“Well... think of yes, then sort of think of the opposite of yes, and that’s pretty much what I mean when I say no.”
“Maybe I haven’t made things clear.”
“You have. My glasses have never been cleaner.”
“Thing is, I need this bench.”
“Who says I don’t need this bench?”
“Why on earth would you need this bench? Take a nap somewhere else.”
“I wasn’t napping. I was writing.”
She picked up his notebook, which had flopped open on the ground. “With what? Invisible ink?”
“Hey.” He held his hand out for the notebook. “That’s private.”
She twisted away from him, flipping through the pages. “Which part? The spiral wires and empty blue lines?”
“For the record—”
“Oh, see? You’re into keeping records too.”
“Saint-Pol-Roux would hang an inscription above his door that readThe poet is workingwhile he slept.” He pointed at her as if he’d just proven something before retrieving his hat, which had apparently gotten knocked to the ground during the fierce battle of Birkenstock vs. Nike.
“I’m sorry,” McKenna said after she felt like she’d taken the appropriate amount of time to decipher what he’d just said, which was probably three seconds longer than the statement deserved. “Did we just transition into some bizarre version ofJeopardy!?Bzzzz.” McKenna pretended to click a buzzer in her hand. “What are random sentences that don’t mean anything?”
“It does mean something. It means sometimes a poet needs time to ponder before he’s ready to put forth any words.”
“Ah, so you’re a poet. Well, Mr. Emily Dickinson, you want to know what I’m pondering right now? Why you can’t put forth your pre-pondered words from a different location. Like any one of the dozens of benches along that trail.” She pointed to the path she’d just walked down.
Wait. No. That’s the one Oliver and Bobbi would probably be coming down. Last thing she needed was for them to stumble upon a strange poetpondering. Not when she desperately needed this proposal to happen.
“On second thought, take that trail.” McKenna pointed to one that was likely still flooded from an unusually heavy rain season in the spring, but this rhymester didn’t need to know that. “If I recall correctly, there’s a real nice pondering bench less than a half mile up the trail.”
She gently pushed him in the direction of the muddy trail.
Then pushed harder when he refused to budge.
He was a tall guy. But then, she was a tall girl. She ought to be able to shove him further than an inch.
“Can’t help but notice,” she said, grunting the same way she had when she moved her refrigerator on her own to repaint the kitchen a few months ago, “that you’re not really moving.”
“With all due respect—not that I think you’re due any—I was here first. Why can’t you find a different bench? Like any one of the dozens of benches on that trail?”
“Well, if you must know—not that I think you must—none of those benches are where my sister shared her first kiss with her boyfriend.Thisis the bench. Which is why I need to make surethisbench is perfect. Becausethisis the bench where Oliver is going to propose tonight. And yes, it has to be tonight. Why, you ask?”
“Didn’t ask.”
“Because my sister’s flying out first thing tomorrow morning to attend a friend’s destination wedding in Italy. Apparently Nebraskaisn’t romantic enough for a wedding, imagine that. So if Oliver doesn’t pop the question tonight then he won’t get another chance until after my sister gets back in another three weeks, at which time she’ll be starting her new job at the Nature Conservatory of Nebraska, which will probably make Oliver think he needs to wait a while longer so she can settle into her job, like another three months, and nobody wants to wait another three months. Not Bobbi. Not me. Not anyone. Just like nobody wants to receive a marriage proposal sitting on a bench covered in bird poop.” She scrubbed at an especially large glob of white.
“I don’t know. You ask me, bird poop sets the tone for what marriage is really like.”
“Well, nobody did ask you, Mr. Wet-Blanket-Pondering-Bench-Hog.” McKenna paused in scrubbing and sighed. This man was bringing out the worst in her. Normally she’d never act this way with a stranger. Especially over a bench. But it wasn’t about a stranger and a bench, was it? It was about her sister getting her perfect proposal so that she could start a new life with Oliver, and McKenna could start a new life somewhere exciting, like LA.
McKenna straightened her spine. Then tried straightening it some more.Ugh.This guy would have the nerve to be a smidgeon taller than her, wouldn’t he? “What do I have to do to make you leave?”
He glanced at the river running next to them, then back at her, his hazel eyes crinkled in thought. “I don’t know. Might have to ponder the question a bit.”
