A Summer In Europe (3 page)

There was an unmistakable sparkle in his eyes as he spoke about this event. Was he thinking of introducing her as his fiancée at the picnic? “Of course,” she said, elated.

He beamed at her and chitchatted some more. He remained very much his usual self throughout the meal—indomitably polite to the waitstaff, expressing delight when their platters arrived, enthusiastic about events coming up in the near future—nothing seemed remotely out of the ordinary. This was comforting.

Gwen fidgeted with her fork and studied her plate, heaped with rich foods: a solid cut of Angus steak smothered in a mushroom sauce, shrimp and scallops with melted butter, a few superbly prepared sides. Richard dug in enthusiastically. He looked to be enjoying every bite and fully expected her to do the same. Under normal circumstances, she would have considered it too heavy a meal, perhaps, but she would have appreciated it much more than she did just then. Her stomach was churning strangely, however, and she could barely manage to eat a third of the platter.

“Don’t you like it?” he whispered, sounding worried when she told him she was going to ask their waiter for a carryout box. “If it’s not cooked well, or if you’d rather have the baked chicken like we usually get, I can order that for you instead.”

“No. This is great. Really. I’m just full already, and I know I have to save room for some dinner and birthday cake tonight at Aunt Bea’s.”

“Ah,” he said, not unpleasantly, but Gwen couldn’t help but detect the shadow that darkened his face upon hearing her aunt’s name. There was a perpetual unease between the two of them and, even though they’d spent several occasions together during the time she and Richard had been a steady couple, an awkwardness that almost approached dislike lingered between them.

It was an odd thing, really. Particularly given both of their compassionate natures. Her aunt, while certainly
quirky,
was a source of everlasting kindness and strength in Gwen’s life—the lone mother figure she’d had when her mom (Aunt Beatrice’s younger sister) died when Gwen was twelve, and her only living relative in the area. She owed her aunt so much.

And Richard ...

He’d been there for her when she’d first moved to Dubuque and had felt so alone. He was so calm and gentle with everyone, especially his clients. A remarkably empathetic insurance agent. She’d seen him in action on a few occasions when there had been a car accident or a house fire. He seemed unfazed by disaster. Placid in the face of grief. A guy who could be counted on to be cool under pressure and help out the victims in crisis. How comforting it was to be around a man so reliable and proficient in emergencies!

And, yet, he didn’t seem to like her aunt very much, who’d been nothing but—well, her naturally sweet but sort of nutty self with him. Gwen found their silent antagonism endlessly mystifying. But, of course, it would be impolite to mention this to either.

“So, nothing for you from the dessert menu then, Birthday Girl?” Richard asked, clasping her hand on the tabletop and squeezing gently. “Maybe a cup of vanilla ice cream?”

She shook her head. “No, thanks. But this was delicious.” She pointed to her entrée, ready to be boxed up, and poked around a little just to make sure nothing special was hidden underneath a fat scallop or a buttery shrimp. Nope. “I’ll enjoy the rest later,” she told him, a little disappointed that he hadn’t thought to be sort of creative with his proposal. Then again, a ring could get really sticky in mushroom sauce.

“Okay. Perhaps just a little more wine instead?”

Once more she saw the sparkle in his clear gray eyes, and she found herself agreeing to another half glass, even though she wasn’t sure she could drink it. Her stomach continued to host some kind of gymnastic tournament inside her abdomen. She pressed her palm against the flat of her belly to try to calm the happiness masquerading as anxiety within her. This was a
good
day! She was just moments away from the joy she’d been waiting for—for months.

Plus, she knew she’d have something fun to tell Aunt Bea and those insatiable gossips in the S&M club that night. They were always trolling for details on her love life as if it might be some juicy plotline from
The Bold and the Beautiful,
her aunt’s favorite soap opera. Just to appease them in their adoration of the melodramatic, she often spoon-fed them whatever romantic tidbits she could without revealing anything too personal. She knew from her aunt’s tone and comment on the phone that they were expecting a fair bit of news tonight, though. It would be a relief to finally get to feed their curiosity by sharing something huge like wedding plans.

