I ran a hand over the soft hem of my dress as I thought about teaching without Grace across the hall from me next year. We’d been together so long I could hardly imagine it. But that wasn’t what she needed to hear. No, she needed me to give her permission to grow and change, even if that took us down different roads. Even if I felt like I was being torn in half. “I’m going to hope and pray that your fiancé can round up some of his big, strong firefighter buddies to pack your classroom because I’m not qualified for that kind of hard labor. And then”—I held up my hands, let them fall to my lap—“I’ll help decorate your new room. I’ll listen to you complain about your new principal and how the other teachers aren’t nearly as fun as we were, and I won’t even sayI told you so. Not once.”
We laughed for a moment but then Grace sobered. “Thank you for understanding.”
I smiled and gave her hand a squeeze. “Don’t thank me too hard. Ihaveto understand. Otherwise, I’d just be a cold-hearted bitch and that’s your role in this relationship.”
A laugh tore out of her and she flopped back in her chair, kicking her feet up in front of her. “Oh my god, what am I going to do without you?” She wiped tears from her eyes as she went on laughing.
“You’ll probably be tried as a witch,” I said. “At the minimum, a heretic.”
Still laugh-sobbing, she asked, “And what about you?”
“Oh, well, I’ll probably need a few months to recover from the Stockholm Syndrome you’ve had me under all these years but I’ll be okay. I will have to watch the poor soul who takes over your class and inherits Satan’s finest soldiers next year but I’ll make sure Jamie keeps her little fridge stocked with emotional support snacks for them.”
“It’s the least you can do.”
We watched the city lights for a few minutes before Grace asked, “Will you take pics of me on the ladder before I leave?”
“Yeah, of course. We need to make the most of your camera-ready face.”
“I knew you’d understand.”
After Grace headed home,I changed into a hoodie and sleep shorts and went downstairs to grab a fresh load of laundry from the dryer. I tossed my phone on top of my warm clothes and called Ryan. He answered on the second ring.
“How’s the arm?” I asked immediately. I refilled my water bottle in the kitchen and headed down the hall toward the stairs.
“Tired,” he said, and that was exactly how he sounded. “But solid. They’ve had great advice. Made some good tweaks.”
“That’s good because I won’t marry a QB averaging fewer than two hundred passing yards a game.”
“One, you know my average is two-seventy and two, let’s get married this weekend.”
I dropped the laundry basket halfway up the staircase, sending everything tumbling down. My stainless steel water bottle bounded down each step with a noisy clank and my phone went with it.
“Hold on,” I yelled, scrambling to the landing to grab the basket and then scooping up my sweatshirts and undies. The only saving grace was that my water bottle had stayed closed. “I just need to find the phone. Everything’s fine. It’s here somewhere. One moment please.” I heard the muffled sound of my name and realized my phone was somewhereinmy clothes. It took a few frantic moments before I found it hiding in the arm of my favorite dark orange cardigan. “Okay. We’re back. We’re good.”
“Muggsy,” he said with a sigh. “What the fuck just happened?”
“Nothing,” I said, a little breathless. “Just a small laundry situation. On the stairs. Where my phone was eaten. By a sweater.”
He was quiet for a second. “Are you fucking with me again?”
“This time, no, I’m not.”
Another pause. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, of course.” I sounded like I’d just run a mile. “You were saying something about this weekend?”
“Do me a favor and sit down first,” he said.
I made my way up to my room and set the basket down. Leaning back against the pillows, I said, “Go ahead. I’m safe in my bed.”
“You’re—oh. Yeah.” I heard him swallow a gulp of something and then clear his throat. “Let’s get married this weekend.”
The word “Okay” fell out of my mouth automatically and then, after a hazy blink, “Wait. Grace’s housewarming party is on Saturday and—and we can’t miss that.”
“We won’t miss it.” He shifted and I heard a rough exhale. He was probably sore after all that practice. “Friday, then.”
I pressed my fingers to my lips. Friday was the day after tomorrow. Two sleeps from now. Two sleeps until mywedding day?
