I had to admit, this was a surprise. Suddenly, things looked different. I had to think before I answered. “I’d rather you be happy,” I told him
“Yeah?” he asked. I nodded. Then he said, slowly, “Well, that’s good to know.”
We just stood there, looking at each other, and suddenly, I felt it. It wasn’t a beach at night, the perfect moment, or an ideal beginning. Far from it. But something was happening, just like that moment I leaned into him, our hands cutting the cake. I just didn’t know what it was.
Or maybe I did.
“So,” I said quickly, “tablecloths, plates, forks. You said you have napkins?”
“Napkins,” he repeated. “Right. Only about forty.”
“Big ones?”
“Very small. Like cocktail size.” I sighed, then reachedout, collecting seven packs of twenty large ones and tossing them in the basket I was holding. “Do we need that many, really? Only thirty people are coming.”
“People are messy and like multiple napkins and they’re a buck each, Roger,” I said.
“Hey,” he said, holding up his hand. “I would never ask you to carry the same plate around for three hours.”
“Thank goodness,” I replied. “If you did, we’d no longer be friends for sure.”
I moved down the aisle, checking out some white crepe paper rolls that were on special for a quarter each. A year or so ago, we’d done some table décor with tulle that could probably be recreated, and it was better than just plain cloths.
“So you’re saying we’re friends.”
I turned back to him. “Aren’t we?”
“Well, I was in from the start,” he replied. “But you... you’re a harder nut to crack.”
“Now I’m a nut?”
“I’m just saying... I’m glad to hear it. That’s all.” He smiled. “You know, you’re not the easiest person to win over.”
“I didn’t realize you were trying to,” I replied, trying to make a joke.
“From the start,” he repeated, not kidding at all.
And just like that, it was back between us, whatever it was, rising up again. I could see it in the seriousness of his face, hear it in the quiet of his voice, the inhale he’d just taken as if he was about to speak. I realized I was scared of what might happen next, that whatever words he chose to say next would be too much for me, but at the same time Iwas desperate to hear them. What a weird push and pull in this world, at that moment. And yet, I would have stayed there, on the edge, forever.
But then his phone rang, loud between us, and he didn’t say anything. At least to me.
“Hello?” he answered, then listened a second. “Non-alcoholic beer? No. That is not what I ordered. I’m saying tell them that!” A pause. “Fine. I’ll be home in a minute.”
He hung up, looking stressed, then glanced at me again. “We should go,” he said. “The crises keep multiplying.”
“Yeah, let’s do it,” I told him.
Moment passed. I was safe, I told myself. But why was I also sad?
He started down the aisle then, toward the register, and I followed, dropping a few rolls of the crepe paper in the basket as I went. Even as we paid and left, though, heading back to the chaos, I kept thinking back to that moment on the edge of what had been and what could be. When the world had opened up, unfolding a potential that both dazzled and terrified me.
“Wow,” Jilly whispered to me, as we stood together at the back of the crowd. “Those tablecloths look great with the crepe paper. Did you do that?”
I glanced over at the nearest table, lined with two mason jars of sunflowers and a blue glass votive, the candle flickering warmly inside. “I helped. But this was really Ambrose’s thing.”
“Impressive,” she said. “The student becomes the master.”
“What?”
