Page 66 of Forever Then

Chapter Fifty

SHE’S BEEN WAITING FOR YOU

Connor

I know the serpentine curve of the Fishers driveway like the back of my hand. That little bump where the gravel ends and my tires meet the paved concrete as the house draws closer hits like a wave of high school nostalgia.

Tucked back about a hundred yards from the main road, this house always felt like my second home.

I’ve eaten meals here. Me and my teammates used the sprawling front yard for pick-up football games.

I’ve raided their fridge, swam in their pool and bummed their internet.

I know where they keep the coffee mugs, the extra towels.

Yet, on this sunny Sunday afternoon, it all feels foreign. I’m not only their son’s best friend when I walk through the door; I’m their daughter’s boyfriend. The same boyfriend they witnessed having the riot act read to him only a few short days ago.

Gretchen and I have called and texted all weekend. She kept me in the loop about how the conversation went with her family. Drew even made the trip home yesterday to be a part of it. Despite the fact that he won’t respond to my messages, he showed up for Gretchen and that’s what matters most.

He just needs time.

Her family was, understandably, surprised by her news, but they listened to the whole story with an open mind.

Tears were shed, happy and sad. Gretchen showed them the scrapbook along with all the pictures we took.

And before Drew headed back to Chicago last night, they all face-timed with Cheyenne, Miguel and the kids.

As I approach the front door, I take in a deep breath.

Should I knock? I haven’t knocked since I was fifteen. Things are different now, though. Right? I should knock. Yeah, knocking is good.

When Paul Fisher opens the door, he spears me with a confused look before stepping aside for me to come in. “Can’t remember the last time you knocked, son.”

I run a nervous hand through the hair under my ball cap. “Yeah, sorry. I wasn’t sure if I should?—”

“Is that Connor?” Kelly hollers from the kitchen.

“Yeah, it’s me!”

She appears in the kitchen doorway, same curious eye as her husband. “Why’d you knock? I thought you were another Jehovah’s Witness.”

Nervous feet carry me to the kitchen on Paul’s heels. Through the window ahead, I spot Gretchen out by the pool. Back to me, she sits on the edge, legs dangling in the water.

With another deep pull of air into my lungs, I turn to her parents. “How are you guys?”

Kelly looks to Paul who lets out a bewildered chortle. “It’s been a crazy few days.”

Nerves prickle my skin, and I stuff my hands into my pockets, eyes drawn to the expanse of kitchen floor between us. “Yeah, it has.”

Now’s the time to explain. I practiced what I would say the whole way here, but now I wish I’d prepared index cards or written bullet points on my hand or something.

I still haven’t found the words when Paul asks, “So, you met them?” He must read confusion on my face because he clarifies a moment later. “Miguel and Cheyenne?”

“We spoke to them on the phone yesterday. They seem great,” Kelly says, weary from the weight of her daughter’s heavy news. Heavy but good, if her tired smile is any indication.

“Yeah”—I glance at Gretchen through the window and back to the Fishers—“I did. They’re wonderful. All of them.”

“Well,” Paul sighs, “we’re thankful you were there with her.”

“Of course,” I say.

Silence falls, the elephant in the room stepping out of the shadows. Eyes bounce around, shoes shuffle on the floor, Paul runs a hand down his wife’s back and I shift on my feet.

Ready to press on, I clear the thickness from my throat. “Listen, I owe you both an apology for how things went down at the restaurant last week. I didn’t want you to find out like that and I’m sorry.”

Kelly smiles warmly while Paul bobs his head once in acceptance.

“And the things that Drew said…about me…I need you to know that I’m?—”

“You said you love her.” Mr. Fisher’s stern voice cuts me off.

“Yes, sir. More than anything.”

“And you want something real with her?” he adds, his expression softer than his tone, but I don’t cower.

“I want everything with her.”

I’m serious about his daughter and this is my opportunity to show him that.

Paul studies me and I hold his gaze before he turns to his wife.

Kelly smiles up at him and they both look back to me.

“Then that’s all we need to know.” He nudges his head toward Gretchen through the window. “She’s been waiting for you.”

Whether he means today or the past three years or a lifetime, I can’t be sure. I suppose it doesn’t matter, because they’re all true. But one thing I’m certain of is that she’ll never wait for me again.

Outside, I plop down next to Gretchen and drop my legs in the water beside hers.

“You made it,” she beams at me.

Flipping my hat around, I lean in and give her a chaste kiss .

“I’m here,” I say as I pull back, chin dropped, and give her a wink. “You remember the last time we were here, Fish?”

“You mean that summer you ignored me until I forced you to talk? Yeah. You’re welcome, by the way,” she says, tone dry, eyes rolling.

“In my defense, no one warned me I’d be coming home from college to an underage smoke show. I was trying to make it to my first real job without a criminal record. So, you,” I kiss her, “are welcome, milady.”

“Well, look at us now,” she declares loudly to nobody at all, arms splayed wide. “We’re young—well, I’m still young, you’re old—and in love.”

I throw an arm around her shoulder and haul her closer as she pulls my lips to hers. I oblige, but only for a moment. “Keep it PG, Fish. Your parents are inside.”

Chuckling, she jumps to her feet, splattering water on my shorts in the process. “Let’s get back to your place, then.”

“I have something I want to run by you,” I say, fingers twirling through Gretchen’s hair as she lays sprawled out beside me in bed.

She grabs her glasses from the nightstand and turns her naked body toward me, blanket tucked under her chin. “Okay.”

