The door clicks closed behind him, her gray cat safely curled up, fast asleep, on its bed beside her plush green couch. Heremembers when she got the little thing as a kitten and it’s barely bigger than it was back then.
“Where’s the roommate?”
He has a vague recollection of her roommate being a singer-songwriter type trying desperately to cling to the dream in between waitressing gigs.
“Julie?” Bianca says, falling into the soft-looking leather armchair, kicking her shoes off and letting out a little sigh. “She booked a tour, opening for Mari Martin.”
A dream that’s apparently coming true.
“Whoa, that’s big.”
A wide smile blooms across her face and he can’t help but smile back. “It’s awesome. She’s gonna be huge just like she always wanted.”
“That’s why she wasn’t there tonight?” he asks.
“Yeah, at least she has a good excuse. Sorry, can’t make your dissertation celebration, but I’ll dedicate my set to you tonight in front of eighty thousand people is so much better than . . .” She trails off.
He finally crosses the room and perches on the edge of her couch, leaning forward on his elbows so he can look her in the eye. “I’m sorry they all bailed.”
She shrugs. “It’s whatever.”
“No, it’s not. It’s shitty,” he argues and as soon as the word crosses his lips, he can’t stop the rest. “I haven’t known you as long as they have, but in the last five years, I’ve seen you jump at the drop of a hat for all of them, constantly running around for their shit and they couldn’t show up for you tonight? You deserve better.”
With a heavy sigh, she waves a hand in the air and stares up at the ceiling. She’s trying not to cry again, just like she did back at the bar when her friends and family dipped. He hates it. Hatesthat he can’t reach out and pull her into his arms and hold her close, and if he can’t take the pain away, at least ease it a little.
“You know what’s funny? I know why they didn’t come tonight.”
“You do?”
“They don’t care about this.”
“They don’t care?”
“They care aboutme, I know that. They love me as much as I love them, but they don’t care about this. It’s just something about me that none of them understand. They understand engagement parties and showers and bachelorette weekends and destination weddings and gender reveals and fuck, they even get divorce bar crawls, but . . . this? It’s just a thing to them. They don’t think it’s the same or that it’s as important as their stuff was, so it was just easy not to come tonight.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“I mean, is it? It’s a piece of paper. Just like the last two I got, maybe a little bit fancier, a lot more expensive, but it’s not . . .”
And he can’t stop himself, he reaches forward and grabs the hand she’s waving in the air trying to come up with a word that’ll solidify the argument that he’s really sure that she doesn’t actually believe. And if she does believe it, shit, he might make it his life’s work to convince her otherwise.
“It’s bullshit,” he repeats, running a thumb along her knuckles as she holds tight to his hand. “They love you and this is your dream and they don’t get to decide that it’s not important.”
“You know what’s extra shitty about it?” she asks him and he’s relieved that she’s finally agreeing with him.
“What?”
“If I was getting engaged tonight they would have shown up. Every single one of them would have made sure to be there. My sister would have found a babysitter. Frankie would have made sure she wasn’t on a call with Japan and Chloe would have toldJosh they had plans tonight and Isobel and Erik wouldn’t have felt like they could no-show without even giving me a decent excuse. They would have all been there, even if they hated the guy, even if they thought I was giving up my dreams for him, even if they had to reschedule all kinds of stuff and shell out an absolute shit ton of money just like I did for them, because nothing would be more important than being there for me in that moment. Because that’s what friends do. That’s what I’ve done for them. But it’s just a stupid piece of paper they don’t really understand or give a shit about, so it was just easy to not come.”
“That’s . . .” He trails off, with absolutely no idea what to say. He wants to disagree with her, but she’s probably right. He doesn’t know any of those people beyond her brief mentions of them over the years, but right now he loathes every single one of them.
“It really is,” she agrees, despite his lack of eloquence. She sits back in the chair, her hair a wild mess, the silk of her tank top shifting around those curves he’s always found way too tempting for his sanity, and her hand is still in his, holding on tight. As his thumb slides softly over her knuckles one last time, he stares at that hand, so much smaller than his, her fourth finger bare, and he says the absolute stupidest thing he possibly could.
“We should get engaged.”
Bianca lets out a humorless snort, but when he doesn’t answer her, his mouth dry, his throat tight, she looks away from the ceiling to meet his eyes with hers.
“You’re serious?”
