“Oh, yeah?” I kissed her again because I could, because she was here and letting me, because the alternative was explaining that I’d been ring shopping for a proposal I hadn’t planned yet but couldn’t stop thinking about.
She laughed against my mouth. “You’re impossible.”
“You’re persistent.”
“I’m a journalist. It’s my job.”
“Not this week or next. This month you’re on vacation, remember?”
“Involuntary vacation.” She pulled back just enough to look at me, her hands on my shoulders, her expression somewhere between amused and exasperated. “Fine. Keep your secrets.”
“I don’t have secrets.”
“You have at least one secret on that laptop.”
She climbed off my lap, and I immediately missed the weight of her. “But I’ll let it go. For now.”
“Very generous of you.”
“I’m a generous person.”
She walked toward the bedroom… her damp hair leaving faint marks on the white fabric.
When I heard the door close, I opened the laptop again.
Added the ring to my favorites.
Started drafting an email to the jeweler.
That evening, my phone rang. Claudette’s name lit up the screen.
Pauline was curled against me on the couch, reading a book—some thriller about a woman who faked her own death.
“I’ll be quick,” I told Pauline, kissing her temple before sliding off the couch.
“Take your time.” She didn’t look up from her book, but her hand squeezed mine before letting go.
I walked to the window, watched the city lights blur into patterns.
“Hey, Claudia.”
“Hey! I was just thinking about you. Are you coming to dinner on Sunday? Mom’s been asking.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Good. She’s been on this whole ‘family time is sacred’ kick lately. I think she read another self-help book.” She laughed softly. “Oh, and speaking of terrible ideas—Michael and I went furniture shopping yesterday. He’s convinced we need one of those massive sectionals that seats twelve people. I pointed out that we don’t know twelve people we’d want in our living room at once, and he said ‘not yet.’”
“That sounds like Michael.”
“Right? He’s already planning dinner parties like we’re running a—” She stopped. “Wait. What did you just say?”
“I said that sounds like Michael.”
“No, I know, but—” There was a pause. “You didn’t do the thing.”
“What thing?”
“The jaw thing. The one you do whenever Michael comes up in conversation.” Her voice went from confused to suspicious. “You know, where you sound like you’re trying to chew glass while pretending to be civil.”
