Chapter 22: A Regular Person

"Yes," I said.

He blinked.

"You didn't think about it."

"I thought about it at four in the morning in April. Over a cake."

"Ah," he said. "So did I."

"Saturday?"

"I'm off Saturday." He went down one more step backward, like he didn't trust himself to stand close. "I'll wear a better suit."

"That suit's fine."

"This suit belonged to my brother-in-law. He's shorter than me and very proud of it."

On Saturday, June 13, my mother came over at six with a bag of popcorn and a very innocent face.

"Go," she said. "We'll be fine. We're watching a princess movie."

"Bedtime is eight-thirty."

"Of course," my mother said, and Clara grinned at me behind her like a criminal.

I wore a green dress I'd bought for a wedding five years ago.

I put my hair down for the first time since January.

Clara made me turn around twice.

"You look like a regular person," she said. "That's a compliment."

At seven the bell over the shop door jingled.

Matt was standing on the sidewalk in a navy suit that fit him.

He'd trimmed his beard. He was holding a single pink cake crown he'd cut out of cardstock himself.

The edges were perfectly straight.

"I couldn't bring flowers," he said. "I've seen my flowers."

The restaurant was a little Italian place in German Village with white tablecloths and a candle in a wine bottle on every table.

The waiter handed Matt the wine list.

He held it.

"I'm going to be honest," he said. "I usually eat dinner at four in the morning, standing up, out of a vending machine."

"What's the best thing in the machine?"

"The peanut butter crackers in the orange package. Nobody else touches them. It's the only thing on seven I truly own."

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