Happy Place

TitlesbyEmilyHenry
HappyPlace
BookLovers
PeopleWeMeetonVacation
BeachReadBERKLEY
AnimprintofPenguinRandomHouseLLC
penguinrandomhouse.com
Copyright?2023byEmilyHenryBooks,LLC
PenguinRandomHousesupportscopyright.Copyrightfuelscreativity,encouragesdiversevoices,promotesfreespeech,andcreatesavibrantculture.Thankyouforbuyinganauthorizededitionofthisbookandforcomplyingwithcopyrightlawsbynotreproducing,scanning,ordistributinganypartofitinanyformwithoutpermission.YouaresupportingwritersandallowingPenguinRandomHousetocontinuetopublishbooksforeveryreader.
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ExportEditionISBN:9780593638446
LibraryofCongressCataloging-in-PublicationData
Names:Henry,Emily,author.
Title:Happyplace/EmilyHenry.
Description:NewYork:Berkley,[2023]
Identifiers:LCCN2022041610(print)|LCCN2022041611(ebook)|ISBN9780593441275(hardcover)|ISBN9780593441206(ebook)|ISBN9780593638446(exportedition)
Classification:LCCPS3608.E5715H362023(print)|LCCPS3608.E5715(ebook)|DDC813/.6—dc23
LCrecordavailableathttps://lccn.loc.gov/2022041610
LCebookrecordavailableathttps://lccn.loc.gov/2022041611
CoverdesignandillustrationbySandraChiu
BookdesignbyAlisonCnockaert,adaptedforebookbyMollyJeszke
Thisisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentseitheraretheproductoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously,andanyresemblancetoactualpersons,livingordead,businessestablishments,events,orlocalesisentirelycoincidental.
pid_prh_6.0_143184100_c0_r0Contents
Cover
TitlesbyEmilyHenry
TitlePage
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter1
Chapter2
Chapter3
Chapter4
Chapter5
Chapter6
Chapter7
Chapter8
Chapter9
Chapter10
Chapter11
Chapter12
Chapter13
Chapter14
Chapter15
Chapter16
Chapter17
Chapter18
Chapter19
Chapter20
Chapter21
Chapter22
Chapter23
Chapter24
Chapter25
Chapter26
Chapter27
Chapter28
Chapter29
Chapter30
Chapter31
Chapter32
Chapter33
Chapter34
Chapter35
Chapter36
Chapter37
Chapter38
Chapter39
Chapter40
Acknowledgments
AbouttheAuthor
_143184100_ForNoosha,whomadeitsafetobeme,andwhoregularlyanswersthequestion“Whynot?”with“BecauseIdon’twantto.”Iloveyou,always.1
HappyPlace
Knott’sHarbor,Maine
Acottageontherockyshoreline,withknottypinefloorboardsandwindowsthatarenearlyalwaysopen.Thesmellofevergreensandbrinewaftinginonthebreeze,andwhitelinendrapesliftinginalazydance.Theburbleofacoffeemaker,andthatfirstdeeppullofcoldoceanairaswestepoutontotheflagstonepatio,steamingmugsinhand.
Myfriends:willowy,honey-hairedSabrinaandwispofawaifCleo,withhertinysilverseptumpiercinganddip-dyedboxbraids.MytwofavoritepeopleontheplanetsinceourfreshmanyearatMattinglyCollege.
Itstillbogglesmymindthatwedidn’tknowoneanotherbeforethat,thatastodgyhousingcommitteeinVermontmatchedthethreeofusup.Themostimportantfriendshipsinmylifeallcamedowntoadecisionmadebystrangers,chance.Weusedtojokethatourlivingarrangementmustbesomegovernment-fundedexperiment.Onpaper,wemadenosense.
Sabrinawasaborn-and-raisedManhattanheiresswhosewardrobewaspureAudreyHepburnandwhosebookshelveswerestuffedwithStephenKing.Cleowasthepainterdaughterofasemi-famousmusicproducerandanoutrightfamousessayist.She’dgrownupinNewOrleansandshowedupatMattinglyinpaint-splatteredoverallsandvintageDocMartens.
Andme,agirlfromsouthernIndiana,thedaughterofateacherandadentist’sreceptionist,atMattinglybecausethetiny,prestigiousliberalartsschoolgavemethebestfinancialaid,andthatwasimportantforapremedstudentwhoplannedtospendthenextdecadeinschool.
Bytheendofourfirstnightlivingtogether,SabrinahaduslineduponherbedwatchingCluelessonherlaptopandeatingawell-balancedmixofpopcornandgummyworms.Bytheendofthenextweek,she’dhadcustomshirtsmadeforus,inspiredbyourveryfirstinsidejoke.
Sabrina’sreadVirginWhoCan’tDrive.
MinereadVirginWhoCANDrive
AndCleo’sreadNotaVirginbutGreatDriver.Weworethemallthetime,justneveroutsidethedorm.Ilovedourmustyroomintheramblingwhite-clapboardbuilding.Ilovedwanderingthefieldsandforestaroundcampuswiththetwoofthem,lovedthatfirstdayoffallwhenwecoulddoourhomeworkwithourwindowsopen,drinkingspicychaiordecaflacedwithmaplesyrupandsmellingtheleavescurlingupanddroppingfrombranches.IlovedthenudepaintingofSabrinaandmethatCleomadeforherfinalfiguredrawingclassproject,whichshe’dhungoverourdoorsoitwasthelastthingwesawonourwayouttoclass,andthePolaroidswetapedoneithersideofit,thethreeofusatpartiesandpicnicsandcoffeeshopsintown.
IlovedknowingthatCleohadbeenlostinherworkwheneverherbraidswerepulledintoherneon-greenscrunchieandherclothessmelledliketurpentine.IlovedhowSabrina’sheadwouldtipbackonanoutrightcacklewhenevershereadsomethingparticularlyterrifyingandshe’dkickherGraceKellyloafersagainstthefootofherbed.Ilovedporingovermybiologytextbooks,runningoutofhighlighteraseverythingseemedsoimportant,breakingtocleantheroomtoptobottomwheneverIgotstuckonanassignment.
Eventually,thesilencewouldalwayscrack,andwe’dendupgigglinggiddilyovertextsfromCleo’sprospectivenewgirlfriend,oroutrightshriekingaswehidbehindourfingersfromtheslashermovieSabrinahadputon.Wewereloud.I’dneverbeenloudbefore.Igrewupinaquiethouse,whereshoutingonlyeverhappenedwhenmysistercamehomewithaquestionablenewpiercingoranewloveinterestorboth.Theshoutingalwaysgavewaytoanevendeepersilenceafter,andsoIdidmybesttoheadtheshoutingoffatthepass,becauseIhatedthesilence,felteverysecondofitasakindofdread.
Mybestfriendstaughtmeanewkindofquiet,thepeacefulstillnessofknowingoneanothersowellyoudon’tneedtofillthespace.Andanewkindofloud:noiseasacelebration,astheoverflowofjoyatbeingalive,here,now.
Icouldn’thaveimaginedbeinganyhappier,lovinganywhereelseasmuch.
NotuntilSabrinabroughtushere,toherfamily’ssummerhomeonthecoastofMaine.NotuntilImetWyn.2
RealLife
Monday
Thinkofyourhappyplace,thecoolvoiceinmyearinstructs.
Pictureit.Glimmeringbluewashesacrossthebacksofmyeyes.
Howdoesitsmell?Wetrock,brine,buttersizzlinginadeepfryer,andaspritzoflemononthetipofmytongue.
Whatdoyouhear?Laughter,theslapofwateragainstthebluffs,thehissofthetidedrawingbackoversandandstone.
Whatcanyoufeel?Sunlight,everywhere.Notjustonmybareshouldersorthecrownofmyheadbutinsidemetoo,theirresistiblewarmththatcomesonlyfrombeingintheexactrightplacewiththeexactrightpeople.
Mid-descent,theplanegivesanothersidewaysjolt.
Istifleayelp,myfingernailssinkingintothearmrests.I’mnotanervousflier,perse.ButeverytimeIcometothisparticularairport,Idosoonatinyplanethatlookslikeitwasmadeoutofscrapmetalandducttape.
Myguidedmeditationapphasreachedaninconvenientstretchofsilence,soIrepeatthepromptmyself:Thinkofyourhappyplace,Harriet.
Islidemywindowshadeup.Thevast,brilliantexpanseoftheskymakesmyheartflutter,noimaginationrequired.Thereareahandfulofplaces,ofmemories,thatIalwayscomebacktowhenIneedtocalmmyself,butthisplacetopsthecharts.
It’spsychosomatic,I’msure,butsuddenlyIcansmellit.Iheartheechoeycallofthecirclinggullsandfeelthebreezerifflemyhair.Itasteice-coldbeer,ripeblueberries.
Inmereminutes,afterthelongestyearofmylife,I’llbereunitedwithmyfavoritepeopleintheworld,inourfavoriteplaceintheworld.
Theplane’swheelsclatteragainsttherunway.Somepassengersinthebackburstintoapplause,andIyankoutmyearbuds,anxietyliftingoffmelikedandelionseeds.Besideme,thegrizzledseatmatewho’dsnoredthroughourdeath-defyingflightblinksawake.
Helooksatmefromunderapairofcurlywhiteeyebrowsandgrunts,“HerefortheLobsterFestival?”
“MybestfriendsandIgoeveryyear,”Isay.
Henods.
“Ihaven’tseenthemsincelastsummer,”Iadd.
Heharrumphs.
“Weallwenttoschooltogether,butweliveindifferentplacesnow,soit’shardtogetourschedulestolineup.”
TheunimpressedlookinhiseyeamountstoIaskedoneyesornoquestion
Ordinarily,Iwouldconsidermyselftobeasuperbseatmate.I’mmorelikelytogetabladderinfectionthantoaskapersontogetupsoIcanusethelavatory.Ordinarily,Idon’tevenwakesomeoneupifthey’reasleeponmyshoulder,droolingdownmychest.
I’veheldstrangers’babiesandfartytherapydogsforthem.I’vepulledoutmyearbudstoobligemiddle-agedmenwhowillperishiftheycan’tsharetheirlifestories,andI’veflaggeddownflightattendantsforpaperbagswhenthepost–springbreakteenagernexttomestartedlookingalittlegreen.
SoI’mfullyawarethismaninnowaywantstohearaboutmymagicalupcomingweekwithmyfriends,butI’msoexcited,it’shardtostop.Ihavetobitemybottomliptokeepmyselffromsinging“Vacation”bytheGo-Go’sintothisgrumpyman’sfaceaswebeginthepainfullyslowdeboardingprocess.
Iretrievemysuitcasefromthedinkyairport’sbaggagecarouselandemergethroughthefrontdoorsfeelinglikeawomaninatamponcommercial:overjoyed,gorgeous,andimpossiblycomfortable—readyforanyhighlyphysicalactivity,includingbutnotlimitedtobowlingwithfriendsorgettingapiggybackridefromtheunobtrusivelyhandsomeguyhiredbycentralcastingtoplaymyboyfriend.
Allthattosay,Iamhappy
Thisisthemomentthat’scarriedmethroughthanklesshospitalshiftsandthesleeplessnightsthatoftenfollow.
Forthenextweek,lifewillbecrispwhitewine,creamylobsterrolls,andlaughingwithmyfriendsuntiltearsstreamdownourcheeks.
Ashorthonkblastsfromtheparkinglot.EvenbeforeIopenmyeyesandseeher,I’msmiling.
“OHarriet,myHarriet!”Sabrinashouts,halffallingoutofherdad’soldcherry-redJaguar.
Shelooks,asever,likeaplatinumJackieO,withherperfectlytonedolivearmsandherclassicblackpedalpushers,nottomentionthevintagesilkscarfwrappedaroundherglossybob.Shestillstrikesmethesameasthatfirstdaywemet,likeaneffortlesslycoolstarletpluckedfromanothertime.
Theeffectissomewhattemperedbythewayshekeepsjumpingupanddownwithaposterboardonwhichshe’sscrawled,inhergod-awfulserial-killerhandwriting,SAYIT’SCAROLSINGERS,aLoveActuallyreferencethatcouldnot,actually,makelesscontextualsense.
Ibreakintoajogacrossthesunlitparkinglot.Sheshrieksandhurlstheposteratthecar’sopenwindow,whereitsmackstheframeandflapstothegroundasshetakesoffrunningtomeetme
Wecollideinanimpressivelyuncomfortablehug.Sabrina’sexactlytallenoughthathershoulderalwaysfindsawaytocutoffmyairsupply,butthere’sstillnowhereI’dratherbe.
Sherocksmebackandforth,cooing,“You’reheeeeere.”
“I’mheeeeere!”Isay.
“Letmelookatyou.”Shedrawsbacktogivemeasternonce-over.“What’sdifferent?”
“Newface,”Isay.
Shesnapsherfingers.“Knewit.”Sheloopsanarmaroundmyshouldersandturnsmetowardthecar,acloudofChanelNo.5followingus.It’sbeenhersignaturescentsincewewereeighteenandIwasstillsportingaBath&BodyWorksconcoctionthatsmelledlikevodka-soakedcottoncandy.“Yourdoctordoesgreatwork,”shedeadpans.“Youlookthirtyyearsyounger.Notadayovernewborn.”
“Oh,no,itwasn’tamedicalprocedure,”Isay.“ItwasanEtsyspell.”
“Well,eitherway,youlookgreat.”
“Youtoo,”Isqueal,squeezingheraroundthewaist.
“Ican’tbelievethisisreal,”shesays.
“It’sbeentoolong,”Iagree.
Wefallintothathyper-comfortablekindofsilence,thequietoftwopeoplewholivedtogetherforthebetterpartoffiveyearsandstill,afterallthistime,haveamusclememoryforhowtosharespace.
“I’msohappyyoucouldmakethiswork,”shesaysaswereachthecar.“Iknowhowbusyyouareatthehospital.Hospitals?Theyhaveyoumovearound,right?”
“Hospitals,”Iconfirm,“andnothingcouldhavestoppedme.”
“Bywhichyoumean,youranoutoftheremid–brainsurgery,”Sabrinasays.
“Ofcoursenot,”Isay.“Iskippedoutoftheremid–brainsurgery.Stillhavethescalpelinmypocket.”
Sabrinacackles,asoundsoatoddswithhercomposedexteriorthatthewholefirstweekwelivedtogether,IjumpedeverytimeIheardit.Nowallherroughedgesaremyfavoritepartsofher.
Shethrowsopenthecar’sbackdoorandtossesmysuitcaseinwithaneasethatdefiesherlankyframe,thenstuffstheposterinafterit.“Howwastheflight?”
“Samepilotaslasttime,”Itellher
Herbrowlifts.“Ray?Again?”
Inod.“Ofsunglasses-on-the-back-of-the-headfame.”
“Neverseenhimwithoutthem,”shemuses.
“Heabsolutelyhastohaveasecondsetofeyesinhisneck,”Isay.
“Theonlyexplanation,”sheagrees.“God,I’msosorry—eversinceRaygotsober,Iswearheflieslikeadyingbumblebee.”
Iask,“Howdidheflybackwhenhewasstilldrinking?”
“Oh,thesame.”Shehopsinbehindthesteeringwheel,andIdropintothepassengerseatbesideher.“Buthisintercombanterwasafuckingdelight.”
Shedigsasparescarfoutofthecenterconsoleandtossesitatme,athoughtfulifultimatelymeaninglessgesturesincemybunofchaoticdarkcurlsisfarbeyondsavingafterthreeback-to-backflightsandadeadsprintthroughboththeDenverairportandBostonLogan.
“Well,”Isay,“therewasn’tapuntobefoundinthoseskiestoday.”
“Tragic,”shetuts.Thecar’senginegrowlstolife.Withawhoop,shepeelsoutoftheparkinglotandpointsuseast,towardthewater,thewindowsdownandsunlightripplingoverourskin.Evenhere,anhourinland,yardsaredottedwithlobstertraps,pyramidsofthemattheedgesoflots.
Overtheroarofthewind,Sabrinashouts,“HOWAREYOU?”
Mystomachdoesthisseesawingthing,flippingfromtheabsoluteblissofbeinginthiscarwithherandtheabjectdreadofknowingI’mabouttothrowawrenchintoherplans.
Notyet,Ithink.Let’senjoythisforasecondbeforeIruineverything
“GOOD,”Ishoutback.
“ANDHOW’STHERESIDENCY?”sheasks.
“GOOD,”Isayagain.
Sheglancessidelong,wispsofblondsnakingoutofherscarftoslapherforehead.“WE’VEBARELYSPOKENINWEEKSANDTHAT’SALLIGET?”
“BLOODY?”Iadd.
Exhausting.Terrifying.Electrifying,thoughnotnecessarilyinagoodway.Sometimesnauseating.Occasionallydevastating.
NotthatI’minvolvedinmuchsurgery.Twoyearsintotheresidency,andI’mstilldoingplentyofscutwork.ButthesliversoftimespentwithanattendingsurgeonandapatientareallIthinkaboutwhenIclockout,asifthoseminutesweighmorethananyoftherest
Scutwork,ontheotherhand,goesbyinaflash.Mostofmycolleaguesdreadit,butIkindoflikethemundanity.Evenasakid,cleaning,organizing,checkingofflittletasksonmyself-madechorechartgavemeasenseofpeaceandcontrol.
Apatientisinthehospital,andIgettodischargethem.Someoneneedsblooddrawn,andI’mtheretodoit.Dataneedstobepluggedintothecomputersystem,andIplugitin.There’sabeforeandanafter,withahardlinebetweenthem,proofthattherearemillionsofsmallthingsyoucandotomakelifealittlebetter.
“ANDHOW’SWYN?”Sabrinaasks.
Theseesawinsidemejoltsagain.Sharpgrayeyesflashacrossmymind,thephantomscentofpineandclovewaftingoverme.
Notyet,Ithink.
“WHAT?”Ishout,pretendingnottohaveheard.
Thisconversationisinevitable,butideallyitwon’ttakeplacewhilewe’regoingeightymilesanhourinapop-cancarfromthesixties.Also,I’dratherhaveitwhenCleo,Parth,andKimmyareallpresentsoIwon’thavetoripofftheBand-Aidmorethanonce.
I’vealreadywaitedthislong.What’safewmoreminutes?
Undeterredbythevortexofwindrippingthroughthecar,Sabrinarepeats,“WYN.HOW’SWYN?”
Electrifying,thoughnotnecessarilyinagoodway?Sometimesnauseating?Occasionallydevastating.
“GOOD,ITHINK.”TheIthinkpartmakesitfeellesslikealie.Heprobablyisgood.ThelasttimeIsawhim,hewasvirtuallyilluminatedfromwithin.Betterthanhehadbeeninmonths.
Sabrinanodsandcranksuptheradio.
Shesharesthecottage,anditsassociatedcars,withabouttwenty-fiveArmascousinsandsiblings,butthere’sastrictruleaboutreturningtheradiopresetstoherdad’sstationsattheendofastay,soourtripsalwaysbeginwithaburstofEllaFitzgerald;SammyDavis,Jr.;oroneoftheircontemporaries.Today,FrankSinatra’s“SummerWind”carriesusupthepine-dotteddrivetowherethecottageperchesatoparockycliff.
Itnevergetsanylessimpressive.
Notthesparklingwater.Notthecliffs.Certainlynotthecottage.
Really,it’smorelikeamansionswallowedacottage,andthenworeitsbonnetandimitateditsvoiceinanunconvincingfalsetto,BigBadWolf–style.Atsomepoint,probablyclosertotheyear1900thantonow,itwasafamilyhome.Thatpartofitstillstands.Butbehindit,andoneithersideofit,theexpansionsstretchout,theirexteriorsperfectlymatchedtotheoriginalbuilding.
Offtoonesidethere’safour-cargarage,andacrossthecreekontheother,aguesthousesitstuckedamongthemoss,ferns,andsalt-gnarledtrees.
Thecarglidesrightpastthegarage,andSabrinacutstheengineinfrontofthefrontdoor.
Nostalgia,warmth,andhappinessrushoverme.
“RememberthefirsttimeyoubroughtmeandCleohere?”Iask.“ThatguyBraydenhadghostedme,andyouandCleomadeaPowerPointabouthisworstqualities.”
“Brayden?”Sheunbucklesherseatbeltandhopsoutofthecar.“AreyoutalkingaboutBryant?”
Ipeelmythighsoffthehotleatherandclimboutafterher.“HisnamewasBryant?”
“YouwereconvincedyouweregoingtomarryBryant,”Sabrinasays,delighted.“Nowyoudon’tevenrememberthepoorguy’sname.”
“ItwasapowerfulPowerPoint,”Isay,wrestlingmybagoutofthebackseat
“Yeah,oritcouldhavesomethingtodowithoneMs.CleoJamesgivingusfreepsychotherapythatwholeweek.MydadhadjustgottenengagedtoWifeNumberThreebeforewetookthattrip,remember?”
“Oh,right,”Isay.“Shewastheonewithallthedogs.”
“ThatwasNumberTwo,”Sabrinasays.“Andtobefair,shedidn’thavethemallsimultaneously.Morelikeshehadarevolvingdoorthatmagicallybroughtnewdesignerpuppiesinasitsweptheradultdogsstraightbacktothepound.”
Ishudder.“Socreepy.”
“Shewas,butatleastIwonthecousins’divorcebettingpoolthatyear.That’showIscoredaccesstothecottageduringLobsterFest.CousinFrankie’slosswasourgain.”
Iclaspmyhandstogetherinasilentprayerofthanks.“CousinFrankie,whereveryoumaybe,wethankyouforyoursacrifice.”
“Don’twasteyourgratitude.IthinkhelivesonacatamaraninIbizathesedays.”Sabrinayanksmybagfreefromthecrookofmyelbow,takingmyhandtohaulmeuptothefrontdoor.“Comeon.Everyone’swaiting.”
“I’mlast?”Isay.
“ParthandIgotinlastnight,”shesays.“CleoandKimmydroveupthismorning.We’veallbeensittingonourhandsandvibrating,waitingforyoutogethere.”
“Wow,”Isay,“thingsdescendedintoorgyterritoryprettyquickly.”
AnotherTrademarkSabrinaLaugh.Shejigglesthedoorknob.“IguessIshould’vespecifiedwewereallsittingonourownhands.”
“Now,thatchangesthingsconsiderably,”Isay.
Shecracksopenthedoorandgrinsatme.
“Whyareyoulookingatmeexpectantly?”Iask.
“I’mnot,”shesays.
Inarrowmyeyes.“Aren’tlawyerssupposedtobegoodatlying?”
“Objection!”shesays.“Speculative.”
“Whyaren’twegoinginside,Sabrina?”
Wordlessly,shenudgesthedoorwiderandgesturesmethrough.
“Okaayyyy.”Icreeppasther.Inthecoolfoyer,I’mhitwiththesmellofsummer:dustyshelves,sun-warmedverbena,sunblock,thekindofsaltydampthatgetsintothebonesofoldMainehousesandneverquitedriesoutagain.
Fromtheendofthefirst-floorhallway,backintheopenkitchen–slash–livingroom(partoftheextension,ofcourse),IhearCleo’ssofttimbrefollowedbyParth’slowchuckle.
Sabrinakicksoffhershoesanddropsthekeysontheconsoletable,calling,“Here!”
Cleo’sgirlfriend,Kimmy,comesboundingdownthehallfirst,ablurofcurvesandstrawberryblondhair.“Harryyyy!”shecries,hertattooedfingersgrabbingformyfaceassheplantsloudkissesoneachofmycheeks.“Isitreallyyou?”Sheshakesmebytheshoulders.“Aremyeyesdeceivingme?”
“You’reprobablyconfusedbecauseshegotanewfaceonEtsy,”Sabrinatellsher.
“Huh,”Kimmysays.“IwaswonderingwhatDannyDeVitowasdoinghere.”
“Thatprobablyhasmoretodowiththeedibles,”Isay.
Kimmydoesn’tcackle;sheguffaws.LikeeveryoneofherlaughsisHeimlichedoutofher.Likeshe’sconstantlybeingcaughtoffguardbyherownjoy.She’sthenewestadditiontoourlittleunitbyyears,butit’seasytoforgetshehasn’tbeentheresincedayone.
“Imissedyousomuch,”Itellher,squeezingherwrists.
“Missedyoumore!”Sheclapsherhandstogether,herred-goldbunwobblinglikeanovereagerpom-pom.“Doyouknow?”
“Knowwhat?”
SheglancesatSabrina.“Doessheknow?”
“Shedoesnot.”
“Knowwhat?”Irepeat.
Sabrinathreadsanarmthroughmine.“Aboutyoursurprise.”Onmyright,Kimmycatchesmyotherelbow,andtogether,theyperp-walkmedownthehall.
“Whatsurpri—”
IstopsohardandfastthatmyelbowhitsKimmy’sribs.Ionlydimlyregisterhergruntofpain.Mysensesarefullyconcernedwiththemanrisingfromthemarblebreakfastbar.
Darkblondhair,broadshoulders,amouthimprobablysoftwhencomparedtothehardlinesthatmakeuptherestofhisface,andeyesthatshinesteelgrayfromafarbut,Iknowfromexperience,areringedinmossygreenonceyougetupclose.
Like,forexample,whenyou’retangledwithhimbeneathablushsheet,thediffusedglowofyourbedsidelamppaintinghisskingoldandgivinghiswhisperatexture.
Hisshouldersarerelaxed,hisfacetotallycalm,likebeinginthesameroomasmeisnottheworstthingthatcouldhavepossiblyhappenedtoeitherofus.
Meanwhile,I’mbasicallyawalking,breathingbottleofsodaintowhichaMentoshasbeenplopped,panicfizzingup,threateningtospewoutbetweenmycells.
Gotoyourhappyplace,Harriet,Ithinkdesperately,onlytorealizeI’mliterallyinmyhappyplace,andhe.Is.Here
TheverylastpersonIexpectedtosee.
TheverylastpersonIwanttosee.
WynConnor.
Myfiancé.3
RealLife
Monday
Okay,sohe’snotmyfiancéanymore,but(1)ourfriendsdon’tknowthatyetand(2)whenyou’reengagedtoapersonaslongasIwastoWynConnor,youdon’tstopaccidentallythinkingofhimasyourfiancéovernight.
Or,apparently,evenoverthecourseofmonths.
Whichishowlongwe’vekeptupthisruse.
Arusethatwassupposedtoendthisweek,whileIwashere.Withouthim.
We’dhammeredoutthedetailsoveracompetitivelycordialemailexchange,howwe’dtaketurnsontripslikeourfriendswerethechildrencaughtinourwould-bedivorce.
HeinsistedIgetthefirsttrip.Sowhyishehere,standingbetweenParthandCleointhekitchenlikethegrandprizeonsomeill-conceivedgameshow?
“Sur-priiiiise!”Sabrinasings.
Igape.Gawk.Freeze,whiletheseesawinmychestswingsbackandforthwiththeforceofawell-mannedcatapult.
Hishairhasgrownlongenoughtobetuckedbehindhisears,asuresignthatthefamilyfurniturerepairbusinesshasbeenswamped,andhe’sgrownabeardtoo,butitdoesn’tsoftenthehardlineofhisjaworfirmuphispoutylips.I’mstillpainfullyawareofthewaytherighthalfofhisCupid’sbowsitshigherthantheleft.Atleasthisdimplesaresomewhathidden.
“Hello,honey.”Hissmokyvelvetvoicemakesitsoundlikehe’sfeedingmelinesinasalaciousstageplay.
Thismanhasneveroncecalledmehoney.HeneverevencallsmeHarry,likeourfriendsdo.Once,whenIhadaterribleflu,hecalledmebabyinsuchatendervoice,myfeverishbraindecideditwouldbeagoodtimetoburstintotears.Asidefromthat,it’salwaysbeenstrictlyHarriet.Whetherhewaslaughingorfrustrated,peelingoffmyclothesorendingourrelationshipinafour-minutephonecall.
AsinHarriet,Ithinkwebothknowwherethisisgoing
“Awh!”Kimmysqueals.“Lookather!She’sspeechless!”
Morelikemyfrontoparietalnetworkisshort-circuiting.“I…”
BeforeIcanlandonwordnumbertwo,Wyncrossesthekitchen,ropesanarmaroundmywaist,andhaulsmeupagainsthim.
Stomachtostomach,ribstoribs,nosetonose.Mouthtomouth.
Nowmywholebrainseemstobeonfire,randompiecesofdataflyingatmelikeHitchcockiancrows:Thetasteofcinnamontoothpaste.Thequickthrumofaheartbeat.Theraspofanunshavencheek.Thesoftbrushoflips,oncewithpurpose.
HE’SKISSINGME,Irealize,fullsecondsafterthekisshasended.Mylegsarewatery,allmyjointsmysteriouslyvanished.Wyn’sarmtightensaroundmeashedrawsback,hisgripverylikelytheonlythingkeepingmefromface-plantingontotheArmases’knottypinefloors.
“Surprise.”HisgrayeyescommunicatesomethingmoreakintoWelcometohell;I’llbeyourhost,thedevil.
Everyone’swatching,waitingformetosaysomethingabitmoreeffusivethanI…
Imanagetosqueakout,“Ithoughtyoucouldn’tgetaway.”
“Thingschanged.”Hiseyesflash,hismouthtwistingunhappily.
“HemeansSabrinabulliedhim,”Parthcutsin,liftingmeoffthegroundinabearhugsotightitmakesmecough.
Sabrinatossesmybagontotheground.“Iliketothinkofitasproblem-solving.WeneededWynhereforthis.Wegothimhere.”
Peopleliketosayoppositesattract,andsure,that’strue—Wyn’stherestlessandcallousedsonoftwoex-ranchers,andI’masurgicalresidentwhosemosttorridfantasyoflateismoppingaloneinthedark.
ButParthandSabrinaareoneofthosecouplescutfromthesameoddlyspecificcloth.Likehisgirlfriend,Parth’saPhotoshopgood-looking(thick,darkhairwithawave;strongjaw;perfectwhitesmile),typeAlawyerwithalong-termsignaturescent(TuscanLeather,TomFord).Despitealltheirsimilarities,ittookthetwoofthemaridiculouslylongtimetoacceptthattheywereinlovewitheachother.
“Youdon’tcall,youdon’twrite!”Parthteases.
“Iknow,I’msorry,”Isay.“It’sbeensohectic.”
“Well,you’reherenow.”Hetouslesmyhair.“Andyoulook…”
“Tired?”Iguess.
“That’sjusthernewface,”Kimmysays,poppingupontoastoolandstuffingherhandintoabagofTakisFuegoonthecounter.
“Youlookgorgeous.”CleosqueezespastParthtohugme,hersubduedlavenderscentfoldingaroundmeasherheadtucksneatlybeneathmychin.EventheheightdifferencesbetweenCleo,Sabrina,andmealwaysseemedlikeproofwebelongedtogether,balancedoneanotherout
“Ofcoursegorgeous,”Parthsays,“butIwasgoingtosayhungry.Youwantasandwichorsomething,Har?”
“Takis?”Kimmyholdstheshinypurplebagoutinmydirection.
“I’mgood!”mymouthsays.
YouareVERYbad,actually,mybrainargues.
Cleofrowns.“Yousure?Youdolooksortofpeaked.”
Sabrinaducksherhead.“They’reright,Har.You’re,like…milkcolored.Youokay?”
No,actuallyIfeellikeI’mgoingtopukeandpassout,andI’mnotsureinwhichorder,andhavingeveryone’sundividedattentionandworryonmeismakingthingsahundredtimesworse,whilethefeelingofhisundividedattentionispuretorture.
“I’mfine!”Isay.
JustfuriouslywishingI’doptedtoputonabrabeforemyflight,orstyledmyhair,ormaybeevenjustspilledabitlessmustarddownmyboobswhilsteatingthatairporthotdog.
Ohgod.He’snotsupposedtobehere!
ThenexttimeIsawhim,IwassupposedtobeinasexyReformationdresswithahotnewboyfriendandafullfaceofmakeup.(Inthisfantasy,I’dalsolearnedhowtoapplyafullfaceofmakeup.)Mostimportantly,Iwassupposedtohavenoperceivablereactiontohim.
Shit,shit,shit.AsbadlyasI’vewantedtoavoidimplodingourfriendgroupoverthepastfewmonthssincethebreakup,InowjustasbadlyneedtogetthetruthoutsoIcangetawayfromhim.
“There’ssomethingIneed—”
“Honey.”Wyn’sbackatmyside,hishandscatchingmywaistasifinpreparationtothrowmeoverhisshoulderandabscondifnecessary.“SabrinaandParthhavesomethingtotellyou,”hesayspointedly.“Totelleveryone.”
Myskintinglesunderhisgrip.I’msuddenlyconvincedI’mnotwearinganyshorts,butnope,Icanjustmagicallyfeelhiscallousedfingersthroughthedenim.
WhenItrytoextricatemyself,hisfingertipssinkintothecurvesofmyhipsDon’tmove,hiseyeswarn.
Biteme,Itrytomakeminereply.
Therightpeakofhislipstwitchesirritably.
Sabrinaisgettingabottleofchampagneoutofthestainlesssteelandglassrefrigerator,butshedoesn’tlookcelebratory.Shelooksdownrightmelancholy.
Parthgoestostandbehindher,settinghishandsonhershoulders.“Wehaveacoupleofannouncements,”hesays.“AndWynalreadyknows,because,well,wehadtogivehimthefullpicturesoheunderstoodwhyitwassoessentialthathe’sherethisweek.Thatallofusare.”
“Ohmygod!”Kimmyhalfscreams,instantlyecstatic.“Areyoutwohavinga—”
“Ohgod,no!”Sabrinasays.“No.No!Definitelynot.It’s—it’sthehouse.”Shepausesforabreath,thenswallowsandliftsherchin.“Dad’ssellingit.Nextmonth.”
Thekitchengoespin-dropsilent.Notcomfortablequiet,shockedquiet.
Cleowiltsontoastoolatthecounter.Wyn’shandsscrapeclearofme,andheimmediatelyputsseveralfeetofdistancebetweenus,nolongerconsideringmeatriskofconfessing,apparently.
Istandthere,anastronautuntetheredfromherspaceship,driftingintonothingness.
I’vealreadylostthepersonIexpectedtomarry.I’vealreadymovedacrossthecountryfromallmybestfriends.Andnowthishouse—ourhouse,thispocketuniversewherewealwaysbelong,wherenomatterwhatelseishappening,we’resafeandhappy—that’sgoingawaytoo.
AllthepanicIfeltatfindingmyselftrappedherewithWynisinstantlyeclipsedbythisnewdread.
Ourhouse
Where,thesummeraftersophomoreyear,Cleo,Sabrina,andIsleptinarowofmattresseswe’ddraggedtothemiddleofthelivingroomflooranddubbed“superbed,”stayingupmostnightstalkingandlaughinguntilthefirstraysofsunrisespilledinfromthepatiodoors.
WhereCleowhispered,asifitwereasecretoraprayer,I’veneverhadfriendslikethis,andSabrinaandInoddedsolemnly,thethreeofusholdinghandsuntilwedriftedoff.
Thefirepitoutbackwhere,inlieuofabloodpact(whichstruckmeasdangerouslyunsanitary),thethreeofushadburnedthesamespotonourpointerfingersagainstthehotmetal,thenmadeourselveslaughuntilwecried,concoctingincreasinglyridiculousscenarioswherewecoulduseourfingerprintscarstoframeoneanotherforvariousheists.
ThewoodenstaircaseonwhichParthonceorchestratedanelaboratecardboardlugeraceforus,andthelittlewood-paneledlibraryinfrontofwhosehearthCleofirsttoldusaboutagirlnamedKimmy.Thenailthatstuckupfromthepierwhere,ayearlater,Kimmycutherfootopen,andthericketystaircaseWynhadcarriedherupafterwardwhileshedemandedtherestofuschuckgrapesatheropenmouth,fanherwithinvisiblepalmfronds.
AndWyn
ThefirsttimeIkissedhim.
ThefirsttimeItouchedhim,period.Here.
Thishouseisallthat’sleftofus.
“Thiswillbeourlasttrip.”Sabrinatugsherscarffromherheadandtossestheslipofsilkacrossthecounter.“Ourlasttriphere,anyway.”
