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The first trimester is just as brutal as everyone says it is. I’m tired, though I shouldn’t be. I’m not carrying any extra weight yet, but I still feel like I could lie down on the sidewalk, right on the snow, and be out like a light within seconds.
I make sure to leave for the hospital with enough time to make it to Boston Beans first. Connor went to the gym early, but his mom was up with the sun, making cinnamon toast and filling the whole house with the delicious smell. If it’s possible, I fell even more in love with Connor for having a mother like her. Pure angel, truly.
She filled up my plate and packed me a lunch of Thanksgiving leftovers then sent me on my merry way. I feel so grateful that our child will have her as a grandmother.
Boston Beans is crowded with Bostonians and tourists up and at ’em with their newspapers, cutting out coupons and figuring out their plan of attack for the sales going on around the city. Gina is hustling behind the counter, working her butt off, but when she sees me, she stops on a dime.
“You’re here!”
It’s quite a greeting. Sure, Gina’s always nice, but she doesn’t usually jump for joy when I arrive or anything.
I laugh and shrug like, Yup. I’m here.
Then her gaze flits to the lost and found wall, and there in the very center, I spot a piece of printer paper pinned over Connor’s face on the calendar. I swallow a gasp. No one, in all the years that calendar has been up, has ever deigned to cover it with something. I’m curious who had the guts to do it now. Something’s written in the dead center of the paper, but I can’t make it out from where I stand in line, so I walk over and take a look for myself.
My breath catches when I realize it’s addressed to me.
Natalie, meet me at the corner of Joy and Beacon.No name takes credit for the note, but I’d recognize Connor’s scribbly doctor handwriting anywhere.
Still, I turn back to Gina for confirmation. “Did he do this?”
She shrugs innocently while fighting back her smile. “I’ve been sworn to secrecy.”
I laugh and shake my head, debating whether or not I should get back in line for my tea. I mean, this note is beckoning me toward a destination, but I still have work this morning. I won’t survive without my tea.
Gina’s on it. From behind the counter, she holds up a to-go cup, as if she had it prepared ahead of time, and then I step back outside into the brisk air, wrapping my scarf tighter around my neck.
It’s bitterly cold out and I brace myself against the wind as I fight through pedestrians on the sidewalk.
I have no idea what Connor’s up to. He knows I have work this morning. If he’s trying to be sweet, he’ll have to be quick about it because I can’t be late for rounds. Fortunately, the corner of Joy and Beacon is on my way to work anyway, so I’m not running behind. The limestone steps of The Common’s entrance come into view up ahead as I approach Joy Street, and a little zing of excitement shoots through me as I glance around for Connor. I cross the street and walk along the park side of the road, watching the runners on the path. Their breaths hang heavy in the air, fogging in front of them like little white clouds. Melted snow has been corralled toward the edges of the sidewalks, all but forgotten. Tomorrow, more will come and take its place, and I can’t even be mad. I love winter in Boston. I think I’ll love it even more this year.
Two runners pass through the epicenter of the walking path, the spot where four trails merge together right at Joy. They weave around someone and that’s when I spot Connor through the bars of the black wrought iron fence, standing there looking like a vision in dark jeans and boots and a black pea coat. A navy scarf is wrapped around his neck with the ends tucked in. He’s clean-shaven and his brown hair is combed and styled nicely. He’s paid careful attention to his appearance this morning, and I know he definitely didn’t just come from the gym.
I smile and wonder what he has up his sleeve.
He stays right there in the middle of the path, in everyone’s way, but no one seems to mind. They step around him and glance back to get a second look. I don’t blame them—he stands out. Connor has always been in a league of his own.
I walk closer to the entrance of the park, where the fence gives way to two large limestone pillars that frame either side of the grand staircase. Connor spots me as I pause on the top stair. Our eyes meet, and I wave and mouth “What are you doing?” with a bewildered smile.
