Part 24 (1/2)
”I guess we'll have to see in a few years, then, and find out who's right.” I stepped away from the cafe table. And from Sam.
Are you still with me, Jane? I asked her.
Yes, she whispered. I am here.
But Sam wasn't done with me yet. ”We will see,” he called out, as I turned to go. ”You can bet on it.”
11.
What is the difference, in matrimonial
affairs, between the mercenary
and the prudent motive?
-Pride and Prejudice It's strange how time flies. One day you're twenty-six, sitting at a cafe table in the middle of a bookstore in summer, staring at your first love over mochaccinos...and the next day you're thirty-two, wandering around downtown Chicago on Christmas Eve, wis.h.i.+ng you were drinking mochaccinos (or anything hot) with your supposedly serious boyfriend and wondering when the h.e.l.l he planned on proposing to you.
No, I know it didn't happen quite that suddenly, but it kind of felt like it. Maybe because in the past several years-except for taking the occasional continuing ed cla.s.s or going on a mini-vacation to break up the routine-nothing really significant had happened to me.
Aside from dating Tim, that is. And even this wasn't truly significant until our third Christmas together.
But that frosty night, Timothy Taylor Farthington III kept yanking on my arm in a somewhat less-than-aristocratic manner, abandoning his thirty-three years of inbred country-club behavior in favor of a childlike glee one might find among ten-year-olds at Disney World.
”These lights are so cool!” Tim said, tugging me along Chicago's Miracle Mile inch by freezing inch. ”G.o.d, I've missed Christmas in the States.”
”Yes,” I told him. ”I've always felt so bad for you having to suffer through a tropical December on Fiji. Must be real traumatic.” I squeezed his hand tight and he ground to a stop, his lips a tiny bit pouty. ”But I'm going to be an ice block soon if you don't get me some coffee. How about we enjoy the nifty lights from inside Starbucks?” I pointed at the coffee shop kitty-corner from us, my feet rooted to the sidewalk.
He kissed my frozen nose and broke into a reluctant grin. ”Okay, but only until you warm up. I want to walk all of Michigan Avenue before dinner.” He glanced down the famous street and exhaled, wisps of his breath billowing around us.
He ordered us a couple mugs of some special Colombian thing and I took a sip. Hot, thank G.o.d. ”Thanks,” I told him. ”I think you just saved me from being a cryogenics experiment.”
He glanced heavenward, then back at me. ”Sometimes I can't believe you've been a lifelong Midwesterner, Ellie. You know, it's about twenty-five degrees colder than this in New Hamps.h.i.+re right now. You'd never survive one of our winters.” He added a sprinkle of nutmeg to his drink, tasted it and added a bit more.
”You're probably right. Good thing you're the one who relocated. You're so adaptable.” I made a face to ensure my mockery was noted.
Tim wadded up one of the paper napkins and tossed it at me. It bounced off my head and I retaliated by kicking him under the table. Our coffee mugs wobbled and a few droplets sploshed onto the table's surface.
He waved one of the napkins in the air. ”Truce.” Then, after a few gulps, he added, ”I'll get even with you later.”
I laughed. Tim's idea of retribution was, at its most dangerous, tickling. In our three years of monogamous dating, I'd never seen him get worked into a good sweat over anything-our s.e.x life included-so a counterattack didn't frighten me.
Not that our s.e.x life was bad, per se. But, like most things with Tim, it was refined, sophisticated, polished.
No wild-monkey s.e.x a la Andrei Sergiov. However, for all of Andrei's explosiveness in bed, I realized later that he and I had never made love. With him, it'd been about pure s.e.xual impulse...not about being gentle, sweet or earnest, qualities I believed Tim had in abundance.
I swiped the napkin off the floor and blotted the coffee on the table with another one. ”I'm going to have to have a talk with your mother about your table manners.”
”Oh, c.r.a.p. Bad news,” he said. ”I forgot to tell you. My parents left me a voice mail at work today. They added a stopover in Hong Kong, so they'll be a week late getting home. I guess Mom wanted to do some serious shopping.”
My jaw dropped. ”A week late? Tim, I'll be back at work then-”
He looked at me, apologetic. ”I know. I'll change our flights. I'll go out East myself after they get back, wish them a Happy New Year for us, and you and I can do our week with them over your spring break, maybe.” He put his coffee cup down and reached for my hand. ”I'm sorry. I was looking forward to our trip, too, but I think Mom and Dad just got carried away. They weren't really thinking.”
Well, of course they were thinking, I thought, feeling mean and resentful. They were thinking about themselves. As always. And they let their only child cover for them. But I said, ”That's okay. It's not your fault.” I sighed. ”So, now that we won't be spending a cozy week in New Hamps.h.i.+re at your parents' place, should we go somewhere else instead?”
He raised a light brown eyebrow and looked interested. ”Like where?”
”Virgin Islands, maybe. We could get our hair braided. Or-” I said, going out on a limb, ”Las Vegas to elope.”
His brow plunged. ”Hmm. Don't know about that.” The thin wrinkle brackets around his mouth deepened. ”I should probably work a few of those days anyway if I'm going to have to still go back home in January. I'll need to pack in some billable hours before then.”
”Oh,” I said. Tim was a dedicated contract lawyer. Of course, I suspected his reticence had less to do with how seriously he took his position in the firm and more with the mention of the ”E” word. He didn't sanction the elopement idea. He thought marriage ought to be undertaken with only the greatest solemnity, and he intended for us to have a big wedding ceremony someday.
Someday being the operative word.
”We could probably do a long weekend in the area, though. And something special for New Year's Eve.” He drained his coffee and glanced out the window. ”But tonight I want to see all the colored lights flas.h.i.+ng and sparkling. I want to hold your hand walking down the chilly street. And I want to visit your family tomorrow for Christmas. Let's have a fun, stress-free holiday. Okay?”
This was cla.s.sic Tim-dismissing the subject and putting a quiet end to any potential whining at the same time. What was I supposed to plead in my opening argument? Yeah, I embraced stress...No, he shouldn't do something reasonable like work when he could be doing something irresponsible like eloping with me in a place where secrets supposedly never left the city limits...
Only, was eloping really so rash and reckless?
We were, after all, mature adults who knew each other's families and, more impressively, got along with them tolerably well.
We had, after all, dated with the intent to marry.
And we did, after all, have our careers in order and jobs that supported our rather staid lifestyle.
What was wrong with us doing something kind of spontaneous if we planned to eventually do the ”M” deed anyway?
I opened my mouth to ask this, but Tim cut me off. ”Please, Ellie. Let's just enjoy the night.”
And I gave in.
Why? Well, because of what he said next.
”I chose your Christmas present months ago.” He tugged me out the door as a burst of Arctic air blew on our faces. ”And I can't wait to finally give it to you tomorrow. I think you're gonna like it,” he added with a wink.
If it was the gift I'd been hoping for this whole past year, I knew I'd love it.
Di, who'd been dating a string of patently unsuitable men for the past several years, showed up alone at my parents' house the next day. She had an odd cast to her complexion, part ashen, part edgy, part something else. It had me worried.