Chapter 12
Troy waits for Klara on the sidewalk outside her office building, his own reflection before him, looking pensive and far less anxious than he feels.
He and Klara don’t have plans, and she doesn’t know he’s here.
He has no idea when she’s planning to leave for the day; he could be waiting here for minutes, for an hour, for more.
But there’s something quite important that he wants to ask her.
It feels rather urgent, and it’s something he must ask her in person.
This morning was magic. He told her that he loved her, and she said it back.
The revolving door spins and someone emerges from the building.
Troy turns hopefully, but it’s not Klara.
Just a man—older, gray, nondescript. Troy feels his shoulders drop.
He hates that Klara does this to him. He hates that she still wields so much control.
No one has ever made him feel so powerless before.
No one has ever mattered so much. He needs to gain that control back.
And that is why he’s here.
Interestingly, he awoke this morning to find her watching him. It was early, still dark, but he could see the whites of her eyes, warm chocolate centers, something pinching between her brows. He could tell immediately that something was bothering her. Then she asked him if he wants kids one day.
Apparently, she doesn’t want kids, and that’s why her last relationship ended.
And while he told her that he wants whatever she wants, that isn’t true.
He does want kids. He wants kids with her.
Children are the most permanent link there is.
And Troy wants to create the picture-perfect family he’s never had.
A devoted mother, beauty preserved, who consumes only the most reasonable amount of wine.
And he, the hardworking provider, walking through the door each evening to thrilled cries—Daddy, Daddy!
A man who puts his family first. A faithful man who shares a bed with his wife, who sleeps pressed against her, their children peaceful and content just down the hall.
He isn’t worried about this diversion in vision, though, because he will find a way to achieve what he wants. He always does.
The revolving door swishes again, and someone bursts through the opening. This time it’s her, curtains of dark hair swinging against her cheeks as she notices him and comes to an abrupt stop.
“Troy,” she says, and he can tell she’s surprised but not if she’s pleased.
He steps toward her, slides a hand into a silken curtain, pulls her face toward his.
When they break apart, she’s smiling. Maybe she wasn’t entirely happy when she first saw him standing out here waiting for her, but she’s happy now.
“Drink?” he asks.
She snags her lower lip in her teeth for a beat. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to see you,” he replies plainly. “Drink?” he repeats.
She nods, and he holds out a bent arm. She hooks her elbow around his.
They cross the street and walk down a block.
They both know where they’re going without having to discuss it.
A horn blares as they approach the front doors of their favorite restaurant.
It’s rush hour, and traffic is gridlocked.
Everyone is trying to escape the city, frustrated at everyone else for leaving at the same time they did, frustrated at themselves for not leaving earlier.
Troy uses the brass handle to tug the front door open and steps aside so that Klara can enter.
They find themselves a high-top table for two in the bar area and drape their coats over the backs of their chairs before settling down and picking up the menus lying on the table.
“A glass of Riesling, please,” says Klara when the server comes by.
Troy orders a beer on draft, and when the server leaves, they smile across the table at each other.
“So,” says Klara, “I wasn’t expecting to find you standing outside my office building.”
Troy shrugs. “I wanted to see you,” he says. “How was your day?”
“It was all right. Had a mediation this morning, and I was really hoping the case would settle, but the insurance company won’t give us anything to work with.
Not yet. It’ll probably settle the morning of trial.
My client has a strong case. It’s just frustrating because I’ll have to prep everything, and the trial probably won’t move forward. ”
“I’m sorry,” says Troy. “That is frustrating.”
He leans back, giving their server, who has returned with their drinks, room to put them on the table.
“Anyway,” Klara says, reaching for her wine, “how was your day?”
Troy tells her. He tells her about the commercial lease he spent the day negotiating.
As he talks, he watches Klara, memorizing each concrete detail.
There’s a fleck of mascara beneath her left eye.
She tucks her hair behind her ears, revealing emerald studs—probably fake.
She’s not the type to wear expensive jewelry.
Her nails are bare but clean, and filed into perfect ovals.
“Do you think it will fall through?” she asks.
“No,” says Troy. “I think they’re just playing hardball. They need this space. We’ll agree to their demands before we let it fall through.”