Thewordshangintheair.Iwonderiftheothersarealsoscramblingforasolution,likemaybeifwepassaroundahatandcombineoursparechange,we’llfindsixmilliondollarstobuyavacationhome.
“Can’tyou—”Kimmybegins.
“No,”Sabrinacutsheroff.“WifeNumberSixdoesn’twantDadtohaveit,sinceheboughtitwithmymom,Iguess.Nevermindthattherearefourmore-recentwivesshecouldfixateherjealousyon.”Sherollshereyes.“Dad’salreadygotabuyerlinedupandeverything.It’sadonedeal.”
ParthrocksSabrina’sshoulders,tryingtoshakeheroutofthedarkmood.
MygazewanderstowardWyn,asubconsciouspartofmestillexpectingthesightofhimtodrainawaymystress.
Instead,thesecondoureyesmeet,myheartstartsjackhammering.Ilookaway.
“It’snotallbadnews,though,”Parthsays.“Weactuallyhavesomegoodnewstoo.Amazingnews.”
Sabrinalooksupfromthechampagneshe’sbeende-foiling.“Right.There’ssomethingelse.”
“Oh,right,there’ssomethingelse,”Parthmimics,teasing.“Don’ttreatourengagementlikeasidebar.”
“Yourwhat?”
AtfirstI’mnotsurewhoshriekedit.
Me.Ishriekedit.
Well,meandCleo,whoshootsupfromherstoolsofast,sheknocksitoverandhastocatchitagainsttheislandwithherhip.
Sabrina’scackleishalfwaybetweengiddyanddisbelieving.
“Yourwhat?”Irepeat.
“Dude,Iknow,”shesays.“I’massurprisedasyouare.”
KimmysnatchesSab’shandandgaspsatthegiganticemeraldwinkingonherringfinger.
WhichisapproximatelywhenIrealizethatsomeone’sgoingtonoticemymissingengagementring.
Istuffmyhandsinmypockets.Verynatural.Justagirlwithherfistsinhertiny,uselesswomen’sshortspockets
“Yousaidyou’dnevergetmarried,”Cleosayswithascrupulousdentbetweenherbrows,eyeingthegemstoneanditswhite-goldmount.“Underanycircumstances.Yousaid‘notwithaguntomyhead.’?”
Andwhocouldblameher?Evensettingherfather’strailofex-wivesaside,Sabrinaisadivorceattorney.Shespendseighthoursaday,atminimum,surroundedbyreasonsnottogetmarried.
“Tellusthestory,”KimmysaysasCleocontinues,“Youoncetoldmeyou’dratherspendfiveyearsinprisonthanoneyearasawife.”
“Babe!”KimmypokesCleointheribs.“We’recelebrating.Sabrinachangedhermind.Peopledothat,youknow.”
Peopledo;SabrinaArmasdoesn’t.
SometimesI’llgobackandforthaboutwhatIwantforbreakfastforsolongthatit’salreadylunch.Sabrinaeatsthesameexactyogurtandgranolaeveryday,theonlyvariationbeingwhateverseasonalfruitsheadds.
SabrinacoilsanarmaroundParth’swaist.“Yeah,well.Findingoutwe’dbesayinggoodbyetothecottageclearedsomestuffupforme.”Hervoicegivestheslightestwaverbeforegoingsteelyagain.“WhetherParthandIaremarriedornot,I’minthisforthelonghaul,andI’mtiredoftryingtobesmartattheexpenseofmyownhappiness.Iwantthistobeforever,andIdon’twanttopretendthat’snotwhatIwant.”
Kimmysetsahandacrossherchest.“That’sbeautiful.”
ParthsmilesdownatSabrina,rubbinghershouldertenderly.Hereyeslightonme,agrinspreadingoverherclassic-redlips.“Andhonestly,wewerekindofinspired…”
Itfeelslikethemomentbeforeacaraccident,whenthetireshavestartedtohydroplaneandyouknowsomethingterribleislikelycoming,butthere’sstillachancethetreadwillfindpurchaseandyou’llneverknowwhatagonyyounarrowlyavoided.
AndthenSabrinagoeson.
“Imean,lookatHarryandWyn.They’vebeentogetherliketenyears,andthey’remakingitwork,evenwhiletheyhavetobelongdistance.Clearlyloveactuallycanconquerall.”
“Eightyears,”Wyncorrectsquietly.
Kimmysqueezeshisbicep.“Eightyears,andyou’restillnevermorethanthreefeetapart.”
Bymyestimation,Wynisapproximatelytwofeetelevenandthree-quartersinchesfrommewhenshesaysthis,butatthecomment,hehooksanarmaroundmyneckandsays,“Yeah,well,evenafteralltheseyears,Harriethasawayofmakingmefeellikewe’vejustmet.”
Kimmyclutchesherheartagain,missingtheironyheintendedonlyforme.
AwhoopgoesuparoundtheroomasSabrinapopsthechampagne’scork.IfeellikeI’mfloatingovermyownbody.Adrenalineisdoingweirdthingstome.
Normally,I’dratherrolldownamountainsidecoveredinbrokenglassandstickytrapsthancreateconflict,butthelongerthisgoeson,theharderit’sgoingtobetogetoutofourlie.
“That’samazing.”Myvoiceliftstwoandhalfoctaves.“ButIhavetotellyou—”
“Harriet.”Andthereheisagain,atmysidewitharmscomingaroundmefrombehindandhischinrestingatopmyhead,andnow,whenThinkofyourm*****f******happyplaceflashesthroughmymind,allIcanthinkis,IfonlyIwerestillonSoberRay’sdeathtrapairplane!
“That’snot,”Wyngoeson,“theendoftheannouncement.”
AgainKimmyclapsherhandstogetheronagasp.
“Stillnotpregnant,”Sabrinasays.
Kimmysighs.
Parth’sbeamingwithhisverydistinctI’vegotanamazingsurpriseforyousmile.TheonethatprecededtheNewOrleans–themedbirthdayhethrewforCleo,orthemomenthepresentedmewiththestethoscopehe’dgottenengravedasamedschoolgraduationpresent.
HeandSabrinashareaknowingsmirk.
“Oh,comeon,”Cleosays.
KimmythrowstwoTakisatSabrina’shead.
Sheswatsthemaway.“Fine,fine!Tellthem.”
“We’regettingmarried,”Parthsays.
Confusedlooksareexchangedthroughouttheroom.
“That’s…usuallywhatfollowsanengagement,”Cleosays.
“No,ImeanonSaturday,”heclarifies.“We’regettingmarried.Here,withthesixofus.Nothingfancy.Literallyalittleceremonydownonthedock,withallourbestfriends.”
Mywholebodygoesicycold,thenblisteringlyhot.Myfaceandhandsarenumb
Wynreleaseshisholdonmeagain,andwhenmygazeslicesuptowardhis,Iseemyownmiseryreflectedonhisface.
We’retrappedhere.
Myearsring,myfriends’voicesbecomingamuffledwarble.AblueEstellechampagnefluteisforcedintomytinglingfingersforatoast,andmyhearingclearsenoughtocatchParthcrying,“Toeverlastinglove!”
AndSabrinaadding,“Andourbestfriendsforever!There’snootherwaywe’dwanttospendthislastweekatthecottage.”
GOTOYOURG.D.HAPPYPLACE,HARRIET,Ithink,followedby,NO,NOTTHATONE.
Toolate.4
HappyPlace
Mattingly,Vermont
Astreetdowntownlinedinoldredbrickbuildings.AnapartmentovertheMapleBar,ourfavoritecoffeeshop,forourjunioryear.CleoandIhavemetournewroommateParthonlyonce,butSabrinahadaclassoninternationallawwithhimlastspring,andwhenhetoldherroomswereopeningupinhisplace,wejumped.
He’sayearaheadofus,asenior,andtwoofhisroommateshavealreadygraduated,whilethethird,abusinessmajor,isspendingthefallsemesterabroadinAustralia.I’lltakehisroom,becauseinthespringI’mdoingaterminLondon.TheotherroommateandIcaneasilyswitchplacesoverwinterbreak.
Mattingly’sasmallschool,soeventhoughwedon’tknowParthNayak,weknowhisreputation:thePartyKingofPaxtonAvenue.Calledsuchpartlybecausehethrowsamazingthemedpartiesbutalsobecausehehasahabitofshowingupatotherpeople’spartieswithtop-shelfliquor,adozenbeautifulfriends,andanincredibleplaylist.HeisaMattinglylegend.
Andlivingwithhimisgreat.ThoughheandSabrina—bothnaturalleaders—occasionallybuttheads.TherealParthisbetterthanthemyth.It’snotjustthathe’sfun.Helovespeople.Lovesthrowingthemparties,pickingoutperfectgifts,makingintroductionsbetweenpeoplehethinksshouldmeet,findingthequietestpersonintheroomandbringingthemintothethickofthings.Theworldhasneverfeltsokind,sopositive.Likeeveryoneisapotentialfriend,withsomethingfascinatingandbrillianttooffer.
BythetimeIleaveforLondon,IalmostwishIwerestaying.
Thecityisgorgeous,ofcourse,allthatoldstoneandivyblendingseamlesslyintosleeksteelandglass.Andthankstothelastsemester,I’mmorepreparedthanevertosocializewithstrangers.Mostnights,atleastahandfulofpeoplefromthestudy-abroadprogramgooutforpintsinoneofWestminster’sendlesssupplyofpubs,orgrabcrispy
Astimewearson,peoplecoupleoffintofriendshipsandrelationships.That’showIescapetheconstantpiningformyfriendsandourcornerapartmentoverlookingMattingly’sredbrickdowntown:IstartspendingmoreandmoretimewithanotherAmerican,namedHudson,andinthosehourswhenwe’restudying—ornotstudying—Istop,ifonlyforawhile,imaginingtheseasonspassingoutsideParth,Cleo,Sabrina,andMysteryRoommate’sbaywindow,theheapsofsnowmeltingawaytorevealaquiltofspringypalegreenandburstsoftroutlily,wildgeranium,bishop’s-cap.
Theclosersummergets,though,thelessofadistractionHudsonoffers.Partlybecausewe’rebothobsessivelystudyingforexams,andpartlybecausethethingbetweenus—thisromanceofnecessity—isapproachingitssell-bydate,andwebothknowit.
Myparentstextmeroughlyfivehundredtimesmorethanusualasmyflighthomenears.
Can’twaittohearallabouttheLondonprograminafewweeks,Dadsays.
Momwrites,TheladiesatDr.Sherburg’sofficewanttotakeyououttolunchwhileyou’rehere.Cindy’ssonisconsideringMattingly.
Dadsays,Savedaten-partdocumentaryondinosaurs.
Momsays,Thinkyou’llhavetimetohelpmegettheyardcleanedup?It’sadisaster,andI’vebeensoswamped.
I’dhopedtohaveaquicktriptoseethembeforeflyingbacktoVermont,butthey’resoexcited.IendupspendingtwomonthscountingdownthesecondsinIndiana,andthenflydirectlytoMainetomeetmyfriendsforLobsterFest.
Myflightgetsinlate.It’salreadydark,theheatofthedaylongsincereplacedbyacold,dampwind.Thereareacoupleofcarsidlinginthelot,headlightsoff,andittakesmeasecondtofindthecherry-redsportscar.Sabrinaspecificallygotherdriver’slicensesowecouldcruisearoundinitthissummer.
Butit’snotSabrinastandingagainstthehood,faceilluminatedbytheglowofacellphone.Helooksup.Asquarejaw,narrowwaist,messygoldenhairpushedupoffhisforeheadexceptforonelockthatfallsacrosshisbrowthesecondoureyesmeet.
“Harriet?”Hisvoiceisvelvety.Itsendsazingofsurprisedownmyspine,likeazipperundone.
I’veseenhiminpicturesofmyfriendsoverthelastsemester,andbeforethat,oncampus,butalwaysfromadistance,alwaysonthemove.Thisclose,somethingabouthimseemsdifferent.Lesshandsome,maybe,butmorestriking.Hiseyeslookpalerinthecellphone’sglow.Thereareprematurecrow’s-feetformingattheircorners.Helookslikehe’smostlymadeoutofgranite,exceptforhismouth,whichispurequicksand.Soft,full,onesideofhisCupid’sbownoticeablyhigher.
“Awholesemesterapart,”Isay,“andyoulookexactlythesame,Sabrina.”
Symmetricaldimplesappearoneithersideofhismouth.“Really?BecauseIcutmyhair,gotcoloredcontacts,andgrewfourinches.”
Inarrowmyeyes.“Hm.I’mnotseeingit.”
“SabrinaandCleohadonetoomanyboxesofwine,”hesays.“Apiece.”
“Oh.”Ishiverasabreezeslipsdownthecollarofmyshirt.“Sorryyougotstuckwithpickupduty.Icould’vescheduledacab.”
Heshrugs.“Ididn’tmind.BeendyingtoseeifthefamousHarrietKilpatricklivesuptothehype.”
Beingtheobjectofhisfullfocusmakesmefeellikeadeerinheadlights.
OrmaybelikeI’madeerbeingstalkedbyacoyote.Ifhewereananimal,that’swhathe’dbe,withthosestrangeflashingeyesandthatphysicalease.Thekindofconfidencereservedforthosewhoskippedtheirawkwardphasesentirely.
WhereasanyconfidenceIhaveisthehard-wonspoilsfromspendingthebulkofmychildhoodwithbracesandthehaircutofanunfortunatepoodle.
“Sabrina,”Isay,“tendstoembellish.”Weirdly,though,herdescriptionsofhimdidn’tcomeclosetocapturingtheman.OrmaybeitwasthatbecauseIknewshehadacrushonhim,I’dexpectedsomethingdifferent.Someonemorepolished,suave.SomeonemorelikeParth,hisbestfriend.
Thecornersofhismouthtwitchasheamblesforward.Myheartwhirsashereachesout,asifplanningtocatchmychinandturnitsidetosideforhisinspectiontoprovethatI’vebeenoversold.
Buthe’sonlytakingmybagfrommyshoulder.“Theysaidyouwereabrunette.”
Myownsnort-laughsurprisesme.“I’mgladtheyspokesohighlyofme.”
“Theydid,”hesays,“buttheonlythingIcancorroboratesofariswhetheryou’reabrunette.Whichyou’renot.”
“Iamdefinitelyabrunette.”
Hetossesmybagintothebackseat,thenfacesmeagain,hishipssinkingagainstthedoor.Hisheadtiltsthoughtfully.“Yourhair’salmostblack.Inthemoonlightitlooksblue.”
“Blue?”Isay.“Youthinkmyhairisblue?”
“Not,like,Smurfblue,”hesays.“Blueblack.Youcan’ttellinpictures.Youlookdifferent.”
“It’strue,”Isay.“Inreallife,I’mthree-dimensional.”
“Thepainting,”hesaysthoughtfully.“Thatlookslikeyou.”
Iinstantlyknowwhichpaintinghemustbereferringto.TheoneofmeandSabrinastrewnoutlikeGodandAdam:Cleo’soldfiguredrawingfinal.IthunginMattingly’sartbuildingforweeks,dozensofstrangerspassingitdaily,andIneverfeltsonakedthenasIdonow.
“Verydiscreetwayoflettingmeknowyou’veseenmyboobs,”Isay.
“Shit.”Heglancesaway,rubbingthebackofhisneck.“Isortofforgotitwasanude.”
“Wordsmostwomenonlyeverdreamofhearing,”Isay.
“Iinnowayforgotyouwerenakedinthepainting,”heclarifies.“Ijustforgotitmightbeweirdtotellsomeonetheylookexactlythesameastheydoinapaintingwherethey’renotwearingclothes.”
“Thisisgoingreallywell,”Isay.
Hegroansanddragsahanddownhisface.“IswearI’mnormallybetteratthis.”
Andnormally,Idomybesttoputpeopleatease,butthere’ssomethingrewardingaboutthrowinghimoff-balance.Rewardingandcharming.
“Betteratwhat?”Isaythroughlaughter.
Herakesonehandthroughhishair.“Firstimpressions.”
“Youshouldtrysendingabig-assnudepaintingofyourselfaheadwhenyou’regoingtomeetsomeonenew,”Isay.“It’salwaysworkedforme.”
“I’lltakethatintoconsideration,”hesays.
“Youdon’tlooklikeaWyndhamConnor.”
Hisbrowarches.“HowamIsupposedtolook?”
“Idon’tknow,”Isay.“Navy-bluejacketwithgoldbuttons.Captain’shat.Abigwhitebeardandahugecigar?”
“SoSanta,onayacht,”hesays.
“Mr.Monopoly,onvacation,”Isay.
“Forwhatit’sworth,you’renotthestereotypicalimageofaHarryKilpatrickeither.”
“Iknow,”Isay.“I’mnotaDickensianstreetorphaninanewsboyhat.”
Hislaughmakeshiseyesflashagain.Theylookmorepalegreenthangraynow,likewaterunderfogratherthanthefogitself.
Heroundsthefrontofthecarandpullsthepassengerdooropen.
“So,Harriet.”Helooksup,andmyheartstuttersfromthesurpriseofhisfullattentionbackonme.“Youready?”
Forsomereason,itfeelslikealiewhenIsay,“Yes.”
WynmakesdrivingtheJaguaralongthosedark,curvingroadsseemlikeasportoranartform.Onecordedarmdrapesoverthewheel,andhisrighthandsitslooseatopthegearshift,hiskneebobbinginarestlessrhythmthatneverdisruptshiscontroloverthegaspedal.Aswegetclosertothewater,Icrankthewindowdownandbreatheinthefamiliarbrine.Hefollowssuit,thewindrufflinghishairagainsthiscut-glassprofile.Thatonechaoticstrandalwaysfindsitswaybacktotherightsideofhisforehead,asifconnectedbyaninvisiblestringtothepeakofhisCupid’sbow.
Whenhecatchesmestudyinghim,hisbrowliftsintandemwithhislips.
Quicksand,Ithinkagain.Anoldpredator-preyinstinctseemstoagree,mylimbicsystemsendingoutmarchingorderstomymuscles:Bereadytoflee;ifhegetsanycloser,you’llnevergetaway
“You’restaring,”hesays.“Suspiciously.”
“Justcalculatingtheoddsthatyouareinfactmyfriends’roommateandnotamurdererwhostealshisvictims’cars,”Itellhim.
“Andthenpickstheirfriendsupfromtheairport,exactlyontime?”heasks
“I’msureplentyofmurderersarepunctual.”
“Whydoyouthinkourentiregenerationexpectseveryonetoturnouttobeamurderer?”heaskswithalaugh.“AsfarasIknow,I’venevermetasingleone.”
“Thatjustmeansyou’venevermetabadone,”Isay.
Heglancesatmeasabarofmoonlightpassesoverhim.“SoIhearyou’resomekindofgenius,HarrietKilpatrick.”
“WhatdidItellyouaboutSabrinaandembellishment?”
“Soyou’renotanaspiringbrainsurgeon?”
“Aspiring’stheoperativeword,”Isay.“Whataboutyou?What’syourmajor?”
Heignoresmyquestion.“Iwould’veassumedsurgeonwastheoperativeword.”
Thiscoaxesanothersnortoflaughteroutofme.Eyesbackontheroad,hesmilestohimself,andmybonesseemtofillupwithhelium.
Ilookoutthewindow.“Whataboutyou?”
Afterseveralsecondsofsilence,hesays,“Whataboutme?”Hesoundsvaguelydispleasedbythequestion.
“IswhatI’vebeentoldaboutyouaccurate?”Iask.
Hechecksthemirroragain,teethscrapingoverhisfullbottomlip.“Dependswhatyou’vebeentold.”
“WhatdoyouthinkI’vebeentold?”Isay.
“I’drathernotguess,Harriet.”
Heusesmynamealot.Everytime,it’slikehisvoiceplucksatoo-tightstringinapianodeepinmystomach.
What’sactuallyhappeningismysympatheticnervoussystemhasdecidedtoreroutethepathofmybloodtomymuscles.Therearenobutterfliesflutteringthroughmygut.Justbloodvesselsconstrictingandcontractingaroundmyorgans.
“Whynot?”Iask.“Doyouthinktheysaidsomethingbad?”
Hisjawsquares,eyesbackontheheadlightsslicingthroughthedark.“Nevermind.Idon’twanttoknow.”
He’sgonebacktobouncinghisknee,likethere’stoomuchenergyinhisbodyandhe’ssiphoningitout.
“Theytoldmeitwouldbeimpossibletotellwhetheryouwereflirtingornot.”
Helaughs.“Nowyou’retryingtoembarrassme.”
“Maybe.”Definitely.I’mnotsurewhat’scomeoverme.“Buttheydidsaythat.”Inactuality,Sabrinahadbemoanednotbeingabletotell,evenwhileadamantlyproclaimingthatshelikedhimtoomuchtomakeanykindofmoveanyway.Itwould’vedisruptedtheirlivingsituationtoomuch.
“Eitherway,”Wynsays,“I’mmuchbetteratflirtingthanthatmakesmesound.”
“Haveyoueverconsidered,”Isay,leaningovertoinsertmyselfintohisframeofview,“thatthatmightbetheproblem?”
Hesmiles.“Flirtingneverkilledanybody,Harriet.”
“Clearlyyou’reunfamiliarwiththeconceptoftheRegency-eraduel,”Isay
“Oh,I’mfamiliar,butsinceIrarelyfindmyselfflirtingwiththeunweddaughtersofpowerfuldukes,IfigureI’mokay.”
“Youthinkwe’rejustgoingtoskateoveryoubeingwellversedinRegencycustoms?”
“Harriet,Idon’tgetthefeelingyouskateoveranything,”hesays.
Igiveanotherinvoluntarysnortoflaughter,andhisdimplesdeepen.“Speakingofhighbornladies,”hesays,“theyteachyouhowtolaughlikethatatetiquetteschool?”
“No,”Isay,“thathastobebredintoyouacrosscenturies.”
“I’msure,”hesays.“I’mnotlikethat,bytheway.”
“Gentlybredtolaughthroughyournose?”
Hischintips,hisgazeknowing.“Theimpressionyouhaveofme.Idon’tplaywithpeople’sfeelings.Ihaverules.”
“Rules?”Isay.“Suchas?”
“Suchas,nevertelltherulestosomeoneyou’vejustmet.”
“Oh,comeon,”Isay.“We’restepfriendsnow.Youmightaswelltellme.”
“Well,foronething,ParthandImadeapacttoneverdateourfriends.Oreachother’sfriends.”Hecastsmeasidelongglance.“Asforstepfriends,I’mnotsurewhatthepolicyis.”
“Wait,wait,wait,”Isay.“Youdon’tdateyourfriends?Whodoyoudate,Wyn?Enemies?Strangers?Malevolentspiritswhodiedinyourapartmentbuilding?”
“It’sagoodpolicy,”hesays.“Itkeepsthingsfromgettingmessy.”
“It’sdating,Wyn,notanall-you-can-eatbarbecuebuffet,”Isay.“Although,fromwhatI’veheard,maybeforyouthey’rethesamething.”
Helooksatmethroughhislashesandtuts.“Areyouslut-shamingme,Harriet?”
“Notatall,”Isay.“Ilovesluts!Someofmybestfriendsaresluts.I’vedabbledinslutterymyself.”
Anotherbarofmoonlightbrieflylightshiseyes,palingthemtosmokysilver.
“Didn’tsuityou?”heguesses.
“Nevergotthechancetofindout,”Isay.
“Becauseyoufellinlove,”hesays.
“Becausemenneverreallypickedmeup.”
Helaughs.“Okay.”
“I’mnotbeingself-deprecating,”Isay.“Oncemengettoknowme,they’resometimesinterested,butI’mnottheonetheireyesgotofirst.I’vemadepeacewithit.”
Hisgazeslidesdownmeandbackup.“Soyou’resayingyou’reslow-releasehot.”
Inod.“That’sright.I’mslow-releasehot.”
Heconsidersmeforamoment.“You’renotwhatIexpected.”
“Three-dimensionalandblue-haired,”Isay.
“Amongotherthings,”hesays.
“IexpectedyoutobeParth2.0,”Iadmit.
Hiseyesnarrow.“YouthoughtI’dbebetterdressed.”
“Thanatornsweatshirtandjeans?”Isay.“Nosuchthing.”
Hedoesn’tseemtohearme,insteadstudyingmewithafurrowedbrow.“You’renotslow-releasehot.”
Ilookaway,fumbletheradioonasheatscintillatesacrossmychest.“Yeah,well,”Isay,“mostpeopledon’tstartbyseeingmenakedbeforewe’vespoken.”
“It’snotaboutthat,”hesays.
Ifeelthemomenthisgazeliftsoffmeandreturnstothewindshield,buthe’sleftamark:fromnowon,darkcliffs,windracingthroughhair,cinnamonpairedwithcloveandpine—allofitwillonlymeanWynConnortome.Adoorhasopened,andIknowI’llnevergetitshutagain.
Regencyeraornot,inalotofways,heruinsme.5
RealLife
Monday
We’retrappedinthekitchenforthelengthofthreemoretoaststoundyinglovebeforeWynfinallyasksourfriendstoexcuseusandpullsmeawayto“settlein.”
Kimmypurrsthroatily,andParthhigh-fivesherforit,whichmakesCleoshudderbecausehighfivesareherpersonalfingernails-on-a-chalkboard.
AsWynandIareallbutrunningupthesteps,wesilentlystruggleforcontrolofmysuitcase.
BywhichImean,I’mcarryingituntilhepullsiteasilyoutofmyhandandshiftsittohisoppositehand,whereIcan’treachit.
“I’vegotit,”hesays.
“Stoptryingtobecharming,”Ihiss.“Noone’swatching.”
“I’mnot,”hesays.
“Aretoo,”Isay.
“No.”HejerksmybagfurtheroutofreachasIlungeforit.“I’mdoingthisforthesheerpleasureofannoyingyou.”
“Ifthat’sall,”Isay,“thenyoudon’thavetotrysohard.Yourmerepresenceisdoingthetrick.”
“Yeah,well,”hesays,“you’vealwaysmademewanttoaimalittlehigher,Harriet.”
We’renearlyhomefreewhenSabrinaappearsbehindusatthetopofthestairs.“Iforgottotellyou.Weputyouinthebigbedroomthistime.”
WynandInotonlyscreechtoahalt,cartoon-style,buthesnatchesmyhand,likeifhedoesn’t,Sabrinamightscreamanddropherchampagneinshockatdiscoveringusinastrangereversedflagrantedelicto,everyonefullyclothedandnoonetouching.
Atleasthedidn’tgostraightforahandfulofass.
“Thebigbedroom,”herepeats,hishandrelocatingtothesmallofmyback.Ileanintohimsohardhehastocatchthewallwithhisshouldersowebothdon’ttoppleover.
Iwonderifwelookevenonepercentlikeacoupleinlove,orifwe’refullyprojecting“rivalsinaspaghettiwesternshowdown.”
“We’realwaysinthekids’room,”Isay.
That’swhatSabrina’sfamilycallsit,becauseithastwotwinbeds,ratherthanoneking,likeeachoftheothertwobedrooms.
“CleoandKimmyofferedtotakeitthistime,”Sabrinasays.“Youtwoonlygettoseeeachotherlikeonceamonth—we’renotgoingtomakeyouspendyourvisitinseparatebeds.”
AslongasWynandIhavebeentogether,we’vepushedthetwinstogether.
“Wedon’tmind,”Isay.
Sabrinarollshereyes.“Younevermind.You’rethequeenofnotminding.Butinthiscase,wedo.It’sadonedeal.CleeandKimalreadyunpacked.”
“But—”
Wyncutsmeoff:“Thanks,Sabrina.Thatwasthoughtfulofyouall.”
BeforeIcanfeeblyprotest,heherdsmeintothelargestbedroom,likehe’sacattledogandI’maparticularlydifficultsheep.
Thesecondthedoorsnicksshut,Iwhirlonhim,preparedtoattack,onlytobehitwiththefullforceofhiscloseness,thestrangeintensityofbeingbehindacloseddoortogether.
Icanfeelmyheartbeatinginthebackofmythroat.We’recloseenoughthatIcanseehispupilsdilating.HisbodyhasdecidedI’mathreatheneedstoanalyzeasquicklyaspossible.Thefeelingismutual.
Itwaseasytobeangrywhenweweredownstairs,surroundedbyourfriends.NowIfeellikeI’mstandingnakedonaspotlightedplatformforhisinspection
Hefindshisvoicefirst,alowrasp.“Iknowthisisn’tideal.”
Theludicrousnessofthestatementjump-startsmybrain.“Yes,Wyn.Spendingaweeklockedinabedroomwithmyex-boyfriendisnotideal.”
“Ex-fiancé,”hesays.
Istareathim.
Helooksaway,scratchinghisforehead.“I’msorry,”hesays.“Ididn’tknowwhattodo.”Hiseyescomebacktomine,toosoftnow,toofamiliar.“Shecalledmewithaspeech.Abouthowthiswastheendofanera.Abouthowshe’dneveraskedmeforanythingandsheneverwouldagain.Itriedcallingyou.Itonlyrangonce,butIleftavoicemail.”
TherewasaverygoodreasonIhadn’tgottenthemessage.
“Iblockedyournumber,”Isay.Igottiredoflyingawakelateintothenightwithmythumbhoveringoverhiscontactnumber,practicallyachingfromwishinghe’dcall,tellmethewholethinghadbeenamistake.Ineededtotakethepossibilityaway,tofreemyselffromwaitingforit.
Hiseyesgostormy.Hislipspart.Helookstowardthebalcony,groovesrisingbetweenhiseyebrows.Hejusthasoneofthosevaguelytorturedfaces,Iremindmyself.
Hecan’thelpit,andhecertainlydoesn’tneedmycomfort.
He’stheonewhoderailedourlifetogetherinafour-minutephonecall.
Hisjawmusclesleapashispale-fogeyesretrainonme.“WhatshouldIhavedone,Harriet?”
Foundanexcuse.
Simplytoldherno.
Nothavebrokenmyheartlikeitwasalast-minutedinnerplan.
Nothavemademeloveyouinthefirstplace.
Ishakemyhead.
Hestepscloseruntilhe’saquestionmark,hangingoverme.“I’mreallyasking.”
Onasigh,Idropmyeyesandmassagemytemples.“Idon’tknow.Butnowthere’snothingwecando.Youcan’tbreakupatawedding.Especiallywhentheguestlistisfourpeople.”
“Maybewegivethemtonight,”hesays.“Celebrateeverything,tellthemtomorrow.”
Ilookupattheceiling,buyingsometime.Maybeinthenextfoursecondstheworldwillend,andI’llbesparedmakingthisdecision.
“Harriet,”hepresses.
“Fine,”Ibiteout.“I’msurewecanstomacheachotherforonemorenight.”
Hisgazenarrows,limitingtheintakeoflighttohiseyesandsharpeningtheirfocustobettersussoutmyexpression.“Areyousure?”
No
“I’mfine,”Isay.“It’sfine.”Islumpagainsttheedgeofthebed.
Afterabeat,heshakeshimself.“I’mgladwe’reonthesamepage.”
“Sure.”
Henods.“Fine.”
“Fine.”Ipushoffthebed.
Heretreatsastep,keepingthespacebetweenus.“Wecantellthemthingshavebeenrockyforawhile,andseeinghowhappytheyweremadeusrealizewe’vegrownapart.”
Mycheststings.It’snottheexactphrasing,butit’scloseenoughtowhathesaidtome,monthsago:Wewerekidswhenwegottogether,andthingsaredifferentnow,andit’stimeweacceptedthat
“Youhonestlythinktheywon’tsuspectanything?”
“Harriet.”Hiseyesflash.“Theydidn’tevenknowwe’dbeenhookingupforawholeyear.”
Istepbackward,onlytocollidewiththebedsohardIreboundrightintohim
Wesnapapartlikeeachofusisconvincedtheotherismadeofwasps,butthefaintlyspicyscentofhimhasalreadyhitmybloodstream.
“Thismightbeharderthanthat,”Isaystiffly.
Wyn’shandrakesbackthroughhishair,hisT-shirtridinguptoexposeasliverofhiswaistsosensuallyyou’dthinktherewasanartdirectorinthecornerbarkingorders.
Iforcemyeyesbacktohisface.
“Wecanhandleonenight.”
He’stryingtomakeonenightsoundlikeamereaccumulationofminutes.Iknowbetter.Whenwe’retogether,timenevermovesatanormalpace.
Irubmyeyeswiththeheelsofmyhands.“Weshould’vetoldeveryonemonthsago.”
“Butwedidn’t,”hesays.
Atfirst,itwasn’tintentional.Iwasjusttoostunned,hurt,and—yes—indenial.Then,afewdaysafterthebreakup,aboxofmystuffhadarrivedonmydoorstep.Nonote,soabruptIhalfwonderedwhetherhe’ddumpedmewhileenroutetothenearestUPS.
ThenIwasangry.SoImailedhisstuffbacktohimonthesameday.EventossedmyengagementringinloosewhenIrealizedIcouldn’tfindthebluevelvetboxitcamein.
Threedaysafterthat,asecondpackage,asmalllumpofbrownpaper,arrived.He’dsenttheringback.Iknewhimwellenoughtoknowhewastryingtodotherightthing,whichonlymademeangrier,soI’dimmediatelymaileditbacktohim.Whenhegotit,hetextedmeforthefirsttimeintwoweeks:Youshouldkeepthering.Itbelongstoyou.
Idon’twantit,Ireplied.Morelike,Icouldn’tbearit.
Youcouldsellit,hesaid.
Socouldyou,Isaid.
Fiveminutespassedbeforehemessagedagain.HeaskedifI’dtoldCleoandSabrina.Thethoughtnauseatedme.Tellingthemwasgoingtodestroyourfriendgroup,tenyearsofhistorydownthedrain.
WaitinguntilIcancatchthembothatthesametime,Isaid.Itwasonlyhalfwayalie.
I’dtoldacoupleofcoworkersatthehospitalbutbarelytextedwithCleoandSabrina.Wewereallsobusy.
SabrinaandParthworkedlatefortheirrespectivelawfirmsmostnights,andbecauserunningafarmmeantlotsoffoura.m.wake-upcalls,CleoandKimmywenttobedearly.
OutinMontana,WynhastheConnorfamilyfurniturerepairbusinesstorun,andhismomtohelpout.
Andthenthere’sme,inmyowntimezoneoutinSanFrancisco,twoyearsdeepintomytrainingatUCSF.MostdaysI’moperatingataleveloftiredthatgoesbeyondyawnsandeyelidtwitchestoreachstraighttomycore.Myorgansaretired.Mybonesareexhausted.
Mytimeoffisusuallyspentatthepotterystudiodowntheblock,orwatchingoldepisodesofMurder,SheWrotewhilecleaningtheapartmentWynandIpickedouttogethertwoyearsago,beforethingswentsouthwithhismom’sParkinson’sandhewentbacktoMontana.
Thelong-distancearrangementwassupposedtobetemporary,onlyaslongasittookforWyn’syoungersistertofinishgradschoolandmoveback,takeoverGloria’scare.SoWynleft,andwemadeitwork,untilwedidn’t.
Ididn’thavetoaskwhetherWynhadtoldParthaboutthebreakup.Iwould’veheardfromeveryoneifhehad.SoinsteadI’daskedaboutWyn’smom.DoesGloriaknow?
Nottherighttime,hesaid.Afteraminuteheadded,She’sbeentryingtogetmetogobacktoSF.ShealreadyfeelssoguiltyI’mhere.Triedtocheckherselfintoanassisted-livinghomewithouttellingme.IfItellhernowthatwebrokeup,she’llblameherself.
IlovedGloria,andIhatedtheideaofupsettingher.Still,IthoughtaboutsuggestingWyntellherthetruth.Thatasfarashewasconcerned,itwasallmyfault.
Hemessagedmeoncemore:Canwewaittotelleveryone?Justalittlewhile?
AndI’dnotonlyagreed,I’dbeenimmenselyrelievedtoputoffthoseconversations,torelegatethemtotherealmofProblemsforFutureHarriet.Aftertwomonths,onanightthatIfoundmyselfperilouslyclosetocallinghim,Ifinallyblockedhisnumber.ThoughI’doccasionallyunblocklongenoughtoengagewithhiminthegroupchat;I’dalwaysbeenasporadictexter,soIfiguredtheotherswouldn’tnotice.Amonthafterthat,I’dinitiatedtheemailconversationoverhowtohandletheyearlytrip,andwe’dsettledontheplan.Theplanthatcurrentlylayinshamblessomewhereinthekitchen.
