Say You'll Remember Me(41)

“It was like a little mouse mummy,” she said, hiccuping.

“The leaves were probably his little mouse bed.”

“STOP!”

She fumbled the wipes. I took the package and pulled out two and handed them to her, still cracking up. “Just breathe,” I said. “It’s all right.”

“Come On Eileen” hit the chorus.

She was wiping her leg down when a man came out of nowhere and popped into the passenger side window. “Hey, you guys okay? Need a jump?”

Samantha and I blinked at him.

He put a thumb over his shoulder. “I got my cables.”

She made a sound like she was holding in a giggle fit.

“No, thank you,” I said, trying to keep it together. “Just some technical difficulties.”

“Thank you,” she managed. “We’re fine.”

He looked us over. We had leaves in our hair. She had mascara running down her cheeks, we were both sweating. The man took one glance at us and decided he didn’t want to push it and walked back to his truck.

“Where did he even come from?” she whispered.

“I have no idea,” I said, shaking my head.

A leaf fell out of my hair and landed in my lap. She broke into laughter again and so did I.

We sat there on the side of the road, hot. We smelled like oil, covered in leaves and mouse dust and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I would never forget this moment. That this was a memory sticking to a very new and very small snowball.

And I liked where it was going.





18





SAMANTHA


WE SPENT THE whole day together.

We went back to my apartment so I could wash the mouse off and feed Pooter. Then we picked up the boys and took them to the zoo. When they realized what Xavier did for a living, they completely lost it. It was like they were getting to see elephants with their own personal veterinary tour guide. He was so good with them. He grabbed us water bottles and lemonade before we knew we needed them and procured snacks for everyone at intervals that felt practiced and intuitive and I realized that Xavier was a natural caretaker. It went beyond handing me a hoodie to wear before a night playing miniature golf or getting me a coffee before I woke up.

He was Airport Dad. The guy who plans everything and drives you there and parks the car and lifts all the heavy bags. Carries the passports and makes sure everyone gets to where they’re going and they have what they need. It wasn’t just me who got to shut off their brain around him, it was anyone lucky enough to be placed in his care.

My dad was also an airport dad. Maybe that’s why I had gravitated toward Xavier. I recognized his spirit.

I loved his spirit. All of it.

I’d been sort of hoping to walk away from these two days and be over him. That something this weekend would give me the ick.

Nothing about him gave me the ick. I had the opposite of the ick right now. It was actually a problem.

After the zoo, we dropped the boys off, checked on Pooter, cleaned up, and then went to dinner. Practically closed the place down talking. The tea light candle on the table burned out an hour before we did. By the time we got back to the hotel, it was almost midnight.

I flopped onto the bed while he bolted the door. He put his wallet on the table and took his shoes off and came to lay next to me. We gazed at each other from our respective pillows. We were exhausted. We’d walked like twenty thousand steps, and both of us were a little sunburned. I was too tired to move and I think he was too.

I had to get him to the airport by 4:30 a.m. The visit was almost over.

He reached out and brushed my hair off my forehead.

“I had a good time,” I whispered. “I’m glad you came.”

“I had a good time too.”

His eyes were bloodshot. I felt bad. It was 2:00 a.m. in Minnesota, I’d run this poor man ragged today, driving him around in my hot, mouse nest car.

“You should go to sleep,” I said. “You have a long day tomorrow.”

He didn’t answer. He just kept looking at me. His contemplative gaze. Those piercing blue irises.

It made my stomach twist in a longing sort of way.

I was going to miss him when he left.

If I’d stayed in Minnesota, we probably would have been a thing, instantly. We would have rolled right out of that UFO into a relationship. I’d be meeting him for lunch at the clinic every day and he’d be asking me to stay over at his place until I just stopped leaving altogether, and Pooter and I moved in. There’d be the pumpkin patch pictures that I’d force him to take at Halloween, ugly sweaters at Thanksgiving, matching pajamas at Christmas. He was a good sport, he’d do it. In fact, I think he was looking for someone he could do things like this with, even if he didn’t know it—because he didn’t get to be a kid. His parents sucked. He didn’t get the goofy family traditions and the framed vacation photos on the mantel. And I think it made him grow into a serious adult who didn’t do miniature golf and escape room dates or go to the zoo. And I could see how much it changed him when he did. How he lit up and got looser. He needed the razzmatazz that I brought to the relationship.

And I needed his steadiness.

He was level and capable. Someone you could always depend on, someone who would make you feel safe and loved and taken care of, who could talk you onto the shoulder of a freeway while you’re driving blind and panicking. He could keep you calm in a swaying gondola a hundred feet in the air or a room you can’t get out of, someone who would jump into a lake to save your phone.