if you’re not busy and have someone to watch Elliott.”
I beamed, not making the slightest attempt to hide my happiness. “I’m not busy,” I said. “I’ll ask Pam if she can watch him.”
“Is seven okay?”
“Sure.”
We stood there, bathed in the glow of the streetlight for a moment, not talking. Was I a horrible person for wishing he would kiss me again? Was he thinking—the way I was—about what we’d done the last time we were alone?
But we weren’t alone now.
There were people spilling out the front door of his house and lingering on the front lawn as they prepared to walk to their cars. Brooks didn’t strike me as the public-affection type, and truth be told, I wasn’t either.
“I better go,” I said.
He opened my car door and I slid behind the wheel. “Bye, Brooks.”
“Good-bye,” he said. “Be safe.”
CHAPTER 32
DAISY
Pam and Shane picked up Elliott at five o’clock on Saturday. Not only had they agreed to babysit, they had insisted on keeping him overnight once they heard I was going out with Brooks.
“What exactly do you think we’re going to do?” I’d asked. “It’s just dinner.”
“I don’t want you to have to worry about anything,” Pam had said. “This way, you can stay out as late as you want. Besides, an overnight visit will give us a chance to practice parenting before our own precious progeny arrives.”
“In that case, I will thankfully offer up my child as your guinea pig,” I said. “Good luck.”
Elliott was thrilled to be going on an overnight visit. He picked up the new Thomas the Tank Engine duffel bag he’d insisted we buy and gave me a hug and a kiss before marching toward the door with Pam and Shane.
“I’ll be there bright and early tomorrow morning to pick you up,” I said. “Be good!”
After they left, I took a long shower and poured myself a small glass of wine. I wasn’t used to being alone, and the apartment was way too quiet without Elliott. I switched on the radio and thought about what I was going to wear.
I’d worn a dress to the funeral and I’d styled my hair in a loose knot, so I’d already demonstrated I was capable of something a little more put together than a ponytail and casual clothing. But I wasn’t sure what to wear to dinner. For one, I hadn’t asked where we were going and Brooks hadn’t volunteered any information. There were a few nice restaurants in town, but none of them really qualified as “fine dining.” If I pulled out all the stops, there was a very real chance I’d be overdressed. After a few minutes of contemplation, I removed a yellow dress from its padded hanger. The length was slightly above the knee and it was strapless, but I had a cropped ivory cardigan made of cashmere that I could wear over it. A pair of nude high-heeled shoes completed the outfit perfectly. Thankfully, my hair had been a no-brainer: I’d gone with loose waves and left it down. I’d gotten the impression that Brooks liked my hair down, if the way he’d run his hands through it the other night had been any indication.
Maybe I wasn’t pulling out all the stops, but I did pull out my red lipstick.
Shortly after my divorce from Scott became final, a middle-aged woman in a restaurant bathroom, a complete stranger, had stood next to me while we washed our hands. When I was done, I pulled a tube of clear gloss out of my purse and applied a quick coat.
She looked over at me and said, “Honey, not every woman can pull off red lipstick. But I think you can. And I think you should.” Then she’d walked out, leaving me terribly confused about why I’d been the recipient of such random and unsolicited advice.
But a month later I was walking past the makeup counter at the outlet mall, and the woman’s words came back to me. I stopped in front of the display case, gravitating toward the lipstick.
“May I help you?” the woman behind the counter asked.
“I’m looking for a new lip color,” I said. “Red maybe.”
She chose several, fanning them across the counter. Peering at me closely, she picked up one of them and said, “This.” After she settled me on a high stool, she swiped the lipstick across the back of her hand and then dipped a tiny brush into it. Using short, feathery strokes, she applied it to my lips. “Here,” she said, handing me a mirror. “What do you think?”
The lipstick transformed me in a way that made me look like someone else entirely. The woman looking back at me in the mirror was confident. She didn’t look like a woman who’d spent the past year in a rapidly deteriorating marriage. She didn’t look tired or frazzled or worried or anxious, or any of the other emotions I’d experienced at the hands of my ex-husband.
“Not many women can pull off red lipstick,” she said.
“So I’ve heard.”
“You can.”
“Sold,” I said. “In fact, I’ll take two.”
Now I leaned in close to the mirror, taking as much care to apply the lipstick as the woman behind the counter had. The rest of my makeup was subdued—a little mascara and eyeliner, and a barely there hint of blush to balance the red.
But my lips.
It would be hard for Brooks to miss them.
When he knocked on the door a few minutes before seven, I peered through the peephole. For the first time since I’d met him, Brooks wasn’t wearing a suit. He was wearing dark jeans, a brown sport coat, and an open-collar, striped dress shirt. A leather belt and loafers. He looked like something straight out of the pages of Esquire.
Who dresses this man?
I opened the door. “Hi,” I said.
“Hi.” He studied me, taking his time. “Wow. You are stunning.”
I smoothed the front of my dress and smiled. “You look pretty great, yourself.”
