“You could probably knock them all out at the Winter Ball after Thanksgiving,” he said. I looked at him, waiting patiently.
The longer I looked at him, the more I could see he was fighting a smile.
“You’re going to make me ask, aren’t you?” I said.
Because he teased me about it, I felt more comfortable knowing that he’d always intended to ask me.
Finally, a full-size Pace smile beamed at me. “I’m not going to make you ask. It’s assumed.” He leaned forward and kissed my cheek. “We’re going to get you in a fancy dress and get you to that ball. And I will do my best to find a hot guy to dance with you.”
I shoved at his shoulders, rolling my eyes.
“Again ... there are plenty of single guys at the firehouse ...”
Just like last time, this prompted a growl of anger and a tackle. After more kissing that had to be stopped because we physically couldn’t anymore, we came back to sitting and snuggling.
Once more, the list sat heavy like a metaphorical elephant on the nightstand, holding its own flashing neon sign to make us look at it.
“And then that will be everything on the list,” I said.
My mouth felt dry, my words tacky.
I wanted him to reassure me that we would still see each other.
I would be better then. I felt in my soul that I could finish that list, prove to the world that I was more than a socially anxious hermit.
But the problem was that Pace was becoming a person in my life who would make Grandma El weep for feminism. I felt myself wanting to trash the list if it meant more time with him.
I wanted to see where Pace and I were going. Because we had to be going somewhere now, right? He didn’t confess his lack of partners as some sort of game to lure me into bed. His hesitation had been real. His desire for me too. This wasn’t a game to either of us.
“I’m nervous,” I admitted when he didn’t say anything.
“That’s normal for you.” He grabbed my hands and kissed my nose. “But you keep doing it anyway.”
I smiled. I was about to breach the topic of The After when he spoke again.
“You should feel really proud of yourself, Soph. This is all incredible.” He gestured to the list on the nightstand. “Think about when we met.”
An image of me swathed under my blanket and blinking up from crafting glasses assailed me. “No, thanks,” I said.
He turned the light off with a chuckle.
“Come here,” he said, and as always, was comfortable bringing me into his arms. He situated me so my back was flat against his chest, and we sank lower into bed.
“I’m serious. You are incredibly courageous. More than me, I think.” He spoke with a soft sincerity that made me wonder what he could possibly be talking about. He was the bravest, kindest person in town, possibly on the planet.
“You’re the hero, sir.”
“Yeah, that’s my job. You are scared, but you do things anyway. Maybe anxiety is part of your process.”
I thought about this. “What do you mean?”
“Like, maybe, instead of trying to combat against it, you just acknowledge Anxiety as you get ready. Like, you just have to accept that you need to brush your teeth or get dressed. ‘Oh, there’s Anxiety, right on time. Are we ready?’” He said this all in a mock feminine tone, but the truth of it hit me.
“I just have to carry Anxiety with me. Like an ugly purse.”
“More like that buzzkill friend who you love and can’t quite get rid of. Then just let the momentum of action carry you the rest of the way.”
And him. He carried me too. Made me be braver. If I needed momentum to get started, then Pace was my inertia. But I didn’t want to admit that.
