Chapter Sixteen: We're Going for Ice Cream!

"No, no, put that back," I say to John. "She doesn't want gold."

He looks at the gold ring with the plain solitaire in his hand. It reminds me of my mother's engagement ring, the gold almost gaudy, a blinking light saying "eighties" emanating from it. "Doesn't she wear gold?"

"Sometimes, but not for this. Trust me. She wants a platinum band with a cushion cut."

John's forehead creases. I swear he started to sweat before we even came into the jewelry store. I can't blame him. There's nothing about this softly cushioned and over-air-conditioned environment that says "man", and his white dockers and khaki shorts don't help matters.

"What is that?" he asks.

"It's why I'm here." I look at the assistant behind the counter, a woman in her forties in the best tailored suit I've ever seen. She makes me wish I'd put on something other than this slightly oversized flowered summer dress and that my ponytail wasn't quite so casually messy. "You know what I mean, right?"

"Certainly, miss. If you could just give me an idea of the price range, I'll bring out some selections."

"That's his department." I point to John.

He puts down the gold band. "It's supposed to be a percentage of my salary, right? Or something like that?"

"It's not the 1950s," I say.

"So, what do you suggest?"

I mention a figure that's the amount Kit and I agreed on. Enough for it to be nice and tasteful, while not bankrupting John in the process. Kit handles their finances, and, frankly, most of the other things in their relationship because John's a great vet, but a little scatterbrained otherwise.

John doesn't react when I say the number, which is good of him. My Dad always does a spit-take whenever he gets a bill in a restaurant. I can only imagine what he did when he went ring shopping.

And now that's two times I've thought of my parents today in quick succession.

I shove them down and turn back to the moment in front of me.

"I'll be back in a minute," the assistant says.

"Do you think she's judging us?" John asks after she's left.

"For what?"

"Our price range?"

"Nah. And if she is, who cares?"

He rubs his hands together nervously. "Thank you for coming with me."

"Of course."

"I just don't want Kit to do that thing with her face when I ask her." He makes a face remarkably like Kit does whenever she sees something she doesn't like.

I start to laugh. "That's uncanny. Don't worry, she won't make that face."

"I hope not." He blows out his breath. "Do you think she'll say yes?"

"What? Of course she will." I pat him on the back. "Why do you think that?"

"She's been preoccupied lately."

"Has she?"

He fiddles with the ring in the tray. "Yeah, I don't know. I've asked her about it and she says there's nothing wrong, but that's what you'd say if there was something wrong but you didn't want to talk about it."

"It's also what you'd say if there wasn't something wrong."

He looks at me. He really is worried about this, not just the usual guy about to be engaged nervous. "She hasn't said anything to you?"

"No, but I think I've been monopolizing our friendship a little bit."

He smiles at me. "The Jack situation."

"Ben, you mean."

"Right. Though Jack is still in the picture, no?"

I sigh. I don't know what to do about real Jack. I don't think it's fair to keep seeing him when I'm into someone else, even if I know it's never going to work with Ben. But Jack isn't taking no for an answer. Not in a bad way. He's just persistent, wanting to go on a third date, suggesting fun things to do in the city. But ever since my meet-up with Ben a week ago, I haven't been able to plan. I know I'll get over this in due course, I just need a minute.

"Unclear," I say.

John raises his fists. "I can beat Ben up if you want."

"What? No, that's not necessary."

The assistant comes back with a small tray and puts it down on the counter in front of us. There are three rings on it. I reach for the one in the middle, exactly like Kit's always described (and, frankly, texted me photos of).

"This one," I say.

John takes it and holds it in the palm of his hand. "It does remind me of Kit."

"Right?"

"I'll take it," he says to the assistant.

"Are you sure, Sir?" Don't you even want to know what it costs, her expression says.

"Yes." He turns to me. "When you know, you know, right?"

"I agree." I hug him impulsively, holding his thin frame to mine.

"What was that for?"

"You're getting married."

He pulls away, his face full of happiness. "I'm getting married."

###

John and I part outside the ring store, he with his purchase secured in his inner pocket, me with no fixed plans. I'm near the high line, so I decide to go for a walk before heading back to Brooklyn. It's a bit chilly today, the previous ridge of high pressure moving out and leaving a crisper New York in its place. I know it won't last long, but I'll enjoy the cooler weather while I can.

Back in the winter, Kit and I had talked briefly about getting a summer share somewhere—not the Hamptons, we couldn't afford that—but maybe someplace upstate on a lake where we could laze away the days and start drinking at noon. I wasn't sure when the planning had stopped. It was usually Kit who planned those kinds of things for us.

Maybe John is right. Kit has been a bit distracted, but I don't know why.

I'm a terrible best friend.

I call her as I walk toward the high line, putting in my EarPods so I can walk with my phone in my purse.

"How did it go?" she asks.

"Perfect. You're going to be very happy."

"Great."

"Everything okay?"

"Why do you ask?"

Uh-oh. "That doesn't mean yes."

"It's nothing."

