Regrets Only (41 page)

“Hey,”
Marci said as Suzanne poked her head into the pastor’s office.

“Hey
yourself,” Suzanne said.

Marci
was nursing Bonnie beneath a blanket, but motioned with her head for Suzanne to
come in and take a seat. She looked radiant as a mother. They had just seen
each other for dinner a couple of days before—Marci’s first night out without
the baby—but today she looked different somehow. Motherhood had given her best
friend a new kind of grace.

“Is
it crazy out there?” she asked softly.

“Only
in the best way,” Suzanne said. “How are you?”

“We’re
good,” Marci said, gazing down at little Bonnie. They sat quietly for a while,
listening to the baby’s soft suckling and the light rain that was now falling
outside.

“So
how’s the unpacking going? You still driving Dylan crazy?”

“Yes.
I know it’s awful. I’m just a terrible procrastinator.”

“No.
You’re not.” The words might’ve been reassuring, except that Marci’s tone was
more firm than generous.

Suzanne
hesitated for a second. “Um, what?”

“You’re
not a procrastinator. I’ve known you since you were a kid. You either do things
or you don’t, in my experience.”

“What
do you mean?”

“I
mean, I’m wondering whether you’re delaying putting away those boxes as one
last holdout. Like your subconscious anxiety about living with Dylan, and
committing your whole life to him, is manifesting itself by you not unpacking
all those boxes.”

Oh
great, she’s back in Columbo mode. Or she’s been reading Psychology Today
again.
“Come on,
Marce. I moved in with him. I sold my condo. I accepted his proposal.” She held
up her left hand and wiggled her ring finger. It had a disco-ball effect in the
low-lit office. “You really think I’m trying to keep a foot out the door by not
unpacking a few boxes?”

Marci
merely arched an eyebrow in response and handed a well-fed Bonnie to Suzanne
while she re-buttoned her blouse. Bonnie was a lovely, pudgy little thing with
wispy brown curls. She’d been born on Halloween, and Suzanne had already
purchased a baby princess costume for her to wear trick-or-treating on her
first birthday. She held the tiny girl close to her, cooing softly and saying a
silent prayer that Bonnie wouldn’t choose the pink cashmere as the place to
spit up her lunch. Before she could challenge Marci any further, Reverend McClosky
knocked to tell them he was ready when they were.

By
the time they got back to the sanctuary, the crowd had tripled to include aunts
and uncles and grandparents and cousins. Once the reverend had spoken, the
blessings had been offered, and both Suzanne and Jake’s dad made their speeches
for the occasion, not a dry eye remained in the little church. The guest of
honor, however, seemed oblivious of the whole affair, sleeping soundly in
Marci’s arms throughout the ceremony. They gathered again in the front room for
punch and cookies, where Suzanne and Dylan hung back from the crowd.

“Thanks
for doing this with me,” she said.

“Don’t
be ridiculous. This is what we do now, right? We go to each other’s stuff.”

“Well,
yeah,” she said.
Of course.

Dylan
pulled out his phone and looked at it, a wide grin spreading across his face.
“Anyway,” he said, “you’d better get ready for more of this stuff tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

He
held out the phone. “Just got a text from Jeff. Kate just went into labor.”

“Oh!”
Suzanne’s hand flew to her mouth in excitement.

Dylan
was still grinning. “Can you imagine my whole family at the hospital? They’re
not going to know what hit them.”

“Definitely
not,” she agreed. “The tabloids are going to have a field day.” For Kate’s
sake, she hoped she was wrong.

Suzanne
had found that her relationship with the press, while certainly challenging,
had not been as bad as she’d anticipated. Since Dylan’s announcement of his
hiatus back in October had formally launched their relationship, they had been
the topic of gossip on and off as people tried to figure out who Suzanne was
and why Dylan had chosen her. Several grainy pictures and a few shaky videos of
the two of them on the hotel balcony had made the rounds—apparently at least a
few people in New York still looked out their windows and knew enough about
country music to recognize Dylan in his boxers.

And,
of course, the pictures from the debacle at the High had reemerged, to her
utter embarrassment. The press seemed to be spinning them differently these
days, however, with variations according to media outlet. Some came close to reality
when they reported that Penny had spiked Suzanne’s drink that evening, while
one fringe tabloid claimed Dylan and Suzanne were rogue members of the same
nudist cult, who disrobed in public whenever microchips in their brains were
activated. Marci had sent a clipping of this particular view to Suzanne. “Yeah,
I think I might be forced to write a song about that one,” Dylan had said
stoically when she read it to him. “So where do you want to go for dinner?”

She
was learning from Dylan, slowly, about not taking herself too seriously.
Suzanne thought this might be a longer journey for her than for some, but the
last year had certainly forced her to make a start. She found that her work at
the foundation was teaching her something new about character and love and
loyalty every day. She was getting a makeover she had never realized she
needed.

Chad
and David approached, hands linked. Suzanne kissed them both and re-introduced
Dylan to David, as her memory of their meeting at the High last year was more
than a little fuzzy. “How’s the new job going?” she asked Chad, with the air of
an ex-girlfriend asking about someone’s dating life.

David
rolled his eyes. “Oh, you had to
ask
,” he said. He rubbed Chad’s back
affectionately and turned to Dylan. “Gorgeous, you and I better pretend we have
something in common pretty quick. This could be a loooong conversation.”

Suzanne
gave Chad a look of concern. “What’s going on?”

“Ugh,
Suze. It’s fine, really. It’s just…so predictable. I mean the money is great
and I love working near David—”

“Not
in the same department,” David put in hurriedly.

“Right.
My boss is a nice guy and everything, but it’s just not—”

“Challenging?
Fun?” Suzanne ventured.

