I was on edge. The meeting with Mr. Donovan had been going well, but Katja was starting to get flustered.
"Why didn't you make him stop?" Mr. Donovan asked kindly, and she fell silent, staring at the carpet. I could see she was fighting tears. Every instinct screamed at me to get her out of there, to protect her from more pain, but my rational mind knew that we had to see this through.
"Thomas? Would you leave us for a few minutes?" Mr. Donovan said. Oh, not a chance in hell. I looked at him, but he just met my eyes and said nothing. I took a breath and realized he was right. Katja needed to feel free to talk, and right now she was embarrassed. He wouldn't upset her. I squeezed her hand and turned to go.
"I'll be right outside," I said. I know she knew that, but saying it was my way of reminding her that I wasn't abandoning her. I stepped outside into the hallway and immediately began to pace. Mrs. Hall looked at me sympathetically, but I couldn't look at her right now. I ran my fingers through my hair and sighed. Eventually I resigned myself to sitting down in the foyer, my head down, my hands folded behind my neck. It seemed like an eternity before Katja came out. I shot out of my chair to her. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, but she wasn't crying now.
"He wants to see you," she croaked. I lifted her chin to look at her. She seemed flustered, but no worse for wear. She just needed a bit of time to gather herself. Obviously Mr. Donovan had been kind to her. I hadnt really expected anything different, but I never liked seeing her like this. I turned in to Mr. Donovan, shutting the door behind me.
"Thomas," he said, gesturing for me to sit. I didn't really want to sit, but I did it anyway, fighting to keep my body from fidgeting. "Tell me about the history between you and this girl," he said.
"I sold to her and her pop for years. About two years ago we became friends. Her pop was like a father to me. He died about two months ago," I said.
"Are you more than just friends?" he asked. I wasn't sure what these questions had to do with anything, and it was only the months of trust I had built with this man that persuaded me to answer him.
"Sort of," I said. "We went on a few dates before all of this."
"Your ambiguous relationship may be hindering this process," he said, and I was surprised. What did it matter? "It's obvious you care a great deal for the girl. But perhaps you two should talk and clarify a few things. She seems unsure of where you two stand." I nodded. That made sense.
"Yes, sir," I said, my mind already planning out what I could say to her without frightening her.
"Now then. Any progress on finding additional witnesses?" he asked, and I snapped back to the moment.
"Yes, sir. I haven't even told her yet, but I think I may have someone. I don't have a lot of details, but I am going to see her this afternoon. I have some feelers out in other directions, too." He nodded at my response.
"Perhaps on Tuesday you and I could meet without Ms. Fischer to discuss logistics. I told her she should come back on Thursday."
"Yes, sir," I said, rising. He came over and shook my hand, and we parted.
Katja and I headed toward the bridge. She was quiet, and I gave her a bit of space to make sure she was okay before I said anything.
"So Mr. Donovan thinks you and I should talk. He thinks you're unclear on where we stand," I said gently, gauging her reaction carefully as I spoke.
"Aren't we?" she asked. Good. She was up for the conversation.
"I'm not. I know exactly where I stand. The only question is what you feel," I shrugged. I've known for some time. I have only ever suspected what Katja felt, though I do pride myself on reading people well.
"You do?" she asked. Didn't she know? Well, I was going to make sure she did.
"Sure. I've known for months that I love you. I know exactly what I want, but I also know better than to demand it of you, especially given everything that's happened. You are young, innocent, and vulnerable. A guy with serious intentions doesn't take advantage of that. I can wait as long as it takes, and I don't want any declarations of any kind from you until you are settled and sure of yourself. I love you enough to wait for you." They say it's hard to make a declaration of love, but this was surprisingly easy. Maybe all of those people who say it don't love the way I do. I don't know. I do know that I meant every word and that I didn't want to pressure her into saying it back if she didn't feel the same way.
"You—?"
"Yeah," I interrupted, smirking a bit at her bewilderment.
"But why? I mean, I'm not tough or strong or—" she said. She really had no idea how wonderful she was, did she? I had thought about this answer for a long time, too, so it came easily. I just interrupted her train of questions.
"You're good. That's why. You never judge, and you only see the kindness and goodness of other people. You look right past the unrefined edges and see people for their hearts. And even when those hearts are black as coal, you still manage to ask why and to want to fix it. You are the most innocent, sweet, kind person I have ever met. That's why I fell in love with you a year ago. You're also stronger than you give yourself credit for. Every time I worry that something else will break you, you come through on the other side a bit wiser and not a bit more cynical. That's a different kind of toughness, Cat."
I meant that. She isn't tough-except about being unfailingly good. She has every right to be bitter, and she isn't. She's seen so much ugly in life, especially these last few weeks, but she insists that people are basically good. That's a tough dedication to a belief.
"You like me because I'm nice?" she asked, her green eyes wide and adorable in their innocent expression.
"No. I love you because you don't know how to be anything else," I said, placing extra emphasis on the word. It didn't seem to have penetrated yet.
"Why would anyone not want to be nice?" she asked. And that was it. That was what I loved. That unshakeable belief that all people just wanted the same kindness and sweetness that she did. There was no cynicism in her-the capacity for it simply didn't exist in her mind.
"And there it is. You don't even recognize your own goodness as such. You just assume we're all as good as you, and that's why I'm in love with you."
"I—wait, what?" she babbled, and I could see that moment when the words took hold. There was a pause. "You love me?" she said, disbelief and surprise evident in her voice. I couldn't help laughing, even as I forced myself to speak what I had been thinking back in Mr. Donovan's office.
"Yeah," I answered. "And for now, we're seeing how things go. You've never had a boyfriend, and in all honesty I've never had a real girlfriend. For now we can just leave it at that and not rush into anything more." I didn't want to pressure her into thinking she felt things she didn't actually feel. She looked up at me, a bit of awe in her face. Well, that wouldn't do. She was at a loss for words, but I figured a declaration of love didn't really need words, now did it? I did what was only natural. I kissed her.
"That work for you?" I asked, and she nodded, the ghost of a smile on her face. Taking her hand, I walked beside my girl toward the Brooklyn Bridge.