Page 56 of The Probability of Us

The hesitation and pain on his face slowly shifts into a small smile that grows on his face. It settles something in my heart, and I continue. “If we both want this, we need to figure out what it’s going to look like. I know we both love our jobs, but I’m about to be thirty and you’re thirty-two, starting a long-distance relationship with no end in sight isn’t what I had in mind either. I like certainty; I like being in control. But right now I don’t even know how to go about figuring out the probability of this working with all of these obstacles. And that scares me because last time there weren’t as many variables as there are now and we didn’t survive it then so what makes this time different?”

I want him. I want him in my arms each night. I want to see his sleepy smile each morning as he rolls over and kisses me. I want to have a lifetogether, not together while in different cities living separate lives. We’ve already lost so much time, and this only prolongs the time it’ll take to get where we want to be.

Jason walks by the open door and frowns. He stands there watching us for so long it halts our conversation.

“Can I help you?” I finally say to him, but he just grumbles and stalks away.

I watch until he’s out of sight again before saying more, just in case. When he’s gone, I open my mouth to speak again but Peter pops in. “You guys almost ready to head out for dinner?”

We both smile and nod before he walks away and we both stand and grab our things.

Before we leave, Warren turns to me. “Wewillfinish this conversation. I want to figure out a way to make this work. I don’t want to live without you again. Okay?”

He checks the door before reaching for my hand. I take it and he squeezes tight.

“Okay.” I squeeze back.

Twenty-One

NOVEMBER 7 YEARS AGO

“You look beautiful.” Warren smiles at me when I walk out of the bedroom dressed for date night. And while I know he means it, it doesn’t reach his eyes. My stomach twists even more, making me feel worse than I already do.

The past few weeks he’s been acting a little strange. I originally wrote it off as frustration and stress from interviewing. At first, he wouldn’t seriously consider getting another job, but after another round of promotions where he didn’t get his deserved title, he understandably got fed up. He’s been actively applying and has had a good number of interviews over the past weeks.

But it’s more than just that. He’s been more secretive lately, cancelling our lunch plans or running out after work before coming home. At times he has even been standoffish, ignoring me in a room to whisper with Trent in the corner and changing the conversation when I get near.

If I didn’t trust him so much, I might’ve been tempted to believe he was cheating. But aside from the fact that he’s been ravenous when we get back home each night, I know that he’s not the kind of man to do that. And even though I truly believe, in my heart of hearts, that he’s getting ready to propose, and I’ve been so excited in anticipation, the change in his behavior still unsettles me.

Earlier in the week, when he told me he planned a date night for us tonight, I tried to hide a squeal. What better place to propose than on the hill outside of Il Piacere where he first asked me out and we had our first date?

He seemed excited too, and it only fueled my theories.

Until today.

Today he’s been distant. The sun has set in his eyes, and his smile isn’t as bright as usual. It’s unnerving. Even as we walk to the restaurant hand in hand, it’s in silence. I start overthinking. Is his grip on my hand lighter than usual? Is he not looking over at me because there’s bad news coming tonight? Is the silence only heavy to me or does he feel it too? Is he going to break up with me here, in the same spot he asked me out, so that when he walks away he can start fresh, as if we never happened?

The negative thoughts won’t stop berating me, and I try to hide the fact that it’s getting hard to breathe as we’re led to a table on the back patio. He pulls out my chair for me, but his smile is still dim. As he orders us lobster ravioli and a bottle of our favorite white wine—which we only order on special occasions—I’m not sure what to think. But the silence needs to end.

“How are your interviews going?” I ask. “You hear anything new?”

His face becomes more guarded. “Can we not talk about work for now?”

“Of course,” I say, confused. “Did you have something in mind?”

He shrugs and the wine turns sour in my stomach. “No, I just want to enjoy a work-free evening with my girl.”

Something isn’t right here. I feel like I might cry or be sick—or both. This isn’t my Warren staring back at me. He might as well be a stranger.

We struggle through dinner with small talk that’s not even remotely important and is so far from the witty and deep conversations we usually have. I can barely eat because the unease only builds the longer we’re here.

He pays the bill, and we walk towards our bench on the top of the hill. The city below us is its usual sea of lights that’s so beautiful that, for a second, I focus on the familiarity of the lights to forget the strangeness of this night.

“Analise,” he says, and when I turn toward him, he looks so nervous that I let myself hope again that he’s proposing. What else could explain all the strange behavior?

“Warren,” I goad when he doesn’t say anything else and the corners of his mouth twitch up.

There, that’s a flash of my Warren. Maybe he’s just so nervous it’s making him act this way. He takes a deep breath, and my eyes widen in anticipation of the words:Analise, will you marry me?

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