I smile.
It’ll be different from how it used to be. And I don’t know. Maybe our friendship has run its course, but her quick response makes me think there’s something there worth saving. Something worth working for a little more.
I tap out a response, telling her either option would be great.
26
The rest of the week passes quickly.
Jacob takes me back to the pub where we met, and we share jeely pieces and order two pints of the same beer we had then. And it’s possible that later, when we come back home, we re-create other parts of that night as well.
Another night, after dinner, he shows me one of the collections of poetry he’ll be teaching from. He spent the day working on the syllabus for this class, and as he flips through the pages, turning to the poem he says is his favorite, he starts reading it out loud.
As if that’s a normal thing to do. As if it’s not devastatingly romantic.
It’s not even a poem about love. Or maybe it is. I’m not sure. All I know is we’re sitting on the couch, my feet in his lap, and I’m hypnotized. By the sound of his voice; by the words on the page; by the way he rests his hand on my shin, absently rubbing it as he reads.
When he’s done, he looks at me, his face bright with wonder.Wasn’t that amazing?he seems to say, and it absolutely was.
“You still haven’t sent me your thesis,” I say, and his hand goes still on my leg.
“I will,” he says. “But not for a little while.”
“Why?”
He hesitates, his eyes soft. Vulnerable. “I’m working on something. And it’s just—If you’re going to read my poetry, I’d like you to read these poems first.”
“The ones for your collection?”
“They might be?” he says, then shakes his head. “I’m not sure yet. They’re not quite ready.”
“Okay.” I lean forward, giving him a quick kiss. “I can’t wait to read them when they are.”
The next day, Jacob and I neglect our work responsibilities and spend a day around Aberdeen. We look at a couple different parks and find one that we think is perfect for the wedding ceremony. It’s shaded and filled with natural beauty, but I want to add something to the scene. Something that marks the occasion.
I drag Jacob in and out of several different shops before I find a florist who’s able to execute my vision.
An archway made of greenery, interspersed with small white flowers. It’s bridal, but in an understated sort of way. Something that will blend in with the garden, but stand apart subtly. A place where the two of them can stand and exchange their vows.
“Do you want a bouquet to match?” the florist asks, and I nod at him.
“Yes. We’ll need one. And a boutonniere.” I glance at Jacob. “Two, actually.”
His mouth twists in a frown.
“What?”
“It doesn’t seem fair,” he says. “Shouldn’t you have a bouquet too?”
“No. I don’t need one. It’s only for the bride.”
“She’s right,” the florist chimes in, but Jacob doesn’t appear mollified.
I continue chatting with the florist about logistics and timing and delivery, and Jacob breaks away, looking at different displays in the store.
He returns a few minutes later with a couple sprigs of purple flowers and asks the man if he can buy them. The florist binds them together, and then Jacob presents them to me.
“Heather,” he says. It’s the only explanation he gives as he slips the bundle into my hand.