Thatwastwomonthsago,andnowFutureHarriethassomechoicewordsforPastHarrietabouthershittydecision-makingabilities.
She’sthereasonwe’reinthissituation.
IfocusonthethinringofgreenaroundWyn’sirisesratherthantheentirelytoooverwhelmingtotalityofhim.“Howwillitwork?”
Heshrugs.“Wejustpretendwe’retogetheralittlelonger,thencomeclean.”
Istarttocrossmyarms,butWyn’sstandingtooclose,soratherthanwedgemyarmsbetweenourstomachs,Iawkwardlyreturnthemtomysides.“Yeah,Igotthat.I’mtalkingabouttherules.”IbracemyselfsoIcansay,nearlyevenly,“Dowetouch?Dowekiss?”
Heglancessidelong,alittleembarrassed,guilty.“TheyknowwhatI’mlikewithyou.”
Averydiplomaticwayofsayingthey’llexpecthimtobetouchingme,constantly.Pullingmeintohislaporhookingmeunderhisarmorwrappingmyhairaroundhishandandkissingmeatthedinnertableasifwe’reentirelyalone,burrowinghisfaceintomyneckwhileI’mtalking,ortracingmybottomlipwhenI’mnot,and—
Thepointis,somepeoplelivethebulkoftheirlivesintheirminds(me),andsomearehighlyphysicalbeings(Wyn)
BrieflyIfantasizeaboutpitchingmyselfoutthewindow,overthecliffs,andintotheocean,swimminguntilIreachEurope.I’dhappilytakeNovaScotia.
Butassomeonewho’snotahighlyphysicalbeing,I’dprobablyknockmyselfunconsciousonthewaydownandawaketoashirtlessWynperformingmouth-to-mouth.
“Notouchingwhennoone’saroundtoseeit,”Isayquickly.“Whenwe’rewiththeothers,we’ll…dowhateverwehavetodo.”
Hisheadcocks.“I’mgoingtoneedmorespecificguidelinesthanthat.”
“YouknowwhatImean,”Isay.
Hestares,waits.Istareback.
“Holdinghands?”heasks.
I’mnotsurewhythatofallthingsmakesmyheartshootupintomyesophagus.“Acceptable.”
Hischindipsinconfirmation.“WhatcanItouch?Lowerback,hips,arms?”
“Doyouwantmetodrawyouadiagram,”Isay.
“Desperately.”
“Itwasajoke,”Isay.
“Iknow,”hesays.“Andyetthatdoesn’tmakemeanylesscurious.”
“Back,hips,arms,stomacharefine,”Isay,stomachwarmingtendegreesforeveryword.
“Mouth?”hesays.
Iglanceoveratthesidetable.Ablackleatherfoldersitsproppedupthere,likeadinnercheckwaitingtobecollected.“Areyoutalkingabouttouchingmymouthorkissingit?”
“Either,”hesays.“Both.”
Igrabthefolderandflipthroughit,pretendingtoreadwhileIwaitformysynapsestostopscreaming.
“Itinerary.”
Atmyevidentconfusion,WynjutshischintowardthedocumentI’vebeen“reading.”“We’vegotpersonalizeditineraries.”
“But…wedothesamethingeveryyear,”Isay.
“Ithinkthat’sthepoint,”hesays.“It’sakeepsake.Plus,SabrinaplannedsomeindividualsurprisesforusforSaturday,sosheandParthcanhavealittlealonetimebeforethewedding.”
“Ohmygod.”Istudythepageinearnest.“She’sgotbathroombreaksonhere,Wyn.”
WhenIlookup,he’scaughtoffguard.
Amemoryflaresbright,swellingfromthebackofmyminduntilitovertakesthepresent:WynandIhopscotchingacrossthewetrocksatthebottomofthecliffsbehindthehouse.Yelpingandleapingasideasthetide’sicyfingersracedtowardus.Fromdownthebeach,thesoundofourfriends’laughterspiraledupintothenightsky,carriedbythesmokeofourbonfire.
I’dvolunteeredtorunuptothehouseforanothersix-pack,andWyn,whoneversatstillifhecouldhelpit,camealong.Weracedeachotherupthericketystairstothecottage’sbackpatio,chokingoverlaughter.
You’reasix-foot-tallblockofmuscle,Wyn.HowamIbeatingyou?
Hishandcaughtmineaswereachedthepatio,theflagstoneaglowwiththestrangegreenlightoftheheatedsaltwaterpool.Itwasthefirsttimehe’dtouchedmyfingers.We’dknowneachotheronlyafewdaysthen,onourfirstgrouptriphere,andmywholebodyhummedfromthesimplecontact.Hemurmured,Youhardlyeversaymyname.
Imust’veshivered,becausehisbrowpinched,andhepeeledhissweatshirt,theMattinglyonewiththetearintheneck,overhisshoulders.
ItoldhimIwasfine,throughchatteringteeth.Hesteppedincloser,slowly,andpulledhissweatshirtdownovermyhead,pinningmyarmstomysidesandmakingmyhairwildwithstatic.
Better?heasked.Itterrifiedandthrilledmehow,withthatonequietword,hecouldmakemyinsidesshimmer,shakemeuplikeasnowglobe.
Whenwewerewiththeothers,Icouldstillbarelylookathim.
ButbecauseWynandIhadbeenthelasttoarrive,ormaybebecausetheothershaddecidedourfriendshipshouldbeginwithatrialbyfire,we’dbeensharingthekids’roomallweek,andeverynight,whenweturnedoffthelights,we’dtradewhispersbackandforthfromourbedsonoppositesidesoftheroom.Talkforhours.
Irarelysaidhisname,though.Itfelttoomuchlikeanincantation.Asifitwouldlightmeupfromtheinside,andhe’dseehowmuchIwantedhim,howalldaylongmymindcaughtonhimlikeascarinarecord.How,withouteventrying,Iknewexactlywherehewasatalltimes,couldlikelycovermyeyes,getspunaround,andstillpointtohimonthefirsttry.
AndIcouldn’twanthim.Becausemybestfrienddid.Becausehe’dbecomeanimportantpartofSabrina’sandCleo’slives,andIwouldn’tmessthatup.
Besides,Itoldmyself,myreactiontohimdidn’tmeananything.Justabiologicalimperativetoprocreate,settingofflittlefireworksthroughmynervoussystem.Notthekindofthingyoucouldbuildanykindoflastingrelationshipon.ItoldmyselfIwastoosmarttothinkIwasfallinginlovewithhim.BecauseIcouldn’t.Iwouldn’t.
IfonlyI’dbeenright.
NowWynpullstheitineraryoutofmyhands,hisgazetravelingacrosstheopenpage.
“IgenuinelylovehoworganizedSabrinais,”Isay.“Butthereissuchathingastoomuchofagoodthing.Andwhenyou’rementioningbowelmovementsonyourgroupvacationschedule,Ithinkyou’vehitit.”
Wynreturnsthefoldertotheendtable.“Youthinkthisisbad,butit’snothingcomparedtothepackinglistParthsentme.Hetoldmehowmanypairsofunderweartobring.Soeithermy‘personalizedsurprise’onSaturdayisgoingtoendbadly,orhethinksI’mincapableofcountingmyownunderwear.”
“Don’tsellyourselfshort,”Isay.“I’msureit’salittleofboth.”
Ashelaughs,hisdimplesflash,littledarkpricksinhisscruffyjaw.Forasecond,it’slikewe’vecomeungluedfromthetimeline,tumbledbackayear.
Thenhestepsbackfromme.“Thenextfifteenminutesarescheduledforrelaxingbeforelunch,”hesays,“soI’llleaveyoutoit.”
Inod.
Henods.
Hemovestowardthedoor,hesitatesthereforasecond.
Andthenhe’sgone,andI’mstillfrozenwhereheleftme.Idonotrelax.6
RealLife
Monday
The“bigbedroom”isadisaster.Abeautiful,amazing,nightmarishdisaster.Thekids’roomisatthefrontofthehallwayandthusispartoftheoriginalhouse.Thisisattheback,inthebehemothextension.Therearenowonkydoorsthatgetstuck,orwindowsyouhavetopropopenwithbooks,orfloorboardsthatsnapandgroanwhennoone’seventouchingthem.
Thisroomispureluxury.Theking-sizedbedhasfour-zillion-thread-countsheets.Asetofdoubledoorsopensontoabalconythatoverlooksboththesaltwaterpoolandthebluffsbeyondit,andthere’sbothamassivestonetubandatwo-personshowermadeofdarkslateandglass.
However,ifIcouldmakeoneminorinteriordesignsuggestion,itwouldbetoputoneorbothoftheaforementionedamenitiesbehindadoor.Asitstands,they’reoutintheopen.
Sure,thetoiletgetstohideinashamefullittlecabinet,butifIplanonchangingmyclothesatanypointduringthisweek,myoptionsare(1)acceptthatI’llbedoingsowithanaudienceofone,namelymyex-fiancé;(2)stuffmyselfintotheshit-closetandprayforgoodbalance;or(3)findadiscreetwaytosneakdowntotheinfamousoutdoorshowerstalloverbytheguesthouse.
Allthistosay,Ispendmyfifteenminutesof“relaxation”takingaprivateshowerwhileIcan.ThenIpullonapairofjeansandacleanwhiteT-shirt.OneofWyn’sandmyfewareasofoverlapisourcompleteabsenceofpersonalstyle.
Hisworkhasalwaysrequiredhimtodresspractically,andmostofhisclothesquicklygetbeatenup,sothere’snopointinhavinganythingtoonicetobeginwith.
Forme,though,theoverrelianceontightLevi’sandT-shirtshasmoretodowiththefactthatIhatemakingdecisions.IttookmeyearstofigureoutwhatkindofclothesIlikeonmybody,andnowI’mstickingwithit.
Anothersolarflare–brightmemory:Wynandmelyinginbed,lamplightspillingoverus,hishairamess,thatoneobstinatelockonhisforehead.Hismouthpressestothecurveofmybelly,thenthecreaseofmyhip.Hewhispersagainstallmysoftestparts,Perfect.
Ashivercrawlsdownmyspine.
Quiteenoughofthat
Iknotmyhairatopmyheadandtrudgebackdownstairs.
Everyone’smovedouttothewoodentableonthebackpatio.Fourfeetworthofcharcuterierunsdownitscenter,andbecauseSabrinaisSabrina,thereareplacecards,ensuringthatCleoandKimmyareseatedinfrontoftheveganofferings,whileI’llbeface-to-facewithaBriewheelsobigitcouldbefixedtoawheelbarrowinapinch.
WynlooksupfromhisphoneasIstepontothepatio.Ican’ttellifthemomentarysplashofanxietyacrosshisfaceiswishfulthinkingonmypart,becauseassoonasIclockit,heputshisphoneaway,breaksintoasmile,andreachesouttocollectmearoundthewaist,pullingmeinagainsthisside.
Rigidly,Idropintothewroughtironchairnexttohis,andhisarmrearranges,looselycrookingaroundmyshoulders
Sabrinarisesfromherseatattheheadofthetable.“I’mnotsureifyouhadachancetolookatyouritinerariesyet…”
“Isthatwhatthatwas?”Cleosays.“I’vebeenusingitasadoorstop.”
Kimmy,withtwogherkinsstickingoutofhermouthlikewalrustusks,adds,“Somuchofitwasredacted,Iassumeditwasadeposition.”
“Thosearejustacoupleofsurprises,”Sabrinasays.“Therestoftheweekwillbeourusualfare.”
Wyntakesahardchompofcarrot,theforceofwhichrattlesdownmybody.Ican’tgetagoodbreathwithouthundredsofthenerveendingsalongmyribcageandchestpressingintohim,whichmeansI’mbarelygettinganyoxygen.
“GroceryGladiators?”KimmysquealsrightasCleosayshopefully,“Murder,SheRead?”
“Yesandyes,”Sabrinasays,confirmingwewillbedoingtwoofourusual—andmostdiametricallyopposite—Maineactivities:atriptothelocalbookstore(Cleo’sandmyfavorite)andaveryridiculouswayofgroceryshopping,whichhasbeenParthandKimmy’sgreatpassioneversincetheyteamedupthreeyearsagoandstarteda“winningstreak,”insomuchasonecan“win”atgroceryshopping.
WynandIusedtodebatewhetherSabrinaconcoctedthegameofGroceryGladiatorsbecauseshegottiredofhowlongourtripstothemarketwere.There’saheavenlybakeryinonecorner,andawholelocalsnackssection,andbetweenthesixofus,it’slikeshoppingwithverybougie,somewhatdrunktoddlers,onepersonwanderingoffeverytimetherestofusarereadytogo.
“ButtonightIfiguredwe’dswim,doourusualcookoutandallthat,”Sabrinasays.“Ijustwanttobaskinthetogetherness.”
“Totogetherness,”Parthcries,initiatingthefifthtoastoftheday.AssoonasWynremoveshisarmfromaroundmyshoulders,Iscoochmychairsidewaysunderthepretenseofgrabbingtheopenproseccotorefillmyglass.
“ToGroceryGladiators,”Kimmyjoinsin.
Todrinkingyourbodyweightinwineandhopingyouwakeupandrealizethiswasalladream,Ithink.
Acrossthetable,Cleo’slookingatmethoughtfully,alittledivotbetweenherdelicatebrows.Iforceasmileandliftmyfluteinherdirection.“TothatoneguyatMurder,SheReadwhostillgivesusthestudentdiscount.”
Cleo’smouthquirksfaintly,likeshe’snotfullyconvincedbymydisplay,butsheclinksherglass—water;Cleogaveupalcoholyearsagobecauseitirritatedherstomach—tomineanyway.“Maywealwaysbesolucky,andsoyouthful.”
“Shoot,bottle’sempty,”Sabrinasaysfromtheendofthetable.
IlurchtomyfeetbeforeWyncanvolunteer.Hestartstoriseanyway,andIshovehimbackdowninhischair.“Youstayhereandrelax,honey,”Isay,acidlysweet.“I’llgetthewine.”
“Thanks,Har,”SabcallsasIbeelineforthebackdoors.“Doorshouldbeopen!”
AnotherfacetofMr.Armas’supgradetothecottage:hehadtheoldstonecellarconvertedtoatop-of-the-linevaultforhisimmenseandimmenselyexpensivewinecollection.It’spasswordprotectedandeverything,thoughSabrinaalwaysleavesitopensoanyofuscanrundownandgrabsomething.
TooquicklyIfindabottlewhoselabelmatchestheoneonthetable.I’mguessingthatmeansit’snotathousand-dollarprosecco,butwithSabrina,youneverknow.Shemight’vepulledoutallthestopsforus,regardlessofwhetherourunrefinedpalatesareabletoappreciatesaidpulledstops.
Itmakesmyhearttwinge,thinkingofthisperfectfinalweekshe’splannedforusandmyutterinabilitytoenjoyit.
Oneday.Letthemhaveoneperfectday,andtomorrowwe’llcomeclean.
BythetimeIgetbackupstairs,everyone’slaughing,theverypictureofalaid-backbestfriends’trip.Wyn’sgazesnagsonmine,andhisdimpledsmiledoesn’tfallorevenfalter.
He’sfine!Nobigdealthathisex-fiancée’shere,orthatwe’reessentiallystayinginahoneymoonsuitewithanextremeevery-surface-here-is-specifically-designed-with-fucking-in-mindvibe!
Nodiscerniblereactiontomypresence.
Thistime,thezingthatgoesdownmyspinefeelslesslikeazipperundoneandmorelikeangryflameonastreakofgasoline.
It’snotfairthathe’sfine.It’snotfairthatbeingherewithmedoesn’tfeellikehavinghisheartroastedonaspit,likeitdoesforme.
Youcandothis,HarrietIfhe’sfine,youcanbetooForyourfriends.
IsetthewinebottleonthetableasIrounditandcometostandbehindWyn,slidingmyhandsdownhisshoulderstohischest,untilmyfaceisbesidehisandIcanfeelhisheartbeatinmyhands,evenandunbothered.
Notgoodenough.IfI’mgoingtobetormented,soishe.
Iburrowmyfaceintothesideofhisneck,allwarmpineandclove.“So,”Isay,“who’supforaswim?”
Goosebumpsrisefromhisskin.Thistime,thezingfeelslikevictory.
???
“I’mstartingtosuspect,”Kimmysays,“thatwemightbeaweebitin-bree-biated.In-bee-biatred.”
“Who?Us?”Isay,slowlytryingtopushmyselftomyfeetontheslipperystand-uppaddlematasKimmycrouchesonthefarend.WifeNumberFiveboughtthematsfor“aquayoga”acoupleofyearsback,andI’dforgottenallaboutthemuntiltonight.
Kimmyscreams,andParthdivesoutofthewayasthematflipsover,dumpingusbackintothepoolforeasilythesixthtime.
Thethreeofuspopoutofthewater.Kimmyflicksherheadbacktogethermattedred-goldhairoutofherface.“Us,”sheconfirms.“Allofus.”
“Well,”Isay,jerkingmyheadtowardthepatiotable,whereCleo,Sabrina,andWynaredeepinagameofpoker,“maybenotthem.”
“Oh,no,”Parthsays.“Sabrinaabsolutelyis.Butcompetitionsobersherup,andherbiggoaloftheweekistofinallybeatCleo.”
“Andtogetmarried,”Ipointout.
“Andthat,”Parthagrees,swimmingtowardthesideoftheglowingpool.Kimmy’salreadytryingtowrangleherwaybackuprightonthepaddlemat,butIkickmywayovertofollowParth.
“Howdidithappen?”Iask.
“Don’tyouwanttohearitfromher?”heasks.
“No,Iwanttohearthedetailedversion,”Isay.“Sabrina’sterribleattellingstories.”
“Iheardthat!”shecriesfromoveratthetable,thenlaysherhanddown.“AndI’mnotterrible.I’msuccinct.Straightflush.”
Besideher,Cleogrimacesalittleandsays,almostguiltily,“Royalflush.”
Sabrinagroansanddropsherforeheadtothetable.FrombehinduscomestheunmistakablesoundofanotherKimmybellyflop.
Conspiratorially,Parthsays,“Iaskedherayearago,”andI’msosurprised,Iaccidentallysmackhim.
“Ayear?”Icry.“You’vebeenengagedayear?”
Heshakeshishead.“Backthen,shewasstillsayingsheneverwantedtogetmarried!Wouldn’teventakethering.Andthen,afewweeksback,shefoundoutaboutthehouse,and…”Heglancestowardthepokermatch.Sabrina’sabsorbedinshuffling.“Sheaskedme.”
“What?”
Hegrimacesandrubsthebackofhisneck.“AndIsaidno.BecauseIthoughtitwas,like,thisknee-jerkreaction.Youknowhowitisforher.Thishousewasthelastplaceshefeltlikeshehadafamily,beforeherparentssplit.AndthenonceshebroughtyouandCleohere—andthentherestofus—thiscottageistheplacesheconsidershome.Sowhenherdadtoldherhewassellingit,Ifiguredshewasscramblingtoputsomekindofanchordown.Thatwasn’tagoodenoughreasonformetosayyes.”
“Soyouproposedandshesaidno,”Ireply,“andthensheproposedandyousaidno?”
Henods.“Butthatwasamonthandahalfago,andIthoughtshewasmadatmeforit.Untilacoupleweeksago.Sheaskedmeagain,withthisfor-realproposal.Like,plannedanelaboratescavengerhuntandeverything.”
“Wow,”Isay.“Parthvibes.”
“Iknow,”heagrees.“Anyway,attheend,shegotdownononekneeinCentralPark,likeabonafideromantic,andtoldmethatshe’salwaysknownshewantedtobewithmeforever,butshewassoscaredthatwasimpossible,she’dneverletherselfsayitaloud.Becauseofherparents,youknow.AndCleo’s.”Hegivesmeanapologeticlookasheadds,“Andyours.”
ItwassomethingsheandIbondedoverearlyon:herdad,whoburnedthroughmarriagesliketheywerelimited-seriesthrillers,andmyparents,whostayedtogetherbutrarelyseemedhappyaboutit.
Sabrinahadneverwantedtogetmarried,lestshehavetogothroughaviciousdivorce.Iwasmorescaredofmarryingsomeonewhocouldn’tbringhimselftoleavemeortokeeplovingme.
ItwaswhyIhadn’tletmyselfcrywhenWyndumpedme,oraskforanswersorasecondchance.IknewtheonlythingmorepainfulthanbeingwithouthimwouldbebeingtogetherknowingInolongertrulyhadhim.
Parth,Wyn,andKimmywerealltheproductofloving,lastingmarriages,andCleo’sparentshadsplitwhenshewaslittlebutstayedonexcellentterms.TheystilllivedablockapartinNewOrleansandhadregularfamilydinnerswitheachotherandtheirrespectivespouses.
“Anyway,”Parthsays.“Sabrinadecidedshe’dbeenlettingherdadhavetoomuchimpactonherlife.Shedidn’twanttomakeanymoredecisionsjustforthesakeofnotdoingwhathe’ddo.SoIsaidyesandthenplannedmyownproposal.”
“Well,naturally,”Isay.“You’rethePartyKingofPaxtonAvenue.”
Helaughs,flicksbackhiswethair.“IneededhertoknowIwantedittoo,youknow.Maybeit’sweirdtocombinetheweddingwiththisgoodbyetrip,butIdon’tknow.Ijustneedthisweektobeabsolutelyperfectforher.”
Mychestaches.Mypalmsitch.
“I’mreally,reallyhappyforyou,”Itellhim.
Hegrinscrookedly,plantsaloudsmoochatopmyhead.“Thanks,Har.Wereallycouldn’thavefiguredourshitoutwithoutyouandWyn.Ihopeyouknowthat.”
“Oh,comeon,”Isay.
“I’mserious,”hereplies.“Youwerethefirstonestocrossthatfriendshipline,andtoproveitcouldwork.Sabsaysallthetimethatshespentwaytoomuchtimeworryingthatgoingafterwhatshewantedcouldjeopardizewhatthesixofusalreadyhad,andwatchingyoutwokeeplovingeachotherforalltheseyears,thatreallyhelpedherbelievewecoulddothis.”
Mythroatsqueezes,andmyeyesgostraighttothepokermatch.Wyn’snotlooking,isfocusedonhisphone,butheatunfurlsfrommyhairlinetomycollarboneanyway.
Behindus,Kimmycries,“Ididit!I’magod!”rightbeforeshetopplesagain.
“IthinkIneedtopee,”ItellParth,haulingmyselffromthepool.“Ordrinkwater.Oneofthose.”
“Ifyoucan’ttellthedifferencebetweenthose,Harry,”Parthcallsafterme,“Ithinkyouneedtoseeadoctor!”
“Parth,”Isay,pausinginthedoorway.“Iamadoctor.”
“Seemslikeaconflictofinterest.”Heflipsbackward,awayfromthewall,andstrokestowardKimmy.
ItoweloffasImakemywaythroughthecool,silenthouse.Thekitchenisamess,soIwipedownthecounters,addtheemptybottlestotherecycling,andthenheadtowardthepowderroomtuckedbackbythelaundry.Nooneeverusesthisone,becauseit’sbeenhereinsomeformsincetheearly1900sandthusisapproximatelytwofeetwide.
ItakeholdofthesinkasItrytocatchmybreath.Inthemirror,myfaceisalreadysunburnt,myhairasalty,tangledmess.Somuchforthatshower.MaybeIcansneakawayforaquickrinsewhileeveryone’sstilloutback.
MaybeIcanthrowallmyclothesbackintomybagandrunawayand,Idon’tknow,notruinmybestfriends’wedding.Ohgod.Thisisadisaster.
Ipee,washmyhandswiththeluxuriousgrapefruit-scentedsoapMr.Armasstocksallhishotelswith,takeonelastdeepinhale,andopenthedoor.
MyfirstinstinctwhenIseeWynwaitinginthenarrowhallistoslamthedoorshutinhisface.Likethisisabaddream,andifIcloseitandopenitagain,he’llhavedisappeared.
Butasusual,mybodyistwoandahalfstepsbehindmybrain,sobythetimeI’veregisteredhimandthesoundofoverlappingvoicesdownthehallinthekitchen,he’salreadypushingmebackandshuttingusintogether.
Myheartishammering.Mylimbsfeelhotandunsteady.I’dalreadyturnedoffthelight,andforsomereasonhedoesn’treachtoswitchitbackon,sowe’recastinthedim,candle-likeglowofthesensor-operatednight-lightmountedbesidethemirror.
“Whatareyoudoing?”Iask.
“Relax.”Thedarkmakeshisvoicesoundtooclose.Ormaybethat’sthesixinchesbetweenus.
“Youcan’tshoveawomanintoadarkroomandtellhertorelax!”Ihiss.
“Icouldn’tfigureouthowtogetyoualone,”hesays.
“Haveyouconsideredthatmightbeintentional?”Isay.
Hehuffs.“Ourplanisn’tgoingtowork.”
“Iknow,”Isay.
Hisbrowlifts.“Youdo?”
“Imayhavejustmentionedthat,”Isay.
Hesinksbackagainstthedoor,chinlifting,adeepinhalefillinghislungstothepointthatourchestsbrush.Itrytostepbackwardandammetwithatowelrack.
“We’llhavetostickitoutfivemoredays,”Isay.
Hereboundsfromthedoor.Ourchestspresstogether,acurrentofangryelectricityleapingfromhisskinintomine,ormaybetheotherwayaround.“Youjustagreedwithmethatwecouldn’tdothis.”
“No,Isaidwecan’tfollowthroughwithourplan.Theyneedthisweektobeperfect,Wyn.Sabrina’salreadyabundleofnerves.Thiscouldmessupeverything.”
“Oh,it’sgoingtomessupsomething,”hegrowls.
“TalktoParth,”Isay.“Ifyouleavethatconversationfeelinggoodaboutblowingupthisweek,thenIcan’tstopyou.Butyou’renotgoingto.”
Hesighs.“Thisissounbelievablymessedup.”
“It’scertainlynotideal,”Isay,parrotinghisphrasingfromearlier.
Hiseyesflash.“Hilarious.”
“Ithoughtso.”IliftmychinlikeIamnotatallintimidatedbyhiscloseness.Liketheredefinitelyaren’thundredsofhornetsbattingaroundinmychesttryingtogettohim.
Ourglaresholdforseveralseconds.I’mnotsurehe’severglaredatme.Asacategoricallyconflict-averseperson,I’msurprisedhowpowerfultheglaremakesmefeel.I’mfinallygettingariseoutofhim,gettingpastthatgranitefacadeheusedtoshutmeout.
“Fine,”hesays.“ThenIguesswehavetodothis.”Hecatchesmyhand.Mywholebodyfeelslikeit’smadeoflivewires,evenbeforeIregisterthecoolwhite-goldloopslippingovermyfinger.
Ijerkbackbeforehecangettheringon.Heletsme,butagain,thetowelrackdoesn’t.
“Someone’sgoingtonoticeifyou’renotwearingit,”hesays.
“Theyhaven’tsofar,”Isay.
“It’sonlybeenacoupleofhours,”hesays.“AndKimmywasdancingandsingingintoawoodenspoontothatoneCrashTestDummiessongforthevastmajorityofthat.Peoplewerebusy.”
“Sowecommandeertheplaylist,”Isay.“Icaneasilythinkofatleasttwenty-sixsongsthatwillputKimmyintoshowmode.”
Wyn’seyebrowarches.Ittugsonhismouth,revealingasliverofglow-in-the-darksmile.Thatsnowglobefeelinghits,whereupisdownanddownisupandeverythingiseitherglitterorcornsyrup.
“Whydoyouevenhavethis?”Idemand
“Because,”hesays,“IknewIwasgoingtoseeyou,andit’syours.”
“Igaveitback,”Iremindhim.
“Wellawareofthat,”hesays.“Nowareyougoingtoputiton,orshouldwegotellthemit’sovernow?”
Ishovemyhandout,palmup.I’msureashellnotlettinghimslidemyoldengagementringontomyfinger.
Hehesitates,likehe’sdebatingsayingsomething,thensetsitinmypalm.Iputitonandholdmyhandup.“Happy?”
Helaughs,shakeshishead,andstartstoleave.Heturnsback,leaningintothedoor.“Howlongshouldwesayit’sbeen?Sincewelastsaweachother,ifanyoneasks.”
“Theywon’task,”Isay.
Myvision’sadjustedtothedarkenoughthatIcansee,indetail,thecreasesatthecornersofhiseyesdeepening.“Whynot?”
“Becauseit’saboringquestion.”
“Idon’tthinkit’saboringquestion,”hesays.“I’mdesperatetoknowtheanswer.I’monpinsandneedles,Harriet.”
Irollmyeyes.“Amonth.”
Hiseyescloseforamoment.IfIknewtheywouldstayclosed,Iwouldn’tbeabletohelpmyself:I’dtraceafingerdownhisnose,aroundthecurveofhismouth,nottouchinghimbutrelishinginthealmost.Ihatehowentangledwestillfeelonaquantumlevel.Likemybodywillneverstoptryingtofinditswaybacktohis.
Hiseyesslitopen.“DidIcometoSanFrancisco,ordidyoucometoMontana?”
Isnort.
Hiseyesflash.
“Ihaven’thadtimetodolaundryinthelastmonth,”Isay.“Idefinitelydidn’tflytoMontanaandwalkaroundaranchinaten-gallonhat.”
Somberly,heasks,“Howmanypairsofunderweardoyouown?”
“Now,thatI’msurenoonewillaskyou,”Isay.
“Youhaven’tdonelaundryinamonth,”hereplies.“I’mjustdoingthatmath,Harriet.”
“Well,ifIrunout,atleastParth’spackinglistforyouhasmecovered.”
“Andifyouvisitedme,”hesays,“nopartofyourvisitwouldhavebeenmemarchingyouaroundaranchinaten-gallonhat.WhatexactlydoyouthinkIdoallday?”
“Furniturerepair,”Isaywithashrug.“Rodeoclowning.MaybethatoneseniorwateraerobicsclassGloriawasalwaystryingtogetustogotowhenweusedtovisit.”
Datebeautifulwomen,breatheintheMontanaair,andfeelwhole-bodyrelieftohaveleftSanFrancisco,andme,behind.
“HowisGloria?”Iask.
Wyn’sheadfallsbackagainstthedoor.“Good.”Hedoesn’tgoon.
Itstingslikehemeantforitto,thisreminderthatI’mnotentitledtoanymoreinformationabouthismother,hiswholefamily,thanthisone-wordreply
Thenhisfacesoftens,mouthquirking.“Ididtrythewateraerobicsclasswithher.”
“Yeah,right.”
Hesetsahandacrosshisheart.“Iswear.”
Mysnortoflaughtercatchesmeoffguard.Evenstranger,itdoesn’tstopafterone,insteaddevolvinguntilit’slikepopcornisexplodingthroughmychest,untilIfeel—almost—likeI’mcryinginsteadoflaughing.
AllthewhileWynstandsthere,leanedagainstthedoor,watchingme,bemused.“Areyouquitefinished,Harriet?”
“Fornow.”
Henods.“SoIvisitedyouinSanFrancisco.Lastmonth.”
Anytraceofhumorevaporatesfromtheair.“That’sthestory.”
Hestudiesmeforabeattoolong.Myfaceprickles.Mybloodhums.
Webothjumpatasudden,high-pitchedblastofsoundfromdownthehall.
Wynsighs.“Parthgotanairhornapp.”
“Godsaveus,”Isay.
“Heuseditlikefifteentimesbeforeyougothere.Asyoucanimagine,ithasn’tgottenold.”
Ibitemylipbeforeanyhintofasmilecansurface.Irefusetoletmyselfbecharmedbyhim.Notagain.
“Well.”Hepushesawayfromthedoor.“I’llleaveyouto…”
Hewavestowardme,asiftowordlesslycommunicateStandingaloneinthisdarkbathroom
“Thatwouldbegreat,”Isay,andthenhe’sgone.
Icounttotwenty,thenletmyselfout,heartstillpounding.Afterpausinginthekitchenlongenoughtofillmyabandonedwineglasstotheverybrim,Istepbackoutintothebriskchillofnight.Everyone’sbundledupnow,afireburninginthestonepit,myfriendscrowdedaroundandwrappedinamishmashoftowels,sweatshirts,andblankets.ItakeaseatbesideCleoandshepullsmeintoasidehug,rearrangingherflannelblanketovermybarelegstoo.“Everythinggood?”sheasks.
“Ofcourseitis,”Iinsist,snugglingcloser.“I’minmyhappyplace.”7
HappyPlace
Knott’sHarbor,Maine
Thekids’room.Warpedfloorboardsandcrookedwindows,creamydrapes,andtwinbedstoppedinmatchingblue-grayquiltsoneitherwall.MyfirstweekbackwithmyfriendsaftermyLondonsemester,andI’msharingaroomwithavirtualstranger.
Apleasantlymustysmell,temperedbylemonverbenafurniturepolish.
Bycinnamontoothpaste.Bypine,clove,woodsmoke,andstrangepaleeyesthatwinkandflashlikesomenocturnalanimal.NotthatI’mlookingathim.
Ican’tkeeplookingathim.ButwithinhoursofmeetingWynConnor,it’sobvioushehashisowngravity.Ican’tbringmyselftolookathimstraightoninthefulllightofday,alwaysstartloadingdishesordrawinganetthroughthepoolwhenhe’stooclose.
Fromtheearlymorningscurtainedinmisttolateatnight,mysubconscioustrackshim.
I’mlivingtwoseparateweeks.Oneofthemisbliss,theothertorture.Sometimesthey’reindistinguishable.
IlazeinthepoolwithCleowhileshereadssomeartist’smemoirorencyclopediaexclusivelyaboutmushrooms.Iwandertheantiqueshops,junkshops,fudgeshopsintownwithSabrina.ParthandIwalkuptothecoffeeplaceandthelittleredlobsterrollstandwiththeconstanthour-longline.
Weplaychickeninthepool,NeverHaveIEveraroundthefirepit.Wepassaroundbottlesofsauvignonblanc,rosé,chardonnay.
“Willyourdadmindthatwe’redrinkinghiswine?”Wynasks.
Iwonderifhe’sworried,likeIwasthefirsttimeSabrinabroughtCleoandmehere,ifhe’srealizingshe’dhaveeveryrighttopresentuswithbillsattheendoftheweek,billsthattherestofuscouldn’tafford.
“Ofcoursehe’dmind,”Sabrinareplies,“ifheevernoticed.Buthe’sincapableofnoticinganythingthat’snotinsideaSwissbankaccount.”
“Hehasnoideawhathe’smissing,”Cleosays.
“AllofmyfavoritethingshappenoutsideofSwissbankaccounts,”Parthagrees.
“Allmyfavoritethingsarehere,”Isay.
Inthehottestpartoftheday,wetaketurnsleapingofftheendofthepierbelowthebluff,makingagameoutofnotreactingtotheicyshockoftheAtlantic,thenlieonthesun-warmedplatformwatchingthecloudsstampedepast.
Sabrinaplansourdrinksandmealstoperfection.Parthfindswaystoturneverythingintoanelaborategameorcompetition,asinthecaseofthepier-jumpinggamewenameDON’TFUCKINGSCREAM.AndCleo,almostoutofnowhere,asksquestionslike,“Arethereanyplacesyougobacktoagainandagaininyourdreams?”or“Wouldyouredohighschoolifyoucould?”Parthsayshewould,becausehehadagreathighschoolexperience;Cleosaysshewould,becauseshehadahorribletimeandwouldlikethechancetocorrectit;andtherestofusagreeitwouldtakeamany-dollaredoffertotemptustoreliveourownmediocreexperiences.
Afterthat,Cleoasks,“Ifyoucouldhaveanotherlifeentirely,separatefromthisone,whatwouldyoudo?”
Parthsays,rightaway,he’djoinaband.Sabrinatakesaminutetodecideshe’dbeachef.
