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I’m stuck for a second. “What do you mean?” I ask.
“Look,” Rhiannon says, “I’m happy you’ve come all this way. Really, I am. But I didn’t get much sleep last night, and I’m cranky as hell, and this morning when I got your email, I just thought: Is all of this really fair? Not to me or to you. But to these … people whose lives you’re kidnapping.”
“Rhiannon, I’m always careful—”
“I know you are. And I know it’s just a day. But what if something completely unexpected was supposed to happen today? What if her girlfriend is planning this huge surprise party for her? What if her lab partner is going to fail out of class if she’s not there to help? What if—I don’t know. What if there’s this huge accident, and she’s supposed to be nearby to pull a baby to safety?”
“I know,” I tell her. “But what if I’m the one that something is supposed to happen to? What if I’m supposed to be here, and if I’m not, the world will go the wrong direction? In some infinitesimal but important way.”
“But shouldn’t her life come above yours?”
“Why?”
“Because you’re just the guest.”
I know this is true, but it’s shocking to hear her say it. She immediately moves to soften what sounds like an accusation.
“I’m not saying you’re any less important. You know I’m not. Right now, you are the person I love the most in the entire world.”
“Really?”
“What do you mean, really?”
“Yesterday you said you didn’t love me.”
“I was talking about the metalhead. Not you.”
Our food arrives, but Rhiannon just stabs the ketchup with her French fries.
“I love you, too, you know,” I say.
“I know,” she tells me. But she doesn’t seem any happier.
“We’re going to get through this. Every relationship has a hard part at the beginning. This is our hard part. It’s not like a puzzle piece where there’s an instant fit. With relationships, you have to shape the pieces on each end before they go perfectly together.”
“And your piece changes shape every day.”
“Only physically.”
“I know.” She finally eats one of the fries. “I guess I need to work on my piece more. There’s too much going on. And you being here—that adds to the too much.”
“I’ll go,” I say. “After lunch.”
“It’s not that I want you to. I just think I need you to.”
“I understand,” I say. And I do.
“Good.” She smiles. “Now, tell me about this date you’re going on tonight. If I don’t get to be with you, I want to know who does.”
I’ve texted Dawn to tell her I’m not in school, but the date is still on. We’re meeting for dinner after she’s done with field-hockey practice.
I get back to Vic’s house at the usual time he’d come back home from school. Safe in my room, I feel the usual set of predate jitters. I see that Vic has a large selection of ties in h
is closet, leading me to believe that he likes wearing them. So I put together a dapper outfit—maybe a little too dapper, but if what I’ve accessed about Dawn is true, I know she’ll appreciate it.
I whittle away the hours online. There’s no new email from Rhiannon, and there are eight new emails from Nathan, none of which I open. Then I go to Vic’s playlists and listen to some of the songs he’s listened to the most. I often find new music this way.
Finally, it’s a little before six and I’m out the door. It’s almost strange how much I’m looking forward to this. I want to be a part of something that works, no matter what the challenge.
