In a New York Minute(81)

“I am too.” I cupped her face in my hand, kissing her softly. I pulled back slowly. “Was your mom mad?”

She shrugged. “I haven’t heard from her, but she’s been entertaining twenty very loud women all day. She probably went to bed immediately after.”

“Hey, what time is it?” I asked her, leaning forward to tap on her watch.

“Almost six. Wow.” She raised her eyebrows at me. We were now going on almost forty-eight hours together, and we had been dancing around some things the entire time: How was this weekend going to end? And when? And, most importantly, what did all of this mean?

I stood and stretched, bending at the waist until my hands touched my feet, decked in a thick pair of Knicks-themed socks Franny had tossed at me this morning.

“So I should probably head back to my apartment,” I started, even though I didn’t want our time together to end. “I have an entire inbox and a client report I’ve been putting off since dinner on Friday, and I have to read up on the candidates I’m interviewing this week. And I have to pack.”

“Well, that won’t be hard for you,” she said, pulling on my earlobe with a smile. “Just pack all your suits.”

“Rude,” I teased, poking her in the ribs as she squealed.

“What if…” I hesitated and then made myself ask. “What if you came back to my place tonight? Bring your laptop, some clothes. We can order in and do some work together.”

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I began to doubt myself, but she smiled. “Okay,” she said with a nod, gathering the paper on the floor. “I just need a few minutes to get organized.”

“Of course,” I said.

“Just so I’m clear,” she said as she stood up, “you’re enjoying this weekend as much as I am?”

Her words extinguished all the nerves I’d just battled. I rose to meet her, and my hands grazed her jaw, toying with the hair that fell at her ears. “More,” I promised, leaning in for another kiss. “Seriously.”

We locked eyes, and I could tell she was searching to confirm that I was being honest. Satisfied, she smiled and ducked out of my hands. “Let me just get my stuff together.”

I busied myself by tidying up our breakfast spread, walking dishes to the sink, recycling the newspaper, rinsing out coffee cups. I smiled as I worked, marveling at how strange the events of the past few months had been. I’d always thought the idea of fate, of the universe, of the magic of life, to be utter bullshit. But here I was, washing the lip gloss off a mug that belonged to the stranger who barreled onto my subway car one day. Life might not be magic, but it sure was something.

“Wait, say that again?” Franny’s voice pierced through my thoughts, the pitch a bit higher than normal. Urgent. “Slow down. I can’t understand you.”

Was she talking to me? I peered my head around the corner, dish towel in hand. Franny was pacing in front of her bed, phone pressed against her ear.

“When did this happen?” A pause. “Oh god, okay. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

She was pale white, and she crumpled to the ground, leaning her back against her bed and clutching her knees. “That was my stepdad,” she said, her voice tense and quiet. “My mom had a heart attack this morning, and she’s at the hospital.”

“Oh, no, Franny.” I dropped to my knees to face her.

“He said she threw up while she was setting up tables in the backyard, and her entire left side was in pain, so he drove her to the emergency room. They caught it early, which is lucky. The nurse told him they call this kind of heart attack the ‘widow maker.’”

I clasped her hands in mine, stroked her knuckles with my thumbs. Her face was calm, stoic, and it registered to me then that she might be in shock.

“I was supposed to be there.” Her voice was pained. “She could have died.”

I helped her up to sit on her bed, my hand on her back.

“Can you take me to the train?” Her voice was practically a whisper. “I need to get out there.”

“Of course,” I said, nodding reassuringly. “You stay here. Let me figure it out.”

I rose to my feet, hustled to the kitchen, grabbed a cup from her dish rack, and filled it with water. She was still on her bed when I handed it to her. “Thank you.” She gave me a small smile, and my heart squeezed.

Just as I was about to search for train info out to New Haven, an idea clicked in my brain. I opened Google. Sure enough, there was one of those short-term car-rental places around the corner.

“Hey.” I reached a hand to her, and she accepted, letting me pull her onto her feet. “I will absolutely get you to the train if that’s what you’d prefer. But it would be just as easy for me to rent a car and drive you there. I’d be really happy to do that. If you want.”

Forty-five minutes later, I was behind the wheel of a Zipcar, Franny silent in the passenger seat beside me. I was used to things feeling abuzz whenever I was around her. There was always something coming from her: tears, laughter, excitement, information, energy, sass, new ideas. But she was uncharacteristically subdued: no crying, or texting, or commenting on my driving. Just her arms wrapped around her knees, her face toward the window.

“Do you want to listen to music?” I asked. She just shook her head, and so I kept driving in silence.