“It’s
not the same as working with
you
,” Chad said. “Apparently, I don’t
function well with sane people. I am motivated by craziness. I don’t know
whether I need a job change or shock therapy.”

Suzanne
laughed. “Well, you know, the foundation is doing really well. We are looking
at expanding some of our services by the summer. We might be looking to hire
someone soon.”

“Says
the woman who doesn’t even draw her own salary yet,” Dylan muttered. Suzanne
ignored him.

“The
pay isn’t great, obviously, and you might need to do some volunteering with us
so you can get to know the board first and see what you’re in for,” she said.
As much as she loved the idea of working with Chad again, it was probably a big
step down for him salary- and prestige-wise. She didn’t want him to be unhappy.

“Oh,
Suzanne, I’d love to,” he said in a rush. “I’ll bring your coffee every day.”

 She
smiled. He really
did
hate his job at the law firm. She felt the same
thrill at the thought of having Chad back with her as she had nearly five years
ago when Marci had moved home from Austin. But she tried to keep her emotions
even so he wouldn’t feel pressured and regret his decision. “Let’s have lunch
next week, okay?”

They
said goodbye, and Chad kissed her cheek again, promising to call next week.
David surprised her by throwing his arms around her in a farewell bear hug.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” he whispered urgently. Apparently working in
the same office was putting a bit of strain on Chad and David’s relationship.

#

That
evening, Suzanne and Dylan sat on the couch together, she with a glass of wine,
he with his phone handy waiting for news from Kate and Jeff. The pregnancy had
been difficult; Kate had often been overwhelmed to the point of tears by the
misguided intrusions of her family. To his credit, Jeff had banned everyone—including
their parents and Dylan himself—from the hospital until the day after the baby
was born. Dylan had seemed surprised at first, but Suzanne had a hunch that he
actually respected his brother-in-law for holding his ground.

A
warm fire crackled—the first one in their new fireplace—and Suzanne looked
through some work papers while Dylan watched a Tennessee Titans playoff game in
his lucky socks. The socks were a ragged old pair of plain white athletic tube
socks with holes in the toes and paint stains on the bottom, but he claimed the
Titans won more often than they lost when he wore them. How he had kept track
of this statistic, she didn’t know, but it was one of the hundreds of endearing
little things she had learned about him since October. These were the kinds of
things she hadn’t known about anyone before—except Marci—and certainly had
never shared herself, at least not with anyone she’d dated.

But
Dylan knew now. He knew that Suzanne still sometimes slept with a teddy bear
she’d had since childhood, and by either great sympathy or great restraint he
had not made fun of her about it. He knew she loved crime dramas and hated
scented candles and was a tragically bad dancer. He knew she did her best
painting after midnight and liked to sleep in at every opportunity, but could
also appreciate a sunrise if properly lured with a cinnamon latte and sweet
words. He knew she’d spent the first half of her life so far afraid of letting
her father down, and the second half afraid of letting everyone else down, too.
He knew all of this and more, and yet, he loved her. For the first time in her
life, she believed those words when she heard them.

They
were still working on everything else.

So
far, the news of their engagement had somehow not made it to the press—Suzanne
didn’t wear the ring in public yet—but it was inevitable, and she knew they
needed to decide some things soon. The idea of planning a wedding right now was
so far from desirable that she had suggested they simply go to the local
courthouse on a Tuesday or something. She had a fantasy of getting married in
jeans and a t-shirt on the way to the grocery store and then sneaking away
undetected on a honeymoon in the middle of the night. Dylan had laughed at what
he called an “anti-Suzanne” idea, and suggested that even at the local
courthouse they’d be unlikely to escape the press.

He
didn’t pressure her about setting a date. He also hadn’t said anything about
his career, but she knew that he was itching to go back to work soon. It only
seemed fair, considering she had the foundation and her painting to keep her more
than occupied. The three months they’d been together had been the longest break
he had taken from his music career since middle school. In many ways, she could
tell he was refreshed by it. They’d spent a few days here and there at his cabin—alone,
amazingly enough—or down at the beach near Savannah. He’d caught up with old
friends—like Jesse McCreary, who Suzanne felt sheepish meeting personally after
publicly criticizing his batting average—and he frequently went out to listen
to small-time bands in bars and at little local festivals. When she could,
Suzanne went with him. Occasionally he’d introduce himself after a show and get
a promising band’s CD to pass on to his father, but he had yet to re-create
their first dive bar experience by singing James Taylor to her.

It
had been an amazing three months for both of them but Suzanne knew that if he
stayed away from his work too long he would begin to wilt and die. Not to
mention everyone else who depended on Dylan for their livelihoods, too. She had
been thinking it was time to talk about their plans for a while now, but there
was always something else more pressing, or more fun, to do. She was waiting for
the right opportunity to bring it up and somehow while he was yelling
obscenities at a line judge on TV didn’t seem like the right time.

This
time it was Marci’s voice that came to her.
You’re delaying…one last holdout…subconscious
anxiety…committing your whole life…

No.
This time Marci was wrong. “Dylan?” she said sweetly.

“What,
babe?” he said, not taking his eyes off the screen, split into three parts. The
two head coaches paced in their little boxes, waiting for a referee in the
third box who was watching a replay under a large black hood.

Suzanne
hesitated. “Could we—”

“Aw,
dammit
! Come ON!” he said, throwing his arms up in exasperation.
Apparently the call had gone against Tennessee. He turned to her and composed
his face into a semblance of normalcy, but apparently under some effort. This
was not a good time.

“Could
you keep me posted, about Kate?”

“Sure,
Scarlett,” he said, glancing peripherally at the television. “You going somewhere?”

“Nope.
Just going upstairs and I don’t want to miss the baby news.”