I laugh, loving that she’s heard of the ride. “Sixty-six miles per hour, to be precise. I worked on that one for months to hit just the right send-off moment.”
She shakes her head, looking amazed. “You’re a gold mine. Keep going.”
“About the roller coaster?”
She taps the table. “We’ll return to the ride. What happened with Cassie?”
“Finally, in our sophomore year, I decided to ask her out. I did the whole prom-posal thing before it became trendy, and it wasn’t even prom.”
“You did a prom-posal for a regular date?”
I tap my chest. “Big gestures and me are tight.”
“Evidently.” She parks her chin in her hands, like she’s fascinated. “How did you do it?”
“Back then, I didn’t really know how to ask a girl out, so I gave it my best shot. When I was home for ski week—my family’s in Oakland, and I went to school in Berkeley—I grabbed some of my dad’s honey. He’s an amateur beekeeper, and Cassie’s favorite band was the Honey Sticks. I started to write a note, but since my handwriting is worse than a doctor’s and illegible to anyone but me—and even then it’s debatable—I asked the woman down the street if she could write a note to go on the lid.”
“Why the woman down the street?”
“My mom died when I was thirteen. Cancer.”
Her lower lip quivers for a second “I’m so sorry, Tom.” She reaches a hand to take mine and squeezes. I stare at her hand momentarily, appreciating the gesture even though the loss was so long ago. She clears her throat, speaking softly. “Mine died a year ago. Complications from diabetes.”
Glancing at our hands, I take the lead this time, squeezing back, feeling her pain, along with the memory of mine. “I’m sorry, too, for your loss.”
“Yeah, death kind of sucks,” she says, but it doesn’t come out callous. She says it in a matter-of-fact way that seems to underscore how we all, universally, feel about that particular aspect of the human condition.
“Couldn’t say it better myself.”
She moves her hand off mine, and I miss the warmth of her touch for a fleeting second. I shake off the feeling and return to the story.
“Anyway, I asked Sadie Mitchell, this kind lady who was friends with my mom and liked to look out for us, if she could write the note. She agreed and wrote, ‘It would bee so sweet, and such a honeyed treat, if you would say yes to going out with me.’”
She furrows her brow. “So it sort of rhymed, but sort of not.”
I laugh. “I suppose that’s fair to say. Anyway, I brought the honey back to school, stopped by her dorm, played ‘Unzipped,’ and handed her the jar. She loved it. She threw her arms around me, said yes. She said she’d been waiting for me to ask her out for a long time. And then we went to see The Social Network.”
Finley squares her shoulders and goes full Jesse Eisenberg. “‘If you guys were the inventors of Facebook . . . you’d have invented Facebook.’”
I grin. “That’s my favorite line from that movie.”
“That’s the best line from that movie. It’s the ultimate throwdown statement.” She leans in closer. “Did she like the film?”
“Loved it.”
“I love her. She has good taste.”
“Anyway, that started things, and we were together for a few months. She was interested in choreography, and she had choreographed a modern dance thingy.”
“A thingy?”
I make a you-know-what-I-mean gesture. “A dance.”
She arches a brow. “A dance thingy?”
I try again. “Like a routine? A performance?”
She laughs. “Yeah, I get it. I don’t think they’re called thingies though, and hopefully you didn’t call it a thingy. Hopefully you called it a concert dance.”
“Yes! That’s what it was. A concert dance. And there was a cast party after for all the dancers, and she invited me. We danced at the party.”
“To ‘Unzipped’?”
“Naturally. Trouble was, the next day she dumped me.”
She frowns. “That’s terrible. Did she give a reason?”
I sigh heavily and drag a hand through my hair, remembering that last night together. But I don’t want to serve up all the details to Finley, or anyone for that matter. Some things are best left unsaid. I focus on the facts as I lived them. “I was kind of a slacker, and she said that’s why. Not in so many words, but she said to come back when I got my act together. She was hyper-focused and studious, and I sometimes skipped classes or missed assignments. Especially to hang out with my buddies. Cassie’s breakup made me get my act together,” I say, then I repeat her words. “Try again when you get your act together. Show up when you know what you want.”
“But you were only in college, and besides, you had to deal with a name you didn’t like,” she says, and it’s adorable that she’s defending my younger self.
“Thanks, but honestly, it was what I needed to hear. She obviously didn’t want to date a slacker, so I took her directive to heart. It was the kick in the pants I needed. I went on to earn an advanced degree, become an engineer of thrill rides, and invent a new safety feature for roller coasters. And since the Honey Sticks reunited last month, what better sign that it’s time to tell her I’m ready?”
She sighs contentedly and sets her hand on her heart. “That is so sweet. I love this story. So much. All the longing and romance, and the roller coaster bit too.”
I laugh. “Glad it all works for you.”
“It totally works,” she says, her eyes a little dreamy, her voice drifting off.
I study her more closely. “Do you know Cassie? I didn’t see her after we broke up. She transferred to another school.”
“Not really, except I think she mostly lives in Southern California now, and she owns a chain of yoga studios. But I thought her company was based here.”
“I think it is, but maybe she’s based out of one in Southern California?”
“That must be it. Where do you live?”
I point south. “San Francisco.”
“About an hour from here,” she says thoughtfully, then adds, “and an hour-long plane trip to Southern California if it all works out with Cassie.”
“I like your positive attitude.”
“Me too,” she says with a wry smile. “I just wish I had more details to share about her.”
My shoulders fall. “I was hoping you knew her too.”
She laughs sadly, then sits ramrod straight, blinking. She holds up a hand. “Wait. That doesn’t matter. You want to win her back, right?” She’s all business now, crisp and focused.
“Uh, yeah,” I say, in a duh tone of voice. “That’s sort of why I’m here.”
She slaps a palm on the table. “Then I’m going to help you.”
“You are?” I ask carefully, making sure I understand her.
She nods vehemently. “Tom, I’m not even going to say ‘don’t take this the wrong way,’ because there is only one way to take this, but everything about tonight on the front lawn was awful.”
My eyes bug out. “What?” I sputter.
“Awful. The worst.”
I gesture wildly in the general direction of her home. “How can you even say that? That was gold. That’s the pinnacle of big gestures. The only other contender is the dude in Love Actually who confesses his love on poster boards at Christmas.”
She shakes her head. “Never do that one. Please promise me you’ll never do a Christmas Eve Mark and Juliet. Never ever, ever.”
“Why?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.
She leans forward and whispers, “That scene in Love Actually is super creepy and completely stalkery.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “And are you saying the boom box above the head is creepy and stalkery?”
“No. My issue is your presentation was a bit lacking.”
I hold my hands out wide, conceding. “Fine. I had the wrong girl. But beyond that, what was so bad?”