Love You More(58)
“They’re really close,” he says, shifting the car into drive.
“Yeah,” I say. “I guess he’s been around Phoebe a lot over the years.”
He nods and pulls out of the lot. “She really did a great job today.”
“I’m so proud of her.”
“Yeah. Camouflage was a triple threat—vowel shift, silent e, French origin.”
I smile.
“Mick seems like a nice guy—he’s very midwestern looking.”
I give him a small smile. “How do midwesterners look?”
“You know—lanky build, blond hair, blue eyes.”
“Lanky is midwestern?” I laugh.
He shrugs. “I got a Jimmy Chitwood vibe.”
“Jimmy Chitwood?”
“You know—the kid in Hoosiers, shooting baskets alone at his family farm when Gene Hackman comes to visit.”
“Holy specific,” I say with a laugh.
“Am I right? Was he a hooper?”
“Nope. He played football—not basketball.” I smile. “But he does have a family farm.”
“That tracks.”
I look over at him. “Are you upset about something?”
“No. I didn’t mean that to sound snarky. I just got the sense he didn’t love my being there.”
“He invited us to join them.”
“True.”
“You didn’t want to go?”
His jaw ticks as he adjusts his grip on the steering wheel. “I figured Mick would want some time alone with her.”
I rest my hand on his leg. “I appreciate you giving them space. I’m glad we’ll have time with her tonight.”
“Yeah,” he says. “That’ll be nice.”
* * *
— Back in my parents’ kitchen, late-afternoon light slants through the window as I start a pot of decaf. Dean leans against the counter, watching me.
“Can I ask you something?” he says.
“Of course.”
“What’s it like living here?”
“What do you mean?”
“What do people do when they’re not working?”
“Same stuff we do. Bars and restaurants, movies, coffee shops—and they head into Milwaukee for the arts.”
He nods. “What made you stay in New York after med school instead of moving back?”
“I don’t know. A lot of things. The pace. The diversity. The energy.”
He looks out the window. “Do you think you’d be happy here again?”
“I think you can be happy anywhere if you’re with the right people.”
He meets my gaze. “It’s going to be hard for me.”
“I know.”
“It’s so quiet.”
“It is.”
“And I hate driving.”
“I know you do.”
“Can I ask you something else?”
“Anything.”
“I know you said Phoebe would be better off staying here, but would you consider moving her to the city?”
The question lands like a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I finally say. “So much changed for her overnight—and a move on top of that—”
“I know. But New York has so many resources—mentors, scholarships, specialized programs. I just want every door to open for her.”
I nod, swallowing a flicker of defensiveness. “The public schools here are solid.”
“Oh, for sure. You’re proof of that. Maybe I’m being a little New York–centric.”
“Maybe.”
“I hope you don’t think I’m knocking your hometown. There was something so wholesome and good in that gym. I just think it’s worth exploring all the options.”
I pour the coffee and slide a mug his way.
He takes a sip. “To be honest, it’s hard to picture myself here.”
“It would be an adjustment—for both of us.”
“I just don’t want to feel like an outsider in my own life.”
“You wouldn’t be an outsider. You’d be my husband and partner in raising a child.” I take his hand and squeeze it.
“I know,” he says, squeezing back. “And I’m sorry if I sound like a city snob—”
“Oh, you do.” I smile.
“Fair enough,” he says, smiling back.
* * *
— After coffee, we take a stroll around my neighborhood that turns into a walking tour of Erin memories. Dean listens, laughing in all the right spots. When we get to the “climbing tree”—named for obvious reasons—he looks up at the branches and says, “This really does seem like an idyllic place to grow up.”
“It was,” I say, picturing Erin swinging her legs from the highest limb. “And you haven’t even seen the lakes. That’s the best part of Wisconsin.”
“I can’t wait,” he says as we circle the tree and keep walking.
When the sidewalk ends, we cut onto a path adjacent to a big white barn and pond. “Is this Mick’s farm?” he asks.