Oh, and Aunt Bea! Even if the future groom was Richard, Gwen knew this announcement would be a thrill for her aunt. Bea was in love with the idea of people being in love.

Richard reached down to pull up the silver gift bag he’d carefully set on the floor next to his chair. “I’ve got a little something for you, Gwen,” he told her as he placed the package in her hands. “I hope you’ll like it.”

“Thank you.” With unsteady fingers, she lifted out the loose white tissue paper at the top and laid it on the empty seat next to her. She tapped at the item at the bottom of the bag, wrapped in more tissue still. Hard. Small. Square-shaped. With her heart pounding, she pulled it out and let the paper drop away.

A ring-sized jewelry box. Navy blue.
Oh, here it is!

She took a very deep breath and lifted the lid of the box. Slowly. Really trying to savor the moment. But her pulse was racing, and she just couldn’t wait. She flipped it open and ... blinked.

Inside, rather than the engagement ring she was expecting, a pair of earrings sat on the velvety cushion. Very nice pearl earrings. But still ...
earrings.

Hmm.

“Do you like them?” he asked, his tone anxious.

She exhaled. “Well—yes, of course. They ... they’re lovely, Richard. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he gushed. “I’m so glad you think they’re pretty. I saw this pair and immediately thought of you. I think they’ll look great on you.”

She instinctively reached up to touch the pearl earrings she already had on. Richard saw her do this, and he smiled.

“I know how you like wearing those old ones,” he said brightly. “But I figured they were kind of worn-out now, you know. You needed something newer.”

She stared at him for a long moment but had no way of responding to this astonishing comment. She’d told him of her sentimental connection to her mother’s earrings. She’d even told him that these were the earrings her father had given her mother when Gwen was born. That her mom had always said one day they’d be hers. That she’d give them to Gwen on her sixteenth birthday ... a birthday her mom hadn’t lived to share with her. Could Richard have forgotten this?

She tried hard to see the good intentions behind his gift, but knew it would be impossible to explain all of the ways in which he’d missed the mark. Not without bruising his feelings. But, seriously. Was it possible he really believed such a thing?
No
other pair of earrings could ever hope to replace the ones that had belonged to Mom. These were not “old” or “worn-out,” they were treasured and loved. Richard’s pair, while quite pretty and very new, lacked the soft luster from wear, the uniqueness of design and the intense sentiment of her originals. How did he not understand that?

Furthermore, while it may have come in a jewelry box, his present wasn’t remotely like a proposal, and Gwen was stunned by how much the absence of this pained her. She’d been so sure. Everything about her relationship with him had been so seamless, so predictable.

Until now.

In one last-ditch effort to make certain she hadn’t missed an additional gift anywhere, she slid her fingertips along the bottom of the sparkly silver bag as she wrapped up the earrings in the tissue paper again. Nothing else was in there. And nothing else seemed to be in her boyfriend’s jacket, either, tucked away from view. Nothing.

She’d thought two years was a very sensible time frame for an engagement. Ideal, in fact. Yet, she must have thought wrong.

She bowed her head and shut her eyes tight. Warring with her hurt and confusion, however, was the acute discomfort that she’d somehow miscalculated something so significant. And her misjudgment was only accentuated by Richard’s behavior. He paid for the meal, helped her collect her things and walked her to her car without a single mention of marriage.

Although she wanted to be understanding, a frustrated part of her also wanted to shake him and cry, “What happened, Richard? You were supposed to propose to me today.
Everyone
expected it—especially
me!
”

But she did not shake him. A new ache constricted her heart, but she kept very quiet, allowing only a few—admittedly incensed—mental comebacks in the privacy of her mind. For several moments, she merely stood there, struggling to gulp away her disappointment, but it lingered in her mouth like the aftertaste of a fruity wine that had soured.

“So, I’ll see you in a few days?” he said. “Maybe we can catch a movie this weekend or just ... hang out.” He grinned at her. “Hang out” was his code phrase for making love. An activity that had been very pleasant between them. And always very uncomplicated.

