Chapter 8 #2
That gets a laugh from around the table, and Sarah tucks her hair behind her ear and takes a sip from her water glass.
“My paranoia started spiraling,” she continues, “so I’m sitting there before class begins and I start thinking about how I’d never have any friends and maybe I should just drop out and go back home and work in the diner where my mom’s been a waitress for the last twenty years. ”
My memory floods with the image of that day. Sarah sitting there with her dark hair flowing around her shoulders, lonely and nervous and so incredibly beautiful. Sunlight streamed through the windows to her left, and I swear to God she looked like an angel.
“She was wearing this bright yellow sweater,” I blurt. All eyes swing to me, and I have a flash of panic that I’ve said the wrong thing.
But Sarah squeezes my knee, so I keep going.
“It was cool back then for everyone to wear gray or black, but there was Sarah in this bright yellow sweater.” I swallow hard and keep going. “I remember thinking, ‘Whoever that girl is, she’s lighting up the whole room. I need to sit by her.’”
“Wow.” Sarah blinks, and for half a second, I see surprise in her eyes. “I—that’s right. I’d forgotten about that sweater.” She recovers her composure so fast that I’m guessing the others didn’t see it at all. Didn’t realize I’d never told her the reason I sat beside her that day.
Why the hell didn’t I?
“That’s sweet,” Dana says. “So did he talk to you?”
She’s addressing Sarah, not me, which is a relief. Letting Sarah shine is the best way to go for all of us.
“He did,” Sarah says. “He asked me where I was from and what I liked about school and how I was liking my classes. By the time the professor started talking, I was feeling more at ease, and I ended up staying at Portland State until I graduated.”
“I love that.” Dana smiles, and I feel like I’ve won a fucking medal. “You’re a good guy, Ian Nolan.”
“He is a good guy.” Sarah beams, and I put an arm around the back of her chair. It feels good there, and I think I could get used to this whole fiancée thing.
Walter is busy conferring with the waiter about the wine list, but Trevor looks intrigued by our conversation. “So if you started dating way back in college, how come you’re just now tying the knot?”
“We were actually just friends in college,” I say. “Study buddies.”
“Ian had a long-distance girlfriend, and I always seemed to be dating someone,” Sarah adds. “So we really were just friends.”
“But you hoped for more, Ian?” Dana Peschka’s question socks me right in the chest, and I need a few breaths before I can answer.
“Can’t say the thought never crossed my mind.”
Sarah blinks at me. I have to glance away, to scan the other faces around the table. There’s that expectant look again. Like they’re hoping for more. Expecting more intimate details in this get-to-know-you chatter. I’m at a loss. I’m no good at this sharing stuff.
Sarah squeezes my thigh under the table. “I was so homesick that first term,” she says. “Ian went out of his way to make me feel more comfortable. We lived in the same dorm, and he was one of the only guys on our floor to have a microwave in his room.”
Dana laughs. “That’s a hot commodity in college.”
“Right?” Sarah takes another sip of her water. “I was too broke to afford the fancy organic frozen dinners all my friends were buying, but I insisted I loved Top Ramen better anyway.”
“They are pretty great,” I put in. “I actually still dig the chicken mushroom flavor.”
“You eat instant ramen?” Walter studies me appraisingly, and I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. “I don’t know that I would have pegged you as quite so—”
“Cheap?” I smile so he knows I’m not offended, but Walter shakes his head.
“Down to earth,” Walter supplies, and I cross my fingers that’s a good thing.
I can’t believe they all want to hear me ramble about Sarah’s yellow sweater and cheap instant noodles, but they seem interested in what I’m saying.
So I keep going.
“I had a pretty sweet dorm room, if I do say so myself.” I keep my tone jovial so they know this isn’t a brag session, just me being real, which maybe I don’t do often enough.
“I had this big brown beanbag chair and red chili pepper lights around the window and my favorite poster of dogs playing poker.”
Trevor laughs across the table. “I had that same poster.”
“It’s great, right?” I say.
Sarah rolls her eyes. “He also had this hideous comforter that was supposed to resemble a slice of pepperoni pizza.”
“I forgot about that.” I laugh, remembering how Sarah used to pretend to chew on it when she was hungry. “I know you liked me best for my ramen.”
“This is true.” She sips her water, but the way she’s watching me makes me feel like I’m glowing from the inside out.
“Anyway,” I continue, “we were friends our whole freshman year, and we were both dating other people. But I split with my girlfriend our sophomore year, and I decided it was finally time to make a move with Sarah.”
Her gaze lifts from the water glass as surprise flashes in her eyes. “When was this?”
“April eighth,” I tell her, then wonder if remembering the actual date makes me a big dork. I should have just said spring. “You’d just broken up with that guy, Michael whatshisname.”
“Sullivan?”
“I think so.” I take a sip from my own water as I realize everyone’s eyes are on me.
But part of me feels like I’m just talking to Sarah.
Like we’re the only two people in this room.
“I made this romantic ramen dinner,” I tell her.
“I picked a bunch of daisies in the commons and had them sitting in water glasses all over the room.”
Water glasses I may or may not have borrowed from the dining hall, but there’s no need to include petty thievery in this story.
“I had this cheesy tuxedo T-shirt left over from a Halloween party, so I wore that and put on the soundtrack from that Drew Barrymore movie—”
“Music and Lyrics?” She rests a hand over her heart. “I love that movie. That’s like my favorite romantic comedy of all time.”
“I know.” I swallow hard, not sure she’ll want to hear what comes next. Or if I should say it out loud. I glance at the others at the table, and they’re all watching me expectantly. Like I’m the most fascinating guy in the room.
But it’s Sarah’s expression that keeps me going. Like she can’t believe what she’s hearing, but she wants to hear more.
“I had this letter I’d written that I planned to read to you,” I tell her. “You were going to come over at seven to watch movies and eat ice cream and talk trash about Michael.”
Her forehead crinkles in a frown. “I don’t rem—wait, did we—?”
“Nah, you and Mikey ended up getting back together earlier that night.” I smile to let her know I’m not heartbroken. Not now, anyway. “It was for the best, though. That wouldn’t have been the right time for us, would it?”
She stares at me for a moment, too dumbstruck to respond. “I—you’re right, I guess. We weren’t ready then.”
“Exactly. Neither of us had achieved our goals or become the person we needed to be.”
And I hadn’t hardened my heart yet. Not the way I needed to do to survive the sort of losses life tends to throw at people.
Sarah licks her lips and glances at the others. We have an audience, and she knows it. “I’m glad the time is finally right,” she says, resting a hand on mine. “That we found each other again.”
Applause breaks out at the other end of the table. I turn to see The Rock—er, Dana’s husband, Kellan—clapping with great enthusiasm. “Bravo,” he says. “Awesome story, man.”
“Hear, hear.” Trevor lifts his wineglass, and everyone else follows suit. Even Sarah, who’s looking a little shaky.
“I’m glad you finally got your girl,” Dana says.
“Me, too,” I say.
I know they’re imagining something different. A future of love notes and flowers and mushy romance, but that’s not our reality now. Our reality is more concrete. More stoic, more reliable, more solid.
It might not be the fairytale they’re all picturing right now, but it’s enough, right? Of course it’s enough, it’s better.
As I squeeze Sarah’s hand, I’m grateful she feels the same. Grateful we’re on the same page about keeping love out of our equation.
It’s better this way, I’m sure of it.