Page 100 of Holding On

“We’re in a dinner rut,” she calls from the bathroom.

I’ve just pulled the second half of the lasagna from the oven and added to the leftover salad from last night’s dinner. Despite our rule about no cell phones, she’s so thrilled with her new one that she checked messages earlier. Ever since, she’ been excited, different.

“Tough luck, sista.”

She walks into the kitchen with nothing but a towel wrapped around her. She drags a finger across my chest as I’m holding the salad bowl.

“You’re killing me,” I say. “What are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing? Walking around in a towel, buddy. It’s your lucky day.” She grabs a grape from the counter and pops it into her mouth.

“Okay, that’s it. I should spank you.”

“Just try it, monster boy,” she says, laughing, and she slams the bathroom door shut.

When she comes out, she’s wearing jean capris rolled up to just below the knee, and an oversized, unbuttoned white cotton shirt. A pink tank top fits snug underneath. Her skin gleams and her hair is back in a tidy bun. She sits down at the counter.

“We’re having the talk, Travis. We have to,” she says.

That sickening feeling unfurls from the pit of my stomach. I know for a fact that if she asks me to leave school, I will. I’ll come out to California with her. After she completes her law degree, I’ll return and finish up school while she studies for the bar exam. As much as I want to believe that can happen, there are an awful lot of unknowns.

We may break up. She may fall in love with someone else. I can only be guided by what I know is true—I want to spend the rest of my life with her. She may not feel the same way.

I can’t tell her this right now. I can’t expect this right now.

She slides off the barstool. “Come here,” she says, sitting on the sofa, one leg tucked underneath and one on the floor. She holds an arm out to me, and I take her hand. She throws the leg on the floor over mine and then unfolds the second one and lays it over me too. I’m trapped in all the good ways.

“Okay,” she says. “I need you to listen.”

Her hand shakes a little, and she’s swallowing hard. She’s very scared too, and then in a flash, I understand what all this is about: she’s going to quit law school.

“Listen,” I say, slowly so that she hears me. “Listen, you can’t. You cannot quit law school. I’ll take a break for a year and finish up when you’re done. You’ve only got a year left. I’ll go to California, and I’ll work for a year. My credits aren’t going anywhere. And we’ll figure the rest out later.”

Suddenly, she lunges forward and grabs my head in her hands. Her lips press against mine, and she gives me a long kiss.

“What was that for?” I say, taking her hand again.

“I had to stop you,” she says, and then she lies back against the pillows. “Don’t look like that. Just let me talk for a minute.”

I nod, but my heart is sinking.

“First, no, you’re not going to do any of that. But thank you for making that offer.”

I don’t like how formal this is sounding.

“Look,” she says. “Here, I need some wine.” She unfolds herself from my lap and walks to the refrigerator and pulls out the long, thin bottle of champagne.

I start to shake my head in alarm. That’s for the last day, not now. It’s not a bad-news chaser.

She goes ahead—pours two glasses and brings them over. I watch her move, the light on her skin, her smile, her hair.

This time, she sits with both feet tucked underneath her, leaning forward. I take a glass but set it on the coffee table. “This is what I propose. And I haven’t done it yet, so if you don’t want to—”

“I told you, you can’t quit school.”

She shakes her head and holds a finger to my lips. “Let me finish. This is what I’m proposing, and all I have to do is literally press a button to make it work. No—no, shhh. Audrey spoke with the dean of admissions and the president of the Fletcher School of Law.”

I have no idea what she’s talking about.