I sipped my wine and said it again. I wanted his affirmation, and then perhaps I could flick away that nagging feeling for good—just set it on the tip of my thumb and catapult it with the forward thrust of my forefinger.
“Easy to think that way when you have a back yard that looks like this,” Reece pointed out. “Poppy, sit. Good girl. Down. Poppy, down. Down. D—”
“Well, I know,” I said, twirling a strand of hair around my finger.
“What happens when it turns cold?” he asked.
“Literally or figuratively?” I replied.
“Both, I guess,” he said. “Poppy, down. Down. Down, Poppy. Poppy—”
“Honey, give it a rest,” I said.
Reece sighed. “Fine.” He scooped up the puppy and placed her in his lap. She lay down.
“Ha ha,” I laughed.
“Maybe she didn’t wanna lay on the pavers,” Reece said.
“Who would?” I asked, and finished my wine.
“Bailey? I know what’s going on with you.”
“You do?” I asked, pulling on the spaghetti strap that fell off my shoulder.
“You’re getting worried. You’re getting worried because things are so good,” he said, scratching Poppy’s ears.
“Life doesn’t move like this,” I said. “At least not mine. I’m used to ups and downs. Never long blocks of perfect time. I feel like if it keeps heading in this direction, I won’t be able to handle when something really bad happens.”
“And what do you think is gonna happen?” he asked.
“That’s precisely my point!” I replied. “Shit always happens. That’s what it does.”
Reece covered the dog’s ears.
“Not in front of the baby,” he chastised.
I rolled my eyes. “Be serious, Reece. I’m scared. I mean, weeks of this? That can’t be good.”
“All right, then. Pick a fight,” he said.
“What?”
“Pick a fight. Let’s head it off at the pass. Preemptive strike. Whatever you wanna call it. ‘Cause I’m not about to listen to this for the next couple of weeks. So go on. Pick a fight.”
“That’s stupid,” I mumbled.
“It’s stupid that you’re worried over nothing,” he said.
“No, I’m just a planner, okay?”
“No way! For reals?”
“Shut up.”
Reece chuckled. “Bailey, calm the eff down.”
“Did you seriously just say that? She doesn’t know what a cuss word is.”
“Nevertheless . . .”
“And then you follow it up with ‘nevertheless?’ I think I’m going to bed.”
“I think you’re gonna stay out here with me and help me finish this bottle of wine,” Reece said.
“I’m getting fat,” I argued.
He lifted my shirt and took a peek.
“I think you’re hot.”
I swatted his hand away.
“Stop being a grouch and enjoy this night with me, okay? You’re not getting fat, and there’s no immediate issues we need to deal with, and I really need you to drink a lot so that I can do dirty things to you later.”
“I don’t even wanna know,” I muttered.
“Sweets?”
“Hmm?”
“Everything’s fine. And it’ll continue to be fine. Let’s just enjoy.”
When a person says everything’s fine, you never believe it. Ever. Because he can’t possibly know, just like you can’t know that it won’t be okay. It’s like being trapped in emotional limbo. If you’re a go-with-the-flow person, then I suppose you never experience emotional limbo. Because you’re not a worrier. But if you’re an over-the-top scheduled planner, you visit emotional limbo rather frequently.
Reece had no idea what I was talking about because he didn’t worry. But I knew deep down that my ticket was up, and I was expected to report to limbo in a matter of days. I would try to draw it out for a week or two, but my anxiety would catch up to me. She always did. And I’d yet to outrun her.
Camden and Christopher grinned at Reece from across the table like a couple of idiots. They were enjoying pizza at Slice of Life downtown before catching a comedy show at City Stage.
“You couldn’t have picked a better one,” Christopher said. “Bailey is the bomb.”
“Oh, I know it,” Reece replied.
Camden nodded. “When are you doing it?”
“Her birthday,” Reece said.
He closed the little black box, hiding the one-carat princess cut from view. Thank God he asked Erica to accompany him to the jeweler. He would have gotten it all wrong, leaning toward a pear-shaped diamond wrapped in a yellow gold band.
“What the fuck, Reece?” Erica snapped. “It’s hideous!”
Kirk, the salesperson, stiffened.
“Who the hell suggested this?” she went on.
Reece glanced at Kirk. “Umm . . .”
“How about I show you some others?” Kirk suggested.
“Yes, please. That sounds like a good idea,” Erica replied. “Princess cut for sure. Platinum—”
“Platinum?!” Reece exclaimed. “What the hell, Erica? I’m not made of money.”
“—at least a carat,” she continued.
Reece’s eyes bugged.
“It’s called a payment plan, Reece,” Erica explained, placing her hand on his forearm.
He shook his head. “I don’t do payment plans. I pay the full price up front.”
“Well, then I hope you’ve got about twelve grand in your pocket,” Erica replied.
“Holy shit,” Reece whispered.
Erica softened a bit. “Look, honey, you get one chance to get this right.”
“Only one?”
She nodded.
“Bailey’s not like that. She’s not diamond-dazed,” Reece said.
“Reece, all women are diamond-dazed.”
He grunted. “Well, I don’t know . . .”
Kirk placed a dozen loose diamonds on a velvety cloth in front of them and began explaining each one.
“What about her?” Erica asked, pointing to a large stone in the center of the group.
“She’s . . . imperfect,” Kirk explained. “If you’re looking for size, and you aren’t too concerned with inclusions, she’s it.”
“Can you see the inclusions?” Reece asked, holding it up.
“Look for yourself,” Kirk replied.
Reece studied the diamond. The only thing he could see was sparkle and shine. He looked at the salesperson and shrugged.
“Exactly,” Kirk said. “Unless you’re a gemologist, you wouldn’t be able to see them.”
“Them?”
“There are two. May I?” he asked, extending his hand.
Reece dropped the diamond in his palm, and Kirk turned it over.
“You see?” he said.