“Backwhenmyparentswerestilltogether,”shesays,“whenwe’dcomeouthereforthesummer,MomandIwouldcooktheseelaboratemeals.Itwasawhole-daything.Likewehadnowheretobe,nothingtodobutbetogether.”
Whileshe’salwayssharedbluntobservationsandflippantlyself-awarecommentsaboutherfamilylifeandherpast—likeSorryifthatcameouttoostrong.It’smychild-of-a-narcissistcomplex.IstillthinkIhavethirtysecondstomakemycasebeforeeveryonegetsbored—it’srarerforhertosharehappymemories.
It’sagift,thisbitoftendernessshe’sbroughtouttoshowus.It’sanhonortobetrustedwithsomethingsosacredandrareasSabrina’ssoftness.
WithCleo’sextralife,shetellsus,she’dfarm,whichmakeseveryonelaughsohardthewoodenpiertremblesunderus.“I’mserious!”sheinsists.“Ithinkit’dbefun.”
“Yeah,right,”Sabrinasays.“You’regoingtobeafamouspainter,withlandscapesineverycelebrity’sLAmansion.”
Whensheturnsthequestiontome,mymindblanks.I’vewantedtobecomeasurgeonsinceIwasfourteen.I’veneverconsideredanythingelse.
“Youcandoanything,Harry,”Sabrinapresses.“Don’toverthinkit.”
“OverthinkingisthethingI’mbestat,though,”Isay.
Shecackles.“Maybeinyourotherlifeyoufigureouthowtomonetizethat.”
“Ormaybe,”Cleosays,“inourotherlives,wedon’thavetofigureouthowtomonetizeanything.Wecanjustbe.”
Withoutsittingup,Parthreachesovertohigh-fiveher.
“Iloveyou,”Cleosays,“butIdonothigh-five.”
Heletshishanddroptohisstomach,unbothered.HeasksWynwhathe’ddowithhissecondlife.Idon’tlookover,butIfeelhimstretchedoutunderthesunonmyleft,asecondstar,athingwithitsowngravity,light,warmth.
Hesighssleepily.“I’dliveinMontana.”
“You’vealreadydonethat,”Parthsays.“You’resupposedtosayyou’dgototheSouthPoleandrehabilitatepenguinsorsomething.”
“Fine,Parth,”Wynsays.“I’dgototheSouthPole,forthepenguins.”
“There’snorightanswer,”Cleosays.“WhywouldyoumovebacktoMontana,Wyn?”
“Becauseinthislife,Idecidednottostaythere,”hesays.“Idecidedtodosomethingdifferentthanmyparentsdid,besomeonedifferent.ButifIhadanotheronetolive,I’dwanttheonewhereIstayedtoo.”
Ichanceaglanceathim.Heturnshischeekflatagainstthewoodenpier,andourgazesholdforthespanoffourbreaths,hisdamparmandminebarelytouching.
Asilentconversationpassesbetweenus:HiandHibackandYou’resmilingatmeandNo,you’resmilingatme.
Iturnmyeyesbacktotheskyandshutthemtight.
Bythetimewecrawlintoourbedsonoppositesidesofthekids’room,thebuzzinginmyveinsstillhasn’tletup
Wyn,however,issostillthatIassumehe’sinstantlyfallenasleep.Aftersometime,hisvoicebreaksthequiet.“WhydoyoualwaysstartcleaningwhenIcomeintotheroom?”
Mylaughispartsurprise,partembarrassment.“What?”
“Ifeveryone’soutbackandyou’reinthekitchen,thesecondIcomeinside,yougoforasponge.”
“Idonot,”Isay.
“Youdo.”Theblanketsrustleasherollsontohisside.
“Well,ifIdo,it’sacoincidence,”Isay.“Ilovecleaning.”
“Theytoldmethat,”hesays.
Ilaugh.“Howdidthatcomeup?Didyouaskfortheleastinterestingthingaboutme?”
“AfewweeksafterImovedin,theapartmentwascompletelydisgusting,”hesays.“AndI’mnoteventhatcleanofaguy.IfinallyaskedSabrinaaboutit,andshesaidtheymust’vegottenusedtoyoualwaysscrubbingeverything.IthinkI’mtheonlypersonwho’stakenoutthetrashinthelastsixmonths.Cleopicksupafterherself,butshewon’ttouchSabrina’smess.”
Ismileatthedarkceiling,myheartswellingwithaffectionforbothofthem.“Cleo’sgreatatboundaries.SheprobablythinksifsheletsSabrina’stoothpastesplatteraccumulatelongenough,she’llnotice.”
“Yeah,well,ifIdidn’tintervene,thecounterwouldbemoretoothpastethanporcelainbynow.”
“You’rebeingunrealistic,”Isay.“Theentireapartmentwouldbetoothpaste.”
“Youdon’tseemtomindthatourfriendisadisgustingslob.”
“I’vealwayslikedcleaning,”Isay.“EvenwhenIwaslittle.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,”Isay.“Bothmyparentshadtoworkalot,andtheywerealwaysstressedoutaboutmoney,buttheywerealsogoodaboutmakingsuremysisterandIhadeverythingweneeded.Therewasn’tatonIcoulddotohelp,exceptcleaning.AndIlikehowit’ssomeasurable,likeyouimmediatelyseethatwhatyou’redoingismakingadifference.WheneverIgetanxious,Iclean,anditrelaxesme.”
Alongsilence.“DoImakeyouanxious?”
“What?Ofcoursenot,”Isay.
Hisblanketsrustleagain.“WhenIcameintotheroomtonight,youstartedrearrangingthedrawers.”
“Coincidence,”Iinsist.
“Soyou’renotanxious,”hesays.
“I’mneveranxioushere,”Isay.
Anotherpause.“Whataretheylike?”
“Who?”
“Yourfamily,”hesays.“Youdon’ttalkaboutthemallthatmuch.Aretheylikeyou?”
Ipropmyheadupinmyhandandsquintthroughthedark.“WhatamIlike?”
“Idon’tknowhowtoexplainit,”hesays.“I’mnotgoodwithwords.”
“Ifyou’drather,youcanactitout,”Isay.
Heturnsontohisbackagain,waveshisarmsinacircle.
“Agiganticorb,”Iguess.
Helaughs.“IguessI’mnotgoodatcharadeseither.Imeanitinagoodway.”
“Agiganticorbinagoodway,”Isay
“So.”Hefacesmeoncemore.It’seasiertomeethiseyesinthedark.“Aretheygiganticorbstoo?”
“It’simpossibletosay,sinceIstillhavenoideawhatthatmeans.Butmyparentsarenice.Dad’sascienceteacher,andMomworksatadentist’soffice.TheyalwaysmadesuremysisterandIhadwhatweneeded.”
“Yousaidthatalready,”hesays.
Readingmyhesitation,hesays,“Sorry.Youdon’thavetotalkaboutit.”
“There’snotalottosay.”Wefallbackintosilence,butafterawhile,itbubblesover:“Theydon’tloveeachother.”
Thewordshangthere.Hewaits,anditdoesn’tmatterthatI’vedecidednottotalkaboutthis.Itcomesoutanyway:“Theybarelykneweachotherwhentheygotmarried.Theywereincollegestill,andmymomgotpregnantwithmyoldersister.Momwassupposedtogotomedicalschool,andDadwassupposedtogotogradschoolforastrophysics—buttheyneededmoney,soshedroppedouttoraiseEloise,andhegotajobsubstituteteaching.BythetimeIwasborn,itwasalreadylikethisweirdlate-twentieth-centurymarriageofconvenience.”
“Dotheyfight?”heasks.
“Notreally,”Isay.“Mysister’ssixyearsolderthanme,andshewaskindofawildchild,sotheyusedtoarguewithher,butnotwitheachother.”
AboutherdroppingAPclasseswithouttalkingtothem,orcominghomewithabellybuttonring,orannouncingherplanstotakeabackpackinggapyear.
MomandDadneverscreamed,butEloisedid,andwhen,inevitably,theysenthertoherroomorshestormedoutofthehouse,everythingwouldalwaysseemsomehowquieterthanbefore.Adangerousquiet,likeonetinypeepmightmakethecracksspread,thehousecollapse.
Myparentsweren’tcruel,buttheywerestrict,andtheyweretired.Sometimesoneorbothofthemhadtogetaweekendjobtofillinthefinancialgapsiftheminivanbrokedown,orEloisechippedatooth,orIgotavirusthatledtopneumonia,whichdovetailednicelywithaneedforchestX-rays.BythetimeIwasnine,Imightnothaveknownwhatdeductiblemeant,butIknewitwasoneofthosewordstrottedoutwhenMomandDadwerebentoverpaperbillsatthekitchentable,massagingtheireyebrowsandsighingtothemselves.
Ialsoknewthatmydadhatedwhenmymomsighed.Andthat,conversely,mymomhatedwhenmydadsighed.Likebothofthemwerehopingthattheotherwouldbefine,wouldn’tneedcomforting.
AllthequietmademestrainforhintsandcluesuntilIbecameanexpertinmyparents’moods.Eloisehadbeenoutofthehousealongtime,sincetheblowupfightwhenshe’dtoldthemshewouldn’tbegoingtocollege,andthingswerealotbetternow,butthey’dneverfullyforgivenher,andIdidn’tthinkshe’dforgiventhemeither.
“They’regoodparents,”Isay.“TheycametoeverysinglethingIwasapartof.Infifthgrade,foratalentshow,Ididthisseriesof‘magictricks’thatwereactuallylittlescienceexperiments,andyou’dthinkthey’dwatchedmegivealectureatNASA.
“Weonlyeverateoutforspecialoccasions,butthatnighttheytookmeforicecreamatBigPauly’sConeShop.”
TalkingtoWynlikethisfeelslikewhisperingmysecretsintoaboxandshuttingittight.
Asliverofagrinappearsthroughthedark.“Soyou’vealwayshadasweettooth.”
“Allofusdo.Weorderedmultiplerounds,”Isay.“Likeweweredoingbirthdayshots.”
Westayeduntiltheplacewasclosed,wellaftermynormalbedtime.Oneofmymostvividmemorieswasfallingasleepagainstthebackseat,feelingsohappy,glowywiththeirpride.
Ilivedforthoserarenightswheneverythingclickedandwewereallhappytogether,whentheyweren’tworriedaboutanythingandcouldjusthavefun.
WhenIwonthehighschoolsciencefairmysophomoreyear,andDadandIspentthenightmakings’moresoverthestovetopandbinge-watchingadocumentaryonjellyfish.OrwhenIgraduatedsalutatorian,andthefront-officeteamfromDr.Sherburg’sdentalpracticethrewmeaminiparty,completewithatrulyhideousbraincakeMomhadbaked.OrwhenIgottheletteraboutmyscholarshiptoMattingly,andthethreeofusstayeduplate,poringovertheonlinecoursecatalog.
You,mygirl,IrememberMomsaying,aregoingtodogreatthings.
Wealwaysknewit,Dadhadagreed.
“Whataboutyourparents?”IaskWyn.“Theycomefromranchingfamilies,right?Andnowtheyrunafurniturerepairbusiness?Whataretheylike?”
“Loud.”Hedoesn’telaborate.
Myfirstimpressionofhimhasproventrue:Wyndoesn’tliketalkingabouthimself.
ButIfeelgreedyformoreofhim,therealWyn,thepartsunderthesmoky-sultryeyes.
“Happyloud,”Isay,“orangryloud?”
Hissmilelightsupthedark.“Happyloud.”Hepauses.“Plus,mydad’sdeafinoneearbutinsistsonalwaysaskingquestionsfromtheotherroom,sosometimesjustloudloud.AndI’vegotanoldersisterandayoungerone.MichaelandLou.They’reloudloudtoo.They’dloveyou.”
“BecauseI’mloud?”
“Becausethey’rebrilliantlikeyou,”hesays.“Andalsobecauseyoulaughlikeahelicopter.”
Unfortunately,thatcausesmetoprovehispoint.“Wow.Stophittingonme.”
“It’scute,”headds.
Anotherfull-bodyflush.“Okay,nowyoureallyneedtostopflirtingwithme.”
“Youmakeitsoundsoeasy,”hesays.
“Ibelieveinyou,”Isay.
“Andyouhavenoideahowmuchthatmeanstome,”hereplies.
Iturnoverandburymyfaceinmypillow,mumblingthroughagrin,“Goodnight,Wyn.”
“Sleeptight,Harriet.”
Thenextnightfollowsthesamepattern:Weclimbintobed.Wefallintosilence.AndthenWynturnsontohissideandasks,“Whybrainsurgery,specifically?”
AndIsay,“MaybeIthoughtitsoundedthemostimpressive.NowIcanconstantlyrespondtothingswithWell,it’snotbrainsurgery.”
“Youdon’tneedtobeanymoreimpressive,”hesays.“You’realready…”Inthecornerofmyeye,hewaveshisarmsinthathugecircleagain.
“Afreakishlylargewatermelon,”Isay.
Heletsoutalowlaugh,hisvoicegoneallraspy.“Sowasthatit?Youchosethehardest,mostimpressivethingyoucouldthinkof?”
“Youaskalotofquestions,butyoudon’tlikeansweringthem,”Isay.
Hesitsupagainstthewall,thecornerofhismouthcurling,dimplessinking.“Whatdoyouwanttoknow?”
Isitup.“Whydidn’tyouwanttoguesswhatourfriendstoldmeaboutyou?”
Hestills.Nohandrunningthroughhishair,nojoggingknee.AverystillWynConnorisanalmostlewdlybeautifulthing.
“Because,”hesayseventually,“mybestguesswouldbetheytoldyouI’maniceguywhobarelygotintoMattinglyanddidn’tgetmycreditsintimetograduate,andhonestlymightnevermanageto.”
“Theyloveyou,”Isay.“They’dneversayanythinglikethat.”
“It’sthetruth.Parth’sofftolawschoolnextyear,andIwassupposedtobemovingtoNewYorkwithhim,butIfailedthesamegenedmathclassforthesecondtime.I’mhangingonbyathread.”
“Whoneedsmath?”Isay.
“Mathematicians,probably,”hesays.
“Areyouplanningtobecomeamathematician?”Iask.
“No,”hesays.
“That’sgood,becausethey’reallgoingtobeputoutofbusinessoncethiscalculatorthingcatcheson.Whocaresifyou’rebadatmath,Wyn?”
Hisgazelifts.“MaybeIhopedtomakeabetterfirstimpressionthanthat.”
“Nopartofmebelieves,”Isay,“thatyoustrugglewithfirstimpressions.”
Hebrusheshisthickhairupoffhisforehead,anditstaysthere,allexceptthatonestrand,ofcourse,whichisdeterminedtofallsensuallyacrosshiseyebrow.“Maybeyoumakemealittlenervous.”
“Yeah,right,”Isay,spinetingling.
“Justbecauseyoudon’tseemegrabbingamopeverytimeyouwalkintoaroomdoesn’tmeanIdon’tnoticeyou’rethere.”
Itfeelslikeabowlingballhaslandedinmystomach,asuddendrop.Thencomethebutterflies.
Bloodrerouting,vesselsconstricting,Itellmyself.Meaningless.
“Why?”Iask.
“Idon’tknowhowtoexplainit,”hesays,“andpleasedon’taskmetoactitout.”
“Youmakemealittlenervoustoo,”Iadmit.
He’swaitingformetosaymore,theweightofhisfocusonme.Anachestartsbehindmyribs.LikehavingthissmallbitofhimhastransformedallthepiecesIcanneverhaveintoakindofphantomlimb,apainwherethereshouldbemoreWyn.
“Why?”hesaysfinally.
“Toohandsome,”Isay.
Astrangelookflitsacrosshisface,somethinglikedisappointment.Heavertshisgaze.“Well.Thathasnothingtodowithme.”
“Iknowthat,”Isay.“That’sthething.Abnormallygood-lookingpeoplearen’tsupposedtoalsobeso…”
“So…?”Hearchesabrow.
Iwavemyarmsinacircle.
Hecracksasmile.“Spherical?”
IlatchontotheclosestwordIcanfind.“Vast.”
“Vast,”herepeats.
“Funny,”Isay.“Interesting.It’slike,pickalane,buddy.”
Helaughs,tossesapillowacrosstheroomatme.“Ineverwouldhavepeggedyouforasnob,Harriet.”
“Hugesnob.Huge.”Itossthepillowbackwithanothercircularwaveofmyarms.Itlandsaboutthreefeetshyofhisbed.
“Whatwasthat?”
“Thepillowyouthrewatme,”Isay,“perhapsyourememberit.”
“Iknowit’sapillow,”hesays.“I’mtalkingaboutthethrow.”
“Nowwho’sasnob?”Isay.“JustbecauseI’mnotanathlete—”
“It’sapillow,Harriet,”hesays,“notanOlympicthrowinghammer,andwe’refourfeetapart.”
“We’reliketenfeetapart,”Icounter.
“Absolutelynot.”Hestandsandstartsacrosstheroom,countingeachstep.Icatchmyselfcataloginghisarmsandstomach,thejutsofhishipbonesabovehisgymshorts.
“Three…four…five…”
“Youaretakingmassivestridesrightnow.”Ijumpuptomeasurethedistancemyself.Ourelbowsgrazeaswepass,andeveryfinehairdownmyarmrises.
“One,two,three,four,five,six,seven,eight,nine.”
WhenIturn,he’sstandingrightbehindme.Thedarkquiversbetweenus.Mynipplespinch,andI’mterrifiedhe’llnotice,anddesperateforhimtonotice,tofeelhiseyesalloverme.
Heclearshisthroat.“Tomorrow.”
Myvoicecomesoutthin.“Tomorrowwhat?”
“We’llmeasurethedistance,”hesays.“Whoever’sguessisclosestwins.”
“Winswhat?”Iask.
Hislipstwitch.Oneofhisperfectlycurvedshoulderslifts.“Idon’tknow,Harriet.Whatdoyouwant?”
“Yousaymynamealot,”Isay.
“Youhardlyeversaymine,”hereplies.“That’swhyIhadtogetyoutosayWinswhat.”
Ismileatthefloor,whichunderscoreshowclosewe’restanding.“Winswhat,Wyn?”
WhenIlookup,hislipsarepressedtight,hisdimplesoutfullforce.“Ihonestlyforgetwhatweweretalkingabout.”
Anotherheadrush.Abellyflutter.Warningbellsclangingthroughmynervoussystem.
“Weweretalkingabouthowbadlywebothneedtogotosleep,”Isay.Hepretendstobelieveme.Weclimbbackintoourrespectivebeds.
Wetalkthroughthenextnighttoo.ItellhimI’mstillnotusedtoallthecasualphysicalaffectionbetweenourfriends.HowCleosnugglesintomysidelikeacatnestlingintotowelsfreshfromthedryer,andSabrinahugsmehelloandgoodbye,andParthtouslesmyhairashe’spassingthrougharoom.
“WouldyouratherIdidn’ttouchyou?”Wynasksquietly.
Asquietly,Isay,“Youdon’tevertouchme.”
“BecauseIhaven’tknown,”hesays,“ifyouwantmeto.”
Everythinginmetwistsandtightens.
Hetucksapillowunderhisearandshiftsontohisside,hisbarechestandlong,leantorsotingedwiththefirstbitofmorning,thefrecklesonhissculptedshouldersvisibleinthestreaksoflight.
Mytrainofthoughtisdisappearingaroundacorner,leavingmealonewithahalf-nakedWynConnor,whenhesays,“Justtobeclear,you’realwayswelcometotouchme.”
Ibecomeacutelyawareofeveryplacethecoolsilksheetsskimmylegs.Ishaketheblanketsout.“Whatanextremelygenerousoffer.”
“Notgenerousatall,”hesays.“I’mvoraciousforphysicaltouch.Can’tgetenough.”
“SoI’vegathered,”Isay.“IfIevermeetsomeoneinneedofcasualphysicaltouch,I’llgivethemyourbusinesscard.”
Thecornerofhismouthtugsdownward.“RememberwhatyoutoldmeaboutSabrina?”
“No,what?”
“Thatsheexaggerates,”hesays.“SodoesParth.”
Ipitchmyselfhigheronmyelbow.“Sowhichweretheexaggerations,Wyn?ThehotTAwholeftherphonenumberonyourlastessayoftheterm?Theflightattendantwhoboughtallyourdrinks?TheidenticaltripletRussianacrobats?”
“Thetriplets,”hesays,“wereliterallyjustsomegirlsImetinabarandtalkedtoforthirtyminutes.Andfortherecord,theyweregymnasts,notacrobats,andtheywereverynice.”
“Onecan’thelpbutnoticeyoudidn’tprotestabouttheTAandtheflightattendant.”
Hesitsupagainstthewall.Themancannotstayinonepositionforlongerthanfortyorsoseconds.“Howaboutwediscussyourromantichistory?”
“Whataboutit?”Isay.
“SabrinasaidyouweredatinganotherAmericanwhileyouwereinLondon.”
“Hudson,”Isupply.
“Youneverbringhimup,”Wynsays.
Idon’tbringhimupbecauseheandIagreedourrelationshipwastemporary,rightfromthestart.Weknewwhenwewenthome,we’dbetoobusy,toofocused,foreachother.FocuswasthesecondbiggestthingHudsonandIhadincommon.ThefirstwasaloveofthesamechipshopinLondon.Notthestuffofromanticlegend,butitworkedoutokay,andnoonegothurt.
“I’manopenbook,”Isay.“Whatdoyouwanttoknow?”
Wyn’steethscrapeoverhisbottomlip.“Isheageniuslikeyou?”
“I’mnotagenius,”Isay.
“Fine,”Wynsays,“ishebrilliantlikeyou?Ishegoingtobeasurgeon?”
Brilliant.Thewordfizzesthroughme.
“Hewantstobeathoracicsurgeon,”Isay.“HegoestoHarvard.”
Wynscoffs.
“Tickleinyourthroat?”Isay.
“What’shelooklike?”Wynasks.AsIconsider,hisgrintwitches.“Can’tremember?”
“Darkhair,blueeyes,”Isay.
“Likeyou,”hesays.
“Identical.”Isituptoo.“Sidebyside,youcouldn’ttellusapart.”
Wyn’seyesslinkdownme,thenclimbbacktomyface.“You’reaveryluckywoman.”
“Theluckiest,”Isay.“Once,whenIwassick,hewenttoclassasme.”
“CanIseeapicture?”Wynasks.
“Seriously?”
“I’mcurious,”hesays.
Ileanoverthebedandfeelaroundformyphoneontheground,thencarryitovertohim,swipingthroughmycameraroll.
IchooseapictureofHudsonthatshowsoffhishighcheekbones,hispointedchin,hisglossydarkhair.WhenIholditout,Wyngrabsmywristtosteadyitandsquintsatthescreen.Thenheslidesmyphonefrommyhandandbringsitclosertohiseyes.“Whyisn’thesmiling?”
“Heis,”Isay.“That’showhesmiles.It’ssubtle.”
“Thisguy,”Wynsays,“onlysmileswhenhe’slookinginthemirror.Whichisalsohowhemasturbates.WhilewearinghisHarvardsweatshirt.”
“Ohmygod,Wyn.Youareofficiallythesnobamongus.”Ireachformyphone,butherollsontohisstomach,takingitwithhim.
Slowly,heswipesbackthroughmypictures,takingeachinbeforemovingtothenext.Iflopdownnexttohimandpeeroverhisshoulderashepausesonashotofmeinthelibrary,hunchedoveranotebook,severaltowersoftextbookslinedupinfrontofme.
“Cute.”Heglancesoverhisshoulderatme,thenbacktothephonebeforeIcanreact.
Hespreadshisthumbandfingerovertheimagetozoominonmyface.Iwatchhiminprofile,hisfacelitup,hisdimplesshadowing.“Sofuckingcute,”herepeatsquietly.
Heatbloomsineverynookandcrannyofmybody.ThistimewhenIreachformyphone,Wynletsmetakeit.Hesitsup.Onlyahandfulofinchesseparateourfaces.Icansmellhisclovedeodorant.Hisgazeisheavyonmymouth.
“Itoldyou,”Imanage,“youneedtostopflirtingwithme.”
Hiseyeslift.“Why?”
Becausemybestfriendhasacrushonyou.
Becausethisgroupoffriendsmatterstoomuchtoriskruiningit.
BecauseIdon’tlikehowoutofcontrolIfeelaroundyou,howwheneveryou’renearby,you’retheonlythingIcanfocuson.
Isay,“Youdon’tdateyourfriends.”
“You’renotmyfriend,Harriet,”hesaysquietly.
“WhatamI,then?”Iask.
“Idon’tknow,”hesays.“Butnotthat.”
Ourgazeslashtogether,aheadypressurebuildingbetweenus;hiswantandminehavestartedtooverlap,twohalvesofaVenndiagramdrawingtogetheronthetwinbed.
“Wecan’t,”Imurmur.
“BecauseofSabrina?”heasks.
Myheartspikes.“No.”Itcomesoutthin,unconvincing.
“Idon’tseeherlikethat,”hesays
“Youseeeveryonelikethat,”Isay.
“Idon’t,”hesays,voicefirm.“Ireallydon’t.”
“Wyn,”Isayquietly.“Thisis…”Whatworddidheuseearlierthisweek?“Messy.”
“Iknow,”hesays.“Trustme,I’mtryingnotto—feellikethis.”
“Tryharder.”Iwanttosoundlightandteasing.Instead,IsoundasangstyasIfeel.
“Isthatwhatyouwant?”
Ican’tbringmyselftolie,soIjuststand.“Weshouldgetatleastalittlesleep.”
Afterseveralseconds,hesays,“Goodnight,Harriet.”8
RealLife
Tuesday
ThefirstthingIregisterisaheavinessacrossmystomach,abarofgentlepressure,likeaweightedblanket,onlyconcentrated.Acoldbreezewrigglesthroughthesheets.Inestlebackintothedeliciouswarmthbehindme.Myheadspinsfromthemotion.Mystomachroils.Somethingstiffrocksagainstthebacksofmythighs,andaboltofheat,ofwant,goesdownmycenter.
Holyshit!
Iscrambleupward,eyessnappingopenonthepewtergrayofmorning,blanketssnaredaroundmythighs.I’monthefloor.
WhyamIonthefloor?
WhyamIonthefloorwithhim?
Isearchmyimmediatesurroundingsforclues.
King-sizedbed.Windowopenaboveit,adampwindwispingin.Barelegs,coveredwithgoosebumps.AndtheshirtI’mwearing—No!
Shit.Shit.Shit.
Tissue-paperthin.Fadedtoneartransparency,longenoughtoreachathirdofthewaydownthefrontsofmythighsbutsomehownotlongenoughtocovermywholeass.Acartoonhorsebarrelracingwithacartooncowboyonitsback,yellowserifedfontsuperimposedoverit:THISAIN’TMYFIRSTRODEO
No,no,no,no,no,absolutelynot.Thisisnotmyshirt.
Sure,itusedtobemyfavoriteshirttosleepin,butoncethatUPSboxofmystuffshowedup(awholetwodaysafterourbreakup),I’dstuffedthisshirt—alongwitheveryothertraceofWynIcouldfind—intotheCrate&Barrelboxfromourfirstsetofshareddishesandshippeditrightbacktohim.
WhyamIfixatingontheshirt?
Surely,Ishouldbepanickingaboutthefactthatmyex-fiancéislyingonthefloorbesideme,barechested,facehalfburiedinapillow,hisarmstilladeadweightacrossmylapandhiserectionwedgedagainstme.
“Psst!”Ishovehim.Herocksrightbackintothesameposition.I’vealwaysbeenaterriblesleeper,whereasWyn—whoneverstopsmovingwhileawake—sleepssohardthatIusedtocheckhispulseinthenight.
“Getup!”Ishovehisshoulderharder.Hiseyesflutteropen,slittingagainstthehalf-lightofmorning.
“What?”hegrumbles,oneeyeclosingtobetterfocusonme.“What’swrong?”
“What’swrong?”Ihissback.“Howdidthishappen?HowcouldIletthishappen?Howcouldyouletthishappen?”
“Holdup.”Hepusheshimselfup,scrubshishairback.“Tellmewhathappened.”
“Whathappened?”Mywhisperpitchesuptoateakettlewhistle.“Weslepttogether,Wyn!”
Hiseyeswiden.“Slepttogether?”Helaughshoarsely.“Whenwouldwehaveslepttogether,Harriet?InbetweenyouandKimmydoingbodyshotsandme—literally—carryingyouupthestairs?”
“But…”IlookaroundforallthatevidenceI’dcataloged.“I’mwearingyourshirt.”
“Becauseyoupukedonyours,”hesays.“AndwhenIwenttogetyouanotherone,youdemanded,quitevehemently,theI’vebeentosomanyfuckingrodeosshirt.”
Igawkathim,tryingtorecallthenighthe’sdescribing.“Thatdoesn’tsoundlikeme.”
“Areyoukidding?”hesays.“Youoncetoldmeyouwantedtobeburiedinthatshirt.Andthenthatyoudidn’twanttobeburied,soI’dhavetocremateyouinit.”
“Idon’tdemandthings,”Isay.
“Yeah,”hesays.“Thatpartwasapleasantsurprise.”
“Wait.”Thefrontofmyheadthrobs.Ipushmyhandsagainstit,hard.“WhyamIonthefloor?”
“Becauseyourefusedtotakethebed,”hesays.
“Andwhyareyouonthefloor?”
“Because,”hesays,“Irefusedtotakethebedfirst.Ithinkyouweretryingtomakeapoint,butyoupassedoutprettyfast,andthenIwasworriedyoumightgetsickagainandchokeonyourownvomit.”
“Oh.”Anothernailpoundsintothespotabovemyrighteye.Mystomachmakesanoiselikeapossumwho’sbothdyingandinheat.
Irememberchuggingtheglassofwineinthekitchenandgoingbackontothepatio.
IrememberParthplayingoneofhisfamouspartyplayliststhroughthefancyoutdoorspeakershiddeninfakerocks,andeveryonedancing,exceptCleoandWyn,whohungbackbythefire,deepinconversation,andIrememberhowdespicablybeautifulhelooked,backlitbytheflames.ThenParthhauledhimandSabrinabodilyovertotherestofus,andIremembertellingWynthatsittingbythefire,he’dlookedlikethedevil,andhimsaying,Stopflirtingwithme,Harriet,andmefeelingangryandsomethingelseentirely.Thingsgetfuzzyafterthat.Probablyforthebest,ifthatlastlittleflickerisanythingtogoon.
“Whydon’tyoufeellikecompleteshitrightnow?”Iask.
“Probably,”hesays,“becauseIdrankhalfasmuchwineasyou,andonehundredpercentfewershotsthanyoutookoffKimmy’sstomach.”
“Thatwastrue?”Isay.“Ididabodyshot?”
“No,youdidn’tdoabodyshot,”hesays.
Myshouldersrelax.
“Youdidfourbodyshots.”
“Whydidn’tanyonestopus?”Iask.
“ProbablybecauseCleowenttobedearly,SabrinaandParthwerehavingthetimeoftheirlives,andeverytimeIcamenearyou,you’drubyourassonmycrotchuntilIleftyoualone.”
Iscootabruptlybackfromhim.“ThereisabsolutelynowayIdidthat.”
“Don’tworry,”hesays.“Itwasclearlyvengefulgrinding.”
Irubtheheelsofmyhandsovermyeyebrows.
Wynreachesbackfortheglassonthenightstandbehindus.“Drinksomewater.”
“Idon’tneedwater,”Isay.“Ineedatimemachine.”
“I’mnotmadeofmoney,Harriet.Water’sallI’vegot.”
Iswipetheglassfromhim.AssoonasI’vedrainedit,heplucksitfrommyhandandstands,paddingintothebathroomportionofourfuck-palaceandturningonthefaucet.Icrawltowardthebalconyandpushupontomykneestoopenthedoor,draggingtheblanketoutsidewithmetoswallowsomebiggulpsoffreshseaair.
Thesun’sbarelycomeup.There’stoomuchmisttoseemuchofanything.Everything’sashimmeringgray.
“Here.”
Iflinchatthesoundofhisvoice.Wyn’ssteppedoutbesidemeandholdstherefilledglassout,alongwithacoupleofibuprofen.Begrudgingly,Idownthepills.
“Idon’tneedyoutotakecareofme,”Isay.
“You’vealwaysmadethatclear.”Helowershimselftositbesidemeonthedampwood,hisarmscoiledaroundhisknees,hisgazeoutonthewater.Orwherethewatermustbe,hiddenbehindthesilvercurtain.“Sincewhendoyoudrinklikethat?”
“Idon’t.”Athislook,Iadd,“Underusualcircumstances.Butasyou’llrecall,thesecircumstancesarelessthanideal.”
Hepusheshishairoutofhisface.“CanIaskyousomething?”
“No,”Isay.
Henods,hisgazesteadyontheinvisiblehorizon.
MycuriositybubblesupuntilIcan’tignoreit.“Fine.What?”
“You’rehappy,aren’tyou?”Helooksatmesidelong,thecornersofhismouthtense,thoughtfulridgesbetweenhisbrows.
Thatexaggeratedseesawingsensationrocksthroughme,onlywiththeaddedbenefitoftherebeingaturbulentoceanofalcoholinmystomach.
There’snorightanswer.Tellhimhedidtherightthing,andhegetsabsolution.TellhimI’mnothappy,andI’madmittingthatevennow,apartofmewantshim.Thathe’sgonebacktobeingmyphantomlimb,anunstoppableachewheresomething’smissing.
I’msavedbythebell.Exceptthebellisanairhornappattopvolume,blastingthroughthehallway,followedbyamuffledshriek—Kimmy—of“GROCERY.GLADIATORS.BITCHES!”Parthlaysontheairhornagain.
Wynlumberstohisfeet,hisquestionforgotten,myansweravoided.“Atleastsomeonerememberedtohydratebeforebed.”9
RealLife
Tuesday
“Ihaveneverlovedagrocerystore,”Isay,“likeIlovethisgrocerystore.”
“Iloveallgrocerystores.”SabrinawheelsourcartaroundanendcaptowardtheCrayola-brightproducesection.
“Honestly,Ihaveahardtimewithgrocerystoresnow,”Cleosays.“Onceyoustartgrowingyourownfruitsandveggies,everythingelsepalesincomparison.”
“Oh,isthatso?”Sabrinapausestofeelacoupleofmangoes.“Iwouldn’tknow.”
Somethingaboutthewayshesaysitmakesitclearit’sabarb.Oritatleastsuggeststhat,andthenthewayCleo’seyesflickupbutdon’tfullyrollconfirmsit.
“I’vetoldyou,”Cleosays.“Youcanvisitinthewinter.Thingsaretoobusynow.”Sheshootsmealook.“Openinvitation,Harry:ifyouandWynwanttocomeuptothefarmthentoo,we’dlovetohaveyou.”
Ifocusoncheckingaboxofstrawberriesformold.Becausethisadorablecoastalmarkethasbeenblessedbyangels,thereisn’tthetiniestbitoffuzz.Icheckthreemoreboxes,allofthemmold-free.“Seriously,”Isay.“Thisisthebestgrocerystoreontheplanet.”
“Youlikethisgrocerystorebecauseyoudon’thavetomakeanydecisionsbecauseyou’realwayswithus,andI’mgoodatmakinglists,”Sabrinasays.“AndyouhateeveryothergrocerystorebecauseI’mnottheretomealplanforyou.Ifyoumovedbackinwithus,wecouldfixthat.”SheturnstoCleo.“AndParthandIareamazinghouseguests,bytheway.WealwaysbringchocolatebabkafromZabar’s.”
Shesaysitflatly,inherunbotheredSabrinaway,butIcantellbyCleo’sexpressionthatthelittlejabsarelandingwithsomeforce.“Wedidn’tcancelyourvisitbecausewethinkyou’rebadhouseguests,”shesays.“Thingsjustgothectic.”
BeforeSabrinacanreplytothat,Ijumpin:“Well,I’msogladyouandKimcouldstillmakethetripwork.Thatmeansalot.”
Cleo’smouthsoftensintoasmile.“I’mgladtoo.”ShebrushesahandoverSabrina’selbow.“Imean,howoftendotwoofyourbestfriendsgetmarried?”
Sabrinagrinsnowtoo,irritationapparentlyforgotten.“Well,inthiscase,atleasttwice,sincewe’llstillhavetodoabigfamilyweddingnextyear.Plus,ifParthhashisway,therewillprobablybethreeorfourmoresprinkledintheresomewhere.”
