Nate expected he’d fall right into bed and pass out after his long and emotional day; he’d earned a dead man’s sleep. But sitting on the office couch, polishing off an old bag of pretzels, and watching one of the interchangeable home-makeover shows on HGTV—its only distinguishing feature: it wasn’t the one with the twin brothers—he found himself not only still awake but wired. It felt like he’d had a major jolt of caffeine, which he hadn’t. Not since breakfast, in fact. Reading usually helped put him to sleep, though he hadn’t plucked anything out of Jim’s book collection since The Great Gatsby. It would mean starting something new, which struck him as too heavy a lift at ten minutes to midnight.
Nonetheless, he scanned the bookshelves on the off chance he’d spot something worth diving into. Just when Nate was thinking he should stop mining Jim’s old books and read something written in, say, the last decade, he spied a slim paperback flanked by copies of Thomas Mann’s Death in Venice and Virginia Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway (Nate yawned just reading those titles). The volume in between was called The Book of Given Names and, with its deeply cracked burgundy spine, faded pages, and retro cover art (two lily white infants: a boy in baby blue and a girl in pale pink), looked like a relic from another era. Which it was, as evidenced by the 1962 copyright Nate found a few pages in. He also saw his late grandma’s name, Helene Cronin, written in neat script on the inside cover. It was obviously Jim’s mom’s book, which his father had somehow ended up with.
Intrigued, Nate brought it back to the couch and began thumbing through. It was divided into two parts: common boys’ and girls’ names of the time and their meanings. Like any good narcissist, Nate immediately went to search for his own name. It was listed after “Nathan” and before “Neal” and read: Nathaniel: Gift of God.Just like Amy had said. Not for nothing, there was a little red “X” marked next to it. Had Jim put it there? It made Nate wonder if his father ever thought to change his birth name once Amy, who said she’d chosen it, was out of the picture. Or perhaps Jim actually liked the name and it kept him linked to Amy.
Like so much else, Nate would never know.
He turned to the girls’ names and found, near the start of the list, Amy. It meant “beloved.” Nate sighed. You can’t make this shit up, he thought. He flipped through to the N’s, found the name of his potential soon-to-be namesake (the idea of which still astounded him): Natalie. It was French for “Born on Christmas Day.” Made sense as he considered it, given the word “nativity” and all.
Nate realized he never asked Danny and Alicia if they’d name a boy after him as well. He could already hear Danny’s answer: “Nope, only if it’s a girl. But you could go have your own son, dude. Name him anything you want!” Then he’d wink and flash that secret-weapon smile of his. Nate would roll his eyes but also feel shitty about being conflicted about the prospect of fatherhood—among other things.
He went back to the A’s and hovered over Amy’s name. He thought about their trip to Fresno, how much she seemed to genuinely love her new garden, the beautiful watch she bought him. He thought about how truly horrible it must have been to have to give up a child and agree to never see him again. And how utterly astonishing it had to have been—how astonishing it still was—to reunite with that same child a lifetime later. It was a one-in-a-million story and it could no longer be denied.
But another story needed finishing first.
Nate, Danny, and company put the final touches on the office park that Friday, and, at the end of the day, the building manager gave the all-clear. “You fellas did one hell of a job,” he told them, and the “fellas” couldn’t disagree: the place looked like a million bucks. Danny took about a hundred photos of their gorgeous work, including a dozen or so selfies of himself, Nate, and the guys, before they left for a celebratory tailgate party at Danny’s house. Alicia was less than thrilled with the rambunctious revelry unfolding in her driveway. But Nate could tell she was glad to see her Danny so happy—the kind of happiness that comes from accomplishment.
“He’s so proud of your partnership,” she whispered to Nate on the sly, after she’d stomped outside to rail about the music blaring from Danny’s phone. She and Raffi ended up hanging with the group and even dancing with Danny, against her faux protests. Although Alicia always played the responsible one, Nate knew she enjoyed cutting loose with the best of them. He stood back and took in the Soto family’s infectious joy. It only reinforced the decision—decisions, actually—that he had made over the last few days.
