“That’s…not how engagement rings work.” Dax closed his fist. “These are engagement rings. And you have two of them.”
“I have perfectly good explanations,” I said. “The Rob one, I took that because his mom, who’s really sick, thinks we’re getting married, so to keep her from feeling worse…”
I trailed off as Dax’s jaw dropped.
“This dying woman believes you’re marrying her son?”
I swallowed. “Yeah.”
“And Darius?”
I chuckled. “He was very insistent that I keep the ring so that if things didn’t work out between you and me—”
“You were keeping him as a backup.”
“No,” I said. “I was trying to get rid of him. That’s it. I kept the ring to try to get rid of him. I’ve been trying to give it back, but he’s dodging my calls.”
Dax tossed the rings back into my purse. “Do you think this is going to work out between us?”
“Dax—”
“Do you think…this can work?”
I hesitated, recalling the image of myself wandering around the house aimlessly, alone. “I want it to.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I exhaled. “You’re so much younger than me,” I said. “It’s only natural to think that maybe, probably someday, you’ll want to move on.”
“So as far as you were concerned, this relationship was over before it began.”
I reached for him. “No, Dax. Remember? Take things day by day? Accidental happily ever after? That’s what I want.”
He moved away from me. “Yet, you’ve been holding on to these rings the whole time, as backup for when this inevitably failed.”
“That’s not why.” I shook my head. “You have to believe me—”
“God, Annie.” He slumped onto the couch. “What are we doing?”
I sat next to him and gripped his hand in mine. “We’re doing us,” I said. “We’re doing ‘it’s not perfect, but let’s try until we flame out.’”
“I think we’re flaming out.” He took his hand back and stood, pacing the floor, running his hands through his hair.
“Dax, I’m so sorry about the rings—”
He turned to me, eyes serious. “I’m leaving,” he said, “for at least six months. Maybe more than that.”
“I get that,” I said, “and if my reaction was anything other than total enthusiasm for you, I regret it. I’m very happy for you. I’m excited for you. I’m only sad you’ll be gone.”
“That’s just it,” he said. “This is the bridge we said we’d cross if we ever came to it. It’s here. I’ll have the tour, then the album and promotion, and then the cycle will start all over again.” He turned his face toward me. “There’s no end,” he said. “There’s no coming back. This is it.”
I swallowed. “Those damn rings.”
“It’s not about the rings,” he said. “Or maybe the rings jolted me into thinking. I don’t know.” His eyes grew slightly watery, and he flared his nostrils as if he were trying to suppress any emotion. “I’ve tried this kind of relationship before, with Muriel. She sat at home, mad at me, while I performed gig after gig and worked late hours at the bar, trying to make ends meet.” He shook his head. “This would be like that times forty. She ended up resenting me.” He balled his hands into fists.
“I won’t resent you.”
“You will, though, because I’ll be off living my dream, and you’ll be here, grinding it out day after day, when you should be off doing the same.”
I laughed. “What are you talking about? I am living my dream. I’ve been working my entire life to get where I am. If you can’t understand that—”
“From where I sit, you’re miserable. From here, you’re constantly on edge, waiting for the phone to ring. Even if we did agree to stay together while I was on tour, it wouldn’t be like you could come visit me. You’re tethered to Chicago for the rest of your life.”
I pressed my lips together. Goddamnit. Darius was right. Dax didn’t understand. He would never understand. “Well, good. You should go on tour, then, because I wouldn’t want you to be with someone so miserable.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Well, it’s what you said.”
His shoulders sank. “I’ve been trying to get to this point for years—which is something I’m sure you can respect. I’m going on this tour. I wish you could come visit me, but—”
I couldn’t do this anymore. Today my favorite patient died and I officially lost my best friend. I could not keep having this argument with Dax about my failures as a person. “I absolutely understand what you’re going through right now, having to give up one thing you love for another thing you love,” I said. “Welcome to success. It sucks. Maybe you can write a song about it.” My eyes, suddenly able to produce tears again, stung. I moved toward the stairs.
Behind me, Dax said, “Annie, don’t go. Talk to me. Let’s not end things like this, please.”
“How did you think this would end, Dax?” As the tears streamed down my cheeks, I stormed upstairs and slammed my bedroom door shut.
Chapter Forty-Two
The We Were on a Breaks
Dax took Joanne and left.
When I woke up the next morning, every remnant of him was gone, like he’d existed only in my dreams. It was the waking nightmare I’d had at the concert come to life.
I padded downstairs, noting the eerie quiet—no jangling chains coming up from the basement. A lump formed in my throat. I would drown it with coffee.
This was for the best. Dax was going to be leaving on tour anyway, and it could span a years-long cycle, so why prolong the inevitable? I should get used to being alone again, like I always had been and always would be.
I took my coffee into the family room, and instead of reading the newspaper like I usually did, I turned on the TV, putting on an old sitcom I nearly knew by heart. Pop culture comfort food.
