The Ground Rules: Undone (33 page)

I laugh. “What?”

“You could have tried to look a little less attractive.”

I smile. “I’m wearing a t-shirt and jeans and the ugliest shoes on the planet. I don’t even have make-up on.”

“You’re just a natural beauty, I guess.”

I laugh. “Yeah, right.”

“Is he picking you up soon?”

“Who’s picking you up?” Claire chimes in, curious.

“Uh…” I stammer, suddenly remembering my little white lie. I lean in to Gabe. “Could you bring her in, you know…”

He nods. “Hey, let’s go in for a freezie,” he says with a pat on her shoulder.

“Yay,” she cheers.

He looks at me one last time as they make their way in. “Don’t have too much fun now,” he says with a hint of a scowl.

Weston’s sleek black sports car pulls into the driveway. I’m not sure what kind it is — I know nothing about cars — but it looks expensive. I run over to the car, and the window slides down.

“Hi,” he says, leaning back in a fitted t-shirt and sleek silver-rimmed shades, his rebel lock of hair acting up. He looks like the coolest guy on earth. But I know he looks cooler than he is, because I know the real Weston — the one who uses hand sanitizer, organizes his desk with military precision, and who can’t stand tardiness.

I smile. “Nice day.”

He flashes his wide smile. “Get in.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

One last kiss.

W
e don’t say a word as we make our way out of my neighborhood. It’s busy today, people working on their yards, kids playing on the street. I venture a look up at him, and feel slightly nauseous. This might be the last time I ever see him. If all goes well, it will
be
the last time I see him. It feels like there’s a great big weight pressing on my insides.

I hate this.

Satellite radio is on — soulful acoustic raspy covers of classics — the coffee house station. He looks over at me for a fleeting second, and I look away. “Do you enjoy hiking?”

“Yes, sometimes,” I say, looking out at the scenery. “Haven’t done it in a while.”

“Neither have I,” he says. Somehow, it’s strange again between us. It seems we can barely string a few sentences together, making small talk like strangers.

“Every day is getting easier,” I say, without preamble. “I can see the light. Can you see the light?”

He smiles. “Yes,” he says simply. “I can see it. And you’re in it.”

My breath catches. He hasn’t let me go.

I smile thinly, not knowing what to say. I look nervously around the car and I spot a blue blanket and a picnic basket on the tiny back seat. It’s one of those old-fashioned wicker baskets with a checkered blue and white cloth lining. “Are we having a picnic?”

He smiles. “I know you’ve probably had lunch, but I brought a few snacks along. Some of your favorites.”

My stomach growls at his words. “I’m actually starving. I couldn’t eat a thing at lunch. Too nervous.”

He turns to me. “Why?”

“Uh…I don’t know,” I stammer. “Did you bring that goat cheese and spread I like?”

He smiles and nods.

Sweet.

“I thought we could have our picnic at the meadow,” he says.

No.

I clear my throat. “Sounds good.”

Doesn’t sound romantic in the least…not at all.

He looks kind of ridiculous, holding the huge picnic basket in one hand, a blanket slung over his shoulder.

“I can hold the blanket.”

“No, I’m fine,” he insists.

I swing my stainless steel water bottle, holding it by its keychain clasp. I peruse the map of the trail, making a mental note of the number of stops. The trail forms a big wide circle and brings you back right where you started. The meadow is right smack in the middle.

“It’s only about an hour,” I point out. “Shouldn’t be too hard of a workout.”

“Well, maybe for you,” he teases. “I know you’re not one for exercise.”

I snarl at him. “Running around after twenty-one kids is exercise enough, thank you very much.”

“You have twenty-one kids this year?” he asks as we make our way down the trail. It’s chillier under the shade of the trees. I slip on my hoodie as I take in the forest around me.

“Yep.”