“Are you ready to go?”
“Yes.” I slipped my arms into my sweater and picked up my purse. Brooks and I stepped into the hallway, and I locked the door behind us.
“Where’s Elliott?”
“He’s spending the night at Pam and Shane’s. She’s six months pregnant, so they’re using Elliott for practice. I didn’t have the heart to tell them that a three-year-old is a cakewalk compared to an infant who wakes up multiple times throughout the night. Why shatter the illusion?”
Brooks laughed. “Why, indeed?”
Our dining choices were limited, but Brooks took me to one of the nicest restaurants the town had to offer, an Italian place on Main Street.
“Wine?” he asked after we’d been seated at a dark, cozy table in the corner.
“Please,” I said.
“Pinot noir?”
I nodded. “Good memory.”
Brooks ordered, and when the waiter came back, he poured us each a glass. Brooks took a small drink and nodded at the waiter.
“How has everything been going? Have you been sleeping okay?” I asked.
“Is that a nice way of saying I look tired?”
“No, not at all. I just had some trouble sleeping after… my grandmother. I thought you might be having trouble, too.”
“I did for the first couple of days. It’s better now, though.”
The waiter took our order—penne with tomato cream sauce for me and chicken parmesan for Brooks.
“Again?” I asked.
“I told you, it’s my favorite,” he said. “How’s the wine?”
“It’s perfect.”
Brooks took a drink from his glass and set it down. “Tomorrow would have been my parents’ wedding anniversary.”
“How many years?”
“Thirty-nine. I really thought she’d be able to hold on for it.”
“Oh, Brooks.”
“I know. Tomorrow will be rough on my dad.”
“Thirty-nine years is a marriage to be proud of. The only thing that parted them was death, just like the vows say it should be. Scott and I made it a whole four years. What’s that anniversary called? Oh wait, I know. Failure.”
“If it makes you feel any better, mine was only marginally longer. We lasted four and a half.”
“I didn’t know you’d been married before. How long have you been divorced?”
Brooks thought about it for a minute. “About three years.”
“What happened?”
“I worked a lot. She wanted to start a family. I was never home. She left.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “As divorces go, it wasn’t horrible. I learned a few things from it.”
Our entrees arrived and Brooks took a bite of his chicken.
“Well?” I said.
“I’ve had better,” he said, smiling at me.
How was it that I’d ended up with Scott when there were men like Brooks in the world? Had I not already had the worst luck in, well, everything? Had I not paid enough dues?
When we finished our entrees and the plates had been cleared, our waiter came by and said, “Did you save any room for dessert? We have cheesecake, tiramisu, a chocolate torte, cannoli, and gelato.”
“What do you think?” Brooks asked.
“What flavor is the gelato?” I asked.
“We have vanilla or dark chocolate.”
“Dark chocolate, please.” I looked at Brooks. “Share it with me?”
He smiled at the waiter. “Two spoons.”
“No problem,” he said.
“How’s your dad doing?” I asked after our gelato arrived and we scooted our chairs close together and dug into it like we’d been sharing desserts forever.
“He mostly wanders around the house looking for something to do.”
“I’m not surprised,” I said. “Being a caregiver takes an overwhelming amount of time, even with a nurse’s assistance.”
“It’s a horrible way to die,” Brooks said, taking another spoonful of gelato. “I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”
“I know I’ve mentioned it before, but it had to be such a great comfort to your mom to have you here. Not many people would have done what you did. That says a lot about you.”
Brooks set down his spoon. “I didn’t want to come home,” he said. “My dad called one day, clearly upset. He broke down on the phone, crying, and I just blurted it out. Said I’d come. Then later, after I thought about it, I wished I hadn’t said it. What does that say about me?”
“It’s says you’re human, for one thing. It takes a lot to uproot yourself like that. And the fact that you came anyway tells me exactly what kind of person you are. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
He looked into my eyes, letting the words sink in. “Thanks for that, Daisy.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I felt bad leaving my dad tonight. He insisted he was going to be busy watching TV while I was gone. He was sitting in front of it when I left, except he’d forgotten to turn it on. I’m worried about how he’s going to get along when I go back to San Francisco.”
His words blindsided me.
When I go back to San Francisco.
I felt myself deflating like a balloon with a slow leak. The landscape of my future, the one I’d foolishly thought Brooks might become a part of, underwent significant changes, invisible and silent. What had I been thinking? That he’d give up his life in San Francisco? His job? Everything he’d left behind? For what? A woman he’d known for five weeks?
Of course he was going home.
I would have bet money that Brooks had feelings for me, but I had obviously misread the depth and scope of them. One great kiss and a look across a crowded room hadn’t meant as much as I’d thought they had.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Hoping that my crushing disappointment hadn’t shown on my face, I forced myself to take another bite of gelato and said, “And when is that again?”
“Sometime next week. Probably Tuesday. My boss wants me back as soon as possible.”
“I’m sure you’re anxious to get back home.”