“Well,ofcourse,”Isay.“You’vegottomakesureitsticks.”
Fromthefarendoftheshop,IcanhearKimmybarkingordersatWynandParthlikeshe’samusher.Theirstrategyinthispseudo-gameisalwaystogoasfastaspossible,whichmeanstheyenduphavingtocirclethewholestorelikethreetimes,whileCleo,Sabrina,andIlazilymeander,testingfruitandsortingthroughtheimpressiveimportedcheesefridge.ThereareusuallyevenacoupleofCleo’sfavoritenutcheeses.
Thegame’sgottenmoreelaborateovertheyears.WearenowtothepointwhereSabrinamakesthelist,cutsitintotinyone-linestrips,foldsthestrips,putstheminabowl,andhaseachofustaketurnspullingrandomgroceryitemsoutuntilboth“teams”haveanevennumber.
AnotherreasonIknowthisisnotarealgame:Sabrinaclearlydoesnotgiveonesingleshitaboutwinning,andsheisalwayshypercompetitive.
“Holdonasec.”Cleoducksdowntherowoffridgesandreturnswiththreelargecoconutwaters.Shedropstwointoourcartandpushestheotheratme.“You’regreen.”
Sabrinaexaminesme.“Morelikechartreuse.”
Aflashofmemory:Parthshovinggreendrinkswithpaperumbrellasintooursweatyhandsaswedancedaroundthepatio.
Iwince.“Don’tsaythatword.”
Sabrinacackles.“Whataboutpuce?”
“Puceismorelikeadarkred,”Cleoputsinhelpfully.
“Likeifoneweretopukeupredwine?”Sabrinaasks.
IgrabalooseMaineblueberryandthrowitather.Atthefrontofthestore,someoneiswhooping.“WeAretheChampions”startstoplayoverphonespeakers.
“Wow,”Sabrinasays,tossingacoupleofblueberriesintohermouth.“Theywinagain.Whowould’vethought?”
“HowisKimmyevenalive,”Iask,“letalonewhoopingandcheering?”
“Idon’tknow,dude.She’ssuperhuman,”Cleosays.“Plus,shewokemeuptotellmeaboutthebodyshots,andItooktheopportunitytopourthreegallonsofwaterintohermouth.”Herbrowarches.“KindofsurprisedWyndidn’tthinktodothatforyou.HewastotallysoberwhenIwenttobed.”
Ibusymyselfwithanotherpackageofblueberries.“Aha!”Ispinback.“Seethat?Mold.”
“Everyrosehasitsthorn,”Sabrinasays,anglingourcartbacktowardthefrontoftheshop.“Justlikeeverycowboysingsasad,sadsong.”
Anotherflashofmemory:me,kneelingontheground,atopthecomforterWyn’sdraggedtothefloor.Armsup,baby,hesaysgently.HepeelstheruinedwhiteT-shirtovermyhead,runsacoolwashclothovermycollarbones,collectingwhat’sleftofmymess.Icanbarelykeepmyeyesopen.Didyougetmetheshirtabouttherodeos?TheI’vebeentosomanyfuckingrodeosshirt?
Igotit,hesays.Armsbackup.Imustnotliftthemhighenough,becausehisroughpalmscatchtheundersidesofmybicepsandeasethemovermyhead.Thenthebutter-softfabricisbeingtuggeddownaroundme,poolingagainstthetopsofmythighs.
Ilovethisshirt,Igrumble.
Iknow,hesays,slidingmyhairoutfromunderthecollar.That’swhyIbroughtit.Nowgotosleep
“Har?”Cleojoltsmeoutofthememory.“Youactuallyarepucenow.”
“Thatword.”Ipressmyhandovermymouthandboltforthebathroom.
???
TheinstantIstepunderthejanglingbellsandintoMurder,SheRead,Ifeelfivehundredthousandtimesbetter.
Whichistosay,Istillfeellikeuttershit,butshitensconcedinbooksandsun-warmedwindows.Shitwithsugaryicedlatteflowingthroughitsveins.
I’veneverfinishedachapterononeofthesetrips,letaloneabook,butI’vealwayslovedcominghere,pickingoutmynextread.
WynandCleosplitoffforNonfiction,andKimmydartstoRomance.ParthheadsforGeneralFiction,andSabrinaveerstowardHorror.Ialoneheadfortheblackcoffinmountedtothewall,doorajarandwaiting,Mysteriespaintedingoldlettersatthetopofthebox.
Istepthroughittotheroombeyond,aspacenearlyaslargeasallothergenrescombined.
I’dneverbeenabigreaderuntilthesummerbeforeIstartedatMattingly,whenallmyhighschoolextracurricularsandAPsummerworkabruptlyended.Myacceptanceto(andfundingfor!)theschoolofmydreamswasalreadyassured,andIwasboredforthefirsttimeinmylife.
Ifoundthedime-storemysteryinEloise’soldroom,nowthefamilyoffice,whenIwentintolookforpackingtape.Isatonthewindowsilltoreadthefirstpageanddidn’tlookupuntilI’dfinishedthebook.Afterward,Iwentstraighttothelibraryforanother.Iprobablyreadtwentycozymysteriesthatsummer.
Irunmyfingersalongthepaperbackspines,eachtitlefeaturingaworsepunthanthelast.AsIpulloneout,Cleoappearsatmyside.“Ithoughtyou’dreadthatone.”
“This?”Iholditup.“Maybeyou’rethinkingofDyingtoGive.Theoneabouttheauctioneermurderedatthefundraiser.Thisone’sDyingtoSieve,aboutabakerwhofindsabodyinsideabagofflour.”
“Awholebody?”shesays.
“It’sareallybigbag,”Isay.“Orareallysmallbody,I’mnotsure,butforameresixdollarsandninety-ninecents,Icouldfindout.Didyoufindsomethingalready?”
Sheholdsupadictionary-sizedtomewithagiantillustrationofamushroomonitspalegreencover.
“Didn’tyoualreadyreadthatone?”Isay.
Hermouthcurls.“You’rethinkingofFabulousFungi.ThisisMiraculousMushrooms.”
“Howsillyofme,”Isay.
Sheleansawayfrommetopeerthroughthedoorwaytotherestofthestore.“Sowhatdoyouthinkaboutallthis?”
“Allwhat?”
“SabrinaandParth,”shesays.“Gettingmarried.Inlikefourdays.”
“Iguesswhenyouknow,youknow.”Islidethebookbackontotheshelfandkeepskimming.
“Yeah.”Amomentlater,shesays,“Iguessthingshavejustfeltalittleoffwithher.”
“Really?”Ihaven’tnoticedanything,butthenagain,Ihaven’tbeenexceptionallypresentthelastfewmonths.I’veknownthatthenexttimewetalked—reallytalked—I’dhavetotalkaboutthebreakup.
“MaybeI’mreadingintoittoomuch,”Cleosays,swirlingherraspberryicedtea.“Butlastmonth,shetextsmeoutofthebluethatsheandParthweregoingtocomeupforavisit.AndIsaidyes,becausesheseemedsetonit.OnlylaterIrealizedwewerewaytooswamped,soIaskedtoreschedule,andI’vebarelyheardfromhersincethen.Whenwegotinyesterday,Itriedtotalktoheraboutit,butshebrusheditoff,andthentodaysheseemsmadaboutitagain.”
Myfingersstop,hookedoveraspine:MurderintheMaternityWard.“Ithinkshe’sjusttakingthiscottagethinghard,”Isay.“Idon’tthinkit’spersonal.”
Cleoscrewsuphermouth.“Maybe.”Sheliftsherbraidsoffhershoulder,shakingthemtofanherneck.There’snoairflowinhere,andthehumidityisdense.“IguessI’lltrytotalktoheragaintonight.Ijustwantedtoseeifyou’dnoticedanything…differentwithher.”
“Nope!”Isay,probablyabittoochipper.“Ithinkeverythingseemstotallynormal.”
Cleo’sheadcocks.I’mfullyexpectinghertocryYouandWynbrokeup,didn’tyou?atanysecond.Instead,shetucksherarmthroughmineandrestsherheadonmyshoulder.“I’mprobablyjusttired,”shesays.“IalwaysworrymorewhenI’mtired.”
Ifrown.I’vebeensoself-absorbed(and/ordrunk)thatsomehowImissedthewayherfacehasthinned,andthefaintpurpleblotsbeneathhereyes.“Hey,”Isay.“Areyouokay?”
“Whywouldn’tIbe?”That’saweirdlyevasivereplyforCleo.
“Becauseyourunawhole-assfarm,”Isay.“Andyouarebutonedaintyfive-foot-two-inchwoman.”
Hersmilebrightensherwholeface.“Yes,butyouforget:mygirlfriendisafive-foot-ten-inchScandinavianAmericangoddesswhocandrinkfourbarrelsofmoonshineandstillwinagrocerystorerace.”
“Clee,”Isay.
Shechecksoverhershoulder,thendropshervoice.“Okay,yes,I’mstressed,”shesays.“Thetruthis,KimmyandIwentbackandforthaboutbowingoutofthisyear’stripforthelastthreeweeks.WhenItoldSabrinawemighthavetomissit,itdidnotgowell,sowedecidedwe’dcomeforacoupleofdays.Onlynowwecan’theadbackearlyafterall,sowe’rescramblingtohaveneighborsgotakecareofthingsforusathome.”
“I’msosorry,”Isay.“HowcanIhelp?”
“It’sokay.It’soneweekofstress.Well,andthefullweekitwilltakeustocatchuponthetimeaway.”
“Hey!”
Forsomereason—quitepossiblyallthesubterfugeI’mcurrentlyengagedin—IjumpwhenSabrinapopsherheadinbetweenus.
Cleodoestoo.“Don’tsneakuponus.”
“Um,Iliterallyjustwalkedup,”Sabrinasays.“DidIcatchyoutwointhemiddleofadrugdealorsomething?”ShereachesbetweenustograbCleo’sbook,scrutinizingthecover.“Mushrooms?Again?”
Cleo’slipsthin.“They’refascinating.”
“Whataboutyou,Sab?”Icutin.“Didyoufindanything?”
“Ohmygod,yeah,”shesays.“ThisbookisafictionaltakeontheDonnerParty.”
“How…nice,”Isay.
Shecackles,grabsthebookoutofmyhand.Ididn’trealizeIwasholdingone—Imust’veyankeditoutwhenshesurprisedus.“Harry,”shesays,readingthebackofit.“Thisbookiseverybitasfuckedasmine.”
“Iguaranteeit’snot,”Isay.
“Aninteriordesignerfindsahandbehindawall,”shesays.
“Yes,butit’scozy.”Itakethebookback.
“Howisthatcozy,”sheasks.
“It’sacozymystery,”Isay.“It’shardtoexplain.”
“Oh-kay.”HervoicewrenchesupintoawordlessyipofsurpriseasKimmyappearsathershoulder.Besideme,Cleograbsfortheedgeofthebookshelf,asifforsupport.
“Whyiseveryonesojumpy?”Kimasks.
“Sabrina’sreadingabouttheDonnersagain,”Cleosays.
“It’sfiction,”Sabrinasays.
Cleoasks,“WhereareParthandWyn?Aretheyfinished?”
Kimmyshrugs.“IpassedParthbythefancybooks.”
“Whatarethefancybooks?”Iask.
“Shemeanshe’slookingforsomethingtheNewYorkTimeshasdescribedas‘revelatory,’?”Sabrinasays.
“Actually…”Parthwalksupwithapaperbagalreadyinhand.“IpickedthisbecausetheWallStreetJournalgaveitsuchacrankyreviewIneededtoreaditmyself.It’sbythismarriedcouplewhousuallypublishseparately.Oneofthemwritesliterarydoorstopnovelsandtheotherwritesromance.”
“What!”Kimmysnatchesthebook.“Iknowthem!”
“Seriously?”Parthasks.
“IwenttocollegewiththeminMichigan,”shesays.“Theyweren’ttogetheryet,though.Herbooksarereallyhorny.Isthisonehorny?”
“TheWallStreetJournalreviewdidn’ttouchonthehorniness,”Parthsays.
“IsWyndone?”Sabrinaasks.
“Checkingoutnow,”Parthconfirms
“What’dheget,aSteinbecknovel?”sheasks.
Parthshrugs.“Dunno.”
There’snowayWyn’sgettingaSteinbecknovel.I’msurprisedhe’sbuyingabook,period,sinceweneverhavetimetoreadonthesetripsandhe’scautiouswithhisspending.Butifhewasgoingtogetabook,itwouldn’tbeabouttheAmericanWest.Hewould’vefeltliketoomuchofacaricature.
ParthandSabrinaherdustowardtheregister.CleogetshermushroombookandIbuyDeathbyDesign,andthenwestepoutontothecobbledstreet.Thesunishighinthesky,notraceofmistleft,onlydazzlingblue.Acrossthestreet,Kimmyspotsaflowercartinfrontofthefloristand,withasquealofdelight,pullsCleoafterher.
“ParthandIaregonnagrabmorecoffee.”SabrinatiltsherheadtowardtheWarmCup,thecafénextdoorwiththeawning-shelteredwalk-upwindow.We’vealreadybeentwicetoday.Oncebeforethemarket,onceafter.
“Wantanything?”sheasks.
“I’mgood,thanks,”Itellher.
“Wyn?”
Heshakeshishead.Astheywanderoff,westandinsilence,avoidinggazes.“Imeanttotellyou,”hesaysfinally.“ItalkedtoParthlastnight.”
“And?”
Heclearshisthroatalittle.“You’reright.We’llhavetotellthemafterthisweek.”
I’mnotsurewhythatfloodsmewithrelief.Therestofmyweekisnowguaranteedtobetorturous.ButatleastParthandSabrinawillgettheirperfectday.
Wyngetsatext.He’snotusuallysoattentivetohisphone.Whilehe’scheckingit,Ileantowardhimalittle,tryingtopeerintohispaperMurder,SheReadbag.
Hestuffshisphonebackintohispocket.“Youcanjustask.”
“Askwhat?”Isay.
Hisbrowlifts.Istarebackathim,impassive.Slowly,heslideshispurchasefromthebagandholdsitouttome.It’shuge.
TheEamesWay:TheLifeandLoveBehindtheIconicChair
“Thisisacoffee-tablebook,”Isay.
“Isit?”Heleansovertolookatit.“Shit.Ithoughtitwasanairplane.”
“Sincewhendoyoubuycoffee-tablebooks?”Iask.
“Isthissomekindoftrickquestion,Harriet?”hesays.“Youknowthesedon’trequireaspeciallicense,right?”
“Yes,buttheyrequireacoffeetable,”Isay.“AndGloria’swon’thaveroomforthis.”Wyn’smotherisapackrat.Notinagrossway,justinasentimentalone.Orratherhisfatherwas,andGloriahasn’tchangedmuchabouttheConnorfamilyhomesinceherhusbandpassed.
ThelasttimeIwasthere,therewashardlyaninchofspaceontherefrigerator.Shehadaprintoutofagrouppicturewe’dalltakenatthecottageonourfirsttriptapedupthere,rightnexttoaSavetheDateforoneofWyn’scousins,who’dalreadygottenmarried,divorced,andremarriedsincethen.HisoldersisterMichael’sengineeringdegreesatonthemantel,rightnexttoaframedone-pageshortstoryhisyoungersister,Lou,wrotewhenshewasnine,besideaframedphotoofWyn’shighschoolsoccerteam.
Asidefromthelackofspaceinhischildhoodhome,thisbookhadtohavecostatleastsixtydollars,andWyn’sneverbeenonetospendmoney.Notonhimself,andnotonanythingwhosevalueisprimarilyaesthetic.Inourfirstapartmenttogether,heusedatowerofshoeboxesasasidetableuntilhefoundabrokenoneonthestreetthathecouldfix.
Heslidesthecoffee-tablebookoutofmyhandanddropsitbackintohisbag.I’mstillstaring,puzzled,tryingtomakesenseofallthetinydifferencesbetweentheWynoffivemonthsagoandtheWyninfrontofme,buthe’sgonebacktocheckinghisphone.
Kimmycomesboundingupwithabundleofsunflowers.“WhereareParthandSabrina?”sheasks,shieldinghereyesagainstthesun.
“Sabrinaneededmorecoffee,”Wynsays.“AndParthneededmoreSabrina.”
“Awh.”Sheclutchesherheart.“They’resocute.Terrifying,butcute.”
IcatchWynpeekingintothebagagain,sortofsmilingtohimself.
Inmychest,ametrictondropsontotheproverbialseesaw.
Ohmygod.
Thebeard,theslightsofteningofhisbody,thesixty-dollarcoffee-tablebook.Allofthetexting.
Ishe…nesting?
Ishedatingsomeone?
Theseesawjoltsbackintheotherdirection.Aburstofcoldair-conditioningandroastedespressobeanswaftstowardusasSabrinaandParthemergefromthecoffeeshop’slesser-usedinterior.“Idon’tknowabouty’all,”Sabrinasaysafteraloudslurponherpaperstraw,“butIcouldusesomepopovers.”
Ordinarily,thethoughtwouldmakemymouthwater.
Rightnow,theideaofdumpingfriedeggandjamintomyseethingstomachisworsethanhearingpuceathousandtimesinrapidsuccession.
Ismilesohardmymolarstwinge.“Soundsgreat.”
“Awh.Sunflowers.Sablovesthose.”Parthleansovertosmellthem.
Kimmythruststhebundletowardhim.“TheseareforyouandSabrina.”
“They’rejustasample,”Cleoputsin.“WewentaheadandorderedsomebouquetsforSaturday.Iknowyouwantittobesimple,butit’snotaweddingwithoutflowers.”
SabrinagoesfromeyeingthebouquetlikeitmightbesomekindofTrojanhorse,sneakilystuffedwithtinymushroomencyclopedias,toclappingherhandstogetheronagasp.“Cleo!Youdidn’thavetodothat.”ShehooksanarmaroundCleo’shead,pullingherinforahug.“They’regorgeous.”
“You’regorgeous,”Cleosays,startingdownthestreet,therestofusfollowinglikebabyducks.
“No,youguys,”Parthsays,“I’mgorgeous.”
Wynhangsbackbesideme,askstersely,“Whatjusthappenedinthere?”
“Inwhere?”Isay.
“Yourbrain,”hesays.
“Bodyshots,”Isay.“Mybrainisfullofbodyshots.”
“Bothasurgeonandamedicalanomaly,”hesays.
“WhatcanIsay,”Ireplyflatly.“I’m—”
“Iknow.”Hewaveshisarminacircle.“Vast.”
Mystomachlurchesattheyears-oldinsidejoke.“Iwasgoingtosayhungover.”10
HappyPlace
Mattingly,Vermont
Anewapartmentforoursenioryear,thefirstfloorofapeelingwhiteVictorianattheedgeoftown.Windowsthatrattlewheneverthewindblows,ahalf-collapsedporchwhereSabrinaandIintendtospendthefallsippingbrandy-spikedhotcider,andapatchofsideyardwhereIpromisetohelpCleoplantavegetablegarden:broccoli,cauliflower,kohlrabi—thingsthatcanwithstandthefrostthatwillarriveinafewshortmonths.
WynwassupposedtobeinNewYorkrightnow,sharingaloftwithParth,makinghiswayinanewcitywhilehisbestfriendstudieslawatFordham.Ifhehadn’tfailedthatmathclassasecondtimeoroverlookedhishistorygenedrequirement,everythingmightbedifferent.
Instead,he’slivingwithus.Tosavemoney,CleoandIsharethebiggestroom.Sabrinagetsthenextone.Wynhastheshoeboxoriginallyintendedforme.
Themorningaftermove-inday,Parthhasdonutsdeliveredforus.Thenotereads,Ifyoudon’tallcometogradschoolinNewYorknextyear,Iwillbepressingcharges
Realistically,I’llhavetogotowhatevermedicalschoolwilltakeme.Likewise,Sabrinawillhavetochoosehernextcitybasedonherownlawschooladmission,andCleowilldothesamewithanMFAprogram.Buttheideaisalluring—allofustogetherinanewcity—evenasI’munsurehowI’llsurviveoneyearasWynConnor’sroommate.
Ourwholefirstweekintheplace,wemanagenottobealonetogether.Finally,though,webumpintoeachotherearlyonemorninginthestuffykitchen.Thesun’sstartedtocomeup,andhe’smakingcoffee.HefillsamugwiththeMontanastateflagprintedononesideandpassesittome.“IwantyoutoknowIunderstoodwhatyousaid,”hemurmurs.“BackinMaine.”
Hisvoice,stillhuskywithsleep,pullsallthetinyhairsonthebackofmynecktoeagerattention.Hiscloseness,hereinthequietmorning,isoverpowering.
“Idon’twantyoutoworryaboutthisyear,”hetellsme.“Iwon’tmakethingsweird.”
Imanagesomethingthatsoundssortoflike“Oh…good”andsortoflikesomeonewithbothstagefrightandstrepthroathastakenacrackatpublicyodeling.
Andthenhe’snoddingcurtly,lettinghimselfoutthebackdoortocutourgrassbeforethedaygetstoohot,andonceagain,I’mleftwaitingforaspelltobreak.
He’struetohiswordallyear.Acoupleoftimesaweek,hegoesoutwithwomentherestofusnevermeet.Then,inwinter,hestartsseeingonewoman,againandagain,adancernamedAlison.She’sbeautiful.She’snice.Butsheneverstopsbyforlongerthanafewminutesbeforethetwoofthemleaveforthenight.Itrytobehappyforhim.That’swhatafriendwoulddo.
You’renotmyfriend,Harrietsometimesreplaysinmymind.
Hestruggleswithhismathclass,soIvolunteertohelphim.OnTuesdays,westudylateintothenightinMattingly’sdustygoldenlibrary.Hemoans,groans,sayshisbrainwasn’tmadeforthiskindofthing.
“What’sitmadefor,then?”Iask,andhesays,“Tumbleweeds.Theyliketojustrollthrough.”I’venoticedthathedoesthat,talkshimselfdown,self-deprecates,andhedoesitlikeit’sajokehe’sinon,butIthinkhemightmeanit,andIhateit.
Whilewe’restudyingforfinals,hebringsmevendingmachinecoffeeandchocolatechipminimuffins,Snickersbars,andSkittles,andevenwithallthatcaffeineandsugarandtherushofbeingclosetohim,Idriftofftosleep,facedownonatextbook,andwaketohimnudgingmyshoulderfromacrossthetable.
WhenIliftmyface,hegrinsandsmudgesthetransferredinkawayfrommycheek.
“Thanks,”Isaysleepily.
“Whatarefriendsfor?”hesays.
You’renotmyfriend,Harriet
Thefourofuscookelaboratedinnerstogetherinourcrampedkitchen,Sabrinaactingassous-chef.WesitonthefrontporchwhileCleosketchesusinahundreddifferentposes,andwhenitsnows,WynandItakelongwalksthroughtowntogethotchocolateormaplelattes,despitethefactthathehardlytouchessweets.
WhenoneofusgoestoHannafordforgroceries,wedouble-checkwhethertheotherneedsanything,andevenifIsayno,whenWynwalksintotheapartment,he’llsetapintofblueberryicecreamonmydeskinfrontofme,withoutaword.
AndwhenSabrinaandIgetourrespectiveacceptanceemailsfromColumbia—herfromtheirlawschoolandmefromtheirmedicalschool—andinashockingtwist,Cleoannouncesshe’sgoingtoworkonanurbanfarminNewYorkCityratherthangettingherMFA,Idon’tevenresisttheprospectofthefourofusfindinganewplacewithParthinNewYork,ofsharingyetanothersetofwallswithWynConnor.
He’sbecomemybestfriendthewaytheothersdid:bitbybit,sandpassingthroughanhourglasssoslowly,it’simpossibletopindownthemomentithappens.Whensuddenlymoreofmyheartbelongstohimthandoesn’t,andIknowI’llnevergetasinglegrainback.
He’sagoldenboy.I’magirlwhoselifehasbeendrawninshadesofgray.
Itrynottolovehim.
Ireallytry.11
RealLife
Tuesday
UsuallyonTuesdaywetakeadaytriptoAcadiaNationalPark,themostbeautifulplaceI’veeverseenand,perhapsmoreimportantly,thelocationofourfavoritepopoverrestaurant.
I’vebeendreamingaboutfluffy,strawberry-slatheredrollsforweeks,butnowallIwantistoclimbintoacool,darkholewithabarrelfullofTumsandatwo-literbottleofgingerale.
Afteraquickstophometochange,hydrate,andpee,werepackthecarswithpicnicsupplies.Theprocessofgettingeveryoneandeverythingoutthedoorislikeherdingcatsonacid.Likethecatsareonacid,andthecatshepherdisalsoonacid.
RightasParthreturnsfromusingtherestroom,Kimmyrealizessheforgothersunglassesanddartsbackinside.
Sabrinasays,“DoyouthinkthefirsttwohoursoftheirdaysonthefarmareCleosendingKimmybackintothehouseforeveryindividualitemofclothingshe’sforgottentoputon?”
“Andoncemorewhensheaccidentallyputsherpantsonherhead,”Cleocallsfromdownbythecars.
“That’snotanaccident,babe,”Kimmysays,barrelingbackoutside.“I’mjustwaitingforthedayyoufinallyembracemyforward-thinkingapproachtofashion.”
“Wearwhateveryouwant,”Cleosays.“I’mmoreconcernedwithwhat’sunderneath.”
“Awh!”KimmykissesthesideofCleo’sneck.“Idon’tknowifyou’rebeinglasciviousorsentimental,buteitherwayI’lltakeit.”
Sabrinaslapsherforehead.“Thewine.Canyourundowntothecellarandgrabit?”
“Pickanythingpinkorwhite?”Iguess.
Sheshakesherhead.“It’stheDidierDagueneauSilexfrom2018.Youmind?”
“It’snotthatImind,”Isay.“It’sjustthatIrecognizedveryfewofthosewords.”
“Silex,”sherepeats,jogginghermultipletotebagsuphershoulders.“Itsaysthatonthelabel,followedbyDidierDagueneau,andyou’relookingforthe2018.It’sawhite.”
IdropmyownbaginsidethedoorasIdoubleback.Thedoortothewinecellarsitsajar,thelightsalreadyon.Allegedly,therearebottlesworthtwentythousanddollarsdownthere.HopefullynoneofthosealsostartswithSilexandendswitheau.
AsIdescend,afaintrustlingrisestomeetme.
Atthebottomofthesteps,IroundthecornerandstopshortatthesightofWyn,limnedinthesoftgoldenoverheadlightinglikesometorturedfallenangelasplayedbyJamesDean.
“Silexsomething-something?”hesays.
“Sabrinamust’veforgottenshe’dalreadysentyoutogetit.”Iturntogo
“I’vebeenstaringatthisspotforliketenminutes.It’snothere.”
Ihesitate.WhenIpicturedretreatingtoacool,darkcave,thiswasn’twhatIhadinmind,butifSabrinahasherheartonthisparticularwine,we’renotleavinguntilwefindit.Imeanthatliterally.Whenshegetsanideaintoherhead,there’slittleroomfordeviation.SeealsoherreactiontoCleocancelingherandParth’svisittothefarm.
Iletoutabreathandcrosstowardhim,crouchinginfrontoftheshelftorunmyfingersacrossthelabels.
“I’vecheckedeverywhere,”hesays,grumpy.
“It’sbasicallyauniversallawthatifonepersonlooksforsomethingforanextendedperiodoftime,thenthenextpersontowalkuptoitwillspotitimmediately.”
“How’sthatgoing?”heasks.
Amongthedozensofchardonnays,Rieslings,sauvignonblancs,gewürztraminers:noSilex.
“Satisfied?”hesays.
Thehairatthenapeofmynecktugsupwardathisbemusedtone.Mybrainwanderstotheabsoluteworstplaceitcouldpossiblygointhisparticularroom.
Thecellar,forus,isfullofghosts.Notthescarykind.Sexyghosts.
Istraightenup.“Justgrabawhitethatdoesn’tlooktooexpensive.”
Hiseyesflash.“YouwantmetolookforaBigLotsclearancesticker,Harriet?”
“Choosesomethingtheyhavemorethanoneof,”Isay,practicallyrunningforthestairs,likehe’sariptideIneedtoclawfreefrom.
Halfwayupthesteps,Inoticethedoor’sshut.ThenIreachthetop,andtheknobwon’ttwist.Won’tevenbudge.
Iknockonthedoor.“Sab?”
Atthebottomofthesteps,Wynstepsintoview,abottleofwineinhand.
“Thedoormust’velocked,”Iexplain
“Why’dyoushutit?”heasks.
“Well,Iwashopingitwouldautomaticallylock,fromtheoutside,andI’dbetrappeddownherewithyou,”Ideadpan.
Heignoresthesarcasmandclimbsup,brushingmeasidetotrytheknobhimself.
“Seemstobelocked,”hesays,probablytoannoyme.
Hepoundsonthedoor.“Cleo?Parth?Anyone?”
Icanfeelheatrisingoffhisskin.Idescendacoupleofsteps,checkmypocketsformyphoneasIgo.Onceagain,mypocketsaretiny,andmyphonemustbeinmybag,inthefoyer.
“Callsomeone,”Isay.
Wynshakeshishead.“Ileftmyphoneinthecar.Youdon’thaveyours?”
“Upstairs,”Isay.“We’llhavetowaituntiltheygetsickofwaitingandsendsomeonetohurryusup.”
Wyngroansanddropsontothetopstep,settingthebottledownbyhisankle.Hebowshisheadandknotshisfingerstogetheragainstthebackofhisneck.
AtleastI’mnottheonlyonepanicking.
Ofcourse,I’mfreakingoutaboutbeingherewithhim,andhe’sfreakingoutbecausehe’sclaustrophobic.Hehasbeeneversincehewasakidandabrokenarmoirefellonhiminhisparents’workshopwhilenooneelsewashome.Hewastrappedforhours.
Assoonasthedoor’sopen,he’llbefine.WhereasI’llstillbereelingfromthepurchaseofastupidcoffee-tablebook.
Thewholestairwellswaysasanawfulrealizationhitsme.Ilatchontothebanistertokeepfromfallingover.
“What?What’swrong?”Wynleapsup,steadyingmebytheelbows.Hisdrawnmouthisvisibleinbitsundertheblacksplotchesswimmingacrossmyvision.
“Weweretakingtwocars,”Isqueakout.“Weweretakingtwocars,soallfourofthemcould’veleftintheRover.”
Hiseyesdarken,cloudscreepingacrossthegreen.“Theywouldn’t.”
“Theymight,”Isay.
“Wedon’tneedtoassumethat’swhathappened.Theycouldbebackanysecond.”Hestaresattheceiling,doingsomekindofmentalcalculation.
Idescendtherestofthesteps,tryingtoregainthespacebetweenus.Buthefollows.“Thisisn’tmyfault,Harriet.”
“DidIsayitwas?”Iask.
“Youstormedoff,”hesays.“There’sanimplicationthere.”
Ispinbacktohim.“Wyn.We’reinatwelve-footbox.Thatwasn’tstorming.Thereisn’troomforstorming.ButifyourpointistoremindmethatIshutthedoor,pointreceived.”
“I’mnotblamingyou.Ijust—whothehellhasadoorthatlocksfromtheoutside?”
“It’sapanicroom,”Ipointout.“That’swhatthelittlepanelonthewalldoes.Wecouldunlockitifweknewthecode.”
Hisgazeclears.Heclimbsthestairsinthreelongstridestoexaminethepanel.“There’sabuttontocall911.”
Howlongwillittakeforthemtorealizesomething’swrong?Willtheydriveallthewayouttopickupthepre-hikepopoverswithouttryingtocallus?
Iftheydocall,willtheyassumewedon’tanswerbecausewe’redriving?
Mystomachresumesitsroilingnausea.
“Youwanttocallorwait?”Wynasks.
NowI’mdoingthemathofhowexpensiveitmightbetoreplacethisdoorifthefiredepartmenthastoaxitdownorblowituporsomething.
“Ithink…”Itakeasteadyingbreath,trytofindagriponsomeversionofmymentalhappyplacethathasnothingtodowiththishouseorthisman.“Ithinkwehavetowait,foratleastawhile.”
It’sobviouslynottheanswerhewanted.
“Unlessyoudon’tthinkyoucan—”
“I’mfine,”hesaystersely,perchingonthebottomstep.Hesetsthewineasideandyankshishikingbootoff.
“Ohmygod,Wyn,”Isay.“It’sbeenfiveminutes.Howlonguntilyou’redroppingyourpantsanddesignatingapeecorner?”
Hetearsthefoilfromaroundthewinebottle’scork.“Iwon’tneedapeecorner.I’llusethisbottlewhenwe’redonedrinkingit.You,ontheotherhand…you’regoingtobeoutofluckunlessyoulearntoaim,fast.”
Iunfoldmyarmsonlytorecrossthemwhenhisgazetracksthemovementstraighttomychest.“Areyouwalkingaroundwithacorkscrewinyourpocketattenthirtyinthemorning?”
“No,”hesays,“I’mjusthappytoseeyou.”
“Hilarious.”
Hiseyessteadilyholdmineashesetsthewinebottleintohisbootandsmacksthewholearrangementagainstthewall.
Iyelp.“Whatareyoudoing?”
Hedrivesthebootagainstthewallagainthreemoretimes.Onthelasthit,thecorkleapsupthebottle’sneckahalfinch.Withanothertwoquicksnapsagainstthewall,thecorkpopsoutentirely.Wynliftstheopenbottletowardme.
“I’mconcernedthatyouknowhowtodothat,”Isay.
“Soyoudon’twantany.”Hetakesaswig.Asthebottlelowers,hiseyesdartoverhisshoulder,towardthealcoveunderthestairs.
Heatswiftlyrisesfrommyclaviclestomyhairline.
Don’tgothereDon’tthinkaboutthat
Iknowit’sill-advised,butapartofmeisdesperatelyhopingthere’ssomethingtothewholehair-of-the-dogschooloftreatinghangoverswhenIgrabthebottleandtakeasip.
Nope.Mystomachdoesnotwantthat.Ipassitbacktohim.
“Parthtaughtmethattrick,”hesays.“I’veneverneededtouseitbeforenow.”
“Oh,youhaven’tfoundyourselfimprisonedwithanyotherjiltedloversinthelastfivemonths?”
Hesnorts.“Jilted?NotexactlyhowIrememberit,Harriet.”
“Maybeyouhaveamnesia,”Isuggest.
“Mymemory’sfine,Dr.Kilpatrick,thoughIdoappreciatetheconcern.”Asiftoprovehispoint,hiseyesdarttowardthenookunderthestairsagain.
Hecan’tbeseeingsomeone.He’dnevergoalongwiththisactifhewas.Wynmaybeaflirt,buthe’snotdisloyal.
Unlesshe’sinsomethingbrand-new?Notofficiallyexclusive?
Butifitwerebrand-new,thenwouldhehavealreadyreachedcomfortable-relationshipstatus?
Thelittleso-calledcluescouldjustaseasilyberandombitsofinformationI’mjammingtogethertotellastory.
Butthatdoesn’tmeanheisn’tseeinganyone.
Thebottomlineis,Ihavenoideawhat’sgoingoninhislife.I’mnotsupposedto.
Hetakesafewmoresips.Iguessitdoesn’tdothetrickforhimeither,becausewithinminutes,he’spacing.Herakeshishandsthroughhishairashewalksincirclesaroundthespace,sweatbrimmingalonghisforehead.
“Ifonlyyou’dbroughtyourcoffee-tablebook.”
Wynlooksabruptlybackatme,eyessharplyappraising.
“Thenwe’dhavesomethingtolookat,”Isay.
Hisbrowarches,tuggingonhislip.“Whatdoyouhaveagainstmycoffee-tablebook,Harriet?”
“Nothing.”
“Didyousuffersomekindofcoffee-table-book-relatedtraumainthelastfivemonths?”
“Thatthingcostsixtydollars,”Isay.
Heshakeshishead,goesbacktopacing
“Isitagift?”Isay.
“Whywoulditbeagift?”hesays.Notananswer.
“Becauseyouneverspendthatkindofmoneyonyourself,”Isay.
