Page 96 of Holding On

He’s quiet a moment, in only the way Geo can be: completely silent. Then he asks a second question. The only question right now. “And if she says yes?”

I shift in my chair. “I won’t ask her to give up law school or California.”

What’s left unsaid is that I would abandon my opportunities, take a year off, and try to get in and finish my final year at UC Davis. I’d focus on small animal surgery.

There’s not a single movement, not a flinch, not a flicker. He doesn’t even raise his index finger for the neck of the bottle.

Geo reaches under his glasses and presses a thumb and index finger to his eyes.

I stand up, almost spilling my beer. “What’s wrong?” When he drops his hand, his gaze is on me. The brightness of tears leaves me unsure what he’s thinking, and I realize what he thinks will always be important to me, for all the right reasons. I may not always agree with him, but I respect this man. I trust him, and I know his comments come directly from his heart.

“That would be a shame,” he says. “To give up everything you’ve worked so hard for. I guess I’m going to say what you’d expect because it’s the rational thing to say.” He pauses, but he doesn’t look at me. “You’re beginning your fourth year. Finishing a degree in veterinary medicine at your age is practically unheard of. You’ve worked really hard to complete coursework in record time. No one can take that away from you except yourself.”

I start to explain part two of the plan, where I try to find another research topic or just move directly into small animal practice.

But he holds up a hand.

“Let me finish. I got more to say than what’s expected.” He wipes his eyes again. “I married Beverly at twenty-one. Secretly. Do you know how many people thought that was a bad idea? I had just been accepted to Cornell. My brother was furious. My parents, livid. My school counselor was apoplectic. Everyone had a reason it was the stupidest thing ever. And I mean ever. I was supposed to be a role model. I was too young to know what I wanted. I had to finish school first. And yes, these were all valid reasons.” He stops for a moment and finishes off his beer. “Beverly died five years later. My only regret was that I didn’t marry her at eighteen.”

He looks at me. “I lost two years with her. My point is, if you’ve thought this through and you know your heart, the rest will line up. You’ll make it work. Together. No one is guaranteed time on this planet. You know that as well as I do.”

The hot lump in my throat has returned, and I have to swallow two or three times to make it dissipate.

“Besides,” he says, “I love it when I’m right. I thought this might be happening.”

Shifting his weight, he digs around in his pocket and pulls out a tiny red carboard box. He shrugs as he passes it to me. “This is for you, if you want to use it. I mean, it’s not a diamond.”

I’m not sure what to do. I know what’s in here, or at least I think I do.

I lift the lid. It’s a ring. The setting sun turns the rose gold even pinker. A small round opal sits in the center, in a beautiful modern swirl of more rose gold, like waves cresting in places along the rim of gemstone.

“Beverly was buried with her wedding band. But this . . .” He trails off for a moment, then takes a deep breath. “I told myself if I ever had a son, I would pass her engagement ring on to him.”

A seagull cries above, thrilled with finding a thermal in the cooling air. The waves curl and crash with no pattern, but their constancy creates a backdrop of hushed noise. I hear the tinkle of stemware and guests laughing next door. The light smell of baked fish and cream sauce, roasted chicken, and chocolate cake wafts from Chloe’s kitchen.

All things sensory are right there, on the surface, persisting in the moment. I’m also aware of all the pain and all the love it took for this ring to find its way into my hands.