Chapter 35 - The Light We Lost

It’s funny, when you and I were together I sometimes daydreamed about the future—but not in a concrete way. Thoughts would come in snaps and flashes. I’d imagine meeting your mom—which I’m sorry I never got to do in person. Or I’d imagine us moving into a bigger apartment so you could have an office that wasn’t the coffee table. Or I’d imagine us going on a long vacation together—another thing I’m sorry we never did.

With Darren, the future didn’t come in flashes like that, it was discussed over and over. Darren has a plan, always. He plays chess, and I’ve come to realize that he treats life a bit like a chess game, thinking six or eight or ten steps ahead so that he’s sure to reach whatever goal he’s set for himself. Close the deal. Capture the queen. Check. Mate.

That first year he and I were dating, a couple of weeks before my birthday, he asked me if I had a bucket list.

“A what?” I asked.

“You know,” he said, “a list of things you want to make sure you do before you kick the bucket.” He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and unfolded a list that was tucked inside. “I started mine—wow—almost five years ago. When I turned twenty-five. I’ve been crossing things off and adding to it ever since.”

There was something nice about being with a guy who was almost five years older than I was—seeing that careers move along, people pair off, things end up okay—but once in a while the gap between us felt even wider, like he’d done so much more living than I had. This was one of those times.

He spread the paper out in front of us on the dinner table at Teresa’s on Montague—his favorite Sunday night dinner place. I looked down and saw:

Bucket List

1. Ride a Segway
2. Run a marathon
3. Go island hopping in Greece
4. Learn to scuba dive
5. Go on a cruise
6. Get a rescue pet
7. Learn to speak Chinese
8. Drive a racecar
9. Get married
10. Become a dad
11. Visit Australia
12. Race in a triathlon
13. Buy a beach house
14. Ride a bike from Brooklyn to Montauk Point

“That’s an impressive list. And an impressive bunch of things you’ve crossed off. How was Greece?”

“Beautiful,” he said. “I went with my cousin Frank. He lives in Silicon Valley. Good guy. We drank a lot of ouzo and went snorkeling and sailing. Ate a lot of fantastic food, too.”

“So what’s next?” I asked, hoping he wasn’t going to say “get married,” hoping this didn’t mean he was going to propose to me right then, right there.

He studied the list. “I think either the Segway or the bike ride,” he said. “Or maybe the triathlon, but that’s a lot of training to commit to if I decide to do it.”

“How far is it from Brooklyn to Montauk Point?” I asked.

“About a hundred twenty-five miles,” he said. “I’ve mapped it, but I’m not sure I’m ready.”

“But now that we have our new bikes . . .” I said, smiling.

He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Would you ride that with me?”

I shrugged. “How about for your birthday?” I suggested. “That gives us from now until June to build up our stamina. We can train in three months.”

He leaned across the table and kissed me. “That sounds like the best way to spend my thirtieth birthday I can think of. But I was really asking about your bucket list because of your birthday. Is there anything that you want to do?”

I couldn’t think of anything off the top of my head. “Maybe I should start a list and see what comes to me,” I told him, pulling a pen and an old Duane Reade receipt out of my bag. My bucket list is still written on the back of that receipt. I don’t think I ever showed it to you. I should add that to my list right now: Share this list with Gabe. And maybe: Ask Gabe to make his own bucket list. But if I add those items, I don’t think I’ll ever get to cross them off. Prove me wrong, Gabe. Please.

I wrote Bucket List at the top of my receipt and then cribbed a few points off Darren’s—even though numbers 2 and 3 seemed more to me like eventualities than desires.

1. Go to Australia
2. Get married
3. Become a mom
4. Go to the top of the Empire State Building
5. Drive a boat
6. Go to Paris for a long weekend just because
7. Become an executive producer on a kids’ TV show
8. Get a pair of Manolo Blahnik pumps
9. Own a dog

“I ran out of things,” I told Darren.

“You’ll think of more,” he said. “I think of more all the time. But that’s a great start.” He pulled my list toward him. “Oh, some of these are easy! You know what we’re doing for your birthday? Top of the Empire State Building. Then you’ll get something crossed off right away.”

“Yeah?” I said.

“Oh, absolutely,” he answered.

It was like I could see the wheels turning in his head, trying to figure out what else we could do. I wonder if that’s when he decided he was going to fly us to Paris so he could propose. Or if he was already planning my thirtieth-birthday trip to Australia. Or plotting to buy me a pair of Manolo Blahniks. He really is a planner. And he’s not afraid to wait, if he thinks his plan will work out. It’s actually something I admire about him.

But then he looked at my number 7.

“You want to be an executive producer on a kids’ TV show?” he asked.

“Yeah.” I nodded.

He smiled. “That’s cute,” he said.

I was taken aback. “What?” I asked.

“Your job is adorable,” he said. “Just like you.”

I blinked. It seemed so . . . demeaning . . . but I knew he didn’t mean it that way. At least, I hoped he didn’t. I couldn’t help but think about how seriously you took my dreams. How important they were to you.

“My job’s not cute,” I said. “It’s not adorable.”

Darren seemed at a loss for words. I’d surprised him. He had no idea he’d said anything wrong. Which almost made it worse.

“Would you tell a man who was an executive producer on . . . Law & Order that his job was cute?” I asked. “What is it, exactly, that makes my career aspirations cute?”

Darren recovered his voice. “Whoa, whoa,” he said. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m sorry. That was the wrong word. You know how adorable I think you are—everything is adorable when it has to do with you. Your shoes, your hairbrush, the pack of gum in your purse. All of it—because it’s yours.”

I put down the pen and picked up my fork, taking another bite of the pasta I’d thought I was finished eating, just so I didn’t have to respond right away. What I wanted to say was: I’m more than adorable. What I wanted to say was: I need you to understand how important my career is to me. What I wanted to say was: I need you to love me because of that, not in spite of it. But so much about Darren was wonderful, and he was apologizing—he didn’t mean to hurt me. Besides, he was a smart guy. I figured in time he’d understand.

I swallowed my mouthful of pasta. “I hope you think I’m more than adorable,” I said.

“Of course!” he answered. “You’re beautiful, too, and sweet and funny and smart. Do you want me to keep going? There’s no shortage of adjectives that describe you.”

I laughed. “Well, I wouldn’t mind a few more . . .”

Darren smiled—relieved. “Hmm, how about sexy? How about thoughtful?”

“Those are good ones,” I said.

I wonder, sometimes, if I should’ve taken that conversation more seriously. If I should have pushed it further and said all the things I was thinking but kept inside. Because he still doesn’t understand. Not truly.