Page 23 of Poetry By Dead Men
"We meet with the judge tomorrow afternoon at four, but I thought afterward maybe you and I could go grab drinks at Copper’s. A special night out, just the two of us. I'll even leave my phone at home."
My chest warms at the gesture, and I laugh, stabbing my fork toward him. "No, you won't. You'd have to have it surgically removed."
"Okay. But I’ll leave it in my pocket unless it’s an absolute emergency. I swear." He gets up to top off my wine, and I take another bite of pasta, my stomach warming.
"If it’s emergency only phone use, I think I can pencil you in," I say with a smile, curling up in the chair to sit cross-legged. "What’s gotten into you? Date nights? Dinner? Is this what I have to look forward to in married life?"
God, I hope it is. If Harrison could just be a little more present sometimes—like he’s being right now—it would be so much easier to communicate with him and get on the same page again.
"Once I make partner, I’ll cook for you at least once a week. Like I used to. You really do deserve it. Tonight, especially. Seriously, I couldn't have closed the deal with Robert without you." He takes a sip of his scotch. "I have no clue why he wantsyouto write the feature so badly, but I have to admit, I think it’s the reason heagreed to sign."
Suddenly, there's a rock the size of a grapefruit in my stomach.
"Listen," I say, ignoring his not-so-subtle jab and taking a mouthful of wine for courage. "About the tour. I need a few days to think about it."
There. I pulled off the band aid.
Harrison and I might have fallen into a pattern of me helping him with work obligations without question, but I’m not his employee. I’m going to be his wife, so the best way through this is with honesty.
At least, partial honesty.
Harrison freezes mid bite, the vein in his forehead becoming visible. "What do youmean,you need a few days to think about it?"
Shit.
THEN
January 2017
I promise I’m not lying
When I say I fell in love
The day I asked your name
And you smiled instead
—An excerpt from "Almost There," written and performed by Robert Beckett
I knew Bobby lived in a shoebox apartment in Brooklyn, but it’s not until I make it to his front door and press the button for 4B that I realize just how far he travels every day to meet me at Joe’s.
Bobby immediately answers. "Coming!" he says, buzzing the door open for me. I slide inside and wait at the bottom of the stairs, nervously fidgeting with my class ring. I feel vulnerable here, like I don’t know what to do with my body. This is the first time that I've hung out with Bobby somewhere other than the coffee shop. The first time I'm entering his personal space, and it sets me on edge in a swirling mess of anxiety.
There’s a shuffling of feet rushing down the stairs, and I turn.
"Beth!" Bobby says with a huge grin, wrapping me in a tight, but all-too-brief, hug. "Come on, I'm up here." He grabs my hand and tugs me up the stairs, his warmth spreading up my arm and into my chest.
"It's not a lot," he says, taking off his ball cap, bending the bill as if nervous, before flipping it backward. "I mean, obviously. But my roommate’s family owns it, and they don’t charge me much for rent." He rocks onto his heels, still not opening the door.
"It can’t be that bad. Step aside." I try to shoo him away, but he plants his feet and leans against the door.
"Maybe we should go somewhere else. There's a great coffee shop up the street." He raises his eyebrows like he just made a brilliant suggestion.
"It can’t be that great if you hike forty minutes to get to Joe’s every day. Why don’t you want to go in? You got dead bodies in there or something?" I ask, reaching toward the doorknob.
He steps in front of me. "Nine of them. All decomposing. It’s disgusting.”
I narrow my eyes. "What’s this about?" Suddenly, I’m stressed in a different way. What if his apartment is revolting and this clean, put together guy I’ve been spending all this time with is actually a slob who leaves empty pizza boxes everywhere and dirty plates on the floor? Or worse, what if he has some weird hobby, like he collects those creepy Victorian-era porcelain dolls or his fingernail clippings or something?