“My boss asked me to lead this big project at work. It’s kind of a big deal and it would look really good on a resume. But I’d have to stay here through November.”

Her face gives nothing away, but the leg she squeezes between my calves and the hand reaching for my waist tells me she needs to be close.

“And you want to do it?”

The only thing I want is to be with her, but this is a big opportunity that could open even bigger doors for me in New York. “I’m not sure want is the right word.”

“You think you should do it, then? ”

Hair coiled around my finger, I wrestle with my hesitation. “You know Lauren’s dad is my boss?”

“Yeah,” she says, not a bit of worry or concern at the mention of my ex-girlfriend.

“I’ve worked for him for seven years and he’s been really good to me. I don’t know, a part of me feels like it’s the right thing to do before I give him my notice.”

She cradles my cheek, thumb sweeping in slow strokes. “But…”

“But I don’t want to be away from you that long. I don’t need to do it to get a good job in New York.” I pull her in for a kiss. “And I don’t want you to think I’d be saying yes out of some misplaced loyalty to my ex-girlfriend’s dad when you are the most important thing in the world to me.”

Ever since Mr. Driskill extended the offer, I’ve been weighing the pros and cons, intentionally trying to tip the scales in both directions to determine the best course of action. What I’ve come up with is there’s no right answer, but there’s also not a wrong answer.

“Careful, QB, my over-thinking is rubbing off on you,” she says with a smile.

I shift down the mattress and level my eyes with hers. “What do you think I should do?”

“I think,” she kisses me softly, “I’m yours, whether you move to New York next week, or four months from now.

” Another kiss . “And I think I already fell in love with you once over a year’s worth of phone calls and texts.

” Another kiss . “I have no doubt, it’ll be enough to sustain us for a few months.

And,” kiss, “I trust you,” kiss, “and I think you should do it.”

I blink slowly as my hand settles on the dip of her waist. “Are you sure?”

“Your loyalty is not misplaced. It’s honorable and I don’t fault you for it. You and me? We’ll be fine.”

Rolling on top of her, I settle between her legs, kissing her fiercely. As much as I needed to hear those words, now I need to touch them, to feel them.

When I make love to her this time, we don’t need words.

Our bodies talk and sing in harmony all on their own.

My heart in rhythm with hers as I rock into her, there’s no rush to the finish line.

Many lazy, savoring minutes later, I inhale the satisfied cries of her climax, with a single “I love you” whispered against her lips.

The next morning, I drop Gretchen off at the airport on my way to work.

I opted for full transparency when I got to the office and told Mr. Driskill I’m excited to accept the team lead position but that once the project is over I’ll be moving to New York. Thankful that I’ve given him four months notice of my departure, we shake hands and it’s done.

That night, instead of texting Drew again—because that’s gotten me nowhere—I text Reagan.

Me

Can you at least confirm he’s alive and breathing?

Reagan

Roger that. Confirmed. He needs more time.

Tuesday comes and Gretchen calls me after her first-round interview to tell me it went well.

Encouraged by the good feedback she received and the glowing review Monica, her old boss, had put in on her behalf, she decided she was finally ready to start apartment hunting, but only online because she didn’t want to jinx it.

Naturally, I started doing my own research and forwarded at least a half-dozen listings to her. Many didn’t include pictures, which I found odd, but New York is foreign to me so I looked past it.

Gretchen

Oh sweet boy. It’s really cute of you to think I’m going anywhere near the shoebox apartments in my price range in New York.

Me

This one says it’s a studio with a street view and a walk-in closet.

Gretchen

Does it say square footage?

Me

No.

Gretchen

That’s because it IS a walk-in closet.

Me

Are you sure?

Gretchen

Welcome to New York living.

Me

Do tell, oh wise one, how you plan to work in New York and not live there.

Gretchen

Jersey baby! It’s where all the youths are living.

Don’t worry. I’ll get you grandfathered in, old man.

Wednesday morning, Gretchen gets word that she’s been invited back for the second round of interviews on Thursday and we make plans to meet in New York on Friday afternoon.

One, because I’m a lost puppy without her and I’m not ashamed to admit I miss the hell out of her.

Two, so I can accompany her on Friday and Saturday on her tour-des-apartments before we both fly back to Chicago late Sunday afternoon.

By the time we tuck ourselves into bed over FaceTime, I’ve booked my flight and we have a list of scheduled apartment viewings lined up.

“I think I need to see at least one of these shoebox apartments in New York for myself.” I arch a brow and she giggles.

Gretchen’s head rests on her hotel pillow, one hand tucked underneath. “I’ll add one to the schedule, if you insist. Don’t forget your magnifying glass.”

Thursday arrives and I’m buried in work all day. I arrive an hour early, stay through lunch and leave an hour and a half after everyone else to try and make up for the fact that I’ll be out of the office again tomorrow.

Gretchen called as I was leaving the conference room and it was the brightest part of my day.

She said the interview went really well and it’s the first genuine excitement I’ve heard from her through the interview process, as though she’s finally recognized what I’ve known all along. This job will be hers.

It’s well after seven when I get home. With Gretchen out to dinner with Monica and out of touch for a while, I use the time to pack my carry-on before thinking about what to order for dinner.

As I dig through my drawer of take-out menus, there’s a knock on my door. I’m not expecting anyone, but I move to answer it without much thought.

I swing the door open and blink twice, body frozen in place.

Drew.

Tense arms braced over his chest, he stands in my hallway, every muscle taut as though merely knocking was a battle. He pins me with a suspicious glare before he slides his hands into his pockets. “One drink.”