He was proud to say that he didn’t ask for Mira’s approval or permission; didn’t want any further input, which felt like a big step after all that therapy. Still, he knew he wouldn’t have gotten there when he did—maybe wouldn’t have gotten there at all—without her. And, whether everything worked out or not, he’d be forever indebted to his savvy and deeply insightful shrink. He’d also be keeping their forthcoming session Tuesday night.
There are times in Los Angeles when the weather couldn’t be any more perfect. When the sky is like a clear sheet of blue topaz, the sun is bright and uplifting, and a gentle, stirring breeze envelops you like the world’s gauziest cotton candy. It was something of an autumn phenomenon and it made Angelinos want to live forever. Like anything was possible. For a little while, anyway.
Such was the case that morning as Nate—Cody riding shotgun, the Killers on Pandora—drove into West Hollywood to ask Jennifer to be his wife. He knew she’d be at work; she had a standing 10 a.m. class on Saturdays, which he reconfirmed on the dance studio’s new website. And for some reason, Nate wanted to do this at a time when she would least expect it. Or maybe he just didn’t want to wait any longer lest he change his mind and fuck everything up again. He also felt it would be good to have other people in the vicinity. (An audience? Strength in numbers?) He wasn’t entirely sure of anything; he rarely was (except for his work; that he could swear by). But he did know this: He had one more chance to make things right with Jennifer and, if he couldn’t, they would have to call it a day—or, more specifically, two years and five months.
He hadn’t talked or even texted with her since their spat about her secretive call to Amy. He had considered reaching out, but there was nothing more to say; his only recourse was full redress and dramatic, unequivocal action. Was it ever too late to become a knight in shining armor? Damn if he wasn’t going to try and find out.
Melrose Avenue was crazy busy that morning and Nate had to park a few blocks away from the dance studio on a residential side street. That meant Cody had to come with—he couldn’t just wait parked in front of the studio where Nate could keep an eye on him. Maybe that was a good thing. Jennifer could almost never say no to Cody.
Nate made sure the ring he was going to present to her was secured in its case and tucked safely inside his jacket pocket. He jumped out of the Silverado, opened the passenger door for Cody, who leaped out as well, and they made their way up to Melrose and then two blocks down to the dance studio. Nate felt nervous and cautious—but also hopeful and determined. He couldn’t even begin to guess how this was going to turn out, but that was okay. If he’d learned anything these last months it was that life was messy and unpredictable. It was filled with risk and uncertainty but hopefully reward. He just had to get out of his own way.
The ring. Nate didn’t know a lot—make that anything—about engagement rings, most importantly how to buy one. But, after work Thursday night, armed with two hours’ worth of internet research, he stopped at a jewelry store in bustling Old Town Pasadena and made a life-changing purchase. Fortunately, his salesperson, a 50ish blonde with bee-stung (or maybe Botox-stung) lips named Esme, deftly guided Nate to the perfect, one-carat diamond solitaire. Once he gave her his budget—modest but not impossible—and she brought out three options, each lovelier than the next, he chose a pear-shaped stone flanked by two tiny baguettes set on a simple, white gold band.
Esme lauded his choice and exclaimed, as if it were 1965, “No woman in the world could possibly say no to this ring!” Still, Nate made sure it was returnable because he was offering it to a woman who could very possibly say no, though he didn’t explain that to Esme. He didn’t have to. She sized up Nate and his situation with a single, knowing glance and assured him that he had seven days to bring it back for a full refund.
“You won’t though,” she said, channeling the psychic Lena. “I have a sixth sense about these things.”
Nate handed over his Visa card and walked out with his potential future nestled in a tiny, black velvet box.
When they reached the dance studio, Nate hesitated outside the entrance. He wasn’t having qualms about proposing but about just showing up cold like that. Would it seem presumptuous? Yes, absolutely, but he knew that driving over. Would it turn Jennifer off from even considering his offer? If it did, he reasoned, she wasn’t going to accept anyway, so what was there to lose? Boosted by that sliver of logic, Nate entered Jennifer’s workplace just as her class was breaking up. He panicked, wondering if he should have brought flowers for her as well, then remembered that didn’t exactly knock her socks off the last time. Calmed, he and Cody entered the studio—Shit, were dogs even allowed inside?—causing an instant hubbub among the dozen or so exiting students because, well, a jumbo, tail-thwacking, tongue-lolling doggo was blocking the doorway.
