The Lies That Bind(98)

I am thinking about that watershed moment now, as I approach the red Tudor door of the bar where it all began. I hesitate, then walk in, taking a seat on the exact stool where I first talked to Grant. It’s only four in the afternoon, but I order a pint of beer while I listen to Bruce Springsteen singing “Thunder Road” on the jukebox. At some point, I pull my cell out of my purse and call Grant.

    Thirty minutes later, he walks in, kisses me, and takes the seat beside me. “Wow,” he says, looking around, then whistling. “This is weird, huh?”

“Yeah,” I say. “A lot of memories, for sure.”

He knows that I don’t like to talk about the past, only the now, so he asks about my interview instead.

“It went great,” I say. “I think I’ll get the job.”

“I have no doubt that you will,” he says. “But do you think you want it?”

I shrug and say, “I don’t know. It would be amazing to work with Jasmine again. And nothing is bigger than The New York Times, but…I really do love our life in Milwaukee.”

“Me too, baby.” He hesitates, then says, “I know I’ve said this before, but I’ll do whatever you want.”

“What do you want?” I say.

“Right now? I just want to go back to the hotel,” he says with a wink.

I smile, then shake my head and ask about his lunch, knowing he met up with some of the people from the Greater New York chapter of the ALS Association.

“It was good. I learned a lot,” he says, then tells me about the latest research out of Mount Sinai. Apparently, there still isn’t a test to determine if someone has the disease, but they’ve identified three proteins that are in lower concentrations in the cerebral spinal fluids of ALS patients.

“That’s a great start,” I say, so proud of the work he’s doing in memory of his mother and brother.

He nods, then points to the red paper bag at his feet. “After my meeting, I hit the American Girl store,” he says, with a wink.

“Oh, jeez. That stuff is so expensive,” I say, rolling my eyes and pretending to be annoyed. “You spoil her so much.”

    “Maybe,” he says. “But she deserves it…and so do you.”

He then reaches into his pocket and unceremoniously pulls out a gold ring with a pale blue stone.

“It’s beautiful,” I say, sliding it onto my right ring finger. “Is it a moonstone?”

“Yep,” he says, looking proud. “Alice’s birthstone. I saw it in the window of a little shop and had to get it for you.”

“I love it,” I say, gazing down at it. “Thank you.”

“It looks great on you,” he says. “But you put it on the wrong finger.”

“No—it fits,” I say, spinning it around, showing him.

He shakes his head, raises his eyebrows, and says, “No. It’s for your left hand.”

“Ha-ha,” I say, though my heart is starting to race.

“I’m serious,” he says, looking so earnest.

“We’ve been over this.”

“I know…but you said you didn’t want a diamond…and this, right here, is a moonstone.”

I laugh and say, “But I also said we don’t need to get married when things are perfect as they are.” I look at him, thinking about our little ranch house overlooking a pond and an expanse of farmland. The perfect writing view. One of these days, I might actually finish my novel.

More than all of that, though, I’m thinking about us. Our relationship. Our little family, which we sometimes talk about expanding. It would be nice to have a little boy. Or a sister for Alice.

“But things would be even more perfect if you’d be my wife,” Grant says.

I take his hand in both of mine and kiss him on the knuckles. “But you did that once—and I almost did it. And what we have is so much better than that.”

“I know….Because it’s us.” He gives me a look and my stomach fills with butterflies. “But we can be a married us, too, you know.”

    “Maybe,” I say, weakening. “But I really don’t want a wedding.”

“Neither do I,” he says.

“Would we elope?” I ask. “Theoretically speaking?”

“We sure could…or…we could just go down to City Hall,” he says. “Right here. In New York City. We could do it tonight. Scottie could be our witness….”

I roll my eyes, but my heart keeps beating faster, and before I can reply, he is ordering two shots of Goldschl?ger.

“Oh, no, you didn’t,” I say, laughing and shaking my head.

“Oh, yes, I did,” he says, as we watch the bartender pour two gold-flecked shots and put them down on the bar in front of us.

Grant hands me one, and picks up the other as he stares into my eyes. “To us,” he says.

I hold his gaze, remembering that this was his toast right before he kissed me for the first time in the cabin. That swooning feeling is still there, exactly as it was. Yet there’s so much more now, too. A new kind of mystery.

“To us,” I say, clinking my glass against his.

And in that moment—for what feels like the first time ever—my head and my heart are telling me the very same thing.