Rush Me

by Allison Parr

  “Bri? What’s wrong?”

  She looked up, her dark lashes spiky with unshed tears, her warm eyes gleaming with them. “Malcolm asked me to marry him.”

  “Congratulations,” I said automatically. Maybe they were tears of joy?

  She shook her head. “I said no.”

  Completely taken aback, I dropped into the chair next to her. “How come?”

  She exploded, jerking upright, her hands waving out. “I don’t know! Because we’re not right for each other!” A drop wobbled out through her bottom lashes, and she whisked it away with the back of her hand. “He started going on and on about how he loves me, and he wants to have a family with me, and he can just see our perfect little children—and I don’t even want children!”

  “Oh.” This seemed like the kind of thing serious couples ought to discuss before proposals. “Did he know that?”

  “Oh, yes. Sort of. Maybe not entirely.” Her vehemence drained a little with each word. “It’s just that his family is so kid-oriented. And Malcolm would be such a good dad, you can tell. He loves kids. And I like them. Sort of. But I think I was born without the maternal gene!

  “And I still have three years before I finish my doctorate! And then—then I want to live in Paris, and I want to see Africa, and Malcolm just wants to play football and then live in Kentucky. Kentucky! Oh my God! People have Confederate flags in Kentucky! Racist bastards.”

  I grabbed her hands, and she clung to mine as though to a lifeline. “Okay.” I had no idea how to deal with this. I was used to Briana acting cool, not breaking down in a bathroom stall. “Well—do you love him?”

  “Yes!” she wailed. “But so what? That doesn’t guarantee a happily ever after!”

  I wished it did.

  She pushed to her feet, pulling me up by our locked hands. “I have to get out of here.” She looked around wildly as though a door to Narnia would appear.

  “Okay. Do you want to...go get a drink?”

  “No. No, I want to get out of this state. Because any minute, Malcolm’s going to come back, and he’s going to have, oh, logical things to say, and he’ll talk about love, and I’ll crack, and I just can’t deal with that anymore. I have to think.”

  “Then we’ll get out of here. Where do you want to go?”

  She looked even more depressed. “Nowhere. Everyone adores Malcolm. No one would understand. I don’t even want to be around people.”

  Well, we could always head to Maine for utter desolation, but that might be a little tricky. “My friend has a place in Rhinebeck. We could take the train.”

  She lit up with sudden, desperate hope.

  Half an hour later, we were backing out of Penn Station, headed upstate. Neither of us had packed, because Bri didn’t want to risk slowing down. It was just us and several sushi trays from the station. We’d gone vegetarian; neither of us dared trust actual fish would be safe.

  “Did Malcolm ever tell you how we met?” Bri asked, staring out the window. The Hudson River rushed by, a wide, dark expanse under the deepening navy sky. I shook my head, my ghost-like reflection mimicking the movement.

  “We were in Santa Barbara. It’s gorgeous. All palm trees and beaches and Spanish architecture. We were there during a festival for Spanish heritage. Street vendors sold these painted eggs filled with confetti that everyone cracked on each other’s heads for good luck. My friend Jess and I were visiting for the weekend, joking around, and I tried to hit her with an egg and she ran away, and I ended up hitting Malcolm instead. Pink and yellow and blue confetti burst all over him. He just stood there, shocked.” She stopped, and sighed. “The ring box was filled with confetti.”

  Silent and morose, we watched the river and blurring trees. I wondered how much of this came from nerves, and how much from relationship problems. If she loved him, shouldn’t they be able to make this work? I’d never seen such a well-matched couple.

  “You and Ryan are perfect for each other.”

  The odd parallel to my own thoughts jolted me into a firm shake of my head. “No, we’re not.” Not like Bri and Malcolm.

  She looked up sharply. “What are you talking about? Of course you are.”

  I didn’t want to add my problems to hers, so I just shrugged lightly. “We fight too much.”

  She waved it away. “Everyone fights. You’ll get over it.”