The leaves have just started to turn. That delicious fall smell fills my nostrils. The trees are gorgeous as always, but it’s the little details I love the most. I love the moss on the base of the trees, the ferns lining the trails, the broken tree trunks lodging what looks like secret homes. I always like to imagine which little creatures live there — squirrels and chipmunks I guess. And I also love the occasional splashes of brilliant color; the beautiful wild flowers, and a colorful mushroom or fuzzy caterpillar is always a magical find. But I must admit, the eerie strange sounds of the forest sometimes make me jump a little.

“How is it so far?” he asks, walking a little too close to me. I can smell his familiar woodsy scent, or maybe that’s just the wonderful smell of the trees around us.

I smile. “It’s…uh…good.” Suddenly, I’m being odd again.

He smiles as he side-steps a giant root spurting from the ground. “Watch it,” he warns.

“This hike smells like you,” I say out of the blue, the words spilling out before I can stop them. “I mean you always smell woodsy, earthy. I don’t mean that as an insult,” I’m quick to add.

He laughs. And looks at me in that same familiar way he has so many times. His head tilts, his eyes linger on me, a hint of a smile — like he could just look at me for hours, if given the chance.

This goodbye meeting is definitely not starting out on the right track.

“It’s Dior Homme Sport,” he tells me.

“Oh, I wondered.” It never occurred to me to ask.

He smiles. “What about you?” he asks. “You always smell so delicious, almost fruity.”

“Uh…I don’t really wear anything. Herbal Essence shampoo,” I confess.

He laughs. “Well, it just makes me want to eat you up.”

I swallow and falter a bit, and almost trip on one of those damn roots sticking out. As he grabs my arm, the blanket slips and falls to the ground.

“Are you okay?”

“Uh…yes, I’m fine,” I tell him as I pick up the blanket, which is now covered in pine needles and dirt. “I’m sorry.”

He takes the blanket from me. “It’s fine, as long as you’re not hurt.”

“Yes,” I say. I am fine, physically at least.

Where is that damn meadow already?

As I walk beside him, I try to focus on the crackle beneath my shoes, and not on how beautiful he is and how sweet he’s being. It occurs to me that perhaps a solitary walk in the woods and a quaint picnic in a romantic meadow may not have been the best choice for a break-up location. In movies, break-ups always happen on a street corner, in a busy restaurant, or even over the phone. But I’ve tried the restaurant break-up before and it didn’t go so well. I thought he wouldn’t make a scene, being in public and all, but he did. And what we’ve shared is too important for another soulless break-up in a coffee shop. He deserves more. I fear how he’ll react. I don’t know what to expect and it scares the hell out of me.

I trail purposely behind. Every now and then, he turns back to me and shoots me a smile. I don’t want to walk beside him and flirt. There is no need for foreplay today because nothing will happen between us.

Finally, the sun shines through as we near the meadow. It stretches in front of us, in soft wisps of lime greens, dotted with yellow and white — buttercups and wild daisies. It’s quite breathtaking and I ask myself why I don’t come here more often.

I follow Weston into the meadow.

He shakes out the blanket and whips it in the air, letting it fall gently over the wispy grass and flowers. I wonder if we’re even allowed to set up like this in the meadow. I’m sure we’re breaking some kind of environmental law. The blue blanket looks inviting. My mind immediately wanders to all the fun we could have on it, in an alternate reality.

I bite my lip, chiding myself.

Settle down, girl.

I remind myself why I’m here.

The sun is shining down. I plop down my shades. I take off my purple hoodie, grab its arms and tie a perfect knot around my waist.

Weston grabs the picnic basket and sets it on the blanket. I kneel down next to him, my body not quite itself. I feel so awkward, unsure of myself. I’m not quite sure how I’m going to go about this. He pulls on the basket’s belt-like straps and opens it to reveal a nice selection of snacks. He is as methodical as ever as he spreads out a small checkered table cloth over the blanket. I smile as I watch him intently. He sets a plate in the center and puts two cute little matching sea-themed spreading knifes on the plate. He lays out crackers in a perfect line; like fallen dominoes, the goat cheese and the small jar of my favorite fig spread. My mouth salivates at the sight. He ventures a look up at me and I give him a wide smile of appreciation. “I’m impressed.”

