Page 46 of The Write Place

She tilts her head and sighs. “I do like him, Mac. Especially after his display of righteous anger at Marty and the others this week.” She isn’t saying Ben’s name on purpose because she was so hurt by it, but I let it slide. She takes a deep breath again. “I don’t know. Maybe I wanted him to sweat a little because he lied to you, but I think it’s more because I wanted to make sure he’s right for you, you know? He has to earn you, and I need to make sure he does. It’s something…” she trails off and turns her eyes up as they fill with tears.

“It’s something Ellie would have done,” I finish for her, tears spilling over onto my cheeks. Her eyes meet mine, and she nods. I pull her into a hug and hold her tight, both of us sniffling as the front door opens. We let go of each other and turn to see Daniel look askance at the cheeseburgers spread out on wrappers on the carpet.

“You do have a table, don’t you, Mac?”

“Get on board or get out, Evans,” Jenny warns, though her words lack their usual edge. She takes a huge bite of her cheeseburger. By his smile, I can tell he knows she’s softening toward him.

“Yours is on the counter,” I say. “Join us.” He goes to get his food and comes back, spreading it on the floor.

“I’m assuming this all means something?” he asks as he watches Jenny and me pass the wine bottle between the two of us.

“One night, when we were seniors in high school and Ellie was a senior in college, we came home and found her sitting on the floor with a bag of cheeseburgers and a bottle of wine. She had just broken up with someone, and she said she was giving herself time to wallow. She always started with the cheeseburgers and wine on the floor, and then she allowed herself three weeks before she picked herself up and got herself back out there. It was the same with every breakup or heartache she experienced—cheeseburgers, wine, and three weeks of wallowing. And every time one of us was sad about something, she’d come in with the cheeseburgers and wine, and after three weeks, she’d come back and take us out.” I hand Daniel the bottle of wine. He takes a swig and passes it to Jenny.

“There are some things three weeks won’t fix,” Jenny admits. That’s an understatement. I remember trying to take her out after she broke up with Kyle only to have to carry her, crying, from the bathroom to the car. And, after Ellie died, we couldn’t even eat the cheeseburgers because we were both crying so hard.

She takes a drink and passes it to me, continuing, “But we try to keep the tradition alive as much as we can.”

Daniel is quiet most of the night, but he stays with us through two bottles of wine and endless stories about Ellie. During a particularly hard memory, I feel Daniel thread his fingers through mine, and we remain that way for the rest of the night, him being a reassuring presence, never breaking the contact between us. We’re treading on more-than-friends territory again, but after a very emotional day, I’m having a hard time caring. I’m sure Jenny sees it, but she doesn’t let on.

It gets late, and we all fall silent. The room is dimly lit, and everyone is starting to feel the emotional toll of the day. Jenny says her goodbyes and leaves, but Daniel lingers. I tighten my grip on his hand, as if he is single-handedly tethering me to the shore as I wash through waves of grief.

“I’ll stay as long as you need,” he says quietly, reassuringly. It’s a promise and a request, and I feel suddenly relieved, as if that was all I needed. My head is resting on the seat of the couch, and I roll it toward him. He’s already looking at me.

“All night?” I ask tentatively, not even sure if that’s what I want. Or, rather, completely sure that’s what I want, but not admitting it unless he wants it, too.

His gray-blue eyes are piercing in the dim light of the room. He holds my gaze as he affirms, “All night.”

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. My head falls to his shoulder, and he shifts so his arm is around me, pulling me close.

I wake slightly when he carries me to my room. I feel him gently set me down in bed and turn to leave. I reach out a hand to grab his in the dark. It’s a wordless invitation, and he pauses, studying me. I can barely make out his eyes in the darkness, full of some emotion I’m too tired to pinpoint. I don’t release his hand, and he doesn’t shift his gaze. When I’m about to let go, he lays next to me on the bed, tucking me in next to him, holding me against him as I fall asleep again.

The next morning, I feel a touch on my temple as he pushes back my hair and whispers, “See you at school.” I smile sleepily as he leaves. I roll over and check my phone, and I’m not surprised to find a text from Jenny.

How long did Evans stay?

I smile again as I type back: He just left.

Her response is immediate. Reckless.

I don’t bother responding, but as I get ready for school, I feel a little lighter.

Chapter 20

The next week passes quickly, and before I know it, I’m home after school on Friday, packing an overnight bag. There’s going to be a reception after this poetry reading, Daniel told me, and he wants to stop by for at least a little while. Chicago is only about an hour away, but he got a hotel room—“With two beds,” he’d insisted—just in case it’s too late to drive back when we leave. Jenny had been very interested in that detail, but hasn’t said much of anything else.

The first few minutes of our drive pass in companionable silence, the radio playing softly. “Thanks for inviting me,” I say after a while. “I really love this kind of stuff.”

He smirks. “I figured you might.” I look at him quizzically, so he continues, “It’s evident in the way you talked about my books, and the way you talk about books to your students. You love literature. It’s not a leap to think you might enjoy a poetry reading.”

I admit that’s a fair assessment, and we fall into silence again.

“Do you go to Chicago often?” he asks.

“Jenny and I used to go all the time when we were younger, but we tend to stay local now. I try to go see the Christmas lights at least, and sometimes I like to sit in the Art Institute. It’s so beautiful there, and quiet. Have you ever been?”

“To the Art Institute? Or to Chicago?”

“Either.”