  “No, it’s—he’s so insecure, and I get so defensive—it’s childish, really.”

  “Then it’s easy to get over.”

  I bit my lip. Maybe it would have been, once. If we knew how to compromise. If I could figure out how to be independent and still let him in. If I had called him or if he had come by. We had blown this all out of proportion, and I didn’t think we could recover.

  The train left us in a tiny hamlet, halfway to nowhere. A lighthouse flashed across the water, while on our side a white-washed inn gave us directions to my friend’s address. We walked for two miles to reach her apartment and found the spare key hidden in the false bottom of a garden gnome.

  We spent a lot of time walking over the next twenty-four hours. “Not thinking,” Bri said definitively the first evening, over a pizza and bottle of wine. We bought lots of pizza and wine, along with PJs, a change of clothes, and lots of chocolate. “I just look at things. At the water. At the animals. Sometimes there are deer.”

  I didn’t usually go with her, since I was busy working on the website with Alexa. But on the second day I walked with her down along the Hudson. The ground had frozen, the grass turned crisp and white with frost. Trees lined the river, barren excusing one or two yellow and brown leaves clinging to the skeletal branches. The sky was spectacular, covered in streaks of white and grey, lit from behind the clouds. I shoved my hands in my coat pockets, shivering, as Bri climbed down the hill toward the river and the railway tracks.

  What was I going to do?

  Ryan had been wrong. I’d brought him to the reunion because I wanted him to meet my friends and family. But he’d also been right—he’d had to cajole me to let him come.

  Could he have been right about other things? I knew I liked control, but was it really so childish to not let him help me? Where did independence start and end? Had I not been making as much of an effort as I thought I had?

  My phone rang. Malcolm. I hesitated, looking over at Bri by the water, and then I picked up. “Hello?”

  “Rach, hi.” Malcolm sounded frazzled and worried. “Have you talked to Bri lately? The guys said she left with you.”

  “Uh...” I turned my back on her. Before me, the hill rose, covered with brambles and sticks and dead bushes. “Yeah. What happened with you guys?”

  “I proposed to her, that’s what,” he snapped, in a totally un-Malcolm like manner. “And she went green and ran out. I don’t know why—I thought we were going to get married... Rachael, why would she say no?”

  “Um,” I stalled, thinking quickly. What was I supposed to say here? Did I tell him that she said no because she was confused and they wanted different things? No, that was up to her.

  What I really wanted to know was whether to tell him where Bri was.

  Would that be a betrayal of her trust? Or was that what she wanted? Did she want Malcolm to appear, to sweep her off her feet, or did she want to cool down, to wait and do this on her own terms? Or would she already have convinced herself never to have anything to do with him by that point?

  “I don’t know. I mean—how did you propose? You didn’t—say anything strange, did you?”

  That obviously offended him. “I told her I loved her. That I wanted to have a family with her. I wanted her to be part of my family.”

  Hmm. I tried to be careful. “Bri always struck me as a—not entirely family oriented person.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You know, I’m really sorry Malcolm, but I should go. Just, first—have you talked to Ryan?” I winced. Bringing up my own issues wasn’t exactly sensitive.

  “Ryan?” Malcol
m sounded even more thrown. “Yeah, I guess, I saw him yesterday. Why? You mean since then? Does he know anything about Bri?”

  “No, I, I just wanted to know if he’d mentioned anything. About me.”

  There was a long pause. “Are you and Ryan fighting?”

  “He hasn’t said anything?”

  “No. What would he say?”

  A wisp of sad laughter caught in my throat. “I think we broke up.”

  Malcolm was silent for a moment, and when he spoke, he sounded as sincere and earnest as I’d ever heard him. “Ryan loves you, Rachael. He’s crazy about you.”

  I held the phone pressed to my ear for a long, airless moment. “Briana loves you, too,” I told him. “Bye.”

  I slowly made my way down to Bri. With her back to me, and the Hudson spread out before her, she could have stepped out of a Turner painting. She didn’t say anything until I had maneuvered my way to her, stepping carefully over fallen trunks and avoiding muddy swamps.

