“Beth,” he barely said, pressing his face against hers until their lashes brushed, pressing his hand into the small of her back. “I don’t think I can explain it. I don’t think I can make it make any more sense. But I’ll keep trying. If you want me to.”
She almost shook her head. “No,” she said, “no more explaining. Or apologizing. I don’t think it matters anymore how we ended up here. I just …I want to stay …I want …”
He kissed her then.
There.
In the middle of the sentence.
CHAPTER 89
“I DON’T THINK your mom liked me,” Beth said. They were on the way back to his apartment and she was balancing a giant pan of leftover lasagna on her lap.
“I think she loved you,” he said. “That’s why she looked so miserable. She would have been much happier if there was something obviously wrong with you. You should have seen her face when you said you were voting for Ralph Nader.”
“I did. She looked pissed.”
“Because she loves Ralph Nader.”
“Why did your sister laugh?”
“Because she loves to see my mom thwarted.”
Beth shook her head. It was raining outside, and her hair was wet and curling around her forehead. “That’s crazy,” she said.
“Now you’re getting it,” he said.
They’d decided not to tell his mom or Eve—or anyone—exactly how they’d met. They told them they’d met at work. (“Which is true,” Beth said. “Technically.”) Only Christine knew the whole truth—well, and Jennifer, of course, and probably Mitch. Beth said they could tell whomever they wanted after they’d been together long enough for it to seem like a bizarre footnote to their relationship. And not the whole freaky story.
“Well, my parents love you,” she said, hugging the lasagna. “There’s nothing tricky about it. My mom thinks you have a delightful sense of humor, and my dad told me he thinks you’re quite handsome. ‘Manly,’ he said. He even commented on the size of your hands. Don’t be surprised if he tries to dance with you at our wedding …”
Beth stopped talking abruptly. When Lincoln looked over, she’d turned her face to the window.
“I’ll dance with your dad,” he said, setting his hand on the back of her neck and brushing her cheek with his thumb. “As long as he leads …I’m not much of a dancer.”
When she smiled up at him, he felt his heart swell against the inside of his chest. He felt that way all the time now. Even when he was holding her, it felt like there was something inside of him trying to burst out and embrace her.
“I didn’t know it could be like this,” she said later.
Not later that night. But on a night a lot like that one. A night that ended with Beth in his arms, with her everywhere against him.
Lincoln was almost asleep. “Like what?” he asked.
“I didn’t know love could leave the lights on all the time. Do you know what I mean?”
“Not exactly,” he said, finding a way to pull her closer. He could just make out her silhouette in the dark, her head lifted, her hair falling on his chest.
“I thought it took more naps,” she said, struggling to find the right words. “Or blinked. I didn’t know it could just go on and on and like this without falling off an edge. Like pi.”
“What kind of pie?” he murmured.
“No, pi … ,” she said.
“Lincoln …”
He didn’t answer.
“Lincoln? Are you asleep?
“I didn’t know someone could love me like this,” she said. “Could love me and love me and love me without …needing space.”
Lincoln wasn’t asleep. He rolled on top of her.
“There’s no air in space,” he said.
Acknowledgments
Thanks to my magnificent sister, Jade, who demanded to know what happened next. Additional thanks to DeDra, for inspiration; to Brian, for encouragement; and to Erika, who flagged me down when I’d gone too far. And especial thanks to Christopher, for his advice and friendship, and for totally living up to his e-mail.
About the Author
RAINBOW ROWELL is a columnist at the Omaha World-Herald. She lives in Nebraska with her husband and two children. Attachments is her first novel.
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