“I don’t think it is way past time,” she lies. It is, at least for her.
She wonders when she’ll finally arrive where she wants to be. What will it feel like? She imagines Suzette and Damon coming home from their honeymoon in Greece and Croatia. That relieved and settled feeling they will have. “You seem like a pretty young guy,” she says.
He keeps his head straight, but his eyes move to the side. He smiles. “Thanks. But it’s just an act. I have fucking retirement savings, man. I go for yearly physicals, I fall asleep when I drink red wine.”
“I hate New Year’s Eve,” she says. “Too late for me.”
“I have a club card at Giant.”
She grins. “I have a cat. Like an old lady.”
“I go to happy hour some nights after work… not for the drinks, but for the appetizers.”
She shakes her head. “My checkbook has those boring yellow checks my dad used to have. I used to always think I’d special order a beach scene or something.”
“Okay, that wins. My checks are at least green. I paid two dollars more for green.”
“See? You’re young.”
“Okay, I’m young, Doc.” He puts his arms up in a victory pose. “Woot!”
“I’m too old to know what woot means.”
“Damn, Doc. Woot. Like you just won. Woot woot!” He shakes his head. “But twenty-year-olds probably don’t even say that anymore.”
She looks at the long, dark stretches of quiet golf course. The tall trees. The lit ballroom of the reception a football field’s length away from them, where people are dancing in the illuminated windows. They can still hear the band playing faintly. “I’m having fun with you,” she says. She doesn’t know why she has to confess this. She is no longer cold at all. She feels like she could stay out here all night.
He smiles again. “Me, too.”
“You asked me what I’ll do after this. I think I’m going to break up with my boyfriend in Georgia.” She shrugs. “God, I hope he doesn’t care. I hate disappointing people.”
“That’s rough.” He clicks his tongue. “I would care. Shit, I would care a hell of a lot if a girl like you ditched me.”
“Thanks.”
“But you gotta do what’s right.”
“I think so.”
“If it makes you feel better, you know, more straightened out, then go for it… just try to keep the cat.”
She smiles. “I will.” She puts her hands into the jacket pocket and feels a pack of Lifesavers. “I’ll need him when I’m a lonely old cat lady.”
“You’re lucky though.”
“I am?”
“I wish I had someone to break up with.”
“You’re crazy.”
“No, then I’d know that it might fix something in some way. You have a chance after this breakup, don’t you? Otherwise you wouldn’t do it.”
“Maybe.” She loves what he says. It lifts her. Maybe this will open up some opportunity. She wants to tell him about Luke. About her small hope that she could run to him in her paisley dress and everything would be fixed. She wants to say she loved Luke in this whole way that she never loved anything. She wants to say running into him that day almost two months ago in the toy store felt like the most terrific coincidence, and she wishes she had put something in place then—given him her number, made plans with him. “But the nice thing about chances, I think, is that we don’t know the chances that are coming. There are obvious chances, and hidden chances.”
“The only chance I have is that after you figure things out, Doc, you’ll remember the groomsman who talked about reindeer and gave you his coat.” He looks away from her. “And you’ll call me.” He grins.
Ginger’s stomach flips. She feels something she hasn’t felt in forever, a rush of something familiar. But she stops.
Joni Mitchell’s “River” plays faintly from inside. It’s coming on Christmas. They’re cutting down trees. Ginger forgets Ahmed and stares straight ahead at the reception. She sees the slow-dancing shadows of people inside. She can see occasional flickers of candles. The song seems to get louder. Why would they play this at a wedding? A song about regret.
A memory of Luke singing this at a piano. Luke onstage. How he broke every person’s heart in that small club with this song. How she loved him even more with those words. I wish I had a river… I could skate away on. She feels the cold air in her chest. “I’m sorry,” she says. “This song.” She slips off the coat and notices his bewildered eyes. “I’m sorry,” she says again, and hands it to him.