"Tell me."

"I think I'm about to get let go."

"What?"

"Yeah, my boss left, right, I told you that? She went on maternity leave? And the guy who replaced her is an asshole."

"You mentioned."

"Yeah, well, he hates me. And I fucked something up for him a while back. I'm not even sure that I want to stay there, you know? But I can't face looking for another job. You know how much I hate interviews."

"Is there a way you can transfer?"

"I asked, which only made things worse."

"I'm sorry, Kit."

"Yeah."

"You should tell John."

"Why?"

I stop at a light, watching people weave through traffic. I'll never get comfortable doing that. "He's worried about you. He thinks you're about to turn down his proposal."

"What?"

"That's what he said."

"Oh, God, men are idiots."

I laugh. "Truly."

I cross the road when the light changes, and reach the entrance to the high line. I climb up the stairs and assess. It's semi-crowded, typical for a Saturday.

"Why didn't you tell him, though?"

"You know how stressed he gets about money. And change in general. Plus, I knew he was stressed about the proposal. I didn't want to add to that."

"Hmmm."

"What?"

"Look, I don't know much about relationships. I mean, I'm no expert, clearly. But it seems to me that in order to make them work, you need to be honest with each other. You need to be able to rely on him when you're stressed. Even if he's stressed."

"Yeah, you're right."

"John's a big boy. A doctor even."

"An animal doctor."

"Same difference. What I mean is, he can take it. He can be there for you. He wants to be there for you."

"I know."

"Give him a chance to be supportive."

"You're right. I'll tell him when he gets home."

"Good."

"Where are you right now?"

"I think you know where I am," I say.

"Well, yeah. High Line, huh? Doing all the tourist things."

I look ahead of me. The High Line is full of people who look like tourists, phones out, some even with their backpacks on backwards, over their chests, like I've seen people do in movies from the 80s and 90s. "What's wrong with being a tourist in your own city? It's not like I'm from here."

"True."

"And neither are you."

"But I've been here longer than you so I'm, like, an honorary New Yorker."

"Whatever. Hey, we should see if we can rent that place upstate."

"I don't think I can get off work right now."

"Oh, right. Sorry, I should've thought of that."

I step out of the way of a gaggle of teenagers, eating ice cream despite the cooler temperature, and talking loud, the way you do in your late teens, when you don't really realize that other people exist.

They pass me and I stop in my tracks. "Oh, no, no, no."

"What?"

"Ben."

"What about him?"

"He's walking right toward me. Shit, I have to go."

I hang up and try to compose my face, because it is Ben, Ben and a little boy of about eight who must be his nephew. He spots me before I can decide how I want to react. Instead, I stop walking.

He stops too, raising his hand in a wave. I wave back. Then the boy waves at me too, emphatically. He's adorable, with dark curly hair, and a compact sturdy body. A mini-Ben.

"Hi," Ben says.

"Hi." I reach up and pull my EarPods from my ears, slipping them back into their case, so I don't look like a complete dork. "What are the chances?"

"Probably higher than you think."

"What?"

"Never mind." Ben shakes his head at himself.

It gives me a bit of pleasure to see that he seems to be as discomfited as me. He's wearing a dark blue T-shirt and dark gray shorts. His feet are in sandals, and God—his toes are cute.

Look away, Chloe, look away.

"Hi, lady!" the boy says.

"Hi. You must be Tyler?"

He grins at me. "I am Tyler!"

I crouch down so I'm face-to-face with him. "I hear you like boats."

"I do! We went to the boats today!"

"Was it fun?"

"It was fun!"

I stand back up. "Glad it worked out," I say to Ben.

"Yeah. It was good I had the practice session."

"Was the little terror there again? And Jim?"

Ben looks confused. "Who?"

"That kid who was terrorizing us and his dad?" I realize too late that I'm going to have to confess that I went back there and met them not once but twice. Me and my stupid mouth. "Um, yeah, when I was looking for you, I met them again. That's where I got the photo of you, actually."

"What photo?"

This keeps getting better and better. "I didn't tell you about the photo?"

"Nope."

"Damn."

"That's a bad word!"

I laugh. "I keep getting busted by kids for language."

"Hazard of hanging out with them," Ben says.

"Right."

"Where is my ice cream?" Tyler asks.

Ben meets my eyes. "We were supposed to be going for ice cream."

"Don't let me keep you."

"Lady should come for ice cream!"

"Her name is Chloe, buddy."

"I like Chloe!"

Ben winces, and it breaks my heart a little.

"I like you too, Tyler."

"Do you like ice cream?"

"Who doesn't like ice cream?"

"So the answer to my question is yes?"

Ben puts his hand on Tyler's head. "One of his mom's is a lawyer."

"Ah, that's cute."

"You say that until you've been cross-examined by an eight-year-old."

"I think you are talking about me like I am not here," Tyler says.

"Sorry, bud. Do you want to come for ice cream, Chloe?"

I don't, I emphatically don't, but it seems rude to say that. Rude, and like I can't handle it, which I definitely don't want Ben to know. "Sure."