Thetopsofhischeeksflushalittle,andIreally,reallyregretaskingnow.Wegobacktosittinginsilence.Well,I’msitting.He’spowerwalkingintinyrectangles.
Evenaftereverything,it’shardtoseehimlikethis.
Whenthedefenseofhischarmgetspeeledback,he’salwayssoexpressive.It’spartlywhatmademepouroutsomanysecretstohimallthoseyearsago,thefeelingthatheabsorbedsomepieceofwhateverIgavehim,feltwhatIfelt.Unfortunately,thereversewasalsotrue.
“You’vebeencrammedinmuchsmallerspaces,”Iremindhimashe’spassingmeonhisninetiethlap(bestguess;Ihaven’tbeencounting).
Hisgazeflashestowardthespaceunderthestairsagain.
NotwhatImeant.Myfaceflames.“Likeeverysinglecaryou’veeverbeenin,”Iclarify.
“Busesarebiggerthanthis,”hesays
“True,”Isay.“Buttheyalsosmellworse.Itsmellsgreatdownhere.”
“Itsmellsdamp.”
“It’sMaine,”Isay.“Itisdamp.”
Hetipshisheadback.“I’mfreakingout,Harriet.”
Istandup.“It’sokay.They’llbeheresoon.”
“Youdon’tknowthat.”Hiseyesflickerbacktome,thetensionaroundhismouthrevealinghisdimples.“Theymightthinkwedecidedtohangback…”
Iswallow.“Sabrinawouldn’tstandforthat.We’resupposedtoallbetogether.”
Heshakeshishead.HeseesalltheholesinthatlogicjustlikeIdo.
Sabrinamightbeannoyedifshethoughtwestayedbacktoscoresomealonetime,butshe’salreadyshakenupthenaturalorderofthingsonourbehalf,withgivingusthenicestbedroom.Asidefromthat,ifshetriedtocallandwedidn’tanswer,it’snotlikeshe’dspeedbackhereandstormupstairstotrytocatchusintheact.
Itryadifferenttack.“Youcomedownhereallthetime.Andyou’veprobablybeendownheremuchlongerthanthis,honestly.”
Itrynottogobackthere.
Itrynottorevisitthememory.
Thesummerafterhe,Cleo,Sabrina,andIallgraduated.BeforewemovedtoNewYorktojoinParth.
We’ddrivendownfromVermont,withallourstuffpackedandreadyforthebigmove.Parthhadflowninfromthecity,freshofffinishinghistimeasaFordham1L.
Itwashisideatoplaysardines,akindofreversehide-and-seek.
Weturnedoffallthelights,thenrolleddicetoseewho’dhidefirst.
Wynlost.Wegavehimfiveminutestohidebeforewespreadouttosearchthroughthedarkforhim.
SomehowIknew,thesamewayIalwaysseemedto,exactlywherehewas.
Ifoundhiminthecellar.Underthestairs,therewasawaist-highrackofwine,butbehindittherewasadarknook,emptyspace,andhewastuckedinsideit.Ialmostmissedhim,butonadoubletake,Ispottedashiftingshadow.
We’dlivedtogetherallyearbutwerenevertrulyalone,notlikethat.Forwalks,sure,orinthelibrary,wheretherewasalwayssomeonearoundthecorneratthereferencedesk.
I’dalmostconvincedmyselfwe’dtrulymadeittothelevelofplatonicfriendsuntil,perthegame’srules,Iclimbedoverthatwineracktocurlupinthedarkwithhim,andmythumpingheartandflippingstomachprovedthey’dneverstoppedwaitingforthismoment,thiscloseness.
Iclearmythroat,butthememoryseemstostickinmywindpipe.“Wemust’vebeendownhereforatleastanhour.”
Ihavenoideaifthat’strue.Ijustknoweverysecondbeforewetouchedfeltlikeacentury.Thenoncewedid,timelostallmeaning.IthinkoftheblackholedocumentaryIwatchedwithmydadafewyearsago,howastrophysicistsspeculatedthattherewereplacesinouruniversewheretherulesoftimeandspaceinverted,momentsbecomingaplacewhereyoucouldstayindefinitely.
“Ihadagooddistractionthen,”Wynsays.Noflirtation,nocharm.EarnestWyn.Matter-of-factWyn.
“Youhadtheexactsamedistraction.”Iholdmyarmsouttomysides,shimmeringmyhands.
Helooksskeptical.“Fine,thendistractme,Harriet.”
Itut.“WherearethefamousWynConnormanners?”
Hiseyesglint,onlytheleftdimplewinkingintobeing.“Distractmeplease,Harriet.”Hisvoicedropsalittle.
Isuppresstheshiverthatsizzlesdownmyspine.
Hetakesanothersipofwineandgoesbacktopacing,clenchingandunclenchinghisfists.Hishands,Iknow,gonumbwhenhisclaustrophobiakicksin.
Ihavetodosomething.Ihaveonlyoneidea.
Istand,brushpasthim,andswingonelegovertherackunderthestairs.
“Whatareyoudoing?”heasks.
“Helping.”Carefulnottotopplethethirtyorsobottlesslottedthroughtherack,Iswingmyotherlegover,hunchingsoasnottohitmyheadontheundersideofthestairs.
“Yes,theextraonesquarefootofspaceisahugerelief.”
“Ifyouputyourselfintoasmallerspace,insidethisroom,”Isay,“thenyou’llknowyoucangetoutofthatspacewheneveryouwant.”
“Butwestillcan’tgetoutoftheroom,”hesays.
“It’snotaperfectscience,”Isay.“Butit’ssomething.Andhonestly,nomatterwhat,we’renottrapped.Worstcase,wecallthefiredepartment.Butlet’strythisfirst—Ican’taffordanArmas-approveddoor,andIdon’twantyoutohavetoreturnthatcoffee-tablebook.”
Ahuffoflaughterasheswingshislegover.That’sagoodsign.
Isidesteptomakeroomforhim,butwiththeangleofthestairs,stoopingisn’tenoughthisfarback.Ilowermyselftothegroundandscootintothecorner.
“Nowwhat?”hegrumbles.
“Now?NowweputourheadstogetherandtrytosolvetheZodiacmurders,”Isay.“Sitdown,Wyn.”
Hepromptlyobeys.Atthispoint,Ithinkhe’sintheexactrightheadspacethatIcouldtellhimtostandonhishandsandsing“AveMaria”andhemightdoit.
“Pretendyou’replayingthegame,”Isay.“Pretendweneedtobeasquietandstillaspossibleuntiltheyfindus.”
Raggedly,hesays,“That’snotgoingtowork.”
“Wyn.”
Hisneckbows,hisshouldersrisingandfallingwithhisshallowbreaths.
“Wyn.”
“I’msorry,”hesays.“I’mtryingnottofreakout.”
“Don’tapologize.”Withoutthinking,Ireachforhishand.Aftertheinitialsparkofsurprise,ofrecognition,Irealizehisfingersareice-coldandshaking.
Iflattenhispalmbetweenmine.“Lookatme.Talktome.”
Hekeepshisheaddown.
“Talktome,”Ipressagain.
“Aboutwhat?”heasks.
“Anything,”Isay.“Thefirstthingthatcomestomind.”
“Gettingtrappedunderthearmoire,”hesays.“That’sallIcanthinkabout.BeingsureIwasgoingtodiebeforeanyonefoundme.Losingfeelinginmyleg,andthenthepaincomingbackworsewhentheshockworeoff.”
“Okay,anythingotherthanthat,”Iamend.Ithinkaboutmymeditationapp,thevisualizationexerciseI’vebeenrelyingonthesepastfivemonths.“Tellmeaboutaplaceyoulove.”
Hegivesonefirmshakeofhishead.“I’msorry.”
“Hey.”Iscootcloser.Ourkneesbump.“Youdon’thavetoapologize.Notforthis.”
“IthoughtIwasoverthisshit,”hehuffs.“I’mdoingsomuchbetter.Everythingissomuchbetter—Ithoughtthiswouldbebettertoo.”
Itstings,hearingthat:Everythingissomuchbetter.Ibrushthethoughtaside,clearmythroatagain.“Tellmeaboutwhenweplayedthatgame.”
Idon’tmeantosayit.OrIdon’tknow,maybeIdo.MaybeIneedtoknowthatheremembers,thathehasn’ttotallyforgottenwhatitfeltliketoloveme,whileI’mtrappedwithhimburnedontomyheart,mybrain,mylungs,myskin.
Finally,hisgazelifts.There’sabeatofperfectstillness.“Iwashiding,”hesaysthickly.“Andyoucamedownfirst.Youalmostmissedme.”
“Andthenwhat?”
“AndthenImoved,”hesays.
Iblink.“Youmoved?”
“Soyou’dseeme,”heexplains.“Andyoudid.Iscaredtheshitoutofyou,andIfeltbad.”
“Younevertoldmethat,”Isay.
“Well,Idid,”hesays.“Ihadn’tbeenalonewithyou,notreally,inayear,andyoucamedownthestairs,andIwantedtotouchyousobadly.Butyoudidn’tseeme,andyoustartedtoturn,soImoved.”
Mysternumheats.Mythighsheat.Eventhebacksofmykneesmeltalittle,waxtooneartoaflame.
“Andthenweheardfootsteps,”hegoeson,“andyouweregoingtobecompletelyvisible,soIpulledyoubackintothecornerwithme,whereyou’dbehidden.”Hisfingerstwitchbetweenmine.Someofthewarmthisreturningtothem.
“Ipulledyouintomylap,”hesayshoarsely.“AndIprayedParthwouldgobackupstairswithoutfindingus,andhedid.Icouldfeelyourheartracing,soIknewyoumustbeabletofeelminetoo,andthenIrealizedIwashard.Iwassofuckingembarrassed.Iexpectedyoutogetoutofmylaponcewewerealone.”
Hiseyesreturntomine,hispupilsdilatedfromfightingthedark.“Butyoudidn’t.”
Myheartraces,theliquidwarmthrushingoutfrommycenterasitreplaysinmymind.
HowIstayedthere,inhislap,withhisarmsaroundme,terrifiedthatanymovementwouldbreakthespell.Finally,oneofmyanklesstartedtogonumb,soIshiftedtheslightestbit,andheletoutanunevenbreathatthemotionthatmademefeellikeI’dswallowedahotember.
Hungry,anddesperate,andbraveallatonce.
Howhealwaysmademefeel.
“Thenyoutouchedmyjaw.”Heliftsmyhandslowly,setsitagainsthisscratchyjaw.
“Ididn’tmeanto,”Igetout,almostdefensively.
Idon’tevenknowifImeanwaybackthenornow.Mypulseisscreamingthroughmypalmandfingertipsintohisskin.Thememoryofthatfeveredfirstkissinthedarkpressesinonusfromallsides.
“IthoughtImadeyou.”Hetipshisheadsothatmyhandslidesbacktowardhisear.“Justbywishing.”
“Wishingforthingsdoesn’tmakethemhappen,Wyn,”Isay.
Hishandcirclesmywrist,histhumbgentleonthetenderundersideofit.“Oh?”hesays,hisvoicesoftlyteasing.“Thenwhatwasitthatmadeyoufinallykissme,Harriet?”
Eightyearshavepassed,andstillmynerveendingslightupwiththememoryofhowourbreathcaughtinanunevenback-and-forth,eachofuswaiting,debatingwhatwouldcomenext,untilIcouldn’ttakeanothersecondnotknowingwhatitwasliketokisshim.
“Ididn’tkissyou,”Isay.“Youkissedme.”
Hesmilesunevenly.“Nowwhichofushasamnesia?”
Therestofthememorycrashesoverme.HowItippedmychinupuntilourmouthsbrushed,notquiteakiss.Howhislipspartedandhistongueslippedintomymouth,andafull-bodysigh,thepureundilutedsoundofrelief,slippedoutofme.Atthenoise,hehauledmefurtherupintohislap,anyhesitancydissolvingintoafever,aneed.
Myskineruptswithgoosebumpsatthememoryofhiswhisperagainstmyear—You’resosoft,Harriet—ashishandsstoleupmyshirttofindmoreofme:Theotherswon’tlikethis.
I’dwhisperedback,Ilikeit,andhislaughshiftedintoagroan,andthenapromise:Idotoo.I’mnotsureI’veeverlikedanythingmore
SabrinahadwantedtobringherboyfriendDemetriosonthetrip,butParthhadarguedthatitwouldtransformthevacationintoacouples’trip,whichwouldruinitaltogether.Intheend,everyoneagreeditwasbestforthetriptostayfriends-only.
Idoubtedthey’dbeanyhappiertohearthattwoofthosefriendsweresecretlygoingatitinthewinecellar.Icouldn’tbringmyselftocare.Notuntilthesecondsetoffootstepssoundedonthestairs.Thathadsnappedusbacktoreality.We’djoltedapart,putourselvestorights,bythetimeCleofoundourhidingspotandjoinedit,persardines’rules.
I’dspentthewholerestofthenightbracingmyselfforittoneverhappenagain.Butwhenweshutourselvesintothebedroomthatnight,Wynpickedmeupandsetmeonthedresser,kissingmelikenoteventhirtysecondshadpassed.
Thatwasthen.Themysterywasthethrill.
NowIknowhowhe’dtaste,howhe’dtouchme,howquicklyhe’dbecometheforemostneedinmypersonalMaslow’shierarchyofneeds.WhichiswhyIneedtoputdistancebetweenusagain.Hisgravity’stoostrong.Ishouldprobablyjustbegratefulithasn’tpulledallmyclothesoffmeanddraggedmeintohislap.
“Harriet,”hemurmurs,likeit’saquestion.Hishandslidesupalongmycheek,thecallusesonhisfingerssofamiliar.Ifindmyselfleaningintohispalm,lettinghimtakesomeofmyweight
“TellmeaboutSanFrancisco,”hesayssoftly.
Myveinsfillwithice.Logicregainsafootholdinme.
“YouknowwhatSanFrancisco’slike,”Isay,straighteningawayfromhim,coldairrushingintokissmyskinashishandfallsaway.“There’sabig-assGhirardellistore,andit’salwaysalittlecoldandwet.”
Hisnosedrops,hismouthcloseenoughthatIcantastethewineonhisbreath.“TheGhirardellistore?”
“Thewholecity,”Isay.
“Tellmeaboutyourresidency,”hesays.
Aflarehitsmysolarplexus.Warningbellsjangle.Iknowwhathe’sgettingat—orratherwhomhe’sgettingat—andamixofangerandnauseasquirmsthroughmygut.
“Whataboutthecoffee-tablebook,”Isay.
Hislipscurveinuncertainamusement.“What?”
Myearsroar.Mythroattightens.“Who’sthecoffee-tablebookfor?”
Hestaresatme.
Ifhewon’tsayitoutrighttome,thenIguessI’mgoingtohavetobetheonetoask.
“Areyoudatingsomeone?”Ibiteout.
Theamusementmeltsoffhisface.“Whatthefuck,Harriet.Areyouseriousrightnow?”
“That’snotananswer,”Isay.
Hisgazewaversacrossmyface.“Whataboutyou?”herasps.“Areyouwithhim?”
Thereitis.Acidrisesthroughmystomach.Acleavinggoesthroughmychest.
Irefusetocry.Notoversomethingthathappenedfivemonthsago.Notoversomeonewho’salreadytoldmehedoesn’twantme.
“That’swhatyouthinkofme?”Iscootbackfromhimuntilthewallmeetsmyback.“YoustillhonestlybelieveIcheatedonyou,andbeyondthat,youthinkI’dturnaroundanddoittosomeoneelsetoo.”
“That’snotwhatI’msaying,”Wynsays,hisvoicegravelly.“I’mnotaccusingyouofanything!I’mtryingtoask…”
“Tryingtoaskwhat,Wyn?”Idemand.
“Ifyou’rehappy,”hesays.“Iwanttoknowthatyou’rehappytoo.”
Nowit’smyturntostareathimindisbelief.Hestillwantsabsolution.
AndwhatcanIsay?ThatI’mnothappy?ThatI’vetrieddatingsomeoneelseanditwastheemotionalequivalentofbingeingonsaltineswhenallIwantedwasarealmeal?OrthattherearewholepartsofthecityIavoidbecausetheyremindmeofthosefirstfewmonthsinCalifornia,whenhestilllivedwithme.ThatwhenIwakeuptooearlytomy
ThatIstillwakefromdreamsofhisheadbetweenmythighs,andreachformyphonewheneversomethingparticularlyridiculoushappensinthecozymysteryI’mreading,onlytorememberIcan’ttellhim.ThatIspendmoretimetryingnottothinkabouthimthanactuallythinkingaboutanything.Allthatheadynostalgiaandswelteringlusthasbecomecombustible,eruptingintoanger.
“Yes,Wyn,”Isay.“I’mhappy.”
Hestartstoreply.Overhead,arapidseriesofbeepssounds,followedbythedoorburstingopenandSabrina’svoice:“HARRIET!?WYN?!AREYOUOKAY?”
Icall,“We’refine.”
Ifhecanbehappy,surelyIcanbefine12
RealLife
Tuesday
Beforedinner,Wyn“goesforarun.”I’mreasonablycertainthisisanexcuseforhimtousetheoutdoorshowerbytheguesthouse,soItaketheopportunitytofumewhileIlatherupintheshowerinourbedroom.Afterward,IrifflethroughmyassortmentofT-shirts,tanks,jeans,andsundresses.BasicallyIpackedablobofwhite,black,andblue.
Andthenthere’sthelonesplashofred,whichI’dthrowninmoretopleaseSabrinathanbecauseIactuallyplannedtowearit.She’dsentthedresstomeonmylastbirthday,withoutevenknowingmysize—she’dalwayshadaneyeforthatsortofthing—andI’dtentativelythoughtofitasmyGettingBackOutThereDress,thoughinmyfewdepressingattemptstoGetBackOutThere,Ihadn’tbeenabletobringmyselftowearit.
Nowitstrikesmemoreasthekindoftoo-short,too-tight,too-reddressyou’dweartotheweddingofamanwhojiltedyou,withplanstotipoverhiscakeandsethistieonfire.
Inbrief,it’sperfect.Istuffmyselfintoit,twistmyhairintoaclip,sliptheonepairofhoopsIbroughtthroughmyears,andgrabmyheelsonmywayoutthedoor.
Downstairs,Sabrina’swatchingtheprogressofourapproachingcabonthephonewhileplyingeveryonewithwater.Well,everyoneexceptWyn,whoisn’tinthekitchen.
“Hydrate,hydrate,hydrate,”shechants.“Tonight,we’regoingfulltwenty-one-year-oldsonspringbreak.”
Kimmyguffaws,herstrawberryblondwavesjouncingwiththemotion.“Youallshouldbeverygladyoudidn’tknowmewhenweweretwenty-one.FourLokostillhadcaffeineinitthen.”
“Igotgreatpicturesofthebodyshots,bytheway,”Parthsays.“Thosewillbeperfectforthephotowall.”
“Photowall?”Irepeat.
ThebackofmynecktinglesinthesecondbeforeIhearhisvoice:“Forthewedding.”
Iturntowardthepatiodoorhe’ssteppedthrough,hishairdampandthatonelockcurledtowardhisbrow.
He’swearingagrayT-shirt,halftuckedintoslate-bluechinos,andthecolorcombinationbringsoutallthegreeninhiseyesastheyroveoverwhatInowmustrenamemyVengeanceDress.Hemissesahalfstepintheprocessbutrecoversquickly,avertinghiseyesasheheadstothefridgeandstartsfillinghiswaterbottle.
Iwonderifmycheeksarenearingthecoloroftheskintightchiffonyet.Ittakesmeasecondtoretracetheconversationtowhereweleftoff.“Sowhat’sthisaboutaphotowallforSaturday?”Imanage.“SomethingIcanhelpwith?”
“No,it’snotforourwedding,”Sabrinasays.“Thephotowallisforyours.”
“Remember?”Parthsays.“Wegotyourparents’contactinfosowecouldgetyourbabypictures?We’vebeenslowlyaccumulatingawallofhumiliationforyears.”
Theflushinmyfaceisdownrightitchynow.“Thisisn’tringinganybellswhatsoever.”
“Youweren’tpartoftheconversation.YouwereTAingthatsemester,”Wynsays,withoutlookingover.
Sabrinaglancesupfromherphoneandclocksthedressforthefirsttime,herfacelightingup.“Harry!Va-va-voom.Itoldyouredwasyourcolor.”
Iforceasmile.“Youwereright.Thishasbecomemygo-toDateNightDress.”
Thesoundofwatersplattingagainstthefloordrawsallofourattentiontothefridge.“Shit!”Wyn’sgazesnapsawayfrommelikeawhiptothewaterspillingoutoverhisfullwaterbottleontothefloor.
Cleoyelpsasshelurchesoffherstoolatthemarbleisland,outofthewater’spath.Hernewmushroombook(ormaybeheroldone)goesflyingoutofherhand.
“Sorry,”Wynsaysunderhisbreath,grabbingalobster-printteatoweloffthedishwasherhandlesoCleocansopupsomeofthewaterthathitherclingyblackmididressandboots.Inthisoutfit,shecouldeasilybethegorgeousfrontwomanofafamousninetiesgrungeband.
AsWynstandsfromsoakinguptherestofthewateronthefloor,Parthclapsahandonhisshoulder.“Youokay,man?Youseemkindofoutofit.”
“Fine,”Wynsays,tossingthenowdrenchedtowelontothecounter.“Fine.”
Thesecondfinesoundsevenlessconvincingthanthefirst.Nowwe’regettingsomewhere.Islidepastthemarbleislandtopullhiswaterbottlefromhishand,holdingeyecontactasItakealongsip.
“Thirsty?”hesaysdryly.
Ishovethebottlebacktowardhim.“Notanymore.”
“Cab’shere!”Sabrinaannounces,jumpingupfromherownstool.“Bookdown,Cleo.Finishthatwater,Kimberly.We’reoutofhere.”
???
AsI’mclimbingintothepassengervan,ItakezerocaretokeepmybarelycoveredassoutofWyn’sface.IfeelasmidgelessboldonceI’msmooshedintothebackseatbetweenhimandSabrina,butatleastI’msparedfromsmalltalkbytheearly2000sPumpUpplaylistthatParthblastsfromthefrontpassengerseat.Plus,Wyn’sonhisphonetheentirerideoveranyway.
Ahandfulofminuteslater,wepullupinfrontofouroldhaunt,theLobsterHut.It’saramshackledivewithnosignandnoindicatorofitsmonikeroneitheritscocktailnapkinsoritsstickylaminatedmenus,thoughsomehoweveryoneknowswhattocallit.
ThefirsttimeIcamehere,Iwasnineteenyearsold,freshoffmyfirstbreakup.Sabrinaknewtheydidn’tcard,andthatwasbackwhenCleocouldknockbacksixtequilashotsandstillbeonherfeet,fendingofffratboyadvanceswithdiatribesaboutModiglianipaintings.
Wesang,wedanced,wedownedthesteadystreamofFireballthatkeptappearingatourhigh-topinthecorner,andIfinallystoppedcheckingmyphonecompulsivelyforsomewordfromBryant.Whenwegothome,andSabrinaandCleobothflouncedofftoshower,thelonelinesscreptbackin,andtheboozehadfileddownallmydefenses.
Ibeelinedtowardthepowderroomnooneeverused,nudgedonthefaucet,satatopthetoilet,andcried.
NotaboutBryant.Fromtheloneliness,fromthefearthatIwouldneverescapeit.Becausefeelingswerechangeable,andpeoplewereunpredictable.Youcouldn’tholdontothemthroughtheforceofwill.
CleoandSabrinafoundmethere,andSabinsistedshe’dbreakdownthedoorifIdidn’tletthemin.ThenI’llhaveto,like,gotoapolomatchwithmydadasanapology,shesaid,andIwon’tletyouforgetthatuntiloneofusdies.
AssoonasIunlockedthedoor,thetearsdriedup,buttheknotinmythroatmadeithardtospeak.Itriedtoapologize,toconvincethemIwasfine,justembarrassed,astheywrappedtheirarmsaroundme.
Youdon’thavetobefine,Cleosaid.
Orembarrassed,Sabrinasaid.
Istoodinthattinybathroom,lettingthemholdmeuntiltheheavyfeeling,theunbearableweightofloneliness,eased.
We’rehere,theypromised.Andthelonelinessneverfoundsuchafootholdagain.Nomatterwhat,I’dalwayshavethetwoofthem.AtleastIusedtothinkthat.
Afterthisweek,thingswillchangebetweenallofus.They’llhaveto.
Don’tthinkaboutit,Itellmyself.Don’tgothereyetBehere,onthesidewalkinfrontofyourfavoritediveever.Sabrina,Parth,Cleo,andKimmyarealreadyatthefrontdoor.
Itakeonesteptofollowthem,onlyformyheeltocatchinacrackbetweentwocobblestones.Wynappearsatmyside,dutifullysteadyingmebytheelbowbeforeIcanbreakmyankle.“Careful,”hesaysinalowmurmur.“You’renotusedtowearingshoeslikethat.”
Angershootsthroughmelikeanemergencyflare,theonlythingbrightandhotenoughtobeseenthroughthefogofnostalgia.
“Atthispoint,Wyn,”Isay,jerkingmyarmfree,“youhavenoideawhatIamoramnotusedto.”
Istalkoffthroughtheportholedfrontdoorsintothedarkbar,akaraokeversionof“LoveIsaBattlefield”foldingaroundmeatfullvolume.Thesmelloffriedhaddockandpaprika-dustedpotatowedgeshangsthickintheair,rightalongsidethetangofbeerandvinegar,andtheyear-roundChristmaslightsstrungbackandforthovertheceilingdustthecrowdineverycolorofglitter.
AsIcatchupwithCleo,shelooksover,thelightsaccentuatingthebitsofgoldinhereyesandthematchinggoldundertonesinherdeepbrownskin.Leaningin,shesays,“Thisplaceneverchanges,doesit?”
“Everythingchangeseventually,”Isay,andthen,atheroddexpression,forceasmileandthreadmyarmthroughhers.“Rememberwhenthelobsterrollshereusedtobelikesixdollars?”
She’snotfallingforthefalsecheeriness.Adivotformsbetweenherwingedbrows.“Youokay?”
“Hardtobreatheinthisdresswithoutworryingabouttheseamssplitting,”Isay,“butotherwisegood.”
Shestilllooksunconvinced.Cleo’salwaysbeenabletoseethroughme.Whenwelivedtogether,Iusedtowatchherpaintforhoursandthink,Howdoesshealwaysseethingssoclearly?Sheknewwhatcolorstostartwithandwhere,andnoneofitmadesensetomeuntil,suddenly,italllookedexactlyright.
Wynbrushespastus,swimsthroughthecrowdtowardthetoo-smalltableSabrina’salreadyclaimedatthebackoftheroom.Cleocatchesmewatchinghim.
“Wehadalittleargument,”Iadmit,surprisedbythereliefIfeelatsharingthistinysliveroftruthwithher.
“Youwanttotalkaboutit?”sheasks.“Letmerephrasethat:maybeyoushouldtalkaboutit.”
“It’sfine,”Isay.“Idon’tevenknowwhatitwasabout,really.”
“Oh,yeah.”Cleonods.“TheamIhungry/tired/stressedorareyouactuallybeingtheworstfight.Iknowitwell.”
Isnort.“YouandKimmydon’tfight.”
Shedropsherheadagainstmyshoulder.“Harriet.I’masoberintroverthomebody,andmygirlfriendisahumanpartybus,completewithflashinglightsandspinningdancepoles.Ofcoursewefight.”
Acrossthebar,Sabrinawavesusover.
“Well,whatever’sgoingonbetweenyouandWyn,”Cleosaysaswestartacrossthepackedbartogether,“you’llfigureitout.Youalwaysdo.”
Mystomachsinksguiltily.“Anyway,howareyou?Ifeellikewehaven’thadasinglesecondtotalkyet.”
“I’mgood,”shesays.“Tired.Notusedtothisschedule.KimandIusuallygetupbetweenfourthirtyandfive.”
“Excuseme,”Isay.“Thatjustbroughtmyhangoverback.”
Shelaughs.“It’snotthatbad.Iactuallymostlyloveit.Ilovebeingupbeforeanyoneelseandseeingthesunriseeveryday,beingoutsidewiththevegetablesandthesunshine.”
“SometimesIstillcan’tbelieveyou’reafarmer,”Isay.“Imean,it’ssocool,don’tgetmewrong.Ijustreallydidthinkyou’dhaveartintheMetsomeday.”
Sheshrugs.“Itcouldstillhappen.Life’slong.”
Thatmakesmesnortwithlaughter.“Idon’tthinkanyonesaysthat.”
“Maybenot,”shesays,“butiftheyweretrulypresent,maybetheywould.”
“Sowise,”Isay.“Sodeep.”
“ReaditontheinsideofaDovechocolatewrapper,”shejokes.“Whataboutyou,Har?How’stheresidency?”
“Good!”IknowI’vesaidittoobrightlyfromthewayherbrowlifts.Iforgeaheadanyway,withthespielIgivemyparentseverytimewetalk.“It’sbusy.Longhoursandalotofworkthathasnothingtodowithsurgery.Buttheotherinternsarenice,andoneofthefifth-yearshaskindoftakenmeunderherwing.Itcouldbealotworse.Imean,I’mhelpingpeople.”
ThinkingofthehospitalalwaysfloodsmybodywithadrenalineasifI’mthere,scrubbedin,someone’sskullopenonatableinfrontofme.
Happyplace,Iremindmyself.That’swhereyouare.TheLobsterHut.Knott’sHarbor.
“Ialwaysknewourgirlwasgoingtosavetheworld,”Cleosays.“I’msoproudofyou,Harry.Weallare.”
Iglanceaway,chestcramping.“Samegoesforyou,”Isay.“Awhole-assfarm.”
“AndwemaxedoutourCSA.”Sheclarifies,“Thecrop-sharingsubscriptionwedoforlocals?Weofficiallycan’tgrowenoughforeveryonewhowantsin.”
“Inthreeyears!”Icry.“You’reincredible.”
“Andtothink,”shesays,“ameredecadeago,weweredancingonthesetablestothatoneMGMTsongthatplayedeveryfifteenminutes.”
“You,”Isay,“neverdancedonthosetables.IdistinctlyrememberSabrinacommandingustogetuponthem,andyoucalmlysaying,Nothanks.”
Cleolaughs.“Thereisnothingmyparentsdrilledintomelikegoodboundaries.”
“God,thatmustbeterrible,”Isay.“MilesandDeandramustlieawakeeverynight,intheirmatchinghouses,wishingtheycoulddoitalloveragain.”
“Oh,I’msure,”sheagrees.“Itprobablykillsthem,knowinghowmanybabyshowersI’vehadtomiss,simplybecauseIhadnointerestingoingtothem.”
“Brave,”Isay.“Ispentmylastdayoffatmynewhairdresser’sdaughter’sbatmitzvah,soIdon’trelate.”
“Oh,Harry,”shesays,wincing.“Youdeservetohonoryourself.”
“Well,Itoastedmyselfatthebatmitzvah,”Isay.
Shegrins,butherbrowremainsliftedskeptically.Idon’tthinkshe’severtotallyunderstoodwhyIfinditeasiertofulfillotherpeople’sexpectationsthantosetmyown.
Underneathhertinyframeandbuttonnose,Cleo’salwayshadaspineofsteel.Backincollege,shecoulddrinkthebetterpartofabottleofTanqueray,andyoustillwouldn’tconvincehertodoanythingstupiderthancontinuinganin-depthconversationaboutnihilismwithawastedfieldhockeyplayer.
Andthenoneday,shedecidedshedidn’tlikehowshefeltwhenshedrank,soshejuststopped.ItwasthesamewaywhenshechangedhermindaboutgoingtoanMFAprogramandannouncedshefoundajobonanurbanfarminstead.
WhenCleoknowshermind,sheknowshermind.
Aswereachthetable,IaskSabrina,“DidyouknowCleoandKimmy’sco-opmaxedout?”
“Idid,”shesays.“NotthatI’vebeenabletoseeitinaction.”
CleoslidesontoachairbesideKimmy.“We’llfindatimethiswinter.”
“Younamethedate,”Sabrinareplies,almostlikeachallenge.
“Welivetooclosetoeachothertogothislongwithouthangingout,”Parthputsin.Cleodoesn’treply,andKimmycastsheraquicksidelonglook,thekindoftemperaturecheckthatpassesbetweentwopeoplewhoknoweachotherinsideandout.Cleo’sgettingirritated.
“RemembercomingherewithKimmyforthefirsttime?”Ipipeup.
Cleoliftshergirlfriend’shandtokissthebackofit.
“That’sright,”Sabrinasays.“Thisiswherewefellinlovewithyou,Kimberly.”
“Tobeclear,”CleotellsKimmy,“Iwasinlovewithyouwellbeforethat.”
“Awwh!Youguys!”Kimmyinstantlytearsup.“You’vealwaysmademefeellikeIbelong.”
“Ofcourseyoubelong,”Isay.
“Youwereourmissinglink.”ParthsettlesintothechairbesideSabrina’s.“Weneededaredheadtoroundusout.”
“Keepyoureyeonthoseblue-hairedladies,bytheway,”Sabrinasays,lookingtowardthewomennursingsodasatthenexttableover.“Whentheygo,we’llgraboneoftheirchairs.”
“I’mfinetostand,”Wynsays,pullingthefinalavailablechairoutforme.Hemeetsmyeyes.“Goahead,honey.Giveyourselfabreakfromthoseheels.”
Iwonderifmyfakesmileisdoinganythingtosoftenmyveryrealglare.
“Well,someonesit,”Parthsays.“You’remakingmenervous.”
“Youknowwhat?”ItouchWyn’sbicep.“I’llsitinyourlap.”
Hebalks,andIpushhimtowardthechair.Withtheairofoneresignedtohisgrislyfate,Wynsinksintoit,andIdrapemyselfacrosshisthighslikealivingtoga.
Hisarmcomesaroundmyback,ahighlyimpersonaltouch,butit’sallittakesformybodytoremember,replay,relivethatmomentinthecellar.
Aserverstopsby,andSabrinaputsinanorderforapitcherofmargaritas,atruckloadoffries,andCleo’susualsodawithlime.
“CouldIgetoneofthoseaswell?”Icallashe’swalkingaway.AsbadlyasIwantsomealcoholtodisrupttheelectricalimpulsesfiringthroughmyneurons,Ineedtostayclearheaded.
ThememoryofWyn’svelvetymurmur:Armsup,baby.
Mydrunkenwarble:Didyougetmetheshirtabouttherodeos?
Myspineprickles.Thebacksofmythighswarm.
ThecrowdisroaringalongtoShaniaTwainnow,abachelorettepartytipsilyleadingthechargefromthekaraokestageatthebackwall.
BeforeKimmy,Cleomostlydatedultrahippeoplewhowerecompletelyuninterestedinhangingoutwithus.Laura,whorodeamotorcycleandhadthebridgeofhernosepierced.Giselle,whoalwaysworeredlipstickandneverlaughed.Trace,whojoinedapunkbandthatgothuge,andthendumpedCleoforthefamousmodeldaughterofanotherfamousmodel
ThenCleometKimmy,agorgeousandaffectionategoofballwhoneverstoppedlaughing,whileworkingonanorganicfarminQuebec.
Thefirsttimeshecameonthetrip,Kimmy,Sabrina,andIsmokedthebestjointofourlivesintheLobsterHutbathroom,thenperformed“GoodbyeEarl”together.
Fromthebeginning,shebelonged.WithCleo.Withus.
Anuneasinessneedlesbetweenmyribs.Again,Ifindmyselfwonderingwhatwe’llbe,exactly,afterthisweek,whenthetripisoverandthecottageissold.WhenWynandIcomeclean.
Sabrinahasstartedfillingsalt-rimmedglassesfromthemargaritapitcher,andIfighttheurgetothrowoneback.Instead,Ileanacrossthetabletograboneofthesodastheserverdroppedoffand,insodoing,inadvertentlyshovemyassbackintoWyn’scrotch.
Wynshiftsuncomfortably.Whatdidhecallit?Vindictivegrinding?
Idrainmysodalikeit’smylastshotofmoonshinebeforean1800sdoctorpriesabulletfrommyarm,andthenleanforwardexaggeratedlyagaintoreturnmyglasstothetable.