She nodded mutely. Then, only when she was positive she could speak without her voice quivering, she said, “Yes, and, well, thanks so much for lunch, Richard. And for the earrings. Both were very ... nice.”

She turned to unlock her car door, but he put his hand on her shoulder. “Um, Gwen—” He cleared his throat. “I, uh, want you to know that I’ve been looking at
other
things, too. Other kinds of jewelry for you. Okay?”

She met his eye and saw the warmth and kindness she’d come to associate with him staring back at her. But there was something else, too. Something she was having a difficult time pinpointing. The flip side of a good quality, perhaps. Not consistency, but rigidity.

“Okay,” she murmured.

He inhaled deeply, like this was a speech he’d rehearsed at length, and threaded his fingers through his very dark, very straight hair. “We’ve been dating for almost two years and, well, I can imagine you might be expecting something more for your birthday than earrings. I was at the jewelry store, you know. I was ... looking. But a commitment, like marriage, for instance, is a very serious thing. It requires planning and deliberation and lots of consideration. I think an engagement is better suited to a more reflective time of year. Like fall. Or even winter.”

She felt her brow furrow as she tried to make sense of this statement. Yes, she’d agree marriage was a very serious matter and it was worthy of much thought and discussion. Why that discussion would have to wait until it was
colder,
however, was beyond her comprehension.

“Okay,” she murmured again, but she couldn’t help but be tempted to say:
Did you think Halloween would be a more serious time for a proposal? Were you going to ask me to be your very own Bride of Frankenstein? Dress up like a ghoul or some kind of vampire?

Something inside her chest snapped loose at the thought. She tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle a snicker at the image of straitlaced Richard wearing fake blood and a cape and getting down on one knee, reciting words of love from the more passionate passages of Bram Stoker’s
Dracula
or, alternately, a few lines from Mary Shelley’s
Frankenstein,
but she was rewarded only with him staring at her as if
she
were the strange one. Maybe she was—or maybe not at all. Truth was, at this point, she no longer knew.

She wished she had someone in her life she could ask to gauge the strangeness level for her. But both of her parents were dead. Her brothers were living thousands of miles away and, besides, they were guys. Aside from Kathy, her teaching colleagues weren’t people she considered close enough to share such intimacies with, particularly outside of the school year. And her aunt was, well, not the most conventional person.

So, she just pecked Richard on the cheek and swiftly slid into her car. She needed time to reflect on all of this.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” she told him, and with a half wave, he let her go.

What just happened?!

She asked herself this repeatedly. All she’d ever wanted was for the world to make sense. To progress in a way that was rational. With Richard, it should have. But ... it didn’t.

At home again, she reasoned through the events of the afternoon, in minute-by-minute increments, trying to balance Richard’s motivations with his behavior, while mechanically cutting up fruit for a healthy appetizer to bring to her aunt’s house. But, like two sides of an algebraic equation, there was a variable on one end that remained a mystery:

A (He didn’t formally propose to her, but he also didn’t NOT propose.) + B (He expressed his intention to become engaged as soon as the seasons changed and the air had sufficiently chilled—an ingredient for “good reflection” she would never have predicted prior to the day’s luncheon—but he did not say he desperately wanted to be her husband, or articulate his passion with the assistance of a famed poet’s verses, or even profess on his own how much he ardently loved and admired her.) + C (He did not solidify their romantic connection in any way that she’d expected.) = X (Unknown.)

As a result, she felt herself in the odd limbo of being attached to the man by an invisible string. There was a bond, yes. Just not a readily apparent or wholly logical one. And she couldn’t help but wonder, in that enclosed cerebral circuit of private introspection that was half mathematical, half literary and entirely academic: How strong was their attachment?

Steadying a tray of fruit kabobs on her hip, Gwen used her key to enter her aunt’s house at precisely a quarter to four and stepped into the ruckus that was an S&M club meeting.

“Swear to the sweet Lord child, I’m gonna wrap your head up in an Akan kente cloth, Davis, and twist until your neck snaps!” Zenia hollered, raising her voice with practiced theatrics and standing up to add that extra element of menace.