Chapter 37
CHAPTER 37
I N THE EVENING I TAKE DAN TO MY HOUSE. I DON’T want to show it to him as much as I want to see him in it, standing there next to the tile counter of my kitchen. Pulling a pitcher of cold water from my fridge. I want him to meet Clem and my mom and know how much I have, even though I have so few people. He stops short at the end of my walkway when he sees the bougainvillea growing along my porch.
“I’m going to film something here,” he says.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know.” He turns to me. “Maybe I’ll just take a million photos of you.”
He likes the robin’s-egg blue of my bookshelves and the way they seem moody in the amber light. He picks up a photo of my mom and me in my bedroom and says I have her eyes. I don’t tell him that I sobbed in my bed watching Grapevine twice. There’s plenty of time to rehash the past few weeks, and right now I want to move forward.
We make turkey sandwiches with big tomato slices and take them onto the porch swing. We drink ice-cold beer and watch the fireflies. His arm is around me, resting perfectly over my shoulder in a way that makes me want to keep brushing the tips of my fingers across his. It should be strange to have him here, Dan Finnegan, who I love, but it’s not. It feels like he was always supposed to be here.
“I should call Aidan,” he says.
“Okay,” I say.
“He’s been a little worried. They all have.”
“I’m going to have to explain this to them, aren’t I?”
“I don’t think so.”
“They must think I’m kind of . . .” And I gesture so-so with my hand.
He laughs and pulls me closer. “A perfect pair.” We’re quiet for a bit. “He actually called yesterday, my dad. And I was looking at the phone thinking someone died. My dad never calls me.”
“What did he say?”
“He was so awkward, it was sweet. He didn’t really know what to say. He was driving and rambling on about the traffic in the summer and how expensive freon is getting and how it’s good to apologize when you need to.”
I smile up at him. “He thinks you did something dumb. Can we just keep it that way?”
“My dad’s not keeping score.”
“I love your dad,” I say. “So he’ll be happy about this?”
“Ecstatic. Actually I should tell them.” He pulls out his phone and then drops it on his lap. “I really don’t feel like breaking this quiet.”
“Maybe we should send them a selfie,” I say.
He smiles and kisses me. “This is going to shock you, but I’m not a big selfie guy.”
“Do it,” I say.
He reaches out and takes a photo of our sheepishly happy faces. We look like we’re embarrassed to be this happy. He sends it to the group text called “The Mob.” There are ten people on it—his parents, his brothers, their wives. He texts: all okay now.
And we watch as his phone blows up.
Aidan: OH THANK GOD
Brian: Knew it
Connor: The day the crying stopped!
Cormack: Don’t feck this up young man
Marla: Bring her for Thanksgiving
Reenie: Danny, you look so happy!
At that, he puts his phone down. “This could go on for a while.” I put my head on his shoulder, and he wraps me tighter in his arms. I want to talk to him about the movie we need to figure out how to make. I want to tell him about Kay and her husband’s ugly bowling shirt. But I like the way our breathing synchronizes in this silence. I like focusing all of my attention on the spot where my forehead rests on his neck. So we sit like this in silence and watch the world go by on Montana Avenue.
Clem comes home and finds us like this. “Is this . . . ?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say.
“Finally. Hi, Dan.” She drops her bag on the porch and waits for us to scoot over. She wedges into the empty space. “We might need a bigger swing.”
“I’ll put it on my list,” I say.
We sit and swing for a few beats. I know Clem has ten thousand things to say to Dan, and I’m wondering where she’ll start.
“So the whole billboard thing went well?” she says finally.
Dan laughs. “In the end, yes.”
“I want to take credit for it because it was really inspired. But I just told her to go to your building and bang on doors. I’m not an artist.” Clem gets up and sits on the porch railing so she can see us together.
“So you’re a nurse and a bartender?” Dan says.
“Yes, full service,” she says, and he laughs.
My phone rings on the kitchen counter, and I get up to get it. I like the way the two of them look sitting on my porch, like everything I need is in one place. I picture Dan living here with us, and I want to follow that daydream to its full completion, but my phone is ringing.
It’s Barry Nielson, my old agent, returning my call. “Good call, Janey. That NDA expired five years ago.”
“Okay then,” I say. “Go ahead and spill it.”