He studied me as if he was trying to read my thoughts. “I’m not that anxious.”
I set down my spoon. “I can’t eat anymore.”
Brooks ate one more spoonful of gelato and pushed the dish away.
He paid the check and when we rose from the table he placed his hand on my back, guiding me as we walked toward the door. Outside, despite the chill in the air, his touch burned through my dress, the weight of his hand heavy and warm. He opened the car door for me and shut it gently after I was seated.
“Elliott must be getting excited about Halloween,” Brooks said after he started the car.
Thankful for something neutral to talk about on the drive home, I said, “He’s beyond excited. This is the first year he’s really understood how it works. I’m taking him to the pumpkin patch tomorrow so he can pick one out for us to carve.”
“Who’s he going to dress up as?”
“Batman. I have a feeling we’ll be working our way through the list of superheroes for the next several years.”
“Every boy has to be Batman at least once. It’s a rite of passage.”
“Pam and Shane have invited us to go trick-or-treating in their neighborhood. There are lots of young families there.”
Families. The word cut through me like a knife.
Brooks pulled into my parking lot and turned off the ignition. We walked into the building and took the stairs to the second floor.
I dug my keys out of my purse, but before I opened the door I took a deep breath and said, “I should probably just call it a night.”
“Oh,” he said. He didn’t sound entirely surprised, but he did sound a bit disappointed. “Okay.”
Initially, I had planned on inviting Brooks in. I had envisioned the evening progressing seamlessly from dinner to the “open another bottle of wine and start kissing” stage. Maybe even the “fooling around a little on the couch” stage. I’d been looking forward to the end of the date almost as much as the date itself, because the kiss Brooks and I had already shared only made me want more of them.
I could still invite him in, and we could still do all those things.
But I would only feel worse when he left.
I cleared my throat, looking down at the keys I held in my hand. “It’s just that until you mentioned it at dinner, I’d forgotten you’d be leaving, which was—honestly—really stupid of me, because you said way back when you told me about your mom that this was temporary and you’d be going home. So I don’t know what I was thinking. I really misread this one, so…”
“Stop,” he said, placing his hand on my arm. “Don’t act like you got it all wrong. You didn’t. I kissed you.”
I looked up at him. “I’ve been kissed before, Brooks. It doesn’t always have to mean something.”
His hand was still on my arm, and if I didn’t go inside soon there was a real possibility I’d lose my resolve. “Thank you for dinner,” I said. “I had a nice time tonight.” It was the type of thing you said to someone at the end of a blind date that hadn’t gone well, but you still wanted to be polite. It was ten times harder to say when the date had been wonderful and you never wanted it to end.
“You’re welcome.” His voice sounded formal, serious, the way it had when I’d first met him. “I’d like to stop by on my way out of town Tuesday to say good-bye to you and Elliott, if that’s okay.”
I forced myself to smile. “Sure. We should be around on Tuesday.” I opened the door. “Good night, Brooks.”
“Good night.”
Even though he would have already been in bed if he were home, the apartment felt so empty without Elliott, and I wished he weren’t staying at Pam and Shane’s. I didn’t bother turning on the radio or the TV. After making sure the front door was locked, I walked into my bedroom, kicking off my shoes and sending them flying. I hung the cashmere sweater back up in the closet, but I unzipped my dress and let if fall to the floor where it remained in a crumpled ball. In the bathroom, I soaked a cotton ball in makeup remover and obliterated all traces of the red lipstick. Frustrated tears filled my eyes as I washed my face, and at first I blinked them away, telling myself it was utterly ridiculous to carry on this way about a man I hadn’t even slept with.
Maybe my thinking was too rigid, but I wasn’t interested in being someone’s long-distance girlfriend. Phone calls, e-mail, texts. Six-hour drives each way that would eat up almost two whole days per round-trip, requiring an extra day or two to be tacked on to each visit in order to make it worthwhile. Hoping I could find someone willing to watch Elliott every now and then so Brooks wouldn’t be the only one making the drive. Flying was an option, I suppose. But between allowing for enough time to get to the airport, layovers if I couldn’t get on one of the direct flights, and then driving from the airport to my or Brooks’s place, it hardly made sense.
I didn’t want any of that.
Not that Brooks had mentioned it.
I did cry then, curled up in my bed.
I cried because Brooks was a good man.
I cried for what might have been.
I cried because I wanted one damn thing in my life to work out. Just once.
I cried until I got it all out of my system, and when I was done I told myself I wouldn’t cry anymore.
Eventually, I slept.
CHAPTER 33
BROOKS
I made the rounds at work, saying good-bye to my coworkers in the newsroom. Maggie only set down her phone long enough to shake my hand and beg me not to leave. “You do know you’re abandoning me, right? I was just getting accustomed to only doing one thing at a time, and now I’m back to eating with my left hand and typing with my right. But go ahead, go back to your big newspaper and your bustling city with all its fancy crime.”
Every Time I Think of You Page 17