"I'm not looking for anyone." I drop my hands into my lap. "I was hoping we could talk about your house in Queens."
"What about it?" He brings the glass of beer he ordered to his lips. He takes a large swallow while he watches me over the rim.
"Why were you there?"
His tongue darts over his lips to catch the last traces of the amber liquid. "I met a real estate broker there. I'm selling the place."
I'm relieved. It's the last tie that he has to Maisy and once it's sold it means he can move forward and find himself a new place. I skim my eyes over his face. I can see the disappointment that is there, hovering beneath the thin grin that covers his mouth. "I know that can't be easy. I sense that house meant a lot to you."
He blows out a puff of air between his lips. "I thought I'd live there my entire life. I had big plans for the place."
I don't want to let any jealousy seep into my response but I know, without any question, that part of those big plans involved his future with Maisy. She's not a fixture in his life now, and as soon as the house is sold, she'll be a memory that in time will slip from the forefront of his mind to a distant corner. "I'm sorry that you had to let it go."
He motions for the waiter to place the plate with the sandwich and a mountain of fries between us on the table. He thanks him quietly before he turns his attention back to me.
"It's just a house," he says casually although I see a hint of sadness in his eyes when he looks at me. "There are a lot of other houses."
I nod as I take a piece of the sandwich he offers me. "I guess this means Maisy found a new place to live."
His eyes close briefly as his shoulders tense. "Maisy is moving to the city. She's actually going to live with my mom for a while."
I feel like time stalls as the sandwich falls from my hand and bounces against the edge of the plate before it tumbles to the floor.
Chapter 13
There's an old saying about killing two birds with one stone. Talking about Dane's mom was the next thing on my conversation bucket list. I thought I'd clear the Maisy plate before I dove into the subject of Dane's mom's ongoing friendship with his ex and her family. Little did I know that Maisy and Anja are besties who are now going to be roommates too.
"Bridget," he says my name so softly that I have to strain to hear it. "Bridget, please don't get upset."
"I'm not upset," I toss back honestly. "I'm surprised."
"You're surprised?" he jokes. "Imagine how I feel."
I can't. I have no grasp on how anything that relates to Maisy makes him feel. I've seen brief flashes of anger and frustration when he's talked about her, but it's never gone beyond that. I've always assumed that he regrets parts of his relationship with her and wants her to become someone he once knew instead of someone who is still an integral part of his life.
"They must be close." I put my hand on the edge of the table. "Vanessa said they were at the hospital together too."
"My mom loves Maisy more than I ever did." He glances at me. "She assumed we'd marry and have kids. She's not letting go of that dream."
It explains a lot. I've wondered why I haven't met Dane's mom yet. It's not that I believe that we're at a stage in our relationship where that should be happening. The only reason he met my parents was because of circumstance. They were around a lot after the accident, and so it was inevitable that they'd get to know Dane.
It's different with Anja. She's based in Boston. Dane has told me that more than once. He's also mentioned that she comes to New York to visit him. "Did your mom stay with you and Maisy when she'd come to New York?"
He takes a big bite of the sandwich. Apparently the tension that is floating in the air between us does little to quiet his appetite. His index finger pops up as he chews hurriedly. "She had her own bedroom at our place. Maisy helped her decorate it."
"Was she there a lot?"
"She'd take the train into the city a couple of times a month."
I adjust the napkin on my lap. "Is it hard for the two of you now? I'm just wondering if you two ever talk about Maisy?"
"We did the other day," he begins before he stops to finish the last of the beer in his glass. "She was there with Maisy when I went to meet with the real estate broker. She tried to tell me I was making a mistake."
"A mistake?" I parrot back. "Your mother thinks leaving Maisy was a mistake?"
"My mother thinks it's all a mistake." His hand flies through the air to circle the space above us. "She thinks I should have tried harder with Maisy. She doesn't understand how I fell in love with you. She wants me to keep the house and let Maisy live there. She thinks I'm just like my brother."
I pinch the bridge of my nose, as I feel a headache wash over me. Maybe it's just anxiety. After all, I just heard that the mother of the man I'm falling in love with is his ex-girlfriend's biggest fan.
Dane pushes the plate that is sitting between us aside. He reaches forward to grab hold of my right hand. "I love my mother. She's everything to me but she's wrong about this. You're the woman for me. Maisy and I didn't belong together and I'm nothing like my brother."
I smile at the faint grin on his face. "I thought my mom was difficult."
"I don't live my life for anyone but myself, Bridget." He brings my hand to his lips. "I can't make my mother happy. She wants to move to New York and right now she wants to live with Maisy. That's her decision. It has nothing to do with me and you."
***
"You're not going to invite me up to your place to show me your drawings?" He winks as the question leaves his lips.
"My drawings?" I cock a brow. "Isn't that some old pick-up line men used to use years ago?"
"If I had drawings, and a place to live, I'd use it only on you."
I throw my head back in carefree laughter. "There is something I should show you but I can't today. I'm meeting a friend. He's showing some of his stuff at a museum in a few weeks and they've agreed to include a few of my drawings."
"You're talking about Brighton Beck, aren't you?"
"I am," I say bluntly. "Do you know who he is?"
"He was at the hospital the night you were hit by the car." He cradles my cheek in his palm. "I knew it was him right away but I was too torn up over you to say a word to him."
"You like art." It's a statement, not a question.
"I've always liked it," he confesses. "I used to take Cleo to some exhibits before..."
"Before the disagreement?" I offer, wanting to move the conversation along. "What exactly happened between you and her?"
He reaches up the scratch his ear. "It's too complicated to get into now. It seemed like a big issue at the time, but now I realize I was wrong."