He smiles. “I try.”

He plops a bunch of green grapes on the plate, and pulls a bottle of rosé from the basket. “I also brought some Orangina if you’d prefer.”

“No thanks, I’m fine with the wine.”

Finally, he pulls out a pretty little blue velvet box which he sets on the blanket. My breath catches at the sight of it. He looks at me but doesn’t say a word. I try to read his expression but I can’t. I see nothing but a mix of emotions; hope, love, sorrow. I pray to God it’s not what I think it is. Not only will I have to break up with him, but I’ll have to turn down a marriage proposal too.

No, he wouldn’t.

I grab a cracker and spread some of the delicious looking cheese on it, but somehow, my appetite has left me again. It may have a little something to do with the blue velvet box.

He opens the bottle and pours us both some wine.

I watch him without inhibition. I want to drink him in. I realize this will be our last time together if all works as planned. And he’s still as beautiful as the first time I saw him. Of course, he looks a lot more casual today; light brown chinos and a plaid short sleeved button shirt, a silver chain tucked under a white undershirt. He props his shades on top of his head as he gazes up at the sky. Clouds have drifted over us. I look up and pray it doesn’t start to rain. The last thing I need right now is a downpour.

Neither of us say a thing for what seems like a week.

“This is nice,” I finally venture. “Thank you. This was a great idea.”

He smiles without a word. “I wanted to talk. I want to know how you’ve been faring. You can tell me the truth.”

I feel my throat close up. I swallow the lump down. “I’ve been good. Honestly.”

He traces circles along the rim of his glass. “I’m glad.”

“Thank you for not blaming me,” I say. I’ve been wanting to say this for a while, but I’ve never found the right time.

He looks up from his glass. “Of course I wouldn’t. I know it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.”

My eyes well up when I tell him, “I was good. I did everything right. I didn’t drink. I ate right. I followed your list religiously,” I try to explain. “I swear.”

I see sorrow in his eyes. I can see them glisten. He nestles his glass of wine in the blades of grass, the gesture measured and gentle. He sits beside me and repeats the gesture with my glass. Everything seems to move in slow motion, and the world seems to close in on us. He takes me in his arms and holds me tightly.

And I let go. I cry. On his shoulder, literally.

He cries too. I can hear his soft sobs and feel the quaking of his body against mine. I hold on tight and I don’t let go. I feel like I don’t ever want to let go. How can I let this man go? This is so hard.

But I think about Gabe and the girls and I remind myself of what I need to do. I pull away gently and look up at him. I wipe the tear off his cheek with the pad of my thumb. “We’ll be all right,” I say. “We’re both strong.”

He smiles, a whisper of a smile. His face is still splotchy, his eyes still red. He pulls away from me. “I want to give you this,” he says, reaching out to grab the mysterious blue velvet box. My heart starts to beat faster as he hands it to me with a shy smile. I bite my lip as I open the lid slowly, not wanting to look.

Relief washes over me when I see it’s not a ring, but a beautiful silver chain and pendant; a leafy tree nestled in a perfect circle. I look up at him. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

He smiles down at the food covered tablecloth. “You’re welcome.” He reaches for the chain around his neck and pulls out a matching pendant — it’s identical to mine.

“You have one too,” I say, not quite understanding. “They’re gorgeous.”

“They’re olive trees, and the circle symbolizes infinity, as you probably know.”

My eyes prick as it finally dawns on me.

“Little Oliver will be in our hearts for eternity, won’t he?” he says.

I wipe my eyes with the sleeve of my hoodie. “Forever.” I bury my face in one hand. The other still holds the blue box. “Stop making me cry, Weston. I’m so glad I didn’t wear mascara today,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “I must look like hell.”