Love in the Time of Serial Killers(78)

“I could not have done this without you,” Conner said. “I mean it.”

“It was mostly Sam,” I said. “His sound system, his kids, his dancing.” Then, just in case Shani now thought that my having lunch with her had solely been an obligation for this, I added truthfully to her, “I’m just glad I got to spend a little time getting to know you better this afternoon, now that you’re going to be my sister.”

Wow. That felt weird to say.

“No, not just today,” Conner said. “All of it. I know you have your own life, and your essay about serial killers or whatever, but having you here this summer . . .”

For about the runtime of “Tubthumping,” I’d managed to forget about my advisor’s comments and the huge amount of work I’d have to do to get back on track, but now the pit of dread settled right back at the bottom of my stomach. “It’s no problem,” I said. “Actually, though, I do need to get some stuff done, if you don’t mind me heading out . . . maybe we could plan a celebratory dinner this week?”

“Sounds good,” Conner said. “Love ya, Pheebs.”

“You, too.” I smiled at Shani to let her know she was included in that sentiment, however poorly expressed it was.

I made my way over to the pavilion, where most of the people had dispersed, but Sam was crouched down, his elbows resting on his knees, talking to the skinny kid who’d almost gotten taken out by the joyous arms of the red-haired girl. I saw him as a teacher then, could picture the way he’d be in a classroom, encouraging kids to really go for it with the xylophones.

It was wild, how off my initial perception of him had been. The truth was that this Sam scared me more. He seemed like he was from a different planet, one where dancing was fun and families were big and happy. And I was from some other distant, lonely star, my lungs incapable of breathing his planet’s atmosphere.

Maudlin thoughts, and I didn’t know why I was having them. The whole day had been a roller coaster, from getting that email from my advisor this morning until Conner’s proposal to Shani. What I probably needed was sleep, to reset from zero.

“I was trying to listen to the count in my head like you told us,” the kid was telling Sam, “but I messed up. The slow parts are hard.”

“They are,” Sam said. “We talked about how that song keeps the same tempo, right?” He tapped one finger against his knee, counting out the beat of the song. “The words slow down, but that beat stays the same. It’s tricky, but you did great.”

“Is that who you’re gonna ask to marry?” Marcus asked, glancing over at me. I hadn’t even clocked that the kid was aware I was standing there, and I was startled to be drawn into the conversation. “We can do the dance again. This time I’ll do the count right, promise.”

Sam turned his head to look at me. “Someday,” he said, his gaze still on mine. Then he was focused on the kid again, holding out his fist for a bump. “I really appreciate you coming out, Marcus. You excited about fourth grade?”

They talked a little more, before eventually the kid ran off to go back to playing, and Sam stood up. He started to clean up some of the leftover food and trash from the picnic table, and I joined in to help. He’d even thought to bring little lime green plates and napkins for the kids’ snacks, a detail I would’ve one hundred percent forgotten.

“What did you mean by that?” I asked. “Someday?”

He didn’t even look up, he was so casual about it. Just kept on picking up flattened Capri Sun pouches. “I mean someday,” he said. “Sure, I could see proposing to you. Not like this—something tells me you wouldn’t appreciate the public spectacle. Somewhere quiet, just us. I’d go down on one knee and tell you how I feel about you. I know that’s a ways off, but it’s nice to think about.”

I felt like I was missing about a thousand pieces to this conversation to make it make sense. “I don’t even know if I want to get married. Ever.”

Sam shrugged, like that was no big deal, either. “Then we don’t.”

Behind me was a cacophony of children’s voices, raised in high-pitched squeals and screams of excitement, the occasional cry of a toddler who must’ve fallen down, the yell of a parent telling a kid to stop putting mulch in your mouth or let go of your brother. “I don’t know if I want kids, either.”

He did look up then, and I tried to read anything behind his expression when he said, “That’s okay. I could go either way myself.”

That couldn’t be how he really felt. He taught elementary school, for fuck’s sake. He would obviously make a great father. He came from a big family. I made those points to him, but his expression didn’t change.

“Look, I like kids,” he said. “Obviously, or I wouldn’t do what I do. But like you said, I’m around kids all day. I already have four nieces and nephews and am the designated uncle to buy drum sets for each, which my siblings will be thrilled by. I’m open to talking through all this stuff—someday doesn’t have to mean today.”

I shook my head. “I can’t,” I said.

That seemed to be Sam’s first sign that I was serious, that we weren’t just idly talking about the future. I didn’t even know how to do that. Any projection into even months from now sent me spinning into doubt about whether my dissertation would get done on time, whether it would be enough to earn my degree, whether Sam and I would be able to last through a separation we both knew was coming.