Page 155 of 10 Rings I Hate About You
“Three legs.”
“He’s very enthusiastic about it.”
She looked at me over the laminated sheet. “Define enthusiastic.”
“He tries to go everywhere and has limited steering. He was at the bachelor auction.”
She hesitated. “And we’re introducing him tonight because?—”
“I know it’s a roll of the dice, but he’s been here for eight months and deserves a chance. Maybe the committee will love that we include animals of all abilities,” I suggested.
Cheryl glanced at the ceiling briefly. Then she wrote something on her sheet and nodded. “Fine. Noted. Moving on.”
I loved her so much.
Marc came back with the committee members fifteen minutes before the class was scheduled to start.
Mr. Geraldi—the head of the committee—took on the role of observer today. Clipboard ready and pen already uncapped. He introduced himself with a firm handshake and eyes that were already moving around the room, taking it all in and making internal notations.
Ms. Kline—the participant—was friendlier. She’d worn actual athletic wear, which I registered as a hopeful sign and immediately told myself not to put too much weight into. She asked about modifications for tight hamstrings. I gave her three options. She nodded, and I was delighted to see how seriously she took my suggestions.
I talked to them both while Marc held back slightly, present but giving me space to do my thing. I knew without him saying it that he was being deliberate in not intervening—showing his trust in me, and I stood a little straighter because of it.
The voices in the outer hallway arrived at exactly ten minutes to our start time.
I exhaled.They’re early,I thought. I hoped the committee noticed and made notes about it without me having to point it out.
Robert and Laura Kingsley came through the door first. The tight muscles in my shoulders released at the sight of them. I hadn’t expected that—hadn’t anticipated that the presence of Marc’s parents would land in my body as relief. But there it was. They were here because their son needed them to be here, and they had simply come, no announcement, no production, just the quiet fact of showing up.
Laura found Marc immediately. She crossed to him with purpose, pulled him to the side, and said something quietly, laying her hand on his arm. His face relaxed, his posture straightened, and his smile grew wider.
His dad clapped him on the back. Two firm pats. The wordless communication of a father who knew his son didn’t need speeches but would have full-on hugged him if the committee hadn’t already been present.
I thought about my own parents. They loved me—I’d never doubted that. But love, in my family, had always operated at a distance. My parents had each other in a way that was complete and a little isolated, and I’d learned early on that being self-sufficient was the most effective way to be loved by them. I’d stopped asking for things I wasn’t sure they had the room to give.
I’d gotten very good at not needing anything from other people.
Watching Laura whisper to Marc and seeing him receive her encouragement—the ease of it, the lack of artifice on either side, the natural way they interacted—it was easy to see it’d happened ten thousand times before and would happen ten thousand times more—I felt that familiar ache of recognizing something I didn’t know I’d been missing.
Laura turned from Marc and found me. She crossed the room with the same purposeful stride she’d crossed it with the first time, and took my hands in hers—the same gesture Glamma hadused, I’d noticed. The Kingsley women had a whole language in their hands that said: “I see you”without uttering a word.
“I’ve always liked you,” she said. “Even when you and Marc were doing your best to drive each other insane.” The corner of her mouth ticked up. “That fire in you—that’s exactly what he needs. Someone who doesn’t just go along with him because it’s easier.”
My throat tightened. I managed a small sound that was supposed to be a laugh.
“I know we haven’t had much time to spend getting to know each other since you came back to town,” she continued. “I’d love to fix that. Family dinner next week. Will you come?”
“I’d love that,” I said, and meant it more than the words themselves could ever express.
She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For loving him the way he deserves to be loved. As he is. Exactly as he is.”
Her words hit at a level I wasn’t prepared for.
My eyes went to hers fast—how did she know?—and her expression answered before I could finish the questions in my head. She’d seen it. Probably before I had. She’d been waiting, with the patience of a woman who’d already known the ending, but was waiting for the rest of us to catch up.