Straightening up in my seat, I prepared to feel better immediately. Slipping back into a favorite show always did that for me. In anticipation, I sipped my coffee and stared at the TV. Nothing. No dopamine hit. The scenes and dialogue barely registered in my brain.
I blew out a deep breath and shut off the show. This wasn’t working.
I stood and stretched. Maybe I should read or work out. Go for a walk. Instead, I wandered into the front hallway and rummaged in my purse for my phone. No patient calls. I stared hard at the screen, willing it to flash with a new message.
What the hell was I doing? Was I seriously urging the universe to endanger the life and health of one of my patients because I was bored?
I tossed the phone onto my purse. This was how it all started, wasn’t it? I couldn’t be alone. I shouldn’t be alone. Everyone kept telling me to wait around for love, not to give up on romance.
Well, romance just gave up on me. Now. Stinking. What?
I shoved my hand back into my purse, grasping around, touching old tissues and loose change, until I found exactly what I was looking for. The solution to all my problems.
…
The next day, in the late afternoon, I went to Gayle Gale’s wake. The line outside the funeral home, naturally, stretched around the block. Gayle had been a legend, and everyone wanted to say goodbye.
I got in the queue, my stomach heavy with nerves, and scanned the crowd, looking for that familiar, bright smile. I knew he wouldn’t miss this.
Though, who was I kidding? VIP Darius didn’t have to stand out here in line with us peons. He’d probably been ushered in the moment the doors opened and allowed to grieve in private on the celebrity side of the velvet rope.
As I waited, moving an inch or two every fifteen minutes, I read articles on my phone, scrolled through Twitter, and kept one sharp eye on the funeral home exit. Finally, after
about forty-five minutes, a murmur buzzed through the crowd, and I looked up to see Darius Carver, the Man on Main Street, stepping out of the funeral home in a perfect bespoke suit.
As nerves pinged every part of my body, I mentally prepared myself for what to say: Darius, you were right. We should be pragmatic and join forces to become Chicago’s premier dynamic duo. Yes, I will marry you!
But then he turned to hold the door open for someone else. Monica Feathers—in a dramatic black pantsuit with a veiled fascinator—stepped out. The din from the crowd grew louder.
Darius, along with the rest of the crowd, could not take his eyes off her. He helped Monica, in her five-inch stilettos, down the steps. The two of them walked together past the crowd, ignoring the comments and requests for photos and autographs.
I ducked my head, focusing on a random article about the debt ceiling. I knew a long time ago that he’d never look at me the way he looked at Monica, and now I’d seen the proof live and in person. Even more than that, though, seeing the two of them together brought into sharp focus the fact that I couldn’t live my life, day after day, knowing for sure that I was nothing more than someone’s backup. I owed myself better. I owed Darius better.
Who knew if the two of them could work things out, but it was up to them to try, if they wanted. I would not stand in the way.
When I sensed them nearing, I took a deep breath and looked up, smiling, putting on my bravest and most sincere face. “Darius,” I said softly.
He looked over, and when he saw it was me, he shot me a sad smile. “Annie.” He came over and gave me a warm, comforting hug.
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
“Me too,” he agreed. “She meant a lot to both of us.”
I nodded toward the line. “Obviously she meant a lot to everyone.”
No one more so than her husband, Jim, who’d been about to set off with his love on an adventure, who didn’t want to be alone.
All the more reason to grab on to companionship now, even if that no longer meant Darius.
“Have you met Monica?” He gestured for his ex to step over. She was a tiny woman with shiny black hair and alabaster skin, but her glamorous stature belied her small frame. I probably had a good six inches on her, but it felt like she towered over me. “Mon?” Darius said. “This is Dr. Annie Kyle.”
Monica offered me a small, delicate hand. “Oh, hello.” Her voice was like a songbird’s—sweet and melodic. I could see why Darius fell hard for her.
“I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you,” she said.
I glanced at Darius. “Really?”
“From Dax,” Monica added.
My throat closed up. I could only nod.
She squeezed my hand lightly. “I’m so sorry things couldn’t work out between you, but I understand.” She snuck a quick peek at Darius. “It isn’t easy to maintain a relationship with someone who’s on the road all the time. Anyway,” she said after a pause, “nice to meet you, Annie.”
Monica Feathers stepped away, and I said, “Tell Dax—”
She turned around.
A dullness settled in my chest. “Tell him to break a leg.”
She shot me a warm smile.
“So…?” Darius watched me, his eyes questioning.
“I can’t say yes to you.” I reached for his hand and closed his fingers around the ring box. “You’ve given me a lot of advice and sage words over the past several weeks, so let me return the favor. I don’t know if you and Monica can make it work,” I said, “but what’s the harm in trying?” I leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.
“Thanks, Annie,” he said.
I nodded and faced the front of the queue. The line was moving again.
…
So, Rob it was.
Kind of by default, but not entirely. Rob had been my pick from the start, from right after I’d sent the dreaded text. I had been looking for companionship and stability, and Rob, even more than Darius, could give me that. We had a friendly rapport, and our families loved each other. Rob and I would be very content together.