  “Let’s go back.” For a moment my heart jumped, thinking she meant home. “To the apartment,” she corrected, as though she could read my thoughts. “It’s getting too cold.”

  * * *

  I woke in the middle of the night to the rhythmic beating of the rain, the constant drops pounding away above and beside me. Light streaked under my door. I slipped out of bed, wrapping one of my blankets around my shoulders, and followed it to the living room. The dim ceiling lamp cast a pale circle around the center of the room. A moth beat its large wings against the bulb, over and over, flying into it in an endless quest for light and death.

  Bri sat at the table, staring at the ring.

  “What am I doing?” She twisted the ring over, the diamonds tossing light against the walls. The reflections scattered eerily across the dark corners. Ghostlike. I flipped two more of the lights on. Without them, the huge windows let in too much darkness, like the night itself had crept into the room.

  “Maybe you should go back. Talk to Malcolm.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t. I’ll hurt him too much. Better he doesn’t have to hear a no. I could just...slip away.” She watched the rain streaking down the glass, at the distorted moon beyond. “I could go to Paris now. Finish my dissertation from abroad.”

  I sat down across from her. “Yes,” I agreed. “You could.”

  She held the ring, hovering, in front of her finger. From below thick lashes, she glanced up at me. “I haven’t tried it on yet.”

  “Go ahead,” I said, as though she needed my permission.

  Bri bit her lip, her hands wavering. Then she closed her eyes and slid the ring on, settling it firmly on her finger. Once there, she let out a deep sigh, as though all the tension had left her body. She regarded her hand wistfully. “It looks right, doesn’t it?”

  I wouldn’t edge her one way or the other, but I did say, “It’s beautiful.”

  She ran her finger over it, and when she spoke, I could barely hear her. “I love him so much.” Her eyes were bright with tears. “It’s funny. How good we get at torturing the people we love the most.”

  I bit my lip.

  She smiled sadly. “I don’t even need to see him to know everything he would say to me. To know how he’d look at me.”

  “Did you say no because you don’t want to marry him, or because you don’t want all those other complications?”

  “I don’t know.” Her voice cracked. “I think I said no because I was scared.”

  When I went back to my room, I picked up my phone.

  * * *

  The next morning, Briana and I used the last of the eggs and milk to make pancakes. We ate them, watching the rain. Every time Bri moved her left hand, she threw light around the room. I wondered if she had slept with the ring on.

  “Tell me about Ryan now. What happened with you two?”

  I sighed. “It just—didn’t work. I guess we were both too judgmental and unable to let the other in. I think that’s always been our problem.”

  She swirled a piece through the maple syrup, unimpressed. “Can’t you fix that? If it’s not ideological, or something hurtful—if it’s just making judgments, you can apologize and work past it.”

  I shrugged. That required one of us being willing to apologize.

  “Rach.” Briana reached out and touched my arm. “Do you love him?”

  I stilled. I had always imagined being in love as some grand, sweeping epic. A prince on a white horse. Dashing. Kind and intelligent and caring. “I love how he makes me feel.” Like I was more than just another struggling post-grad in New York. With Ryan, I felt intelligent, witty, charming. I felt adventurous and beautiful and thrilling.

  I felt like I was a heroine.

  I missed him when we weren’t together. I wanted to share each silly thought that passed through my mind, and hear him laugh. I would be happy to spend each night at his place, and to walk around in his jersey, making French toast and talking about nothing and everything.

  But love... Wasn’t that reserved for the Byronic hero of my daydreams, the serious, poetic soul?

  “How could I?” I burst out, as though Bri had argued. “It’s not going to work out. Better to let it die now, instead of dragging it out forever.” Why even bother? Weren’t we doomed to end badly, anyway, in an explosion of anger and tears? Better that than being dragged apart by different families, different religions, different interests, different backgrounds. “We have nothing in common.”

