I can’t see the color difference she’s talking about, but she’s right.
“That one.”
“Have you thought about a wedding ring?” she asks. “We have sets for bride and groom.”
Another thing to do? Of course. My eyes settle inside the case—on a ring with large diamonds around the entire circumference. It’s not simple, but neither is Sarah. It’s a ring for a woman who deserves the most beautiful things in the world.
I choose her.
There never lived a woman in the world who could tease this kind of feeling out of me. But here I am. Sarah Colonia. I’ve never loved a woman in my life, and now I’m so inexperienced I think love is my choice to make.
“This one.”
“It’s lovely,” the woman says. “Also platinum with seventeen round cut—”
“Wrap them up. I need them both today. Now.”
She drops her gaze, and her lips get even thinner. “Our diamond setter is gone for the day.”
“It’s important,” I add. “I’ve kept her waiting long enough. We can get some engravings later. The dates and…” I rummage through my brain for things people carve inside wedding rings. “A nice quote or something. Another time.”
“Even with that, sir, we simply can’t get it done before Thursday.”
I could be dead on the floor of a park bathroom in two days.
I look at my watch as if new hours are going to appear. They don’t.
I’ll have to wait to propose until after Sarah and I meet with Denise.
“I’ll be here Thursday afternoon,” I say, signing on the dotted line. “Or not.”
CHAPTER 20
SARAH
The dim ceiling light flickers in a steel cage above the bathroom stall. The toilet is lidless and seatless—just a wet, open mouth ringed in stained porcelain lips.
Of course, Dario is in the McKinley Park women’s bathroom with me. He stayed at my side from the car, past the swing set, and through the door of the little brick building that clearly says “WOMEN” beneath the silhouette of the figure in a dress. There was no one around to tell him the men’s room was on the other side of the building, so here we are.
Forty-five minutes later, in the second-farthest stall from the door. I don’t know why I thought he’d let me sit in here alone for an hour, waiting where he can’t see me.
If I’m being honest with myself, I’m glad that last bit of my plan failed. I’d rather have him near me than anyone, as long as he stays quiet and lets me do the talking.
We haven’t said a word or made a sound in all this time. I’m jumping out of my skin. Dario’s patience is awe-inspiring. The beauty of his posture—heels against the side of the toilet, arms crossed, back against the wall—is enthralling. He doesn’t move from his tensed position to relieve the pressure on his knees. He crosses his ankles once, soundlessly, never touching the floor or exposing his presence.
The only active thing he does in that time is stare at me, head to toe, as if doing some kind of math. Not a word though. Not a sound.
It’s midday of midweek, so the park is populated with kids too young for school, their nannies, and their parents. Mostly women, mostly mothers. They gather in small groups, clutching paper coffee cups and metal water bottles. Except one group of young women who come together. They meet on the corner of First and 10th with their children every third Thursday.
I don’t have children, so I don’t go, but Denise told me she sometimes leaves the kids with the other mothers, gets in the last stall, and just sits there for as long as she wants.
When anyone comes into the bathroom, Dario looks for my reaction. Kids. Women. Girls. I shake my head. There’s a water fight when a group comes in to fill up balloons. No. A woman shoos them back outside. No. Another woman comes in muttering. Rattles the door. Dario puts his finger over his lips. I shake my head. Teenagers skipping school, giggling. No. A toddler looking for his mother. No.
In this series of snapshots, we hear slices of life in Manhattan, but not Denise.
I look at Dario and tap my wrist. He finds a way to shrug without moving his shoulders as if to say, “I’ll stand here in this bathroom, wedged between a toilet and a wall, with you as long as I need to.”
I mouth the words, “What if I’m wrong?” without adding all the things I could be wrong about. The time. The date. I’m counting on my friend’s life to be the same, and what if it’s not?
Dario shakes his head. He won’t be moved. I know that much. His trust in me is nice, but what if it’s misplaced?
I wipe my palms on my pants.
“Matty! You have to wait for me and Auntie Clara!”
A babble of little-boy sounds follow. Then a hearty adult snort, right from the sinuses.
Allergies.
Dario’s gaze goes from my knees to my eyes—from seduction to question.
Yes.
That’s Denise and her little son, Matty. Aunt Clara is there to make sure the mothers aren’t left alone too long. Public parks are dangerous, after all.
“Pee-pee!” Matty rushes into the farthest stall, next to where Dario and I are, and slaps the door shut. “Me-self! Me-self!”
“All right,” Denise says, giving her son what she can’t have for herself. “Just put the pee into the bowl, okay, sweetheart?”
“Kaykay!”
“Lock the door like I showed you.”
Metal clicks. Through the crack, I see her. She looks as tired as she sounds. When she leans against the stall door, our stall shakes. Fabric rustles. Water hits water.
“Good boy.” Denise faces the floor, arms crossed, arms closed.
I wish I could hug her, but all I can do is silently beg her to take ten minutes for herself.
“Ball now!” Matty cries.
His mother recites all the things he has to do before he can play ball, and it seems like he does them, until it’s time to wash his hands.
“Matty! You have to…”
And her voice is gone in the chase. I look at Dario, eyes wide.
Did we lose her? Will she come back to wash his hands or give up and let him play ball?
Again, Dario puts his finger to his lips.
Men are the most patient predators in the animal kingdom, and Dario Lucari is at the apex.
But me? I’ve been patient enough. She was right there, and instead of whispering her name or showing my face, I let her go.
I put my hand on the little silver lock, ready to get out, when Dario leaps from his perch and pushes me against the door, his hand over my mouth.
“Not yet.” The words are spoken as loud as a breeze, with a body tensed against mine and eyes that remain in a state of peace.
He moved so quickly and pinned me so accurately, I don’t have a choice but to heed him. The confidence in his eyes and arms. The unbroken line between his intentions and his actions.
“Like, a minute!” Denise calls from outside. “He’s fine as long as he has the ball.”
There’s a pause. Dario lets me go and gets back on his perch.
“There’s no other way out,” she says, closer. “Like always.”
“On Monday, I thought you fell into the toilet and we were going to have to pull you out of the sewer in the middle of 14th Street,” an older woman says. That’d be her Aunt Clara. “By the time you came out, all the bread was set out to rise and you hadn’t done a bit of kneading.”