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“No apologies necessary. Maldives was what it was. I owe you millions of flowers for it.”
I resist telling him that despite all the drama and the lying that so many moments of our time on the Indian Ocean replay in my head on the daily. I reminisce about those stolen touches and little looks, the ones we said were for show, but still made me feel like I was flying.
“I’ll take care of everything. You won’t have to lift a finger. What day of the week is that?”
“It’s a T–”
“Tuesday, it’s a Tuesday.”
I smile to myself.
“Okay, then I’ll pick you up right from work.”
I flush. So many reasons to tell him “no”. Just as many reasons to say “yes”. Maybe more.
“I’ll see you then. February second. Groundhog Day! You think he’ll see his shadow?”
It won’t matter. Because whether he sees it or not, Spring is going to come early for me.
14
DREW
I didn’t bringflowers this time and now I’m regretting it. I waffled back and forth the entire time I was getting things ready for Dana’s birthday this morning. I thought maybe it would be too much, but now, looking at the picnic blanket with nothing but a basket of food on it, I’m thinking I’ve done too little. I didn’t even make the picnic food.
However, I scouted out a perfect location, picked out a perfect bottle of champagne, and, despite Dana’s wishes, I brought her a gift. A small thing. Nothing flashy.
I got her sisters roped in to have it all set up for us once we got to the beach. That way I could still pick her up from work and have things ready to go. They must have skittered off the second they saw my car pulling into the lot.
“I know it doesn’t look like much,” I say, tugging on the sleeve of my flannel.
Dana laughs. “Please, Drew, don’t be ridiculous.” She throws her hand toward the ocean. Placid and smoky on the horizon. “It’s perfect.”
A picnic in February in LA requires a little bit of bundling up, at least compared to our lifestyle the rest of the year. I’ve got my flannel, Dana is wearing a chunky sweater pulled over a slinky dress with a pair of perfectly white tennis shoes, which she has in her hand rather than on her feet.
“Should we sit?” I ask.
“Yes, I think we should.”
We settle onto the blanket. My heart is pounding. I haven’t seen her in nearly a month. The longest I’ve gone without Dana in my life the entire time I’ve known her, even when she was my grief counselor.
I’ve missed her. So much.
I pour us both a glass of champagne, the bottoms of which are laced with raspberries. “To you. Happy birthday,” I toast.
“Thank you,” she says with a shy smile.
Our glasses clink. I resist downing my champagne in one whole gulp. I’m so nervous. But Dana doesn’t respect liquid courage. I’ll take it slow.
“Um, I know this is a weird way to start a birthday celebration forme, but I actually have something for you,” Dana says. She pulls a tiny box from her purse.
“Dana…”
“I owed you a Christmas present!” she says. “Take it.”
I accept the box and shake it slightly. A little clattering inside.
“Careful,” she warns.
