Abby sniffed and sighed. “He didn’t want to miss it, Mare. He is sick over it. Don’t make it worse.”
“Fine,” I said. “But I’m not leaving you here alone. I’m staying until he gets here.”
Abby hugged me, and I hooked my chin over her shoulder, glancing around the dim apartment. It looked so different from when I had first walked through the door our freshman year. Travis had insisted that Abby make the space her own after Shepley had moved out, shortly after they’d gotten married. Instead of street signs and beer posters, the walls were adorned with paintings, wedding pictures, and family pictures with Toto. There were lamps and tables and ceramic décor.
I turned back to look at the full plates of cold food on the small dining table. The candle had burned down to dried drippings of wax that nearly touched the reclaimed wood.
“Dinner smells good. I’ll be sure to rub it in.”
Shepley texted me, and I tapped out a quick reply.
“Shep?” Abby asked.
“Yeah. He thought I’d be home by now.”
“How is that going?”
“He’s a clean freak, Abby. How do you think it’s going?” I said, disgusted.
“You were all mad when your parents said you couldn’t move in with him. You both sulked in the dorms for a year and a half. They finally gave in, and now, you hate it.”
“I don’t hate it. I’m afraid he’s going to hate me.”
“It’s been almost three years, Mare. If it were possible for Shepley to do anything but worship you, I doubt it would be over a pair of dirty socks.”
I pulled my knees up to my chest, almost wishing it were him in my arms. I often wondered when being around Shepley or even thinking about him would stop making me feel so much, but the passing time had only made my feelings stronger.
“We graduate next summer, Abby. Can you believe it?”
“No. Then we really have to be adults.”
“You’ve been an adult since you were a kid.”
“True.”
“I keep thinking he’s going to ask me to marry him.”
Abby arched her brow.
“If he says my name a certain way or we go to a fancy restaurant, I think it’s going to be it, but he never does.”
“He did ask you, Mare, remember? You said no. Twice.”
I winced, remembering that morning on the beach and a few months later with the candlelight glinting in his eyes, the homemade pasta, and the supreme disappointment on his face. “But that was last year.”
“You think you missed your chance, don’t you? You think he’ll never get up the nerve to ask you again.” I didn’t answer, but she continued, “Why don’t you ask him?”
“Because I know it’s important to him that he ask me.”
Proposing to Shepley had crossed my mind, but I remembered what he’d said about the news that Abby had popped the question to Travis. It had bothered him almost as much as the realization that his feelings on the subject were so traditional. Shepley felt it was his place as the man to ask. I hadn’t realized that if I wasn’t ready when he proposed, he would stop asking.
“Do you want him to? Ask you again?”
“Of course I do. We don’t have to get married right away, right?”
“Right. So, what’s your hurry to get engaged?” she asked.
“I don’t know. He seems bored.”
“Bored? With you? Didn’t he just text to check on you?”
“Yes, but—”
“Are you bored?”
“Bored isn’t the right word. He’s uncomfortable. We’re stagnate, and I can tell it bothers him.”
“Maybe he’s waiting on a signal from you that you’re ready?”
“I have been dropping them right and left, except for mentioning America’s Famous No. We have an unspoken agreement to leave it unspoken.”
“Maybe you should tell him you’re ready when he’s ready to ask again.”
“What if he’s not?”
Abby made a face. “Mare, we’re talking about Shep. He’s probably struggling with not asking you every day.”
I sighed. “This isn’t about me. I’m here for you.”
She frowned. “I almost forgot.”
The doorknob jiggled, and the door burst open.
“Pidge?” Travis yelled. His expression crumbled when he saw the food on the table, and then he looked over at us sitting on the couch together.
Abby’s eyes lit up as he rushed around the couch and knelt in front of her, wrapping his arms around her middle and burying his face in her lap.
Shepley stood in the doorway, smiling.
I beamed back at him. “You’re sneaky.”
“He chartered a flight back. I had to pick him up at the FPO here in town.” He shut the door behind him and chuckled, crossing his arms. “I thought he was going to have a heart attack before we got here.”
Abby’s nose wrinkled. “The FPO? You mean that tiny airport just outside of town?” She looked to Travis. “A charter plane? How much did that cost?”
Travis looked up at her, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. I just had to get here.” He looked at me. “Thanks for sitting with her, Mare.”
I nodded. “Of course.” I stood, smiling at Shepley. “I’ll follow you home.”
Shepley opened the door. “After you, baby.”
I waved good-bye to Travis and Abby, not that they noticed while he practically gnawed on her face.
Shepley held my hand as we walked down the stairs to our cars. The Charger was shining like new, parked next to my scratched and dingy red Honda. He unlocked the door, and the smell of smoke assaulted my nose.
I waved my hand in front of my face. “So gross. If you love your car so much, why do you let Travis smoke in it?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s never asked.”
I smirked. “What would Travis do if, one day, you stopped letting him have his way all the time?”
Shepley kissed the corner of my mouth. “I don’t know. What would you do?”
I blinked.
Shepley’s expression turned to horror. “Oh, shit. That just came out. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”
I gripped my keys in my hand. “It’s okay. I’ll see you at home.”
“Baby,” he began.
But I was already halfway around the Honda.
I sat in the worn driver’s seat of my dilapidated hatchback, starting it even though I wanted to sit there for a while and cry. Shepley backed out, and I followed him.
I wasn’t sure what was worse—hearing the unintended truth or seeing the dread in his eyes after he’d said it. Shepley felt like a doormat to everyone he loved, including me.
Shepley
I pulled into the covered parking spot next to America’s Honda and sighed. The steering wheel whined as my white knuckles twisted back and forth. The look on America’s face before, when I’d spoken without thinking, wasn’t like anything I’d ever seen before. If I said something stupid, anger would be evident in her eyes. But I hadn’t made her angry. This was worse. Without meaning to, I’d hurt her, cutting her deep.