Nate pulled Cody aside to let the young dancers pass, but each one stopped to pet, fuss over, or otherwise admire the four-legged visitor. A shocked Jennifer appeared behind the group and, out of her students’ eyeline, shot Nate a wide-eyed glare, throwing her hands apart in a gesture that read What the fuck? He didn’t expect a 21-gun salute but … well, he admittedly didn’t know what to expect.
She forced cool for appearance’s sake and then, as soon as the last student disappeared, brusquely asked, “Nate, what are you doing here? The both of you.”
He was going to say something icebreaking like “Cody wanted to see you.” But that seemed too cute given Jennifer’s stony stare. “I’m sorry for just showing up like this … again,” Nate said, “but can we go talk somewhere?” Remembering his manners, which felt long out the window, he added, “If you have a few minutes.”
Jennifer studied her surprise guests, her face relaxing just the tiniest bit. “We can talk right here,” she answered, folding her arms and straightening her stance.
Despite her obvious annoyance, she looked more beautiful to Nate than ever, with her hair pulled tightly back, a bare hint of makeup, dance leotard outlining her shapely form. Still, he could feel Esme’s upbeat prediction slipping away by the second.
Nate took a breath. “Okay, look, I know I’ve—”
“This is stupid standing here,” Jennifer broke in. “Let’s go sit in the office.”
Nate, his trusty dog at his side, gratefully followed her into the small office at the back of the studio where they opened metal folding chairs and sat facing each other. Cody plopped himself down on a stretch of carpet and licked his paws. The room was cramped, with gray walls, a cluttered desk, a few dance posters for decor, and a small window overlooking the alley behind the building. At least it was private.
“Sorry for the mess,” Jennifer said, gesturing around the office. Nate shrugged; it was the least of his problems. “I have another class in half an hour, so …”
“Right. So, I was saying …” He paused. What did he want to say exactly? All he had was the truth. His truth—as he knew it, as he felt it. And now he had to make her feel it. He started big: “Did you know I’ve been in therapy?” Nate was surprised at the level of pride in his voice. But it was nothing compared to the surprise on Jennifer’s face.
“How would I know that?” she asked, eyes and mouth agape.
“Well, I have been. This therapist in Glendale named Mira. And, you know what? It’s been kinda great.” He explained, “I mean, yeah, it was a little hard at first, doing all that talking, all that revealing. But I don’t know, it’s been really … freeing. Does that make sense?”
She thought for a second. “Does it make sense to you?”
“It does now. Honestly, I wish I’d gone sooner. I probably should have gone as soon as Amy entered the picture.”
“You should have gone when we first broke up. No—we should have gone. I should have dragged you kicking and screaming.”
“So why didn’t you bring it up back then?” he asked. It would have been a reasonable question—coming from someone else. Jennifer cocked her head the way Cody did when he couldn’t make heads or tails of something. “I know,” Nate admitted, “I wouldn’t have gone. I would have shut down. I was scared. I was stupid.” He could feel his eyes fill, his stomach clench. He looked away, then quickly turned back, locking eyes with Jennifer. “I’m so sorry. For everything. For fucking so much up between us.” Then added, because it was the God’s honest truth, “You could do so much better than me.”
Jennifer’s shoulders slumped; her eyes misted over. Her enveloping anger and resistance seemed to dissolve. “Did Mira tell you to do this?” she asked, more curious than critical.
Nate shook his head. “She doesn’t even know I’m here. But I know she would approve.”
“That’s good to know,” she said dryly, and then sniffled, blinking away a tear. “What did she tell you to do about your mother?”
“Not much directly. She kind of gets me to reach my own conclusions. About most things.”
“What else have you concluded?” Jennifer crossed her arms again, shifting in the stiff chair. “Aside from the idea that I’m too good for you.” There was the faintest hint of a smile on her face, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
Nate wanted to launch into a whole laundry list of things—it felt like all he’d done was “conclude” lately. But he was eager to get to the main event; the ring box was burning a hole in his pocket. He looked around the drab room. It was not where he wanted to propose to Jennifer, though he still had more to say before doing so.