Whiletheothersarebusypouringtheirdrinks,Wyndropshislipsbesidemyear.“Canwestepoutsideforaminute?”heasksstiffly.“Ineedtospeakwithyou.”
SodidI,Ithink.Fivemonthsago.
It’stoolatetotalk.It’stoolateforhimtoaskifI’mhappy,orhowmyresidency’sgoing,orwhetherI’mdatingthemanhepinnedourbreakupon.Ididn’tsignupforthat.Isigneduptoplaythisgame,andnowI’mgoingtoplayit.
Isiftmyhandthroughhishair,windingtheendsaroundmyknuckles.“Don’tyoujustloveWyn’shairlikethis?”Ishouttotheothersoverthemusic.
Overthesweatinglipofhismargaritaglass,Parthsays,“Helookslikehe’sthetormentedleaderofamotorcyclegang.”
Wynclenchesmyhips,awarningthatI’mplayingwithfire.“Justhaven’thadtimetocutit,honey.”
“Ithinkitlooksgreat,Wynnie,”Kimmysays.“Andthebeard.”
“I’mgoingtoshavethattoo,”hesays.
Iturnintohimwithanexaggeratedpout,slinginganarmaroundhisneck.“ButIlikeit.”
Theskinabovehiscollarprickles,andourgazeslockinagameofchicken,hishandslidingacrossmystomach,hispalmalmostpreternaturallywarm.
Onalaugh,Parthsays,“Hey,rememberwhenwesworethiswouldneverbecomeacouples’trip?”
Sabrinatakesasip.“Prettysureyouweretheonlyonewhocared.”
“Prettysureyouonlysaiditbecauseyoudidn’twantSabrinatobringherboyfriend,”Cleoputsin.
“Thatwasjustanaddedbonus,”Parthsays.“Themainthingwas,Iwantedtostayyoungforever.Couples’tripsseemedlikesuchanold-personthing.MyparentswouldgotoFloridawithmyauntiesandunclesallthetime,andthenthey’dmakeuslookthroughonehundredseparatepicturesoftheminsideaMargaritaville.”
AslongasI’veknownhim,Parth’sbeenmorallyopposedtochainrestaurants.Probablybecause,likeme,hegrewupinthesuburbanMidwestandthoseweretheonlyofferingsathand.Personally,Ifindchainscomforting.Youknowexactlywhattoexpect,nohugesurprises.ChainrestaurantsaretheMurder,SheWrotererunsofthefoodindustry.
Wynleanspastmetoplophishalf-downedmargaritaontothetable.“You’llhavetoexcuseus,”hesays,hoistingmeoutofhislap.“ThisisHarriet’sandmysong.”
I’msureIlookbaffled.Ourfriendscertainlydo.
Hegivesmenochancetoargue,justgrabsmyhandandpullsmeintothecrowd,Sabrina’svoicetrailingafterus,“HowthefuckisVitaminC’s‘Graduation’theirsong?”13
RealLife
Tuesday
Wesettleonthedancefloor,infrontofthestage.Stiffly,Iringmyarmsaroundhisneckandlethimdrawmeinclose,partlybecauseCleo’swatchingusandpartlybecauseatleastthisway,Idon’thavetolookathisface.
“You’replayingdirty,”Isay.
“Me?”hereplies.“Youjustgavemealapdance.”
“Ididnot,”Isay,“andIwillnever.”
“Doesn’tWyn’shairlooksexylikethis?”heparrotsinabreathyvoice.
“Ididn’tsaysexy.WhendidIsaysexy?”
“Youdidthevoice.Iknewwhatyoumeant.”
Irollmyeyes.“I’mplayingmypart.”
“Whatpartisthat?MarilynMonroesinging‘Happybirthday,Mr.President’?”
“ThepartwhereI’msupposedtobeinlovewithyou,”Isay.
Hestiffensslightly.“Yeah,well,maybeyoudon’trememberthisallthatwell,butbackwhenyouwereinlovewithme,youdidn’toftenstraddlemeinpublic.”
“Well,consideringIhaven’tstraddledyoutonighteither,”Isay,“onecanonlyassumeyou’reemployingreversepsychologyrightnow.Sorry,Wyn.It’snotgoingtohappen.”
Hescoffsbuthasnocomeback.
Weangrilyswaytothemusicforafewmoreseconds.
“We’rereallynotgoingtotalkaboutwhathappenedinthecellar?”hesays
“Nothinghappenedinthecellar,”Iremindhim.
“Soyoudon’thaveanythoughtsaboutwhatalmosthappened.”
Somethinghesaidalongtimeagopopsintomymind.“Tumbleweeds,”Isay.“Rollingthroughmybrain.”
Heshakeshisheadonce,thesideofhismouthbrushingmytemple.
“Graduation”hasended.Someone’ssinging“WickedGame”now,someonewhocanactuallysing.NotaswellasChrisIsaak,butwellenoughtomakethesongappropriatelydevastatingandinappropriatelysexy.It’sthekindofauditoryhard-rightturncommontokaraokenightsbutlessthanidealforthesespecificcircumstances.
KimmyandCleohavemovedontothedancefloor,onlyafewfeetawayfromus.Wyntakestheopportunitytotwirlme;Itaketheopportunitytogetadeepbreathofairthatsmellsalittlelesslikehisheadymixofpineandclove.Thenhebringsmebackcloser,stomachtostomachandchesttochest,sohecanmurmurinmyear:“So.Theheels,thedress,theEtsy-spellface,thenewappreciationforfacialhair—anyotherbigchangesIshouldbeawareof?”
Myfingerscatchtheendsofhishair,andonceagain,goosebumpsriseupalonghistopfewvertebrae.Ithrillathavingthepowertostiratleastsomereactioninhim.Hemight’veshakenmeupinthecellar—andhislifemaybesomuchbetterwithoutmeinit—butthatdoesn’tmeanhe’sanymoreimmunetothisthingbetweenusthanIam.
“Thecoffee-tablebook,”Isayevenly.“Thebeard,thehair,theconstanttexting.AnythingelseIshouldknow?”
AssoonasIsayit,Iwanttotakeitback.Iknowhowquicklyhescrubbedmeoutofhislife;Idon’twanttoknowhowfasthegottheshrapneloutofhisheart.
Hisgazedarkens,pryingintomine,searchingfortheanswertosomeunspokenquestion.Hisgriponmywaistloosens,hispalmsglidingdownafewinchestosettleonmyhips.Hislipspresstogether.“Iguessnot,”hesays.
Whenthesongends,westaylockedtogetherforafewseconds,unspeaking,unmoving.Finally,weletgo.
???
Whenwegetbacktothetable,Sabrinahasclaimedanotherchair.BeforeIcantakeit,Wynsitsandhaulsmeacrosshislapwithouthesitation.
Themessageisclear:ifIkeepuppingtheante,he’llkeepmatchingthebet.
I’minnomoodtofold.Ipressmyselfagainsthischestandletmyfingersfindtheirwaybackintohissilkyhair.
Herespondsbyslidingonehanduptheoutsideofmythigh,theheatofhispalmburningthroughtheredchiffon.Mypulseseemstodropstraightdownbetweenmythighs.Henuzzlesintothesideofmyneck,notquitekissingmebutlettinghislipsdragoverthesensitiveskinonaslowinhaleandexhale.
“CouldIgetaglassofwhitewine?”IyelpasourserverappearswiththesixordersoffriesSabrinaputin.
“Surething,”hesays,mostlyavoidinglookingatmyandWyn’sridiculousdisplaybeforeturningtoscurrybacktowardthebar.
Whenhebringsthewineback,Idrinkitinonego,becausenowslowingmybraindownseemslikethebetteroftwofairlyterribleoptions.
“Youallrightthere,Harriet?”Wynasksinhisownhuskyequivalentofthehappy-birthday-Mr.-Presidentvoice.
Iturnbacktowardhim,leaninginuntilhisfirmchestmeetsmineandourmouthsareclose.Myarmslocktightacrossthebackofhisneck,andhisgazeslinksdownmeandbackup,themusclesinhisjawflexing.
Hisdeepbreathpressesuscloser,hispulsethrummingagainstmybreast.Hishandsmovetomyhips,adjustingmeinhislap.
Drunkonthepower,plusfivemonthsofrepressedanger,plusoneglassofwine,Ileanevenfurtherintohim,feelingmynipplespinchbetweenusasIlowermymouth,likehedid,tothespotbeneathhisear.“Neverbetter,”Isay.Hisfingersunconsciouslytightenagainstmyhips,glidedownthesidesofmythighsuntiltheypassthechiffonand
Wemaybeplayingourparts,butthat’snotallthisis.Icanfeelhimstiffeningbeneathme.Itmakeseverysoftplaceonmybodyfeellikemagma:incendiary,volatile.ButI’mnotgoingtobetheonetobackdown.
“Dartboard’sopen,”Sabrinasaysfromthefarsideofthetable.“Anyonewanttoplay?”
“I’min,”Kimmychirps,jumpingup.
IholdWyn’sgaze,waitingforhimtobreak.FinallyheflicksalooktowardSabrina.“Maybelater.”Hiseyescomebacktomine,hardandsteely.“I’mprettycomfortablerightnow.”
???
Sabrinabeatsfourlocals,plusKimmy,atagameofdarts,andParthandCleogetintoalongconversationwiththebachelorettepartyaboutgerrymanderingandhowParth’sorganizationworkstofightit.
Thebachelorettepartygoersareimpressivelyacceptingoftheturntheirnightofdebaucheryhastaken.NooneknowshowtoholdcourtquitelikeParthNayak.Plus,SabrinakeepshavingshotsofFireballsentover.
Bytheendofthenight,bothsheandParthhaveexchangedliteral,physicalbusinesscards(Whoknewtheyevenhadthese?Notme.)withacoupleofpeopleintheparty,andCleo,Wyn,andIhavetobasicallymopthetwoofthemandKimmyoutoftheLobsterHutandintothecab.
Still,Parthfindsthewherewithaltoplayhistraditionalend-of-the-nightsoundtrack,theeerilybeautifulJuleeCruisesongfromtheopeningofTwinPeaks
Inthebackseat,Sabrinaslumpsagainstme,halfasleep,adominoeffectthatforcesmeintoWyn’schest.Heholdsontomyknee,andIwonderwhetherit’shispulseorminethunderingbetweenus.
Backatthecottage,thesoberamongusherdtheothersintothekitchenandplythemwithwater.Upstairswehugeachothergoodnight,andthen,withmyheartclangingwildlyinmythroat,ItrailWynintothebedroom.I’msuddenlytoonervoustoclosethedoorandbetrulyalonewithhim.
Hereachesovermyshoulderandshutsithimself.Hishandstaysthere,totheleftofmyhead.
There’safootofspacebetweenus,butitfeelslikefriction.Likestraddlinghiminadarkalcoveunderthestairs.Likedrapingmyselfacrosshislapinacrowdedbar.
Hiseyesmovebackandforthovermyface,andhistonguesweepsabsentlyacrosshisbottomlip.Inarasp,heasks,“Arewedoneyet?”
Iliftmychin.“Idon’tknowwhatyou’retalkingabout.”
Somehowwe’vegottencloser.Thecornerofhismouthhitches,buthiseyesstaydark,focused.Hisbreathfeathersovermymouth.Onemorestronginhale,fromhimorme,wouldclosethegap.“Whyareyoupunishingme?”
Itryforanangrylaugh.Itdoesn’tcome.Helookstooearnest,toolost,likehe’sdesperatelytryingtounderstand.
Likehecan’tfathomthatallmyloveforhimdidn’tjustvanish,thewayhisdidforme.Thatithadtogosomewhere,andfunnelingitintoangerishowI’vemanagedtomakeitthroughtheselasttwodays.
Itmakesmefeelalone.Itmakesmefeeldefeated.
Heswallows.“Can’twe…callatruce?”heasks.“Befriendsforthenextfewdays?”
Friends.Theirony,thesterilityoftheword,stings.It’spouringalcoholovermywoundedheart.ButIcan’tquitegraspontomyanger.
“Fine,”Isay.“Truce.”
Wyn’shandslidesclearofthedoor.Hestepsbackand,afteramoment,nods.“Youtakethebed.”
Ican’thelpbutthinkhedoesn’tlookanyhappierthanIfeel.14
HappyPlace
MorningsideHeights,NewYorkCity
Afour-bedroomapartmentthatthefiveofuscanbarelyafford.Onefullbathroom,witharigidshowerschedule(organizedbySabrina),andahalfbathroomwecallthe“emergencycan”becausethere’snothingbutatoiletandalightbulbwithachaininit,andit’screepyashell.
Originalhardwoodfloorsthatbowinthemiddle,tiredofholdingupgradstudents’thriftstorefurnitureforgenerations.Windowsthatgetstuckfordaysatatimeandmustsimplybeleft,triedagainlater.Whenit’shotorwhenit’sraining,thesmellofcigarettespastseepsfaintlyoutofthewalls,remindingusthatwe’repassingthrough,thatthisbuildinghasstoodheresincelongbeforewecametothiscity,andwillbeherelongafterweleave.
AfterWyn’sandmyfirstkiss,inthecellaroverthesummer,I’dexpectedthattobeit:ourcuriositysatisfied,ourcrushsquashed.Instead,themomentthedoortooursharedroomatthecottageclosed,he’dliftedmeagainsthim,kissedmelikeonlysecondshadpassed.
Still,wetookitslowthatfirstnight,kissingforhoursbeforefinallytakingoffeachother’sclothes.Areyousure,he’dwhispered,andIwas.
Willwestillbefriendsafterthis,I’dwhispered,andhe’dsmiledashetoldme,You’veneverbeenjustafriendtome.
He’dlaidmegentlyinhistwinbed,andwhenthecreakofthebedframethreatenedtogiveusaway,wemovedtothefloor,handstangling,andwhisperedintoeachother’smouthsandhandsandthroats,tryingnottocallouteachother’snamestothedark.
Everynightafterhadbeenthesame.Wewerefriendlyuntilthedoorclosed,andthenweweresomethingelseentirely
Still,whenwemovedintothenewplacewiththeothers—soIcouldstartmedicalschool,andSabrinacouldbegin1LatColumbiaLaw,andCleocouldtakeupherpostatanurbanfarminBrooklyn—Iexpectedthisdelicatethingtofizzle.
Instead,itheightens.Wheneveryone’saround,wefindsecondsofprivacy,stealbrushesofeachother’sshouldersandhips,thebareskinjustbeneathourshirts.Andwhenwe’realone,theminutethefrontdoorsnicksshut,hetugsmeintohiscloset-sizedroom—sinceIshareonewithCleo—andforafewminutes,wedon’thavetobequiet.ItellhimwhatIwant.Hetellsmehowitfeels.Andthisthingbetweenusisn’tasecret.
Thoughmaybethesecretiswhatmakesitfunforhim.
Onenight,whileeveryoneelseisout,welieinhisbed,hishandtuggingateachofmycurlsinturn.“Ifwearen’tfriends,”Iask,“whatisthis?”
Hestudiesmethroughthedark,smoothingmyhairbackfrommyforeheadsotenderly.“Idon’tknow.Ijustneedmoreofit.”
Hekissesmeagain,slowandlanguid,likeforoncewehaveallthetimeintheworld.Hepullsmeontopofhim,hishandssoftonmywaist,oureyesholding.Ourbreathsriseandbreaktogether,ourhandsknottingagainsthisheadboardashemurmursintomymouth,“Harriet,finally.”
Finally.Thewordpumpsthroughmyveins:FinallyYou.Finally.
I’monthevergeofcrying,andI’mnotsurewhy,exceptthatthisissointense.Sodifferentthanit’severbeen
“Ichangedmymind,”hetellsme.“Ithinkyou’remybestfriend.”
Ilaughagainsthischeek.“BetterthanParth?”
“Oh,muchbetter,”heteases.“Aftertonight,hecan’tcompete.”
“Ithinkyoushouldknow,”Isay,“CleoandSabrinaaremybestfriends.Butyou’remyfavoritemanI’veevermet.”
Heturnshissmileintokisstheinsideofmyelbow.“Icanlivewiththat.”
Wedon’ttalkaboutwhatitmeansorhowitwillend,butwetalkabouteverythingelse,textallday,everyday,evenfromthesameroom.
HesendspicturesofthenewmysteryreleasesduringhisshiftsatFreeman’stoseeifIwantthem.Orsamplesoffabricfromtheupscalereupholsteryjobhegoestoafterhisbookstoreshifts,especiallythemoreabstracttextilesthatinevitablylookextremelyandonlylikevaginasorpenises.
IfirebackillustrationsfromthemedicaljournalsI’mporingover,orgivethetextilesinformaldiagnoses,orsendscreenshotsofGoogleimagesearchesforcowboysandaskhim,Areanyoftheseyourrelatives?towhichhealwayshasananswer,like,Onlytheonewithallthegoldteeth.Whenhedies,I’mactuallygoingtoinheritthose.
WhenhegoestoMontanatovisithisfamily,hecomesbackwithastackoften-centGoodwillpaperbacksforme:She’llBeDyingAroundtheMountain,PurpleMountainTragedy,BigRockCandyMurder,andCowboyStakeMeAway,thelastofwhichisactuallyaboutvampiresandwasmisshelved.
WhenhestopsbyTraderJoe’sonhiswayhomefromwork,hebringsmecartonsoficecream,MaineblueberryorVermontmaple.
Somuchoflifeiswaitingformoreofhim,andeventhattortureisbliss.
Onenight,aftermonthsofsneakingaround,whileeveryoneishome,heoffersmeasparemovieticket—aworkfriendofhiscanceled—andweleavetheapartmenttogether.Outside,hetakesmyhandandholdsittightly,hispulsetappingintomypalm:you,you,you
Iaskwhatmoviewe’reseeing.“Thereisnomovie,”hesays.“Ijustwantedtotakeyouonadate.”
Date,Ithink.That’snew.Ihadn’tevenknowntowantadatewithWynConnor,butnowthatit’sbeenspoken,Ifeelakindofbreathlesshappy-sad.LikeI’mmissingthisnightbeforeit’sevenbegun.Everytimeheoffersmemoreofhim,itgetshardernottohaveitall.
WetraipsearoundLittleItalyforhours,stuffingourselveswithcannoliandgelatoandcappuccinos—orratherIstuffmyselfwhilehetriesbites.He’snotbigonsweets.
Hetellsmehedidn’tgrowupeatingthem,thattheConnorswerea“meat,potatoes,andMiracleWhipfamily,”andthenhesays,“Didyoualwayslovesugarthismuch?”
“Always,”Isay.“Andyoujustdidthatthingagain.”
“Whatthing?”
“ThethingwhereyougivemethetiniestkernelofWyn,thenturnthingsbacktome.”
Herubsthebackofhishead,frowning.
Iask,“Whydon’tyouliketalkingaboutyourself?”
Hesays,“Rememberwhenyoutoldmeyouthoughtyouwereslow-releasehot?”
“Ifinallystoppedfallingasleeptothathumiliatingmemoryonemonthago,”Itellhim,“andnowIhavetostartallover.”
Hepullsmecloser,hookshisarmaroundmyshoulderaswemakeourwaydownthefrosty,light-strewnsidewalk.Afterseveralseconds,hesays,“IthinkI’mslow-releaseboring.”
“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”
Heshrugsoneshoulder.“Idon’tknow.”
Iwrapmyarmsaroundhiswaist,beneathhiscoat.“Tellme,”Isay.“Please.”
Hehesitates.“It’sjust,”hesays,“I’mthekindofguypeoplearealwaysmoreinterestedinbeforetheygettoknowme.”
“Sayswho,”Iask.
“Takeyourpick,Harriet.”
Mybrowknits.Helaughs,butit’sshallow.
“I’vehadliketenyearstocometotermswiththis,”hesays.“Peopleareinterestedrightupfront,butitneverlasts.ItoldyouIdon’tdatefriends,andthat’swhy.BecauseonceIgettogetherwithsomeone,reallyletthemin,thenoveltywearsofffast.It’sbeenthatwaysincehighschool,whengirlswouldcomefromoutoftownforthesummer,andit’sstillthatway.I’mnotallthatinteresting.”
“Stop,”Isay.“That’sbullshit,andyouknowit.”
“It’snot,”hesays.“EvenwithAlison.Ithoughtitwouldworkwithher,Ireallydid.IfiguredI’dbeengoingforthewrongpeople,soIwentforsomeonemorelikeme,whodidn’thaveallthesehugeaspirations,soshewouldn’tgetboredsofast.Thenshebrokeupwithmeforheryogateacher.SaidtheyconnectedonadeeperlevelthanIwascapableof.I’m…Idon’tknow.Simple?”
Hesoundsself-conscious.Mychestaches,likeIfeelthelittlesorespotinhim,thethorndeepinbetweenlayersofmuscle.I’ddoanythingtogetitout.
Igrabthelapelsofhiscoatandlookupintohisface.“Firstofall,”Isay,“simpleisn’tbad.Secondofall,simpleisn’tstupid,andyou’renotstupid,andIdon’tknowwhyyou’realwaystryingtoconvinceyourselfyouare,butitreallyisbullshit,Wyn.Andlastly,you’retheoppositeofslow-releaseboring.Ilikeyousomuchmorethanwhenwefirstmet.Partlybecauseyouactuallyanswermyquestionsnow,insteadofturningeverythingaroundtoflirt.”
Hisbrowlifts.“Andwhat’stheotherpart?”
“Everything,”Isay.
Helaughs.“Everything?”
“Yes,Wyn,”Isay.“Ilikeyourbodyandyourfaceandyourhairandyourskin,andIlikehowyou’realwayswarmerthanme,andhowyouneversitstillexceptwhenyou’rereallytryingtoconcentrateonwhatsomeone’ssaying,andIlikehowyoualwaysfixthingswithoutbeingasked.You’retheonlyoneofuswhowillactuallytakeoutthetrashbeforeit’sspillingover.Andeverytimeyou’redoinganything—goingtothestoreordoinglaundryormakingyourselfbreakfast—you’llalwaysaskifanyoneelseneedsanything,andIlikehowIknowwhenyou’reabouttotextmefromtheothersideoftheroombecauseyoumakethisreallyspecificface.”
Helaughsagainstmycheek.IwishIcouldswallowthesound,thatitwouldputdownrootsinmystomachandgrowthroughmelikeaseed.
Hesays,“TheIwanttogodownonyouface?”
IhughimcloseraswepauseataDONOTWALKsign.“Ididn’thaveanameforituntilnow.”
Thelightchanges,butinsteadofcrossing,hedrawsmearoundthecornerintoanalleywayandkissesmeagainstabrickwalluntilIlosetrackoftime,ofspace.Webecometheonlytwopeopleintheworld.
Untilagroupoffrattydrunkguyshollersatusfromthestreet,andeventhenwedon’tstopkissing,oursmilescolliding,ourhandstwistedineachother’sclothes.
Whenwedrawapart,herestshisbrowagainstmine,breathinghardinthecold.“IthinkIloveyou,Harriet,”hesays.
Love,Ithink.That’snew.AndI’llneverbehappywithoutitagain.
Withoutanyforethought,anyworry,Itellhimthetruth.“IknowIloveyou,Wyn.”
Hetouchesmychin,hishandshakingalittle,andslideshisnosedownalongmine.“Iloveyousomuch,Harriet.”
Athome,wegatherourfriendsatthediningroomtableWynrebuiltfromscrapsforus,allourfavoritepeoplelookingvariousdegreesofterrifiedtohearwhatwehavetosay.WynandIterrifiedforthemtohearit.
“We’retogether,”Wynsays,andwhennoonereacts,headds,“Together.HarrietandI.”
Sabrinarunstothefridgelikeshe’splanningtovomitinit,onlywhenshethrowsthedoorshut,she’sholdingabottleofprosecco,thengrabbingmismatchedcoupesfromtheshelfoverthestove.AndParthisonhisfeet,pullingWynintoahug,thensqueezingmetightnext,liftingmeofftheground.Heshakesmebackandforthbeforesettingmebackdown.“Abouttimeourboyfinallytoldyouhowhefelt.”
Sabrinapopsthecorkandstartsfillingglasses.“Youknowthatnowthatyou’refinallytogether,youcan’teverbreakup,right?”
“Don’tputthatkindofpressureonthem,”Cleosays.
“Thepressure’sonwhetherweadmititornot,”Sabrinasays.“Iftheybreakup,this”—shewavesthebottlebetweenus—“implodes.”
“Lotsofpeoplestayfriendsiftheybreakup,”Cleosays,thenquicklytome,“notthatyou’regoingtobreakup!”
“I’mwithSabrinaonthisone,”Parthsays.
Sheholdsthebottleupasshetriestocupahandaroundherear.“What’sthat?IsthatjustglobalwarmingI’mfeeling,orhashellfrozenoverandParthisactuallyagreeingwithmeonsomething?”
“I’magreeingwithyou,”Parthsays,“becausethistime,you’reright.Itwasboundtohappeneventually.”
Sherollshereyes,goesbacktofillingglasses.
“Harry,I’mserious,”Parthsays,settinghishandsonmyshoulders.“Don’tyoudarebreakmydelicateangel’sheart.”
Sabrinasnorts.“Oh,comeon.Wynbetternotbreakherheart.”
Cleosays,“There’snoneedforallthispressure.”
“Hewouldneverinamillionyearshurther,”ParthsaystoSabrina,passingWynandmeeachaglassofchampagne.Justlikethat,they’rebacktotheiroldsquabblingselves.
“Andshe’sbeensecretlyobsessedwithhimforyears,”Sabrinaargues.
“Speakingofunspokensexualtension,”Wyngrumbles,wavinghisglassintheirdirection.“Youtwowantustoleaveyoualoneforthisargument,orcanwebedonenow?”
“Ew!”Sabrinasays.
Parthpullsaface.“Thankyou,Sabrina.”
“I’mnotsayingyou’regross,”shesays.“I’msayingtheideaofusisgross.Canyouimagine?Andalso,thelastthingthisfriendgroupneedsisanotherromanticentanglement.We’realreadyplayingwithfirehere,andIreally,reallycannotlosethis.This”—shewavesthebottlebetweenusagain—“ismyfamily.”
It’sminetoo,butI’mnotworried.Ialreadyknow:IwillloveWynConnoruntilIdie.
Thatnight,forthefirsttime,IsleepinWyn’sroom.Welieawakelate,withthesheetskickedoffus,oursweatdrying,andheplayswithmyhair.
“It’salwaysacompletemysterytome,”hemurmurs,“whatyou’rethinking.”
“I’llhelpyouout,”Isay.“Eightypercentofitispicturingyounaked.”
Hekissesmystickyforehead.“I’mserious.”
“Iamtoo,”Isay.
“You’reamysterytome,HarrietKilpatrick.”
Mysmilefalters.“I’mamysterytometoo,”Isay.“Ididn’trealizehowlittleIunderstoodmyselfuntilImetCleoandSabrina.They’rebothsosureofhowtheyfeelaboutthings.”
Hepullsanothercurlstraight,andthegentletugsendsacurrentdownmycenter.“Well,weshouldgettoknowyou,”hesays.
“Iwouldn’tknowwheretostart.”
“Somethingsmall,”hesays.
“Likewhat?”
Hesmilesunevenly.“Likewhydoyoulovecozymysteries?”
Ishrug.“Idon’tknow.They’reso…mild.”
Hiskissagainstthesideofmyheadmeltsintoalaugh.“Mild?”
“Theworstthingthatcanhappentoapersonhappens,rightatthestartofthestory,”Iexplain.“Andit’slike…thisfeelingofsafety.Youknowexactlywhat’sgoingtohappenbytheend.Somanythingsareunpredictableinlife.Ilikethingsyoucantrust.”
Hefrowns,hisgoldenhairmussedupoffhisforehead.I’msuddenlysureI’vefoundtheoneunacceptableanswertohisquestion,theonethatmakeshimrealizeIamnotthecool,sexy,mysteriouswomanhehasconfusedmewith.
Histeethscrapeoverthefullestpartofhislip.“Youcantrustme,Harriet.”
Inthatmoment,hepiercesalittledeeperintomyheart,opensanotherdoor,findsanentirewalled-offroomIdidn’trealizewasthere.
Hepullsmeintohischest,andourheartbeatssync.I’veneverfeltsocertainofanything,soright,sosafe.15
RealLife
Wednesday
Someoneisjackhammeringinsidemyskull.
Irollover,pressmyfaceintothedownymattress.
THUNK-THUNK-THUNK
Avoicebreaksthebodilessdark:“Everybodydecent?”
Myeyessnapopenonabedroomwashedinthedimgrayofmorning.Thesmellofwetstoneandbrinewaftsinfromtheopenwindow,andrainpummelstheroof.
“I’mcomingin!”
Sabrina.She’scallingthroughthedoor.
Myeyeszigzagaroundtheroom,myscrambledeggofabrainpiecingtogethermysurroundings.I’msprawledinthemiddleofaking-sizedbed,wearingonlymyunderwearandVirginWhoCANDriveT-shirt.
“Inthree…”Sabrinasays.
Mygazefindsthejumbleofsparesheetsonthefloor,thegolden-brownlegextendingbeyondit,thearmtuckedunderthemessofsun-streakedgoldenhair.
“Two…”
IhurlapillowatWyn’sface,andhejoltsupright.
“One,”Sabrinasays.“That’sit.I’mcomingin.Coverupyour”—IwavefranticallyatWyn—“goodsifyoudon’twantmetoseethem.”
Hisgazeclears,widens.Hegathersthebundleofbeddingaroundhimandlauncheshimselfontothebed,atrailofsheetsspillingoutbehindhim.
“Goodmorning,”Sabrinasays,swingingthedooropen.
“What’sgoingon?”IjerktheblanketsupoverWyn’slapandmine.
Sabrina’smouthcurveswhenshenoticesthebeddinghalfdrapedonthebedandhalfbunchedonthefloor,asifcarelesslythrownthereinamomentofpassion.
“Breakfastwassupposedtobetwentyminutesago,”shesays.“Didn’tanyonereadtheiritineraries?”
“Ournoveltyitineraries?”Wynsays.“Fortheroughschedulewealwayskeep?”
Parth’sheadpopsintothedoorway,stilldampfromashower.“Comeon.We’vegotascheduletokeep.”
Wynpusheshishairoffhisforehead.“Areyoutwoonsteroids?”
“Back-alleyAdderall?”Iguess.
“Cocaine,”Wynsays.
“PixyStixandRobitussin.”
“Up,up,up.”SabrinapunctuatesherwordswithimpatientclapsthatIfeelbehindmyeyeballs.
“Isitpossibletobehungoverononeglassofwine?”Igrumble.
“Onceyouhitthirty,anything’spossible,”Parthcalls,andtheswellthatcarriedthetwoofthemintakesthemrightbackout.
Wynexhales,hisshouldersrelaxing.
Thefoldsintheblanketsandpillowcaseleftlittleindentationsalloverhisstomachandface.Ashestandsandamblestowardthebathroom,rubbinghishandsoverhisface,Icatchmyselfstudyingthemlikethere’sgoingtobeatestlater.Helooksoverhisshoulderatme,hisvoicegruff:“Youwanttoshower?”
Anyremaininghazeofsleepzoomsoffme,cartoon-roadrunnerstyle.“Shower?”
Helookspuzzled,possiblybythesuddenlackofbloodinmyface.“Doyouneedtheshower,orcanIuseit?”
Right.Asin,Doyouwanttoshowerbyyourself.NotDoyouwanttotakeashowertogether.Obviously.
“I’mgood!”Isqueak.“Givemeaminutetogetmystuffandgetoutofhere.”
Helaughsasheleansintotheshower,thewatersputteringon.“It’snothingyouhaven’tseenbefore,Harriet.”
Islideoffthebedandstartdiggingthroughmysuitcaseforapairofjeans.
“Imean,asidefromthenewtattoo,”hesays.
IturnaroundbeforeIcanteaseouttheobviousjestinhisvoice.He’sstartingtopulloffhisshorts,andIyelpandspinbacktomysuitcase.
“Youcouldwaitthirtysecondstostartyourstripping,”Isay.
Anothergravelly,fresh-from-sleeplaugh.“Ifitbothersyousomuch,closeyoureyes.”
Istepintomyjeansandhoptogetthemovermybutt.Hestillhasn’tturnedthefanon,andthesteamisbuildingbehindme.Icanimaginehowit’smakingtheendsofhishaircurl.
“WhatifIclosemyeyes?”hesays.
“Howwouldthathelp?”IgrabafreshT-shirt.
“Idon’tknow.Maybeitwouldmakeyou…”
HetrailsoffasIshuckmysleepshirtoffandtossitontothebed.IholdthefreshT-shirtagainstmychestandlookovermyshoulderathim.“Makemewhat?”
Wynclearshisthroatandturnsbacktotheshower.“FeellikeI’mnothere.”
“Notnecessary.”Ipullmyshirtovermyhead.“IthinkI’mdonehere.”
Hedoesn’tturnaroundagainuntilI’moutoftheroom.
Inthehallway,agroanof“Haaaarrryyy”reachesme,andIbacktracktopeerthroughtheopendoortothekids’room.
CleoandKimmylieinthepushed-togethertwinbedsinthecenteroftheroom,thesamewayWynandIusedto.WhileCleolookstidyandwellrested,herbraidstuckedinarusset-coloredbonnetandherskinluminous,Kimmyisstarfishedoutbesideher,freckledlimbsstrewnineverydirection,lastnight’ssparklyeyelinersmearedandherhairinanestatopherhead.Atleastsherememberedtotakeouthercontacts,Iguess,becauseshe’swearingherdark-framedglasses.
“Saaaaaveus,”Kimmymoans.
“You,”Cleogentlycorrectsher.“Ifeelgreat.”
“Savemeeeee,”Kimmyamends.
Cleopatsthesliverofspacebetweenthem,andIflopintoitlikethey’remyparentsandit’sChristmasmorning.
Imean,notmyparents.Ihadoneofthoseupbringingswheremyparents’bedroomwastreatedlikeanFBIsafehouse:don’tgoinit,don’tlookatit,don’tevenspeakofit.Probablybecauseitwastheonlyroominthehousethatwasallowedtoaccumulatemess(ifcleanlaundryintheprocessofbeingfoldedcanbeconsideredmess),andI’mprettysureifgivenonlythetwooptions,Momwouldratherjointhewitnessprotectionprogramthanletanyoneseeourlaundry.
Wyn’sfamilywasdifferent.WhenheandLouandMichaelweresmall,theConnorshadarulethattheycouldn’tstartChristmasmorningbeforethesunwasup.SoWynandhissisterswouldsitinfrontofthetinseledtreewaitinguntiltheminutethesunrose,thenrunintoGloriaandHank’sroomandpileontotheirbed,shriekinguntiltheygotup.
ThinkingaboutGloriaandHankalwaysgivesmeahomesickache,orsomethinglikeit.Iusedtofeelthatpangalotasakid,whichnevermadesense,becauseImostlyfeltitathome.
“I’mhiringahitmantotakeoutSabrinaforbuyingthatlastroundofFireballlastnight,”Kimmysays,flingingherforearmoverherface.“FeelfreetoVenmomeyourcontribution.”
“Iwasstartingtodoubtyouwerecapableofbeinghungover,”Isay.
“It’sallthehalfdrinks,”Cleosays.“Shetriestodrinklessthatway,andthenlosestrack.”
“Ididn’tlosetrack.Ismeared.”Sheholdsherarmouttorevealarowoflipsticktalliesthatruntogether.
“Ah,”Cleosays,fightingasmile.“Mymistake.”
“Ineedninemorehoursofsleep,”Kimmygrumbles.
“Aren’tyoutwohippiefarmersusedtogettingupwayearlierthan…”IleanoverCleotoseetheclockonherbedsidetable.It’sunpluggedandonthegroundayardaway,asifrippedfromthewallandthrownthere.“Whatevertimeitis.”
“Anddoyouknowwhattimeweusuallygotobedonthosenightsbeforeourearlymornings?”Cleosays.“Nine.AndI’mnotsayingwegetintobedatnine.I’msayingwe’refullyunconsciousbythen.DeepREMsleep.”
“Ididn’tnoticeREManywhereonthisweek’sschedule,”Isay.