  Bri’s small smile shut me up. “You’re exactly the same. The same sense of humor, the same mentality about life, the same curiosity about everything. Look at the two of you. You’re so passionate. The other things are just outside trimmings.”

  I was silent a long time, thinking, and then I hung my head miserably. “You’re right. We’re really good at saying things to hurt each other. And I think we went too far.”

  “Maybe. But I guarantee Ryan feels just as strongly about you as you do about him. All you need is for one of you to be willing to extend that olive branch.”

  Yeah, well, that olive branch was so heavy I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to pick it up.

  An hour later, while both of us sat curled on the couch, books in hand, the doorbell rang. Bri shot me an inquisitive glance. Since we were staying at my friend’s place, it fell to me to fend off strangers, so I trooped over to the door and opened it.

  And like I had suspected, it wasn’t a stranger.

  Malcolm stood before me, red-eyed and tired. He pulled his jacket tight, like he needed more warmth. I opened the door wider and stepped back, nodding shortly as he stepped inside. “Turn left and go straight.”

  I waited just long enough to catch Malcolm mumble several words and then say, very clearly, “I love you,” and to hear Briana’s muffled sob and footsteps. I peeked back and saw them wrapped in an embrace, Malcolm’s head resting atop Bri’s.

  Then I stepped out into the cold December air and started to walk.

  * * *

  I didn’t come back until the sun began to set. There was a note on the kitchen table—Went out to dinner, B&M. Bri’s handwriting. A heart encircled the initials.

  Then she wasn’t angry I had brought him here. And hopefully, they would figure out what they wanted. Together.

  I wrote my own short note, and then I headed for the train station.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Here’s your contract.” Howard Johnson, head of the Digital Media department at Maples&Co, handed me a packet. “Take your time looking it over.”

  It was all as we’d discussed. A full-time job in Manhattan. No law school for me! I could pay my rent and buy my groceries. I would have a livable wage. Not what my parents or brother made, of course, not by a long shot—but for a twenty-three year old? In publishing? I couldn’t ask for more.

  I signed. “Excellent.” Howard took the papers over to the photocopier after he added his own signature.

  As we waited for the copies, Gretchen popped by and smiled.
“Sorry to interrupt, but I just wanted to let your new assistant know that yes, The Tenth Review will be featuring your website. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.” I beamed. “That’s wonderful.”

  She smiled, and turned to Howard. “You two look all done here.”

  “Just so.” He slid the copy toward me. “That’s all we have. We’ll see you Monday, then.”

  “That sounds great.” I thanked him and followed Gretchen out of the room. She stopped in front of her office, and I paused as well instead of heading out for the day. I was so excited, so pleased—but I still had one small request. My nerves started to churn.

  Luckily, Gretchen was feeling chatty. “Any plans this week?”

  One. One plan, because the rest had fallen through. Because Ryan hadn’t answered his phone and his concierge had sent me away. I straightened my shoulders, grateful for the lead-in. “Actually, I’m hoping to go to the Leopards game.”

  “Should be a great one.” Gretchen nodded with satisfaction. “They really bounced back this season.” Then she shook her head. “But I don’t think you’ll be able to get tickets this late. They’re completely sold out.”

  I screwed up my courage. “I know. I was actually hoping to get on the press list.”

  My old boss stared at me blankly. “You want me to get you into a football game as press? Rachael, that’s—”

  “I know,” I interrupted. “It’s entirely unorthodox. But you’re right, there aren’t any tickets left, and it’s important I go to this game.”

  Gretchen kindly gave me the benefit of the doubt. “How is this related to work?”

  “It’s not.” I sucked in a breath and laid it all out. This wasn’t professional and it wasn’t even that plausible, but Gretchen liked me. Moreover, Gretchen liked romance enough that half her imprint focused on love stories.

  “I wouldn’t ask,” I finished, “but this is the only way I can get in touch with him. It’s the only place I know he’ll be.” I winced and held my breath. Please don’t let me have just thrown away my new job. And any reference Gretchen might have given me.