To Have It All(48)

When I showed up at his apartment that day with a frayed wicker basket I’d found in the attic that must’ve been eons old draped over my arm, he looked unsure. With some strong encouragement, he finally dressed, and we went out.

That day we laughed and sipped wine under the shade of a large tree in the park.

“You know,” he said as he gazed at the area around us. “I’ve never been on a picnic before.”

“What?” I gasped. Was he serious? “You’re kidding, right?”

When his stare met mine again I knew . . . he wasn’t kidding. “We’re different, you and me.”

“How so?”

“We come from different worlds.” This I knew. “You’re not like the other women I’ve dated.”

Something inside of me wanted to dissect that statement; over analyze it and feel insecure about it, but I didn’t. Instead, I played it cool. Sometimes the only way I could deal with my insecurities was to make light of them and blanket them in sarcasm.

Feigning a dramatic sigh, I replied, “I know. Not all girls are as awesome as me.”

He laughed and laid back, pulling me down with him, so I was leaned over his chest, our faces close. “You’re a circle,” he spoke softly as he brushed my cheek with his knuckles.

I smirked in question. “A circle?”

“You’re a circle, and I’m a square.”

I chuckled a little, more in nervousness than humor. Here we were, having the most romantic picnic, and I felt like he was about to end things with me. “What are you talking about, Max?”

His gaze fluttered down. “I mean, I’m a square. I should want things that fit into a square. Instead, I’m here, with you, the circle, trying to fit.”

Leaning down, I kissed him chastely. I knew what he was saying. We were different. We’d been dating for a few months at this point, and things were coming to a head; did we commit—really commit—or did we move on? We were a classic case of opposites attract, and while having things in common was important, I think we both found each other refreshing. He was so put together while I felt I was floundering. He had a degree, a respectable job, a 401k. I hadn’t even managed to get my associates degree yet. After I graduated from high school, I’d taken a year to think about what I wanted to be when I grew up. When I finally enrolled, paying my tuition proved challenging, and I ended up having to take a semester or two off to save. I felt like a mess. Max, on the other hand, was so put together. He impressed me. Not because of his money, but his diligence. Because of everything he’d accomplished at such a young age. I envied it.

“Do you love me, Max?” I asked, bracing myself for the possibility he’d say no.

Cutting his blue stare to me, he hesitated before he answered, “I do.” Despite his hesitation, I believed him.

My heart felt like it did a series of backflips inside my chest. “Then if you’re a square and I’m a circle, and we love each other, we’ll just have to conform.”

“Conform?” he questioned, his mouth curling up on the sides slightly.

“Reshape,” I explained. “Maybe we can become ovals . . . or ovalish.”

“Ovalish?”

“Yeah, Max,” I kissed him again, letting my lips linger against his. “Let’s be ovalish.”

Grasping my face with both hands, he pulled me down and kissed me hard. “You’re too good for me, Waverly.”

At the time, I didn’t believe that. I thought I was the luckiest woman in the world to have the attention and affection of a man like Max. “I feel the same about you,” I told him.

“What if I don’t get the job?” he questioned. He already had a job, a good one, but he hated it. It was a job he’d gotten because his father had put in a good word for him. He wanted to stand on his own; accomplish things without the influence of his father. I respected him for this.

“You’ll find another one,” I assured him.

“I’m scared one day you’ll wake up and realize the man I really am.”

It was a bold and deep confession. I’d never seen him vulnerable like this. Brushing my thumb over his lips, I peered into his eyes. “I think you’re an amazing man.”

For the next hour we kissed and laughed, floating on a cloud of hopes and illusions. When we packed up to leave, just before we made it to the street, his cell rang. It was his new boss calling to tell him he’d gotten the job. When he hung up, I squealed when Max picked me up and spun me around.

“I think you’re my good luck charm,” he told me when he set me back on my feet.

“Luck didn’t have anything to do with it. You earned this job.”

When he kissed me again, he pulled away, keeping his forehead pressed to mine. “Marry me, Waverly.”

“What?” I managed, my heart beating like a drum in my chest.

“Marry me. Let’s hop a plane tonight and get married in Vegas.”

Looking up at him, I searched his face for any sign he was joking, but all I saw was sincerity. I’d be lying if I said the voice of reason wasn’t screaming like a banshee in the back of my mind, telling me it was too soon. I knew our differences; I also knew Max wasn’t perfect. All I knew, good or bad, perfect or imperfect, was that I wanted someone to choose me.