He points ahead of him. "If we go down those stairs, there's a place."

"Okay."

Tyler looks up at me. "Are you coming?"

"Yes."

"Good!" He holds out his hand, and when I don't react, he puts his hand against mine. "You're supposed to hold it. I'm not good on stairs."

"Oh, okay." I open my fingers and take Tyler's little hand in mine. It's hot and sweaty, but very cute. He starts to tug on it—he knows where the ice cream is apparently.

"Let's go!"

I walk behind him, throwing a glance at Ben over my shoulder. I don't know him well enough to read his expression. I'm sure today's not going the way he thought it was going to go.

Tyler pulls me down the stairs and Ben is right, there's an ice cream shop across the street.

"Can you stay out here with him?" Ben asks.

"Of course."

"What do you want?"

"Oh, vanilla on a waffle cone."

"That's what I'm having!"

"Vanilla is the best."

Tyler cocks his head to the side. "Well, chocolate is the best, actually, but my moms say I have enough energy as it is and that I have a bad reaction to chocolate, and so I have to have vanilla."

"Your moms sound cool."

"They are. It's okay to have two moms!"

"It definitely is."

Ben walks across the street and disappears into the ice cream shop.

"Your Uncle Ben is pretty cool, too, right?"

"He is also the best. He took me to the boats!"

"He took me there too."

"It was so fun, right?"

"So fun."

Tyler nods once, twice, three times. "I'm still holding your hand because New York is a big city and I don't want to get lost."

"You hold it as long as you like."

"Until the ice cream gets here."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Did you have a red boat?"

"I think it was blue."

"Mine was red, and we didn't win, and Uncle Ben said a few bad words, but it was a lot of fun."

"Good."

Ben emerges from the ice cream shop with three cones in a carrier. He looks both ways before crossing the street and brings them back. He hands me and Tyler our identical cones. His is chocolate dipped in chocolate.

"Oh my God, Tyler," I say. "Do you see what Uncle Ben has?"

Tyle licks his cone, but stares at Ben's. "That seems like a bad idea."

"Right?"

"Uncle Ben is going to be very hyper."

Ben puts up his hands in surrender. "Don't both of you go in on me at once."

I laugh. "You make your choices, you live with them."

His face clouds momentarily. "True."

"I ..."

"It's fine."

"If you don't eat your ice cream it is going to melt!"

"You're right, Tyler."

"I am often right."

I start to lick my cone. The ice cream is the perfect amount of creaminess and that real vanilla with flecks in it. "This is good. Thank you, Ben."

He gives me a chocolate grin. "No sweat."

"How's your mom doing?"

His eyes go from mine to Tyler. I keep stepping in it today.

"She's good."

"Is something wrong with Grandma?"

"No, Tyler, she's all good."

"My friend Scott's grandma died! He was very sad."

"I'm sorry, Tyler," I say. "That does happen sometimes. And we do get sad. But I bet Uncle Ben would be there to help you, and your moms too."

"Uncle Ben says he will always help me!"

"Then that's okay, then, right?"

"Yes, I'm not worried anymore."

"Good." I meet Ben's eyes and he mouths "thank you."

"Where are we going now?" Tyler asks in between licks. "We're on a schedule."

"We are?" I say.

Ben laughs. "It's just something my sister says a lot."

"Ah. Well, Tyler, what do you want to do?"

He cocks his head to the side like no one's asked him that in a while. "I get to decide?"

"Yes."

"I want to see Aunt Rachel."

Ben nearly drops his cone, but recovers it at the last minute. "Sorry, buddy, I don't think so."

"Why not?"

"I'm sure she's busy."

"No, she texts me. She always answers. She told me she is never too busy for Tyler."

I meet Ben's panicked eyes. "He texts?"

"He got a phone for his seventh birthday."

"So I can stay in touch with my moms!"

"Makes sense."

"I can text her now!" He holds his cone out to me and I take it. He's made a bit of a mess of it, and the ice cream drips onto my hand. He takes out his phone. "My fingers are too sticky! Can you do it, Uncle Ben?"

"Not right now, buddy."

"But you said I could do whatever I want and this is what I want."

"It's okay, Ben," I say. "Go ahead." I stoop down again. "Hey, Tyler, why don't you put that phone in your pocket again, okay? Uncle Ben will send the text."

"Okay." He does what I say and I hand him back his cone.

"I'm going to go."

"You're not coming to Aunt Rachel's?"

Oh, oh, oh. "I don't know her."

"She's nice!"

"I'm sure she is. Maybe I'll meet her next time?"

"Okay, I'll text you!"

"Okay, Tyler."

"But I don't have your number."

"Uncle Ben has it." I stand up and mouth a quick goodbye to Ben. "Bye, Tyler!"

"Bye, lady!"

I turn and walk away, my own cone dripping now, my hands sticky, my throat dry. And it's only a quick block later that I realize that Uncle Ben doesn't have my number, and there's never going to be a text from Tyler, or anything between us at all.