Page 156 of Proposal Play

My mind drifts back to last night, to the way he looked at me when we came together. His words. The way everything felt like more than a physical connection. It felt like friendship on fire, a love that was deeper than anything I could have painted. Like we were on the edge of something that could change everything.

And now, look at us. Apart.

But even though I miss him, even though I ache to help him, I know one thing for sure: I’m not running just because this got hard. Just because it got real faster than either of us expected. Wherever this takes us—whether back to friendship or to something more—I’m staying. He needs to know this friendship isn’t something he can get rid of. It’s here for good.

I pat Ruby Rooster’s soft head and say, “Let’s go to work.”

But reality hits as I grab my things. I don’t have a car.I’ll need a ride. As I’m opening my Lyft app to search for a pet-friendly option, my phone buzzes, and I see a message.

Asher: My car’s in the garage. The dog’s car seat is still in the back. I know you don’t love driving in the city, but even so I put the car’s app on your phone last week in case you ever need to drive it. You should be able to use it to take Ruby Roo to the arena. Here’s the code for the app in case there’s any trouble.

The sobs come before I can stop them, with thick tears that cascade down my cheeks. Even while he’s gone, doing whatever he’s doing right now, he’s thinking of me. He’s taking care of me and this sweet girl who was abandoned until she foundus.

And this time, like most other times when he’s offered some advice, his help is exactly what I need. Perhaps it wasn’t early this morning with the seventy-two tabs. Maybe it wasn’t either when he was so distracted during a TV show that he let himself get caught up in doctor googling. Looking back, I’m not sure his dads wanted the help with the vitamins, even if it was well intentioned.

But right now—this message gives me hope. Because I neededthis. An easy way to get to work with the dog. And while I don’t love driving, I also don’t love putting the dog in a Lyft since it’s safer for her to be buckled in. Maybe Asher is starting to realize there’s a difference between control and help since I don’t think he’s trying to control a damn thing right now.

This is pure.

I head to the garage with my dog bestie and open the back seat door. She hops in, parking her fluffy butt in the car seat he neatly installed for her. I buckle her in, securing the straps gently. “Your dad got you this,” I whisper, even though she’s already looking out the window, curious about the drive before we’ve even left the garage.

Then I rewind my words, rolling my eyes at myself. Did I really just sayyour dad? Oh my god, I did. Well, when in Rome. I snap a picture of Ruby Rooster, all pretty in her seat, then go to one of my apps and fiddle around with it for a couple minutes before sending a digital badge to Asher with the dog inside it and the words:World’s Safest Dog.

As I drive toward the arena, a sense of resolve settles over me. A sense of strength. I’m not the same girl I was at the auction—frazzled and chaotic. I’m no longer the hot mess who didn’t have a clue what to do next. I’m not saying I’ve got my act together, but I’ve found something inside myself that was there all along, waiting to surface. A real strength. A solid foundation. I can be the person someone leans on. I can be the one someone depends on. I’ve learned that from Asher over the last few months, from his words and the way he’s lifted me up. But really, I’ve been learning it for years, thanks to him.

And that’s who I need to be right now—the person he’s been for me.

When I arrive, I park in the employees’ lot, but before getting out, I pull out my phone and google how to help someone with obsessive behavior. Because that’s what his actions feel like—obsession. I make some notes, bookmark a few things to share with him later, and then finally step out of the car, Ruby Rooster on herleash by my side, heading toward the employee entrance.

Inside, the mural waits, half-finished, just like everything between us.

I take a deep breath and get to work, but I can’t stop wondering: Did we break up? Or are we pretending we never crossed that line?

I don’t know. But I’ll have to live with this uncertainty—for now.

54

GOOGLE MIRROR

Asher

That lucky fucker goes back to sleep. Miles offered me the guest room, but I said no thanks. So while he sleeps some more, here I am, slumped on his couch, tapping my phone against my thigh, feeling the pull of it. A nagging sensation to do something, fix something.

“Goddammit,” I mutter into the silence of my friend’s home. I grip the phone harder, trying to resist the desire to search for what’s wrong with me as I look around his living room—a picture of him and his younger brother in their game-day uniforms, a shot of a platinum blonde grandma type wearing a feather boa outside High Kick Coffee, one of his sister—I think—behind the counter at a bar, and another of his parents with four small dogs.

My mind flashes to the picture of Ruby Roo Maeve sent moments ago. If we break up, and she moves back home, she’ll need to make the apartment more dog-friendly. In fact, really, it’d be good to make the place morehuman-friendly too. I sit up straight, feeling that spark of purpose. I can fix that for her. Make it better.

“You motherfucking genius,” I mutter, already visualizing her apartment—the creaky steps up to the fourth floor, the wobbly second-to-last step, the purple door, the couch with the bad spring, the sideways toilet, the short shower.

All of it. Fixable.

I might not be able to convince her to see someone about the wrist pain, but I can definitely do this. I start to google “best handyman in Hayes Valley,” but after I type out the word best, the first search suggestion is “best health news sites.”

My chest tightens. I stare at the screen, my brow pinching.

How to fix a short shower, I try next, but the first suggestion is “how to fix a sore neck.”

It’s like looking into a mirror, seeing all my fears reflected back.

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