After making my way through the wake, which took a whopping two hours, I drove out to Edison Park to give Rob the news: I would accept his proposal.
But when I pulled up in front of his house, I found my mom leaving hers, a big bag over her shoulder.
I got out of the car and waved. “Hey, Mom. Where are you going?”
She glanced up in surprise. “Annie! What are you doing here?”
“I asked you first.”
She patted the bag. “Work.”
“You have a job now?” Good lord, everything was changing.
“No.” She laughed. “WERQ with a Q. It’s a hip-hop dance workout class.”
My jaw dropped. I was speechless. My mother walked. Not “hiked,” despite my encouragement that she get a little more vigorous exercise—walked. Strolled. She’d once taken a yoga class and quit halfway through because people kept passing gas. She did not go to “workout classes.”
“The class is really fun.” She stepped closer to me now, and I could see that she was wearing fitness tights under a long teal tunic that went almost to her knees. A pink headband held her hair back from her forehead.
“How many times have you gone?” I asked.
“This is my second week.” Her eyes gleamed. “You should come. I think you’d like it.”
“What?” I wrinkled up my nose. I ran and cycled and lifted weights. I didn’t do dance classes. I rarely even danced at weddings. She knew this.
“Seriously,” she said. “Come on. Don’t you keep gym stuff in your car?”
She was right. I did. Damn it.
I snuck a quick glance at Rob’s house. He could wait. I had to see my seventy-year-old mother dance hip-hop. This was the kind of opportunity someone like the legendary Gayle Gale would never pass up.
At the wake, Gayle’s family had put up pictures of her doing everything from going snorkeling to making focacchia in Italy to driving a race car on a track. Gayle hadn’t lived past sixty five, but she had lived.
She’d want to know all about this WERQ thing.
I grabbed a bag from my trunk and followed my mom to her car.
…
Hip-hop dance aerobics wasn’t exactly for me, per se, but I did not regret going. The class was a hoot, and I could see quickly why my mom had gone back for a second session. Women of all shapes, sizes, and ages comprised the class. The two instructors, who represented different body types, talked about self-acceptance and the joy of movement.
A little touchy-feely and not exactly my style, but I appreciated the sentiment.
I looked at it anthropologically, as Gayle would have, like a reporter getting to the bottom of the story.
“It doesn’t matter how you move,” one instructor, Angela, said during the second song. “It only matters that you are moving.”
The crowd cheered.
The words What Would Gayle Gale Do? popped into my head.
I cheered along with the crowd, and I, Annie Kyle, who’d never been the first one out on the dance floor at any wedding ever, boogied next to my mother for an entire hour. And we boogied hard.
When we took a quick break in the middle of the class to grab water and wipe off our sweat, I told my mom, “My face hurts.”
She slapped me with her towel. “You’re smiling.”
Shit. I was. When had I done that recently, moments of Dax-based elation excluded? “Well, you look so cute out there!”
She rolled her eyes, but I could tell she was pleased.
Afterward, still on our WERQ high, my mom and I stopped for frozen custard at Culver’s.
“I think it’s awesome you’re going to that class,” I told my mom as I hunted around in my Concrete Mixer for a hunk of peanut butter cup. “I just can�
�t believe you ever went in the first place.”
“It was because of you.” She sipped her chocolate malted.
“Me?” I honestly couldn’t fathom how the me of the past few months would’ve inspired anyone to do anything, except maybe hide their head in the sand and never, ever drink too much.
“What you told me on the ride to Kelly’s shower really hit home.”
Narrowing my eyes, I shook my head. I couldn’t remember much about what had happened that day besides the fight with Kelly and Gayle ending up in the hospital.
“I was sad about possibly losing Regina, and you said something about not living my life for my friends and my needing to get out there and find something I like to do for myself—”
Damn it, Annie. “That sounds like kind of a dickish thing to say, so I’m sure I said it.” I shoved more ice cream in my mouth.
“Language,” my mom warned. “It wasn’t rude the way you said it. Anyway, I started thinking about how I spend my time. I watch the news all day long, and I gossip with my friends at church and at knitting, and I started to question whether or not I was happy doing those things anymore.”
My eyes bugged out—what she said struck a chord. “That happened to me the other day. I turned on the TV, and I was bored immediately. That was kind of why I came out here today.”
She frowned at me.
I set my spoon down. As far as I knew, my mom still believed Rob and I were engaged. At least I could avoid having to break that bad news. “I came to talk to Rob,” I said, “to speed up our timeline and get married sooner. I’m going to marry Rob.”
She licked the whipped cream off the bottom of her straw and looked right at me. “No you’re not. Don’t do that.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Making the Same Mistakes Our Parents Did…But Faster!
“What?” I said. “I thought you wanted me to marry Rob.”
“So did I.” She chuckled. “But I’ve been doing some thinking the past few days, since I started coping head-on with my own situation.” She paused. “I was responsible for my own loneliness.”
It's Raining Men Page 23
