“Walter,” Mrs. Gumser said, “come and have some dessert with the kids.”
Tara’s dad grunted, but he got up and came over. He didn’t seem nearly as intimidating with his hair sticking up on end. He was wearing an old-looking pair of brown slacks and a white T-shirt.
“What kind of pie do you want?” Mrs. Gumser asked Tim.
“Pumpkin,” he said, though he really wasn’t that hungry.
Tara chose pumpkin, too. And Pepsi. That girl and her Pepsi.
They all sat down to eat, and Mrs. Gumser asked about dinner. And seemed to really care as Tara described the day—and Tim’s family—as though Tara really had loved it all. Tim hadn’t been sure.
“Let me guess what you all did,” Tara said when she’d finished describing his family to a T. “Watched football, right?”
“Of course.”
“They had the game on there, too, but you almost didn’t know it. Everyone moved around and talked and ate all day long.”
Tara’s dad hadn’t said a word. His plate, filled with a strange concoction of apple pie and gravy topped with ice cream, was almost empty.
“Did the Lions win?” Tim asked him. He’d left his brother’s house before the game ended.
“Bears. 31–14.”
Whoops. Tara’s dad was a Lions fan.
Before Tim could stick his foot any further down his throat, the front door opened and a tall, dark-haired guy wearing jeans and a brown shirt walked in.
Tim watched as his girlfriend jumped up out of her chair and threw her arms around the guy’s neck. He squeezed her back.
And then she turned to him. “Tim, this is Chum. Chum, this is Tim.”
He nodded. Said something that was probably okay, and waited for Tara to sit back down next to him. She did. And touched him, too.
“How was dinner, Sis?” Chum asked.
And Tara described the day a second time. Exactly as she had the first time. She must’ve really meant what she’d said to get it exactly the same both times. She made his ordinary family sound like something really special.
And then, still looking at her brother, she said, “Hey, get your guitar.”
“Yeah,” Mrs. Gumser added. “Go get your guitar.”
Back with his guitar, Chum pulled out a chair and sat. “What do you want to hear?” he asked, looking straight at Tim, who had a feeling this sort of thing wasn’t unusual in this house.
“What do you know?”
“Neil Diamond,” Tara said.
“Neil Diamond.” Her brother nodded, and with a few warm-up strums he started singing. Tim knew the song. “Hot August Night.” Chum’s voice was strong, and Tara hadn’t exaggerated her brother’s talent. But there was more than just ability at play here. Even an amateur like Tim could see how much the guy enjoyed music. He sat in the chair with his guitar perched on his knee and his head slightly tilted back, his eyes fully shut as he sang, and Tim would swear, if he closed his own eyes, that Neil Diamond was singing live right in front of him.
And the distance between him and Tara struck him in the gut. He was having a once-in-a-lifetime experience, at a concert that people should be paying money to hear, and Tara was sitting at home with her brother. Her life was so completely different from anything he’d ever known.
Tim and I made more dates. We were going hiking. And to movies. We made it to the state park to hike, once. But didn’t make it to the trail. We were too busy touching and had to get back to his car. We didn’t make it to any of the movies, either.
We made it into each other’s arms and stayed that way. But he kept his word to me. He didn’t ask me to make love with him.
He also didn’t mention the future. I couldn’t think of anything else. We were a walking time bomb. He might not ask for sex again, but I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t. And I knew if I did, he sure as heck wasn’t going to say no.
Even though I knew it was stupid, I hoped that with Christmas coming I might get a ring. One that fit my finger. And had a little white stone on top.