—
ON SUNDAY NIGHT, I returned to New York, wondering when I’d see Nolan again, guessing it would be another half dozen years. But he had other plans for us, showing up at my Upper East Side doorstep only five days later, holding a dozen red roses. Any points that I would have docked for the cliché he more than made up with his usual style and panache.
“Told ya it wouldn’t be a one-night stand,” he announced.
I laughed and said, “How’d you know I’d be free?”
“I took a chance,” he said. “Are you?”
I shook my head and told him I had a blind date.
“He’s blind?” Nolan said.
I laughed again, and he told me to “blow the guy off.” And so I did, then played tour guide to Nolan that whole weekend. I couldn’t believe it was happening. But I kept telling myself that it wasn’t, not really. We weren’t embarking on a relationship. We were just having a fling, living in the moment, motivated by sentimentality.
Yet we kept living in the moment, visiting each other every couple of weeks while keeping our secret from my family. I didn’t want to get my mother’s hopes up the way Josie had with Will. Deep down, I think I didn’t want to get my hopes up, either, and somehow delude myself into thinking that we could ever be a real couple. I wasn’t even sure that was what I wanted.
Even after Nolan told me he loved me that Christmas, and I said it back, and we went public with our long-distance relationship, I kept my expectations in check, silently reminding myself that we loved each other but weren’t in love—nor were we long-term compatible. On paper, I was probably too cerebral for him—and he was too good-looking for me. I was an introvert; he was an extrovert. I loved the arts; he loved sports. I wanted to stay in New York; he couldn’t leave his family’s business in Atlanta. Our breakup was inevitable, a question of when, not if.
Then, one muggy Saturday in July, about nine months after our first date, Nolan and I went for a long walk through Chastain Park, ending up on Wilkins Field, where he and my brother had played baseball for so many years. We strolled along the bases and then sat in the empty dugout, looking through the chain-link fence, out over the beautifully groomed diamond. It was just before dusk, the sun casting a golden light over the mound where Nolan had pitched and Daniel had occasionally relieved.
“This was Danny’s favorite place in the world,” Nolan said, seeming to be talking to himself more than to me.
“Yeah. I know,” I said, wishing I had spent less time playing with Josie in the bleachers or making trips to the concession stand, and more time watching my brother play.
In our reflective silence, Nolan took my hand and gave me a soulful glance. I suddenly had the feeling he was going to end our relationship, something that I’d been contemplating lately—or at least anticipating. It had been a good run, and a lot of fun, but something just felt missing. I was still sad, though, hating endings of any kind.
Bracing myself, I mumbled, “Go on. Just get it over with.” At least that is Nolan’s recollection and where we pick up with our official tale.
He looked at me, confused.
“Aren’t you about to break up with me?” I said.
Nolan laughed and shook his head and said, “No, Meredith. I’m not going to break up with you.” Then he got down on one knee in that dusty dugout and asked the question I had never imagined hearing from him, or anyone for that matter. Will you marry me?
For a second I thought he was kidding. Until he produced a beautiful, sparkling princess-cut diamond ring. I stared at it, then at him, feeling stunned and a little scared. In my heart, the answer was no. Or at the very most maybe. But I said nothing, just shook my head, bit my lip, and blinked back tears.
“Say something,” Nolan said with a nervous laugh.
“I…can’t.”
I think I meant to say that I couldn’t marry him, but it sounded like I was telling him that I couldn’t speak. So he just kept talking, giving me a rambling, heartfelt speech. First he told me how much he loved me, that he’d never known a girl like me. Then he went on to tell me how he’d asked my parents for permission and both of them had wept, my mother calling him her surrogate son. He talked about all the memories we had shared over so many years. He said that he and I—we—were the only possible silver lining to Daniel’s otherwise useless death. He said he could picture my brother up there, rooting for him, just as he had so many times from this field, this very bench.
And with that final comment about my brother, my no or maybe turned to yes, and for better or worse, my uncertain future became something I’d always imagined for my sister.