“I thought I had a few more days, right?”
“We agreed to shorten the due diligence, remember? I hadn’t heard from you before today so I assumed we were full speed ahead.”
The truth is, he didn’t remember. He remembered the conversation, and signing some papers, but he’d obviously been distracted. Lost track of time. It was completely unlike him, though, to be fair, he’d been intentionally trying to be as unlike himself as possible lately.
“So what are you saying, that there’s no way out of this?”
He stood there under the streetlight, heart pounding, hoping the next words out of Linda’s mouth included some kind of loophole, some miracle that he could use.
“There is a way out,” she began. He exhaled pure relief. “But you’ll lose your earnest money.”
And just like that, his heart sank again. When the offer was accepted, he’d written a big check to let the sellers know he was serious. A deposit on the down payment, essentially. It was a significant chunk of his savings, and handing that check over was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. It was a dozen summers of mowing lawns, waxing his creepy neighbor’s Porsche, and walking dogs while his friends went swimming at the pool. It was every boring chicken and rice dinner at home instead of taking Wren on a date, every hour spent clipping digital grocery coupons and meal planning around the sales, every vacation they never took.
“How much will I lose?” he asked.
“All of it.”
19
It was finally the dayof the wedding.
Wren sat on the side of the bed, staring into their closet, mindlessly stroking a dozing Ferdie in her lap. A flustered Arthur had run out at the last minute to buy a new shirt. He’d had a bit of a Bridezilla moment before he left.
“I wish we had more time. God, nothing FITS!” he’d said before storming off. Wren found it endlessly entertaining.
And now she was alone, the apartment dead quiet. She stared into the sea of clothes hanging in front of her. Somewhere in there was a floral maternity dress that might just work well enough. But the thought of standing up and wading through everything else to find it was completely overwhelming.
She’d taken the engagement ring out of her bag and sat twirling the box round and round in her fingers, knowing exactly what to do. For her, the deal had been sealed at the Mad Cow Creamery. Arthur had grown, and changed, in amazing ways. But she had changed, too, and that’s what mattered most of all. She wasn’t scared anymore, of the baby, of commitment, of whatever tomorrow might bring, even if it hurt.
Arthur had shown her that he really knew her, inside and out. He knew what she valued in life and, even though he was fundamentally different from her in so many ways, he respected that. He’d shown that he would always come through, and even push himself beyond his own comfort zone, to help her find happiness and joy. Even in the little things.
For that, she was going to find a way to get Arthur alone in Shark Alley. And she was going to propose to him.
But before then, she had some time to kill. He wouldn’t be back for a little while, and the wedding didn’t start for several hours.
Her eyes began to drift over the beige, lifeless walls. Over the bassinet and the stacks of books and baby toys. Then to the carpet (also beige) and the blinds (off-white). The two go bags packed and stacked on the floor. Her mind flicked over the checklists and blog posts. Technically, they had everything they needed if the baby were to arrive at this exact instant. But still there was something missing.
She needed her paints. Returning to the closet, she dug them out from behind a power adapter for an HP laptop that she didn’t remember ever owning. Most looked dried out and crusted over, but a few colors were still salvageable.
It would be enough.
When Arthur returned, Wren was almost finished. He walked into their bedroom and strutted confidently.
“I’m just warning you,” he said, “you are definitely going to want to bone me when you see how well this shirt fits.”
Arthur stopped in his tracks when he noticed what she had done.
Wren sat on a tarp of kitchen trash bags, surrounded by squirts of paint on paper plates.
“Do you like it?”
He took it all in. She watched as his eyes tracked the streaks of yellow and pink, the swirls of light blue, all of it taking over the main wall of their bedroom.
“It’s beautiful,” he said. Then, leaning down and whispering: “What is it?”
“It’s a sunrise.”
“A sunrise, of course.”
