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The second the words left my mouth, I was convinced I’d said something stupid; the kind of thing people aren’t supposed to say—as if there’s an international accord about what can and can’t be said and everyone has access to the master document except for me. Then she smiled at me and said, “Look at you, saying the perfect thing.”
I wasn’t inclined to argue, especially since it sounded a lot like she was agreeing. Earlier, it had felt like she was going to run from me, even as she refused to leave the apartment, so I was inclined to take what I could get, for as long as I could get it.
I got to sleep enveloped by her scent, by the feeling of her soft skin against mine. Usually, I’m restless because it feels like something is wrong—the sheets, the heat level in the apartment, the work I was supposed to do but didn’t. The ignored calls on my phone. Last night, I was restless because I wanted to absorb every bit of the night as it defied me by passing by.
I don’t really want us to leave the apartment. It’s stupid, but it feels like the spell will end if we do. It feels like Mira might wake up and realize that I’m not what she wants. At the same time, I don’t want Ruthie coming here until we have a better idea of what’s going on. So I text my sister back.
Why don’t we meet for brunch. 11:00, Corner Kitchen? Mira’s used to her hours at the bar, so she sleeps late.
Ah, to be able to sleep in again. God bless.
Her answer makes me smile as I get ready for the day, putting on the red checkered shirt from Mira’s shopping spree.
Ruthie always bemoans the fact that Izzy’s like me—an early riser. She’s never once slept past seven, even though my sister encourages her to sleep in. I’ve brought Izzy on early morning bike rides before—I have a special seat for her—but I’d never bring her on the Blue Ridge Parkway. Too dangerous. I may be willing to risk my own life, but not hers.
I clean up the living room and make coffee. Then—because I’m buzzing inside, full of energy, I tuck back the curtain and look at the apartment across the way. It’s empty again, no folding table, no folding chair, no woman, which sends a chill through me. Did she clear out because she noticed we’d closed the blinds? If so, what will she try next?
I text Deacon the news, such as it is.
I’m looking out the window again, seeing a whole lot of nothing, when Mira emerges from the bedroom on her crutches. Her hair is rumpled, and I smile at the memory of yesterday’s leaf. Her lips part when she notices where I’m standing.
My smile falls. “It’s empty.”
She swings forward, and we lift the blinds and look at the same empty window.
“I don’t like this,” she says.
Neither do I, but I don’t want her worrying, so I say, “This is good. Maybe she got scared off. Or hell, she really could have been with the realtors after all.”
She doesn’t seem convinced, but then again, it’s not easy to be convincing when you don’t believe a thing yourself. I relay the plans, and then we spend the rest of the morning drinking coffee and doing a crossword puzzle together.
It’s probably a pretty basic thing to do.
It’s fun. I feel a deep sense of contentment, like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be, with exactly who I’m supposed to be with, doing exactly what I was meant to do. It’s…nice.
I help Mira shower, which makes it take twice as long, because I want to trace and taste every last inch of her, and then we do exercises for her ankle before heading out the door. We park near the restaurant, and when we get out of the car, I see Ruthie and Izzy waiting outside. My heart lifts.
“That’s them, isn’t it?” Mira says softly as we walk closer. They still haven’t seen us yet. Izzy is searching the crowded sidewalks, but she’s looking in the wrong direction.
“How do you know?” I ask, surprised. People don’t usually pick up on that. Ruthie and I have the same thick, dark hair, but otherwise we don’t look much alike. She has bright blue eyes, and so does Izzy.
“I just know,” she says with a shrug. “Don’t you dare tell my sister or Shauna I said this, but I can feel it.”
She’s looking at me like she expects me to tease her, but I like the thought. Maybe it’s one of life’s Big Unknowns, how the bonds people feel for each other can be so big they’re seen and noticed.
Then Ruthie finally turns and sees us, her face brightening. She bends to say something to Izzy, and my niece comes hurtling in our direction.
“Uncle Danny!” she says as I sweep her up into my arms and whirl her around. Her little face is pink from the cold and maybe also excitement.
I set Izzy down and turn toward Mira, who’s watching us with a grin. “This is my niece, Izzy,” I say. “Izzy, this is my girlfriend, Mira.”
I’m repeating the word from yesterday because I like the way it sounds. Because I want Mira to know I mean it.
I might not know how our future will look, but I want us to have one. I think she wants that too—and that’s more than half the battle.
“Oh,” Izzy says with wide eyes. “Mom said we weren’t supposed to act like we knew about that.” She grins up at Mira. “You’re pretty.”
“Thanks,” she says, smiling at her. “So are you.”
