Chapter liv
liv
I STAYED OVER AT DAX’S PLACE THAT NIGHT, AND AS I was leaving for the office the next morning, he handed me a travel coffee mug filled with the Guatemalan coffee he’d made in his French press and said, “Is it too much to ask what you’re doing tonight? I waited so long to see you again in person, and now that we’re both in the same city …”
I took the coffee mug and then stepped toward him to show my gratitude with a kiss. I ignored the little voice of fear inside me that said: Not too fast! Someone will get hurt! Instead, I said, “Seeing you, I hope.”
He smiled and ran his fingers through his bed head. “Come back here? After work? I’ll even try to make dinner.”
I smiled at his earnestness. “Sounds good. I usually leave work around six. See you a little after that? And I can definitely help with dinner.”
He shook his head. “I’m not working this week. The least I can do is figure out dinner.”
I spent that whole day at work half paying attention and half daydreaming of Dax, reveling in the beautiful feeling of going home to someone special, of knowing that he was waiting all day to see me, too.
“You okay?” Versha asked me when it took me a moment longer to answer one of her questions.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m good.”
She looked at me skeptically but kept pushing through the conversation. And I kept listening with half my mind while daydreaming about Dax with the other.
THAT NIGHT, I WAVED TO DAX’S DOORMAN AND headed up to his apartment, a thrill of excitement already fluttering in my stomach.
I knew he left his door unlocked, so I turned the knob, feeling equal parts brave and happy as I did it. “Hey,” I called out. “It’s me, I’m home.”
“I’m in the living room,” he called back.
I slipped off my shoes and lined them up at the front door next to his, then dropped my bag on the entryway table and slipped off my jacket.
“Coming!” I said, wondering why he hadn’t come to meet me. “Dax?” I said as I walked through the hallway to the living room.
“Hey, my girl with kaleidoscope eyes,” he said, looking up at me. He was sitting on the couch and was surrounded by paper and photographs and markers and glue.
“Hey,” I said, making some room next to him and sit- ting down. “What are you up to?” I picked up one of the photographs. It was Dax and a little boy I assumed was Zac on the rowboats in Central Park.
“I’m trying to make a book of memories,” he said. “I had put all the photos and ticket stubs and whatever else I’d saved of Zac’s into that shoebox, and all of a sudden it felt awful keeping him in a box. So I wanted to make a book so I could keep the memories easily accessible.”
I leaned my head against his shoulder. “You want some help?” I asked.
Dax kissed my temple. “I’d love some help,” he said. “And, by the way, I ordered us Moroccan food. I decided it was too early to subject you to my horrible cooking, but I wanted to honor my word. It should be here soon.”
“Moroccan sounds delicious,” I said as I picked up the pile of photos on the table. “Want me to sort these into age, or activity?”
“Age, please,” Dax said.
I nodded and started going through them. It was amazing to see Zac, but even more amazing to me to see Dax as a younger, much more carefree man. I wondered whether the two of us would have connected so deeply then, or if we both needed to experience sorrow first.
“Is there anything specific that precipitated this project?” I asked.
“It’s April,” he said. “Zac died on April nineteenth.”
“Oh, Dax,” I said, putting the photographs down and wrapping my arms around him. “I’m so, so sorry.”
He rested his chin on my head, and we stayed that way for a while, not speaking, just breathing, just feeling the warmth of each other’s bodies.
The kids’ spring break was from April 22 to April 30 this year. Darren had the kids the week before.
“I don’t know if you want to be alone that day,” I said, quietly, “or if it’s easier with company, but … I can take the day off and—”
“Yes,” Dax said. “Please.”
I nodded. “Of course.”
His arms tightened around me, and mine tightened around him.
“Do you disappear again next week?” he asked, as if maybe by holding me tighter, he could keep me there.
I cringed. “I hate to,” I said. “But I think so.”
He nodded slowly. “I hope you’ll tell your kids about me when you’re ready, Lucy. I want this to be real, I want to be a part of your life. And I want you to be part of mine.”
That flutter of anxiety kicked up again, but I ignored it. “I’d like that, too,” I said.