was near him, the tables seemed turned and it was Gabby who looked knocked down and trampled this time.
Once she and I got in the car to go home, it didn’t take long to get the story. Immediately upon closing her car door, Gabby wailed, “Tyler is taking Amy to the prom!”
I studied my daughter for a moment. As gently as I could I asked, “Why shouldn’t he, sweetie?”
“Because I love him! We should be going to prom! Everyone knows it!”
I didn’t start the car. Like in triage, I assessed what Gabby needed first: comfort. I hugged her as she cried into my shoulder. “I’m sorry,” I said, stroking her hair.
Once her breathing returned to somewhat normal, I could start other treatment. “Babe, how was Tyler supposed to know you love him?”
She sniffled.
“You’ve spent nearly a year convincing yourself that you didn’t love him, and in the process, I think you managed to finally convince Tyler to give up.”
“But nobody believed me! Everyone knew we’d end up together. That’s how it’s supposed to be.”
“Things don’t work like that, babe. Nothing ends up how it’s ‘supposed to be’ unless you make them how you want them to be.”
She leaned her head back against the passenger seat. “Oh, I messed this up so bad.”
“Most mess-ups can be fixed.”
“But he already asked her! Amy said yes! I can’t believe she’d say yes!”
“Don’t hate me for saying this, but why shouldn’t she say yes? Tyler’s a fun, great guy.”
Silence.
“Most mess-ups can be fixed,” I repeated.
“How? They’re already going to prom together and he’s too nice to un-ask her.”
“Prom’s just one night. I’m talking about the bigger mess-up. You might not get your prom, but if you’re honest about your feelings, you might get what you really want, which is to have Tyler back in your life, right?”
Eventually I started the car. After stopping for ice cream—which everyone knows can ease heartache—we went home. I kept thinking that perhaps I should take my own advice.
I KNEW THAT BOBBY AND I HAD BEGUN TO UNRAVEL WHEN we’d stopped talking, stopped telling each other the truth. So, on the first really warm spring Saturday in late April—that first day people sit out in the sun, shed long sleeves, wear shorts that bare white winter skin, those days that make you want to drink the sunshine—I packed a picnic and drove out to Dubey’s guest cottage. He was playing piano as I arrived, which trickled out through the open windows. I waited until he finished to say, “Lovely,” through the screen.
He spun around on his piano bench. “Oh. Hey, Cam.” He let me in and kissed me, but when his eyes went to the picnic basket, his jaw tightened.
“I thought I could entice you away on a picnic. To celebrate beautiful days.”
He paused.
“You should’ve called.” He laughed, but the sound was forced.
I set the basket down and said, “You’ve just shown up at my place before to whisk me away somewhere. I loved it.”
He frowned. “I just . . . I don’t think—” He stammered a moment, then said, as if he’d been wanting to say it but holding back, “I’m not comfortable with this, Cami.”
I sat down. I gestured for him to do the same, but he didn’t. “We need to talk. You’re not comfortable with me? Or you’re not comfortable with not being in control of our plans?” To my surprise I wasn’t angry. I looked at the gashes hacked out of his piano legs and couldn’t be.
He shook his head. “Every time a woman says, ‘We need to talk,’ the relationship is doomed.”
I laughed. “I personally think if two people don’t talk about their feelings, a relationship is doomed. I’m pretty confused by how things are playing out with us. Confused and a bit irritated, to be honest.”
“I’ve been honest, Cami,” he said. He still didn’t sit down. “I’ve always said I didn’t want another relationship. I’ve been as clear as I could be that I’m not going down that path again.”
“That’s true,” I said. “You did. But your actions didn’t match your words. You’d say ‘never again,’ but you’d be sweet and romantic and give me great gifts and lots of attention. We’ve slept together, Dubey.”
“I knew that was a mistake.”
“Wow. Really?” I tried to be kind, gentle. If only he could see how afraid he was. “I didn’t think it was a mistake. I thought it was pretty damn nice.”
“It was nice,” he said, suddenly mortified. “I didn’t mean it wasn’t—I just meant