He stood. “Hey, can we go in the studio? It’s a little brighter in there.” Which was his way of saying “less depressing.” Jennifer shrugged, seemed to agree, and led him and Cody out of the office and into the studio, with its skylight and high, narrow windows lending the space a kind of camera-ready glow. There were no chairs, so the humans sat facing each other, cross-legged on the worn hardwood floor, in front of a mirrored wall. Meanwhile, Cody nosed around the wide, spare space; if he was lucky, a student left half a granola bar somewhere.
“Okay,” Nate began again, “so you asked what else I’ve concluded.” Jennifer watched him attentively, if skeptically. From her look, Nate felt the clock ticking. And not because she had another class about to start. He wished she’d say something, anything; ask more questions, feed him his lines. But no, she just waited. So he cleared his throat and went for it.
With what seemed like the speed of light, he went chapter and verse on his discussions with Mira. He apologized—profusely, poetically—for saying that Jennifer wouldn’t understand how he felt about Amy; it was he who didn’t understand, and maybe still didn’t completely. But, he said, he wanted to try—he was committed to trying. He wanted Amy in his life. He wanted his sister and grandparents in his life. He wanted a life. And he wanted that life to include the phenomenal woman sitting across from him. If she would forgive him, if she would have him.
And before another word could be uttered, Nate rearranged himself to a kneeling position. “Jennifer, I love you so much and I want to make you the happiest woman alive. I want to be everything you need, everything you want me to be. I want us to be together forever and ever.” And, with Jennifer frozen in stunned silence, he took the velvet box out of his jacket pocket, opened it to reveal the gleaming diamond ring, and said, “Will you marry me?”
Nate felt it was safe to say Jennifer was not expecting anything even remotely close to this when he and Cody appeared in her workplace a mere half an hour before. Still, her face held such a singular air of astonishment that for a fleeting second Nate barely recognized her. She gazed at the ring as if it was some magical talisman, then looked up at Nate with a mix of confusion, uncertainty, and heart-bursting elation.
“Try it on,” Nate urged her. “See if it fits.” When she didn’t budge, Nate gently removed the ring from its berth and held it in front of her. She slowly extended her left hand, which, like Nate’s right hand, was trembling imperceptibly. He carefully slipped the solitaire on her fourth finger. It fit perfectly.
Jennifer studied her bejeweled hand, still in a daze, then slowly regained her composure. The joy he’d sensed amid her doubt seemed less discernible now.
She took a breath. “Nate, it’s beautiful but … I really don’t know what to say.”
He rose. “Well, I was hoping you’d say yes, but I’ll also accept ‘I’ll think about it.’”
She stared at the solitaire again. It caught the sunlight filtering in just so; for a flash, it looked five times its size. “I can’t believe you did this,” Jennifer said. “Here. Now.”
“I should have done it a while ago. I was an idiot. I still may be, but at least now I’m an idiot who proposed marriage to an amazing woman.” He wanted to take her hand, draw her in close, kiss her slowly, deeply, eternally. But he decided to take his cues from her. She didn’t reach out to him, didn’t speak, didn’t burst into tears or a full-blown smile. What she did do was shake her head in bemusement.
“What?” Nate asked. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking that maybe you’re actually a little crazy. That maybe we both are.”
This time, Nate took her hand. She didn’t flinch or retract it. Just watched him. “Is that so bad?” he asked.
She smiled. “I don’t really know. I don’t really know much of anything right now.” She glanced back at the diamond. “Except that somehow you chose the exact ring I would have. So, there’s that.”
And before Nate could give a shout-out to the pillow-lipped Esme, Jennifer’s eyes swung toward the window looking out to the hallway. That’s where a handful of students waited, watching the scene unfolding with rapt attention.
Jennifer shook herself clear, threw back her shoulders, and gestured toward her inquisitive pupils. “I need to go.” She glimpsed the solitaire. “We’ll talk.” It was hardly your typical response to a marriage proposal but, even Nate had to admit, it wasn’t a typical proposal.
“I’ll be waiting by the phone,” said Nate, like the hopeful lover in some old movie, the kind Jim would sometimes watch on TCM and Nate would get sucked into against his—and even his father’s—better judgment.
Jennifer made no motion to return the ring, so that struck him as at least one positive sign. He gave her a quick kiss and led Cody out of the studio, locking eyes with the curious students as he passed. Nate shrugged at them innocently—what could he say?—then exited into the intoxicating, late morning air.