Page 67 of Marrying the Gardener
“You’re acting a little off.”
She tenses. “I am?”
A fragile breath slips through her body. I watch how it shakes her chest. “Somewhat, yes.”
“Oh.” Adopting regal airs, she lifts her chin and plants both hands in her lap, folding them together like an aristocrat. “You must be mistaken.”
I don’t think I am. She’s been subtly off ever since I mentioned going horseback riding. What started as open enthusiasm slipped steadily into skepticism. And now she’s practically guarded.
Reaching for her hand, I ignore the way she flinches when I grasp her cool fingers. “You can talk to me.” Wait. No. She won’t talk to me if this is about her. I remember. It needs to be aboutme since she is very bad about taking any considerations for herself. “I’m worried.”
“About me?” she asks, solidifying as she cups her other hand over mine. “Don’t be. Everything’s fine, Kaleb. Let’s have dinner. I love the spring rolls here. And their crispy spinach appetizer? It’s amazing. Who would ever think to bread and fry spinach?”
Popeye, surely. But also I’m fairly certain that America’s single goal is to bread and fry everything. Keeping myself in the focus, I say, “Have I done something wrong?”
Her eyes widen, and her head shakes. “No. No, Kaleb. You haven’t.”
“You’d tell me if I have, right?”
“Immediately.”
That’s for sure. I know as much. It’s happened many times in the past few weeks. Carefully, I say, “Would you be similarly inclined to disclose the information if I’ve done something right?”
Warm shades that match the deep hues of the sunset sky behind her ignite in her cheeks, plunging red through her face to the roots of her hair. “Can you…tell?”
“Can I tell what?”
“Is this one of those stupid parenting mistakes where you see the chocolate all over my face, but you’re still giving me the opportunity to lie and say,no, I didn’t eat the cupcake, even though it’s so obvious I did? ” She rakes in a breath at the end of her ramble and states, “Don’t thrust the facts in my face and punish me. If you know something, just say so.”
That sounds an awful lot like something worth unpacking in therapy. “I can pretty much promise that I have no intention of punishing you unless you ask for it.”
Shivering, she whispers, “No…thank you.”
“All right then. Now. Are you lying to me about something?”
“About what would I be lying, Kaleb?”
I haven’t the faintest clue.
Maybe it’s best to let this go…at least until she’s ready to tell me more about whatever’s going on.
With that in mind, I lift her fingers to my lips, kiss, and say, “I care about you. I’m here if you ever need to tell me anything. I like feeling useful. I want to help, however I can, as often as I can. So please don’t withhold any opportunities.”
“I…won’t.” She bolsters, pulling her hand from mine and opening the car door. “I’m hungry. Let’s eat?”
Stepping out with her, I try to shake the sensation that something has changed, but I can’t.
I can’t figure anything out during our meal, and I can’t figure anything out on the trip home.
An entire week goes by with her walking on eggshells around me, dodging me, avoiding touching me, even begging me with her eyes not to touch her when I try to keep up appearances in front of her staff.
Gutted, I drift slowly closer to an existential crisis every time she pushes me farther and farther away.
When date day comes and goes without her planning anything, I can’t stop myself from wallowing in every last one of my actions that led us to this moment.
I mentioned horseback riding. I took her horseback riding. She was sohappyto go horseback riding. I took her to her favorite restaurant. She was tense. And then everything fell apart.
And I don’t know what I did, or how to go back.
