Page 24 of A Night to Remember

I have no idea what she would have said to any of these proposals because I was too scared to ask. Still, our friendship continued to deepen. During spare moments in class or study sessions after school, we learned the names, ages, and personality quirks of each others’ family members, what we wanted to study in college versus what weshouldstudy (English vs. communication/geology vs. political science), and our greatest irrational fears (being squashed by a garage door/accidentally getting ejected from the International Space Station). In some ways I felt closer to her than to any girlfriend I’d ever had, but somehow we could never overcome the barrier betweennothingandsomething—until the night we almost did.

“Do you mind if I turn on some music?” present-day Kayla asks.

“Not at all. I didn’t know you could cook.”

“You haven’t tasted it yet,” she quips. “But yeah, I like to cook. It relaxes me. It’s creative, you know? But I don’t get to do it as often as I’d like. You’re a good excuse.”

“Can I help?”

“Nope, you just relax and nurse that finger.” She suppresses a giggle. She bought beer at the store, too, which I very much appreciate. She sways her hips slightly in time to the music, and since her back’s to me, I let myself watch her. I can’thelp but admire how comfortable she is in her own skin, how unselfconscious. Gretchen and I almost never did things like this, regular things, like cooking or cleaning or shopping. We always had to be going to some fancy restaurant or on a carefully curated outing. It was like we were afraid to stand still and really look at our relationship.

“By the way, I have a draft of that letter to the bank,” I mention during a break in her sautéing. “Do you want to take a look?” I take it out of my pocket and hand it to her.

She unfolds it, places it on the counter, and narrows her eyes critically.

“Do you have a pen?” she asks. And in the time it takes garlic to brown, she takes out three commas, adds one, and completely rewrites two sentences of a seven-sentence letter.

“There,” she says, businesslike. “That’ll do. Good work, Wilson.”

The fact that she calls me “Wilson” makes my heart inflate like a balloon. I glance at her and see that one strap of her tank top has just slipped off her perfect shoulder. I want to caress her there, run my thumb along her collarbone, and whisper in her ear that I will make this mortgage problem go away, that I would take care of her forever if she’d let me. The force of this thought stops me from replying to her for half a minute while I struggle to catch my breath. But finally I simply say, “Thanks, Johnson,” in as normal a voice as I can muster, and let her get back to work.

12

Kayla

“Thanks for agreeingto meet me like this,” he says huskily as I step out the café’s back door into the slushy alley. The man across from me shakes his brown hair out of his eyes and looks to his left and right, shifting from foot to foot.

“Are you going to let me see it?” I ask in a low voice, stepping closer. I glance back over my shoulder to make sure we’re alone.

He gives me a weak smile, then fumbles inside his long coat. I reach out my hand.

“It’s not much,” he says bashfully, “But?—”

“Tom, it’sbeautiful,” I gush.

“You really think so?” A note of hope creeps into his voice.

“Yes,” I stress, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “She’s going to love it.”

His worried face cracks into a huge smile as we both regard the sparkling ring. I admire the platinum band and square cut diamond, flanked by glittering sapphires. It’d be too flashy for me, but it’s absolutely perfect for Allison.

“Is it vintage?” I ask.

He nods. “From the 1920s. I found it in a shop in St. Louis.”

“It must have cost?—”

“Shh, shh, shh. Don’t worry about it. Nothing’s too good for her.” He beams at the ring as if it’s Allison herself. I start to tear up a little.

When he met her while working on a sabbatical research project in Kentwood last year, he’d often turn to me, subtly or not-so-subtly, for advice. Did she have a boyfriend, was he a good guy, would she ever consider dating someone older, would she ever move out of town? (Yes, no, maybe, probably.) It was only mildly bizarre to be giving relationship tips to the man who’d taught me US History and Historiography during my senior year at Benton State. But he’d been so smitten, and such an enormous improvement on the guys she usually dated, that I’d encouraged him wholeheartedly. Which I felt good doing, because I happened to know that Allison was also painfully in love withhim.

They’re adorable, plain and simple. And I’d always just been uncomplicatedly happy for her, but now, looking at this ring, standing next to this lovely man, I feel a stab of something very much like jealousy. Not because I want Tom, but because I want?—

A writing career! I think, giving myself a mental shake. Not a husband! Definitely not! I squash the image of a certain tall, dark, and handsome almost-stranger back down into the trash pit of my mind.

“When are you going to propose?” I ask, rallying.

“Not telling,” he says, taking back the ring with a mock-stern expression. “You might tip her off.”

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