So she’d deal with the cat. She’d already dealt with so much. She’d worked hard to get Rudy to trust her, and to let down his guard a bit, when they were together. Bit by bit, he’d begun to show her more sides of himself, open up and reveal things about his childhood, how poorly parented he’d been. Pru had been well parented, and she felt it was a duty of the well-parented to help the others adjust. Just recently he’d reported that his therapist had said he was making “great strides in the trust department.” Pru kept imagining Rudy marching with giant steps across the floor of a brightly lit department store, like Macy’s. The trust department would be on the same floor as the mattresses and box springs.
“You’ll be happy for me, right?” she said.
“Of course.” McKay hugged her. “And we’ll do anything you want, for the wedding.”
“Thanks, honey.”
“But don‘t put me in pastels,” he said. “Pastels wash me right out.”
Three
Rudy was late.
Pru was standing outside the theater, in her carefully chosen possibly-getting-engaged outfit. She’d allowed herself the fantasy that Rudy meant to surprise her by taking her to the Inn at Little Washington, where he would have reserved the banquette with the velvet privacy curtain and a view of the gardens, in order to renew his offer of marriage. She knew she had very little reason to think this might happen. Rudy was just as likely to ask her to marry him in Joe’s Joe. And maybe McKay was right, and we-need-to-talk wasn’t about anything more than that he’d missed her. But just in case, she’d chosen a pretty skirt and the vintage cardigan she’d found at a thrift store. She would have liked to have worn her kitten-heel shoes, but the kitten heels would put her a fraction of an inch taller than Rudy. She’d worn satiny ballet flats instead.
But when Rudy finally showed up, he wasn’t dressed for anything special. He wore the French blue shirt she gave him for his last birthday, good jeans, and what he referred to as his “gay guy” glasses. No jacket, no tie. Not proposal wear, as even Rudy would know. He brushed the side of her mouth with his lips and hurried into the theater, saying that he didn’t want to miss the opening credits.
Pru stood on the sidewalk for a moment, fixing her lipstick with the edge of her thumb. She had forgotten that sometimes she was the most fond of Rudy when she wasn’t actually with Rudy.
WHEN THEY HAD FOUND SEATS THAT WERE TO RUDY’S satisfaction and had settled themselves, Pru asked, “How was the conference?”
“Let’s talk later.”
She was quiet a moment, then said, “Oh, money, your money doesn’t money.” It was one of Rudy’s favorite quotes. Maybe from The Simpsons, she thought. She had no idea what it meant, and she always got it wrong, but it cracked him up.
This time, however, he forced a little smile and nodded his head, stiffly. “You always get that wrong,” he said.
They watched an older couple choosing their seats. The pair had to loudly discuss the merits of each one, and finally settled on two a few rows away. Pru thought they looked sweet, but Rudy breathed out a loud sigh and muttered, “Thank God.” Rudy hated unnecessary talking during a movie.
“I fell in love with a family while you were gone,” she said. “A whole family, even the . . .”
“Hon, let’s just watch the opening sequence. It’s the best camera work in the film.” He took her hand and kissed it, a moment later putting it back in her lap.
While he watched the screen, Pru watched him. She wondered how Rudy’s features would look on a child. She decided that they could have his curly, dark hair, his square jaw. Those things from him, and her basic personality structure. Nice, easy kids, not crazy, neurotic ones.
PRU HAD TO JOG TO KEEP UP WITH HIM, AS THEY threaded their way down Wisconsin toward Joe’s Joe, their usual post-movie coffee shop. She was still feeling a little lost, remembering the scene where Grace Kelly turns on three lights in Jimmy Stewart’s apartment as she recites her full name: Reading from top to bottom, Lisa [click]—Carol [click]—Fremont [click]. Pru was fascinated by that third lamp, a simple pleated shade hanging from the ceiling. She’d never seen anything so beautiful in her life. While she trailed after Rudy she put together in her mind the Google search she’d use to find one just like it. Barrel shade, pendant, pleated? He scooted through the line at Joe’s and sat waiting for her at a small table, near the restrooms. Rudy could be so oblivious. A table by the restrooms! She quickly scanned the other tables, then somewhat reluctantly sat down with her tea.
Rudy said, immediately, “We have to talk about something.” He was sitting on the edge of his chair, jiggling his foot.
“God, Rudy,” she said, “you’re as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.” He didn’t even smile at her reference—another one of his favorites. Or maybe it was one of McKay’s. She sometimes got them confused.
In fact, Rudy looked a little ill. She hadn’t thought he’d be so worked up about asking her to marry him again, having already done it three times before. She reached out and took his hand, and gave it an affectionate,
