Part 25 (2/2)
”Yes, you did.”
”No, I didn't. Really. What I meant to say...what I meant was...”
More silence.
”Fine,” I said sharply, getting up. ”I'll be at the guest house, if you ever decide what you meant.”
Surprised, she grabbed my sleeve. ”You can't go now. It's 3 in the morning.”
”It'll be 3 in the morning there, too. But at least it'll be quiet.” Frowning, I searched the dresser again. ”Where are the keys?”
”I'll tell you if you answer one question.”
”What question?”
”Why won't you move in with me?”
Annoyed, I started to repeat all the reasons I'd given her, over and over, for weeks. (1) We were both used to living alone. (2) We hadn't been together that way very long. (3) We had no idea whether this kind of relations.h.i.+p could last. And (4) I didn't want to wake up in a peach-and-white bedroom every morning. But none of those reasons was the whole truth. The whole truth was...
”I don't want to.”
Ca.s.sie looked stunned.
”It's not that I don't love you. I do. But I also love that we're both independent.”
She gave me her very worst Bad Look. ”I'm not asking to put a leash on you.”
”Too kinky.”
She didn't even smile.
”All right, let me put it another way. I don't think we'd last very long if we moved in together. You know what women say when their husbands retire? 'I married you for better or worse, not for lunch.' You're not with me for lunch, Ca.s.s.”
”That's not for you to decide.”
”Maybe not. But how do you know it would be any different with us?”
”Because I love you.” She glowered at me. ”Well, sometimes I love you. When you're not being impossible.”
”Forget that for a second. I know you. You're not good at the long-term thing. And I don't have a clue about relations.h.i.+ps anymore. What if we moved in together and then decided we hate each other?”
”We already do,” she snapped. ”What's your point?”
Wearily, I rubbed the bridge of my nose. This could go for on for a few more hours -- or the rest of our lives. ”Tell you what. Let's try to make a deal. Interested?”
”Depends,” she said suspiciously. ”What deal?”
”Let's try it this way. We keep our own places for now. I'll rent another condo or something, and we leave things the way they are. Then...”
”That doesn't sound like a deal to me.”
”I'm not done yet. Then, if we're still together after a year, we'll talk about moving in. OK?”
She thought it over. ”That's your best offer?”
”My best offer,” I confirmed, ”and my absolute final answer. What do you say?”
Ca.s.sie thought a little more. ”All right, fine. Have it your way. But we make the year retroactive to Halloween.”
”What? Why would we want to do that?”
”That was when all this started. I would say it's our anniversary, but you hate that.”
”I hate it,” I agreed.
”Anyway, I gave; now you have to give. One year from Halloween. Deal?”
That was two months less than I'd bargained for, and I wasn't sure I wanted to give them up. So I told her to give me a minute and then started to pace. How many things had I already done that I didn't want to do?
I'd admitted to our relations.h.i.+p in public.
I'd admitted to it on TV.
I'd admitted to it in front of her parents and -- much worse -- my mother.
I'd gone home with her for Thanksgiving.
I'd taken her home for Christmas.
I'd bought her a ring. Well, not that kind of ring, but...
”Am I taking you out New Year's Eve?” I asked.
She smiled. ”Stupid question.”
That was that, then. I was done for. Not just because I'd done those things, but also because, given the choice, I'd have done them all over again.
”Deal,” I finally said, and spat in my hand. ”Shake.”
<script>