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She must feel it, because she tightens her arms around my neck.
“Clinic calling? Someone needs you?” she asks, her whisper warm against my mouth.
I shrug. “It’s kind of my brand.”
She hums in agreement and kisses me again. “My hero. Thank you for making time for me.”
I pull away so I can look at her. “Are you kidding? I wish I could spend all my time with you.”
She gives me a sad smile and glances at the ground. “You might get tired of me,” she whispers.
“I can’t imagine the possibility.”
She takes a step away and, still looking at the grass by her feet says, “I can’t imagine getting tired of you, either, but there’s some precedent for me just kind of losing interest.”
This is probably not the greatest moment to revisit this conversation, but I can tell she’s worrying about it now. So we’ll talk about it now. I force myself to say the words. “Do you mean you have a history of losing interest in men?”
She shakes her head. “No. Only in playing the violin. But maybe it’s going to develop into a pattern.”
I place my hands on her hips and wait for her to look up at me. My phone buzzes again. But this conversation is important, too, so I stay. And I wait. I can tell she’s processing the likelihood that this is a diagnosable disorder. Maybe even her odds of contracting it.
She lets her eyes flick to mine and then away, and then back again. I put a hand to the side of her neck. “Sage, I know you. And I understand the things you get nervous about. And I can’t promise you’ll always feel the way you feel right now, or that I will.”
She twitches with the effort of holding my gaze.
“But I can promise you this,” I say, and my fingers move to tuck a curl behind her ear. “I am interested in spending time with you. In getting to know you. And in discovering what we might become to each other. And as long as you’re up for it, I’m ready to choose you.”
A slow, calm smile spreads over her face. “That’s the best promise ever. I choose you, too.”
23
SAGE
The more I pick up my violin over the next few days, the more I feel connected. To the music, to the idea of finding a new way to fit this into my life. I know I’m past the point of being a professional. I know I don’t want to dedicate hours and hours a day to playing.
I heard back from Ted’s assistant. There’s a plan. I’m officially in the program. And I won’t just show up Thursday night and wing it. I’m practicing. I’m working on tone and tempo as the recording of “Fire at Night” plays in my earbuds. I’m holding the instrument every day.
It’s been a long time since this was a daily part of my life, but for the first time I can remember, playing feels like play.
And practicing the song isn’t the only extra work I’m doing. I’ve got some things to repair with Tessie.
I don’t know if she and Hayes will show up after class Monday to grab their usual study room for their usual purposes. But just in case she’s worried about how I will react to the idea, I send her a text as classes end letting her know I’ve kept a room reserved for them.
When she arrives at the circulation desk, she looks nervous. Shy. Sheepish, our grandma would call it.
“Hi,” she says, leaning only slightly on the counter.
I could drag this out, make it tough for her, demand that she beg for my forgiveness. But that kind of thing doesn’t sit right with me. So even though I’m not planning to make it hard, I’m also not going to pass over the apology part.
I wait.
“Sage,” she says, and her cheeks flush. It’s definitely a signal that she’s trying not to cry. She rubs her nose with her fist. “I am so sorry that I took your keys. I promise nothing like this will ever happen again. I already told Hayes I’m not ever going to ask for your keys ever again. Ever.”
Now that we’re both mostly grown up, there are only a few times I recognize how much difference there can be in five years. This is one of those times. Tessie, standing here clutching her hands together in front of her and overusing “ever” seems very young to me. I’m surprised the realization doesn’t annoy me. Mostly I feel more inclined to forgive her. After all, she is still a kid.
But she’s not done, and I’m ready to listen to the next part.
“I don’t know how long it takes to get brain damage breathing that gross tunnel air, but I know I said some things to you I’d like to blame on carbon monoxide poisoning. Maybe I was literally out of my mind. I was sick, but I was also ruthless. And I don’t mean any of it. You’re not a quitter. Changing your mind is always okay, and nobody should expect you to make a life out of something you don’t love. And speaking of love, Dr. Mercer isn’t a phase.” She’s leaning closer now, and her voice is appropriately low. “I’m so sorry that I said those mean and stupid things about him and about your job. Having you here is one of the best parts of Chamberlain. Please can you forgive me for the horrible things I said?”