“So doesn’t that mean you’re the one playing hardball?” Klara’s smile is crooked now.
“Always,” says Troy.
He swallows, turns his beer in a tight circle. “The truth is, Klara,” he continues, “I didn’t just want to see you. I was waiting for you because I wanted to ask you about something, and it just couldn’t wait.”
“Oh,” says Klara, sitting back slightly, looking surprised. “What is it?”
“I had a thought. I know it’s early, but we’ve been seeing a lot of each other, and things are going well.” The words they said that morning seem to shimmer between them as they exchange a knowing smile. Love. I love you.
“I wanted to see how you felt about possibly moving in together,” he continues.
Klara stills, watching him. She’s a deer in the woods who has heard something. Will she stay and listen, or will she cut and run?
“I want to be with you, Klara. Every day. I want to get up before you every single morning to make you coffee. I want to hand you your lunch and make sure you have your umbrella before you walk out the door if it’s supposed to rain.
When I’m thinking about you during the workday, I want to text you and say, When will you be home?
And I want to mean our home. The place we share our lives.
I want to pick out new towels and sheets, and I want to buy impractical throw pillows with you and then complain about having to take them off the bed every night and wonder why we ever got them.
I want—” He rubs a hand over his cheek. Klara is watching him, and he’s suddenly feeling uncertain because he can detect something behind the small tightness of her smile, and he thinks it might be fear.
“Troy,” she says.
He cuts her off. “I want you, Klara. I just want to be around you. And I’m sorry if it’s too soon, but I just had to ask you. I know your answer might be no, it’s too early—but I just had to ask in case there was any chance you might say yes.”
“Troy,” she says again. She takes a sip of her wine and squints at something, likely nothing, beyond his right shoulder. “I don’t really know what to say. It is a bit soon, isn’t it? I mean, I only just met you three weeks ago.”
“Yes,” he says, “but we’ve seen each other every day for the last two weeks. We’ve spent the last five nights together. It feels right.”
“Have we?” Klara asks, looking surprised.
“Five,” he says, nodding. “And I was expecting tonight would make six, but I might’ve just ruined it.”
“You haven’t ruined it,” Klara says. “I just don’t know. I mean, I only just bought my condo a few months ago. I can’t imagine leaving it, and you have your apartment.”
“But I don’t own it,” Troy says. “I’m only renting.”
“Yes,” says Klara. She’s looking at something behind him again, and Troy turns, fearing that she’s seen someone she knows. Maybe an ex. Maybe a man who’s taller and more attractive than him. But there’s no one there. She’s not distracted by someone else, only by her own thoughts.
“I understand,” says Troy. “I know why you’re hesitant, and that’s completely fine. No rush. I just thought I’d throw it out there, you know, in case there was, like I said, any chance you might be interested.”
Troy lets his shoulders dip as he takes a swig of his beer, his eyes flitting around the room as if checking to see if anyone has noticed his faux pas. He paints himself as the picture of shame, of lovestruck devotion.
“Let me think about it,” Klara says, wrapping her small hands, her fragile, delicate fingers, around her stemless wineglass. “It’s a big deal.”
“It is,” he agrees. “That makes sense. Let’s think about it.”
He says it as if it was his idea, too. But he doesn’t need to think, and he’s actually not terribly ashamed or bothered by her hesitation.
Because he will make her see how much she needs him.
Soon, he will find a way to bind them together forever.
He’s chosen her, and he’s already devoted so much.
She’s the one he’s picked to be the family he never had. He won’t let her go.
“Do you still mean it?” Troy asks sheepishly, watching Klara, his chin dipped as if he can’t stare straight at her, as if she is the sun.
“Mean what?” Her brows furrow in confusion, and he has the urge to lean across the table to press his fingers into the little divot between them, the one that will, as she ages, come to be permanent.
“You said I haven’t ruined things. But I have ruined the streak. It stops at five nights in a row?” he asks. “We won’t make it six?”
Klara watches him for several seconds that take an eternity to tick by.
“No,” she says at last. His stomach drops.
But then she lifts her wineglass and drains the rest of her Riesling, and when she puts it down, she smiles. “No, you haven’t ruined it.”