If she’s wondering whether her favorite flowers are currently available in the dead of winter…they’re not.
“I’m so sorry our tulips aren’t in season yet, but like I mentioned, I hope this makes up for it.” Betty hands Gracie a white porcelain vase with hand-painted red tulips crawling up the sides.
Gracie gives a small gasp as she turns the vase in her hands. “I…wow. This is beautiful.”
“We’re known for our hand-painted vases, but we keep them all in the back. Too many accidents over the years,” Betty explains.
Gracie lifts her chin, staring into my eyes with warmth and affection. “Danny, thank you so much. This is incredibly thoughtful. I’ll treasure it.”
I smile, happy and relieved she loves it. “When Betty sent me a picture, it reminded me of you. Now you can have red tulips all year long.”
Gracie returns my smile with a blinding one of her own as she hugs the vase to her body.
Now I wish Iwasthe vase.
“Okay, well. We don’t want to be late for trivia. Thanks for everything, Betty.”
“Anytime, dear. Go Mustangs!”
With my hand on the small of her back, I guide Gracie through the hallway that connects the flower shop and the bar, wrapped in the scent of her coconut and vanilla perfume. It all feels so surreal.
As we approach the end of the hallway, she abruptly turns around. “Before we get back there, there’s something you should know about me.”
“Okay…”
She cringes. “I’ve only gotten more competitive over the past ten years.”
“Jesus, Gracie. How can you getmorecompetitive?”
She drums her nails against the vase. “I wasn’tthatcompetitive before.”
“You made Tessie cry when we watchedKids Jeopardy!together. She was ten.”
“I’m sorry!” She gestures wildly. “It’s hard for me to pretend not to know things!”
I try to find the door at the end of the hallway very interesting, so as to not laugh in her face.
“Anyway, I hate to say it, but just let me do the talking.” She takes a small step forward, having said her piece.
“You don’t want me to answer any questions?” I ask, my voice dripping with exaggerated innocence.
“I want to win.” She throws the statement over her shoulder.
I give a long, low whistle. “Wow. I thought this would be a roman–um,friendshiphang, but you’re leaving me in the dust.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Roman Friendship Hang, huh? Sounds very Italian.”
“Fine, Gracie. Silence me.”
She pats me on the arm a few times. “Great. It’sanimal trivia, Danny,” she explains, like her reasoning is obvious. “You understand.”
It’s hard not to grin. Her casual touch, her offbeat logic, her comfortability to be her full, authentic self around me…thisis what I missed.
She pushes the automatic door button as I respond in a warning tone, “But let me say this: If I know an answer, Iwillbe buzzing in.”
“Sure, sure,” she brushes me off with a wave of her hand. “Ifyou know one.”
We take a seat at the last remaining table in the bar. I receive a few curious looks from patrons, which is an everyday occurrence for me in New York. Strangers either try to place where they know me from or ask for a picture. There are a few families here, which is even more dangerous. A boy who looks to be about nine years old bounces in his seat and points to me. His mom tries to gently push down his arm, but it’s no use. The boy gets more animated, eagerly waving to me now.