“Ohmygod.”KimmylurchesuprightsofastIexpecthertovomitoverthesideofthebed.Instead,sheturnsanexpressionofhorroronus.“DidI…dothewormonatablelastnight?”
CleoandIbothburstintolaughter.
“No,”Isay.“Youdidnot.”
“Butyoucertainlythoughtyoudid,”Cleoadds.
Kimmygaspsinmockoffense.Cleositsupandleansovermetokissher.“Babe,Iloveyoutoomuchtoeverlietoyou,”shesays.“Youcouldnotdothewormifmylifedependedonit.Someofyourothermovesweren’ttooshabby,though.”
“HEY,”Sabrinascreamsfromdownstairs.“GET.YOUR.BODIES.DOWN.HERE.OR.ELSE.”
“Hitman,”Kimmygrumbles.
Cleopopsupontoherfeet,balancedinawidesecondpositiononeithersideofthebedframe.“Babe,whoamI?”Shepressesherhandstoherkneesandgyratesnonsensically.
“Okay,ifIlookedthatgood,”Kimmysays,“Ifeelalotbetter.”
Fromsomewherebeneathus—perhapsdeepinthebowelsoftheearth—anairhornblasts.
???
NormallywhenweeatatBernadette’s,wetakeadvantageoftheoutdoorpatio,withitsgorgeousviewoftheharboranditswidevarietyofrude,fry-stealingseabirds,evenifthetemperaturerequiresustobebundledinfleeces.
Butbythetimewegetdowntowntothered-shingledgreasyspoon,thestormhasblownbackin.Inthespanofourrunfromthecartothefrontdoors,wegetsoaked.Wescoreatableattheback,wherethewindowslookoutonthefadedgraypatio,thestripedumbrellasshuttightandwobblinginthewind,lightningstreakingdowntotouchthewavesinthedistance.
Bernie’sispackedwithsummervisitorslikeus,herefortheLobsterFestival’sgrandopeningtonight,andthelocalshavingtheirmorningcupsofcoffeeandreadingtheKnott’sHarborRegisterwhiletoleratingthepeople“fromaway,”astheycallus.
Atthecounter,Ispotmyseatmatefromtheflightoverandwave.Heharrumphsandlooksbacktohisnewspaper.
“Friendofyours?”Wynmurmursagainstmyearaseveryone’speelingofftheirdrenchedoutermostlayers.Hiscoolbreathagainstmydampskinmakesmeshiver.
Idropintomychairandlookupathim.“Thatwoulddependonwhichofusyouasked.”
“What,”Wynsays,“hashebeenbuggingyoutodefinetherelationship?”
“Otherwayaround,”Isay.“I’mheadoverheels,buthe’smarriedtothesea.”
“Ah,well,ithappens,”Wynsays.
Theeyecontactgoesonafractionofasecondtoolong,thenWyn’sphonebuzzes,andhisbrowfurrowsashechecksit.“I’llbebackinaminute,”heannouncesandslidesaway.Iwatchhimbackbythehoststand,phonetohisear,hisfacebrighteningonalaugh.
Theexpressionmakesmyheartfeellikeit’sbloomingandthenwitheringjustasfast.Italwayssurprisedme,howquicklytheratioofhisfacecouldchange.Inasecond,hecangofromthatbroody,tenderlooktoalmostboyishdelight.Everytimehisexpressionchanged,Iusedtothinkthenewonewasmyfavorite.UntilitchangedagainandIhadtoacceptthatwhicheverWynwasdirectlyinfrontofme,thatwastheoneIlovedmost.
Theservercomesuptotakeourorder,bringingwithherawaveofmaplesyrup,coffee,andpine—Bernie’ssignaturescent.IfIcouldwalkaroundsmellinglikethisrestaurantforalltime,Iwould.
Iwouldalsohavetostartwearingafannypackstuffedwithblueberrypancakes,though,andthatcouldmakethingsawkwardatthehospital.Peoplegetallupinarmsiftheirsurgeonhasapartiallyzippedknapsackoffoodstrungaroundtheirwaist.
Sabrinaputsinourusualdrinkorder.CoffeeforeveryonebutCleo,whogetsadecaf,plusacupoficetomellowoutBernie’sfamously(dangerously)hotandstrongbrew.“Weshouldgoaheadandorderfoodtoo,”Parthsays,andwhentheservergetstome,IordermypancakesalongwithWyn’susual,theeggwhiteomeletwithsriracha.
“Gloria?”Iaskwhenhegetsbacktothetableandwrigglesoutofhiscanvasjacket.
Helooksvaguelysurprised,likehe’dforgottenIwasevenhere.“Ah,no,”herecovers,avoidingmygaze.“Workthing.”
Wyn’snotaliar,butthewayhesaiditfeelsdistinctlylikeadodge.
Cleopushesbackfromherveganhash,groaningasshemassagesherstomach.“I’mhavingsomekindofPavlovianresponsetothisplace.Threebitesintothismeal,andIfeeltheghostofallmypasthangovers.”
Parthsays,“Ifeelittoo.”
“Yeah,butyou,Kimmy,andIalsodrankshotsofsomethingthatwasonfirelastnight,”Sabrinaremindshim.“Don’tthinkblamingBernieisappropriatehere.”
Iswallowmylaugh,whichsomehowmakesitlouder,andParthspinstowardmeandthwacksme,hard,betweenmyshoulderblades.
“Whatthehell,Parth!”Icry.
“Youwerechoking!”hesays.
“Iwasnot,”Isay.
“Okay,well,I’mnotthedoctorhere,so.”
“AndisWebMDnowtellingpeoplethatifsomeone’schokingthebestthingtodoispunchtheminthebackofthehead?”Wynsays.
“Itwasn’tthebackofherhead,”Parthobjects.“Itwasmorelike…mid-spine.”
“Ah,yes,thelesser-knowncousintotheHeimlichmaneuver,”Isay.“Therighthook.”
“I’msorry,Harry,”Parthcries.“Instincttookover!”
“YouhavetheinstinctsofaVictorianwomen’shospitalorderly,”Cleosays
“Nexttime,stickwiththeleeches,”Isay.
Parthfrowns.“Ileftthoseatthecottage.Areyouokay?”
“I’mfine,”Isay.
“Trustme,”Wynsays.“She’squietlyplottingrevenge.”
“OurHarry?”Parthscoffs.“Never.”
“Youthinkthat…”Wynsipsfromhissteamingmug.“Butsheknowshowtobringapersontotheirkneeswhenshewantsto.”
IanglemyselfabruptlybacktowardSabrina.“So,whatistherestilltodoforthewedding?”
Sabrinawavesahand.“Nothing.LikeIsaid,it’sjustthesixofusandanordainedunitarianuniversalistministerIfoundonline.Iwasn’tevenplanningonhavingflowersuntilCleoandKimmysteppedin.”
“Wedon’tmindhelping,”Cleosays.
“You’llgettowhenwehavethebigweddingforfamilynextyear,”Sabrinasays,squirtingmaplesyrupintohermug.“Thisweek,Ijustwanttobeinmyfavoriteplacewithmyfavoritepeople.Iwanteverysecondtocount,andIdon’twanttomissanything.”
Attheclapofthunderandflashoflightningoutside,shegesturestowardthewindow.“Imean,whatisthis?Weweresupposedtogosailingtoday.”
Icheckmyphone’sweatherapp.“It’llbesunnyandhottomorrow.Wecouldsailthen?”
“Justbecausethehouseisselling,”Cleosays,“doesn’tmeanthishastobethelasttimethesixofuscomehere.”
ItrytosmileencouraginglyatSabrina,butguiltspiralsthroughme.Iwantsobadlyforthisweektobeperfect,tobegoodenoughtocompensateforthefactthatitwillbethelast.Notjustinthishousebutasasixsome.Truceornot,Ican’tbeWynConnor’sfriend.
Sabrina’sgonequietandsullen,andIknowshe’salreadythinkingaboutnextweektoo.
Iclearmythroat.“Ihaveanidea.”
“Matchingtattoos,”Parthsays.
“Soclose,”Isay.“It’sthisthingIusedtodoasakidbecauseIhatedmybirthday.”
Sabrina,awomandeeplydevotedtotheconceptofabirthdaymonth,audiblygasps.
“Itwashardtomanagemyexpectations,”Iexplain.“Anditseemedlikesomethingalwayswentwrong.”
Apipeburstandmyparentshadtoputrepairsonacreditcard.
OrEloisewasfailingaclassandneededatutor.OrDad’ssecondjobcalledhiminforashiftthenightweweresupposedtogoout.NomatterhowmuchItoldmyselfIdidn’tneedanybigcelebration,Ialwaysfeltdisappointedwhenthingsfellthrough,andthenguiltybecauseIknewhowhardmyparentswereworkingtokeepthingsgoing.
“AcoupledaysbeforeIturnedten,Ihadthisidea,”Isay.“IfIchoseonethingIreallywanted—andknewIcouldactuallyget—onmybirthday,thennomatterwhatelsehappenedordidn’t,it’dbeagoodday.SoItoldmyparentsIwantedthisOreocheesecake,andtheygotitforme,andmybirthdaywasgreat.”
Thisearnsmecricketsfromtheaudience.
“That,”Sabrinasays,“issoincrediblysad.”
“It’snice!”Isay.“It’spractical.Ihadagreatbirthday.”
“Honey,it’stragic,”Sabrinasays,rightasParthsays,“I’memotionallyscarred.”
“Ithinkyou’remissingthepointhere,”Isay.
Sabrinasetshermugdown.“Isthepointthatallparentsinvariablyfuckuptheirchildrenforlife,andthere’snoavoidingit,soweshouldreallystopprocreatingratherthancontinuingtomakeoneanothermiserable?”
Cleorollshereyes.“Neitherthepointnoraccurate.”
“Wecan’tcontrolhoweverylittlethinggoesthisweek,”Isay.“Butit’sbeenamazing,andit’sgoingtokeepbeingamazing.Somaybeifeachofuscanchooseonething—onethingwemustdoorhaveorseeoreatthisweek—thennomatterwhatelse,we’llhavethat.Theonethingthatwereallyneededoutofthisweek.Andtheweekwillbeasuccess.”
There’sabeatofsilenceaseveryoneconsiders.
“It’sagoodidea,”Wynsays.Acrossthetable,hiseyesmeetmine.Hisovergrownhairisdampfromtherain,tuckedbehindhisears.Somanyofhisdetailsareslightlydifferent,butmyheartstillseeshimandwhispersintomyveins,You
Heartscanbesostupid.
“Ilikeittoo,”Cleosays.
Parthshrugs.“I’mdown.”
“Dowesaywhatourgoalsare,ordowehavetokeepthemsecret?”Kimmyasks.
“Whywouldyouhavetokeepitasecret?”Iask.
“Soitcomestrue,”shesays.
“It’snotabirthdaywish,”Sabrinasays.
“No,Ilikethat.”Wyn’seyesdarttowardKimmy.“It’slesspressureifit’sprivate.”
Parthnods.“Sonoonetellsoneanothertheirgoalsuntilafterwe’vemetit.”
“Youallloverulestoomuch,”Kimmysays.
“Thisstartedwithyou,KimberlyCarmichael,”Sabrinaremindsher.
“Lotsofthingsstartwithme.Thatdoesn’tmakethemgoodideas.”
CleoputsherhandsonthetabletopandgyratesinanotherstunningapproximationofKimmy’sdancemoves.
Sabrinanarrowshereyes.“WhatamIlookingat,andwhydoIfeellikeIhadanightmareaboutitlastnight?”16
RealLife
Wednesday
Whileeveryoneelseintownispackedintocoffeeshopsandrestaurants,sippingteaoreatingclamchowder,thesixofusbravetheraintotrompbetweencandystoresandhomedecorboutiquesfilledwithsnarkyhandtowelsaboutlovingwine,ourarmsuselesslyfoldedoverourheadsinlieuofumbrellas.
“Maybeweshouldgobacktothehouseandchill,”Cleosuggestsafteroneparticularlyloudcrackofthunderandjarringlycloseboltoflightning.
“What?No!”Sabrinacries.
Kimmysquintsattheroilingsky.“Idon’tthinkthisrain’sgoingtoletup.”
“Thenwe’llgotoaRoxydoublefeature,”Sabrinasays.
“Doyouevenknowwhat’splaying?”Cleoasks.
TheRoxyhasonlytwoscreens.Atnight,eachisdevotedtoanewrelease,butinsummer,thematineesarereservedfordoublefeaturesofmoviessetinMaine.NinetypercentoftheseareStephenKingadaptations,whichworksforSabrinabutislessthanidealforCleo.
“Whocareswhat’splaying?”Sabrinasays.“Wealwaysusedtodothiswhenwegotrainedout.It’stradition.”
Wefollowherdowntheblocktowardtheboredteenintheticketboothoutfront.
Cleoeyesthemarqueeskeptically.“Salem’sLotandReturntoSalem’sLot.Weren’tthoseminiseries?”
“Um,no,”Sabrinasays.“Salem’sLotwasatwo-partminiseries,andReturnwasafeature,andcombined,theyareglorious.You’regonnaloveit.”
“I’mnotsureI’mupforfourhoursofvampires?”Cleosays.
Kimmypokesherribs.“Whatiftheyglitter,though?”
“Oh,comeon,Cleo,”Sabrinasays.“Don’tbeawetblanket.”
“Pleasedon’tcallmethat,”Cleosays.
Sabrinaliftsherhandsinsupplication.“I’mjustsaying,thisisthelasttimewe’llevergettodooneofthese.”
Iglancebetweenthem.We’reheadedforastandoff.“Maybeyoujustcomeforthefirstmovie,”Isuggest.
“Miniseries,”Cleoremindsme.
“AndthenyoucangototheWarmCupandwe’llmeetyouafter?”
KimmytouchesCleo’selbow.“I’llgobacktothehousewithyouifyouwant,babe.”
Cleo’sdelicatepointofachinlifts.“No,it’sokay.Idon’twanttomissout.I’llcometothefirstmovie.”
Sabrinasqueals,wheelingbacktofacethebooth.“Ticketsonme!”
Atsomepointinthelastthirtyseconds,theattendanthasdonnedatophat,andittakesSabrinaabeattorememberwhatshe’sevendoing,face-to-facewiththissomberfrecklyteenagerinVictorianheadwear.“Sixforthedoublefeature?”shesays.
“Yes,milady,”theteenagersays.
Onourwayinside,Wynhangsback.“Youdon’thavetodothat,youknow.”
“Dowhat?”Iask.
“Findsomecraftycompromisetotheirdisagreements.They’llworkitoutontheirownifyouletthem.”
“Ihavenoideawhatyou’retalkingabout,”Isay.
Hisbrowsflickupwardinamusement.“None?”
“Zero,”Isay.
“They’rehavingagreattrip,”hesays.“Trynottoworry.”
Mystomachflips.Asmuchashaschangedbetweenus,hestillknowsmealittletoowell.“I’mfine.”
Wetakeupthewholefirstrowofthetinytheater,andsinceit’sotherwiseempty,westretchourwetouterlayersontheseatsbehindustodry.I’mtryingtofindawaytosneakinbetweenSabrinaandCleo;Iwindupattheendoftherow,withnoonetotalktobutWyn,whofumbleswithhisphone—angledpointedlyawayfromme—untilthehouselightscomedown.
Atthefirstminorjumpscare,Ifighttheimpulsetoburrowintohisside.It’snothelpingthatit’sfreezinginhere,andeverytimeIunthinkinglyputmyarmonthearmrest,itbrusheshisarm,whichisscaldingincomparisontothemeat-lockertemperatureoftheroomatlarge.
Sabrinaleansforwardandflashesathumbs-upatusfromthefarendoftherow.Asifbyinstinct,Wynsnatchesmyhandagainstmythigh,andmyheartleapsintomythroat.
Ourpulsesbatbackandforthbetweenourpalms,ahumanNewton’scradle.It’sallIcanfocuson,thislonepointofcontactbetweenus.Inoticeeveryminutetwitchofhisfingers.
Iwonderifhe’sthinkingaboutlastnight,meperchedonhislapwithmyarmsslungaroundhisneck,wrigglingagainsthimlikeacatinheat,thetensionbetweenusbuilding.
Becauseit’ssuddenlyallIcanthinkabout.Havingthelightsthislowgivesustoomuchprivacyforthistofeellikeanact,yetnotenoughthatwecancompletelyavoideachother
I’msothoroughlynotfollowingthemoviethatwhensomeoneon-screenisimpaledbyawallofantlers,it’sgenuinelyjarring.
“Oh,comeon,Harriet,”hewhispersasIyelpandthrustmyfaceintohischest.“I’msurethatwasn’tyourfirstantlerimpalement.I’veseenyourlibrarybooks.”
“It’sdifferent,”Ihiss,drawingbacktopeerathimthroughthedark.“Thosearecozy.”
“Thatjustmeanswhoeverfindsthebodyhasaboringjobandwearssweater-vests.”
“Youknow,”Isay,“somewouldthinkyourinsistenceonholdingmyhandsuggestsyou’reabitunnervedtoo.”
“I’munnerved,”hesays.“Justnotbythemovie.”Hedoesn’tsoundflirtatioussomuchasresigned.Likethisthingbetweenus,thislastemberofwant,isanundesirabletruthhe’saccepted.Asourgazeshold,thepressurebuildsbetweenus,heady,potent.
Ithinkaboutourfour-minutebreakup.Curt,sterile,almostsurgical.Ithinkaboutscrubbingourapartmenttoptobottomafterward,cleaningthegroutwithatoothbrushuntilsweatdrippedintomyeyesandneverfeelinganybetter,nevermanagingtogetmyheadabovethewavesofshockandgrief.
Ithinkofallthewaysheletmedownandofhismostannoyinghabits.(I’veneverseenadishwasherloadedsoinefficiently.)Butthat’snotwheremymindwantstogo.
Ineedspace.Ineedair.Ineedhoursofhypnotherapytoerasehimfrommynerveendings.
“Ineedtousethebathroom,”Iblurt,andslipoutintotheaisle.17
HappyPlace
AnhouroutsideBozeman,Montana
Asnowydrivewayandafrigidrentalcar,strugglingtokeeppurchaseontheicedasphalt.
Wyn’swarmhandtightonmine.Heliftsthebacksofmyfingerstohismouth,letshisbreathwarmthem.“They’regoingtoloveyou.”
Iwasn’teventhisnervousbeforemyMCAT.Nomomentinthesefirsttwoyearsofmedicalschoolhasinducedthiskindofanxiety.Inschool,Iknowwhatittakestosucceed,howtowinapproval.It’ssomethingyoucanearnwithwork,butthisisdifferent.
Theymightnotlikeme.Imightnotlikethem.
Imighttalktoomuchornotenough.Imightkeepthemupwithmymiddle-of-the-nighttripstothebathroom,orputtheirdishesawayinthewrongplace,orgetintheirwayinanyofthemillionsofhighlyspecificwaysyoucanonlylearntoavoidwithtime.
Thewindowsarelityellowgold,andthesnowlookspurpleinthedark.It’ssobeautifulitmakesmewishIwereapainteroraphotographer,someonewhoselifeworkwascapturingtheungraspable.Cleowouldbeabletobottlethismomentifshewerehere.
BeforeWyn’sevenputthecarinpark,thefrontdoorfliesopen.Hisparentscomerunninginflannelpajamasanduntiedbathrobes,thehemsoftheirpantsstuffedintosnowboots.Gloriaiswordlesslywhooping.Hankhugsmebeforewe’reevenintroduced.
Wyn’smotheristallerthanI’dexpected,nearlyastallasHank,withice-blondhairandpermanentlyrosycheeks.Hankhasthicksandy-brownwavesheavilylacedwithgray,andamoredeeplygroovedversionofWyn’sfacebehindapairofwire-rimmedglasses.
Hissisters,tinyplatinumLouandeventinierdark-hairedMichael,arealreadyinside,sippingbrandyinfrontofthefireplace,andafterinsistingongettingourbagshimself,Hankushersusinside,straightintoawallofnoise.
Eveninfrontofhisfamily,Wynkeepshishandsonme—atmywaistorthecurveofmybackorrestingagainstthebaseofmyneck,histhumbmovingrestlesslyasheanswersthedozensofquestionsthrownatusrapidfire.
Thedrivewasn’ttoobad.
TheflightsfromNewYorkwerelongandcramped.
Wearen’thungry.(AsGloriaasksthis,sheshovesplatesofpumpkinpietowardus.)
We’vebeentogether(openly)fortenmonthsnow.“I’vebeeninlovewithhersincewemet,though,”Wynsays.
“Ofcourseyouhave,”Gloriasays,squeezingmyknee.“She’ssweetaspie!”
“Youjustthinkthatbecauseofthecurlyhair,”Wynsays.“She’sactuallyextremelyfeisty.”Myfacegoesbeetred,buteveryoneislaughing,talkingoveroneanother,andWyniskissingthesideofmyheadagain,squeezingmeagainsthimonthecouch,andIfeellikeI’mfinallythere,thatplaceI’vealwayswantedtobe,theothersideofthelitkitchenwindowsIcouldseefrommychildhoodstreet,whereroomsarefilledwithloveandnoiseandsquabbling.
“Heneedsasternhand,”Michaelsays
“He’snotaworkhorse,”Lousayswithaneyeroll.
“No,ofcoursenot,”Michaelsays.“Muchmoreofamule.”
Wynpullsmeacrosshislap,loopinghisarmsaroundmywaist.“HowdoyouknowHarrietisn’tevenmorestubbornthanIam?”
“He’sright,”Itellthem.“Betweenthetwoofus,I’mthemule.”
“Well,ifyou’rethemule,”Michaelsays,“thenWyn’stheass.”
“IfI’mgoingtobeanass,”hesays,“I’mgladtobeyours.”
WhenHankcomesbacktothecrampedlittledenwithitsragingfire,hesays,“PutyouinWyn’sroom,Har,”andIthink,HarI’vebeenheretenminutesandI’malready“Har,”andthere’sasensationlikeaninflatingballooninmychest,apleasantpain,likestretchingastiffmuscle.
Wynhadwarnedmethathisparentswouldn’tletussharearoom,eventhoughwelivetogetherbackinthecity.Insomeways,they’reeccentricandfreethinking,andinothers,they’resurprisinglytraditional.
Later,whilehisparentsfinishwashingthedishes,Wyntakesmetohisroomtosettlein.Forhoursheletsmegothroughhisstuff,pickingthingsup,askingquestions,whileheactsasthedocentforthismuseumdedicatedtomyfavoritesubject.
Iholdthingsup;hetellsmeaboutthem.I’mgluttonousforallthesebitsofhim.
PlasticMVPtrophiesfromhissoccerdays;washed-outdisposable-camerashotsofhimasateenager,surroundedbygirlswiththesperm-shapedeyebrowsandbleached-to-deathhairofouryouth.Picturesofhimwithfriendsatfootballgames,theirfacespainted,andwalkinginsummerparades,andeven,inacoupleofcases,attherodeo.
EverytimeIpointtosomeone,hetellsmehername(mostofhisfriends,itseems,weregirls),howtheymet,wheresheisnow.“Youkeepintouchwithallthesepeople?”
“It’sasmalltown,”hesays.“Wewereallfriends,andsowereourparents.Ihearstuffthroughthegrapevine.Someofthemtrytosellmemulti-levelmarketingsmoothiesonoccasion.”
Atmyrequest,heshowsmeallthegirlshe’skissed,andtheoneswhocameforthesummerandbrokehisheartbeforeheadinghome.
Istoponaframedprofessionalphotoofhimonhisdresserandsnortindelight.“Youwerepromking?Andyounevermentionedit?”
Wynpeersovermyshoulder.Inthephotograph,hewearsablacksuitandcrookedplasticcrown,hisarmswrappedaroundthewaistofaprettybrunetteinasilverminidressandmatchingtiara.ThebackdropbehindthemreadsBRIGHTLIGHTS,BIGCITYoverasparklingskylinethatsomehowcontainsboththeEmpireStateBuildingandSeattle’sSpaceNeedle.
Wyngroans.“Isweartoyouthat’snotevennormallyinhere.Prettysuremymomputitoutfortheoccasion.”
“Oh?Shewantedtomakemejealousofyourteenageflame?”Itease.
Herubshisforehead.Hischeeksgoadorablypink.“Shethinksshe’sshowingmeoff.”
“Ican’tbelieveI’veknownyouforlikethreeandahalfyearsandyounevermentionedyouwerepromking.”
“Yes,myfinestaccomplishment.”Heshakeshishead.“Soembarrassing.”
“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”Ifacehim.“Howisthisembarrassing?WhenIwasthisage,IstillhadbracesandapixiecutthatmademelooklikeI’dbeenelectrocuted.Meanwhile,youwerecrownedpromkingwhileonadatewithateenmodel.”
Iliftthepicture,offeringhimcold,hardevidence.
Hereturnstheframetothedresser.“Iwouldn’texpectyoutoknowthisasaformerteenbrainiacandcurrentbrilliantmedicalstudent,butpromkingistheconsolationprizetheygiveguystheythinkhavealreadypeakedandprobablywillbestayingintowntobeaspokesmanforthelocalcardealerships.”
“Holdon,letmewritethisdown.”Istarttoturn.Hepullsmeback,windinghisarmsaroundmyribs.
“See,youdon’tknowthisbecauseeveryoneinyourtownexpectedbigthingsofyou,”hesays,grinning.
“Ididn’tknowthis,”Ireply,“becauseIwenttoafour-thousand-studentschoolwherenooneknewmynameandbecauseI’veneverfollowedcar-dealershipcultureveryclosely.”
“Ah,”hesays.“Yourfirstmistake.”
“WyndhamConnor,”Isay.“Don’tyouthinkthiswholetheoryofyoursisateensybit…narcissistic?”
Hissmilesplitsopen,andmyheartfollowssuit.“BecauseIthinkcardealershipswouldusemeasaspokesperson?They’vedoneitwithlikeeightypercentofthetown’spromkings.”
“Notthat,”Isay.“Theideathatallyourclassmatesvotedyoupromking…becausetheyfeltsorryforyou.”
Heshrugs.
Iwrapmyarmsaroundhisneck.“Yeah,thatwasprobablyit.”Ikisshimandhepullsmecloser,liftingmeupandintohimasiftoabsorbme.“Surelyithadnothingtodowithhowhotandkindandfunnyyouare.Itwassheerpity.”Ikisshimagain,deeper.
“Andthat?”heasks.
“Extremepity.”Igrabhisass.“Thistoo.”
“Wow.Beingawashed-upformergoldenboyisn’tsobadafterall.”
Someoneknocksonthedoorframe.Ipullback,butWyn’sarmsstayaroundmeasheangleshisheadtowardthehall.
Hisparentsstandatthedoor,smiling,Gloria’sheadrestingonHank’sshoulder.
“We’reheadedtobed,youtwo,”Hanksays.
“Youneedanything?”Gloriaasks.
Wynshakeshishead.“Justsayinggoodnight.”
Gloria’seyesshrinkwhenshesmiles,likeWyn’s.“Sleeptight.”
Whenthey’regone,Wynwalksmebackagainstthedresserandwemakeoutforahandfulofminutesbeforehekissesthetopofmyheadandleavesmyroom.
ForthenextfourdaysinMontana,webarelydoanything.Wegocross-countryskiingonce,eattwiceatanall-daypancakehousethatWyn’sparentsdescribeas“ahauntforoldsilvertailslikeus,”andtakenightlywalkswiththewholefamilythroughthesnow.Webundleuplikeastronauts,andHankinsistswewearheadbandlampssowedon’t“gethitbycarsorattackedbywildanimals”inthesolidblackofaMontananight.
Mostly,though,weloungearoundthefireplace,anendlesssupplyoffoodanddrinkcyclingthroughtheroom.Inthemornings,Hankmakeseachofusindividualpour-overcoffees,aprocessthattakessolongthatbythetimehefinishesthelastone,we’reallreadyforoursecondcups,andhelungestohisfeet,withoutanyoneasking,tostartalloveragain.
“Dad,we’refinewiththeKeurig,”Wyntriestoreason.
Hisdadwrinkleshisnoseandshufflesinhisflannelslipperstowardthekitchen.“Thatstuff’sforemergencies,notforguests.”
Mostmealsarecasseroles.Hankdoesn’thavethesameaffinityforfoodthathehasfordrinks,andGloria’scookingleavesmefeelinglikeawalkingballoonaftereverymeal.
Afterdinneroursecondnightintown,LouandMichaellieontheirbacksontherug,groaningandmassagingtheirtummies.
“Mom,youandDadneedtoconsidereating,like,evenasinglevegetableperweek,”Lousays.
TowhichGloriareplies,“Potatoesareavegetable.”
“No,”Michael,Lou,andWynallsayinunison.
Vegetablesornot,thepotatoesatleastarehelpfulforsoakingupthebourbonsandscotchesHanklinesupattheiroldwoodendiningtableforustosampleeverynight.
“Dad’stheBeverageKing,”Michaelsaystome.
“IseewhyyougravitatedtowardParthwhenyougottoMattingly,”ItellWyn.
“That’snotwhyIgravitatedtowardParth.”Wynhaulsmeagainsthimashenestlesbackintothesquashycouch.“IgravitatedtowardParthbecausehehadtheprettiestfriends.”
Lousnortsfromwheresheliesontheruginfrontofthehearth.“Thankyou,Harriet,forsavinghimfromhimself.”
“Ithinkyouhavetoohighanopinionofme,”Itellher.“IalsobefriendedParthforhishotfriends.”
Wynkissesthetopofmyhead.MichaelandLouexchangealookIcan’tread.
Maybethey’veseenthisbefore,Ithink.Maybehe’salwayslikethiswithhisgirlfriends
ButIdon’treallybelieveit.Iaminthatphaseoflovewhereyou’resurenotwopeoplehaveeverfeltthiswaybefore.
Andoverthosefourdays,Ifallinloveagain.WithWyn’sfamily,withallthenewpiecesofhim.
Iwanttostayuplate,diggingthroughhisoldcloset,wherehismomstoredhishomemadestormtroopercostume.Iwanttositforfivehoursinthewoodshop,sawdustdriftingintheair,whileherecountsthefightshegotintowithLou’smiddleschoolbullies.Iwanttoknowwhereeverysinglelittlewhitescaranddivotcarvedintohispermanentlysunnedskincamefrom.
Theonefromwhenhebrakedtoohardonhisbikeandwentskiddingdowntheroad.Thewhitespecksonhiselbowfromtheagitatedhorsethatthrewhimonhisgrandfather’snow-defunctranch.Thethinlinewherehesplithisliponthecornerofthefireplaceasatoddler.
Iwanttostockpilethesepiecesofhim:thequilthisgrandmothermadehimbeforehewasborn,hisembarrassingpreteenjournals,hishorrifyingchildhooddrawings,thedentinhismom’struckfromwhenhehitapatchoficeandslidintoasplitrailatsixteen.
Hetakesmetoseeit,thestretchwherethebeamsarelessdingy,havingbeenreplacedafterhisaccident.HeandHankhaddoneitthemselveswithoutbeingasked.
Wynranwildhere,andthisplacecarvedhimintothemanIlove.
Withmyhandonthewoodenposthe’dworkedintothegroundallthoseyearsago,Iask,“Why’dyouleave?”
“It’shardtoexplain,”hesays,grimacing.
“Canyoutry?”Iask.“Youseemsohappyhere.”
Heletsoutabreathandsearchesthehorizonforananswer.“Theyhadmoneyfromsellingmydad’sfamily’sland.Andtheyalwayswantedmysisterstogotocollege,becauseMomandDaddidn’tgetto.”
“Yoursisters?”Isay.“Butnotyou?”
Hismouthquirksintoacrookedhalfsmile.“Toldyou,they’relittlegeniuses,likeyou.Bigdreams.IguessmyparentsassumedI’dwanttostay.Keepworkingwithmydad.”
“Becauseyoulovethisplace,”Isay.
Herunshishandoverhisjaw.“Ido.ButIdon’tknow.Iwaswatchingallthesepeoplewithdreamsandgoalsleaving,goingotherplaces.AndIdidn’tknowwhatIwanted.IgotscoutedbyMattingly’ssoccercoach,anditseemedlikeasign,Iguess.”
“Butyoudidn’tstickwiththesoccerteam.”
“Ineverlovedit,”hesays.“AndIcouldn’tkeepupwithitandschoolatthesametime.ItwasallharderthanIexpected.Theschoolwork,thesocialstuff.”
“Everyonelovedyou,Wyn,”Isay.
Helooksatmethroughhislashes,hismouthcurling.“No,Harriet.Theywantedtohookupwithme.That’snotthesamething.Ineverfitthere.”
Ipullmyfingersawayfromtheicyfenceandtouchthespotwherehisdimplebelongs.Thecornersofhismouthtwitch,andthedipappearsundermymiddlefinger.“Youfitwithme,andIwasthere.”
“Iknow,”hesays.“Ithinkthat’sreallywhyIwent.Tofindyou.”
“That’saveryexpensivedatingapp,”Isay.
“Yougetwhatyoupayfor,”hereplies.
Myhandsfalltothecollarofhiscoat,thetopsofmyfingerstuckinginagainsthishotskin.“Didyouatleastfigureoutwhatyouwantedtoo?”
Inthedyinglight,thegreenridgesinhiseyesglitterlikebitsofmicaunderwater.Hiswork-coarsenedhandscirclemywrists,histhumbsgentleonthedelicateskinthere.
“This,”hesays.“Justthis.”
Metoo,Ithink.Ican’tbringmyselftosayit,toadmitthattherestofmylife,everythingI’veworkedfor,hasstartedtofeellikesetdressing.Likelovinghimistheonlyessential,andeverythingelseisgarnish.
Heshowsmetheworkshoptoo,theexactplacewheretheheavyarmoirefellonhimoneNewYear’sEvewhilehisparentswereout,wherehelayforfourandahalfhoursinthecold,waitingtobefound.
Itmakesmyheartache.Notjustthememorybutthesmell,thecedarandsawdustandthattouchofsomethingthat’sallWyntome.“Youdon’tmindbeingouthere?”Iask,walkingalongthetablein-process,itstopsandeddowntoberefinished.
“Ialwaysloveditouthere,”hesays.“Soaftertheaccident,myparentswereadamantaboutgettingmebackoutbeforeIstartedfixating.Itworked,mostly.”
Ipause,fingersstillingonthetable,andlookbackathim.“Ilikeseeingyouhere.”
Hecrossestowardme,gentlytakesmyhipsinhishands.“Ilikeseeingyouhere,”hesays,voicelow,alittlehoarse.“Itmakesmefeellikethisisreal.”
“Wyn.”Ilookupintohisface,searchinghisstormyeyes,therigidlinesbetweenhisbrowsandframinghisjaw.“Ofcourseit’sreal.”
Hefoldshisfingersthroughmineandbringsmyhandstothebackofhisneck,ourforeheadsrestingtogether,ourheartswhirring.“Imean,”hesays,“likeIcanmakeyouhappy.”
“Thisisme,happy,”Ipromise.
Onourlastnightintown,wesamplemoreofHank’sscotchandplayahighlycompetitivegameofdominoes,andthensitinfrontofthehearthandwatchthefirecrackleandpop.
Onasigh,Hanksays,“We’regonnamissyou,kiddos.”
“We’llcomehomeagainsoon,”Wynpromises,liftingmyhand,brushingthebackofitabsentlyacrosshislips.
Home,Ithink.That’snew
Butit’snot.It’sbeengrowingthereforawhile,thisnewroominmyheart,thisspacejustforWynthatIcarrywithmeeverywhereIgo.18
RealLife
Wednesday
Itakemytimeinthemovietheater’sneongreenbathroom.
Iwashmyhands,thenwipedownthesinkareaandwashmyhandsagain.
Onmywaybackthroughtheburgundy-carpetedarcadeinwhichthebathroomsaretucked,InearlycollidewithWyn.
“Sorry,”webothhuff,stoppingshort
Myeyesdroptothesmorgasbordofpapercartonshe’scarrying:Twizzlers,Nerds,RedHots,Whoppers,andMilkDuds.
“Goingtoaslumberparty?”Iask.
“Iwasthirsty,”hesays.
“Whichexplainsthecupofwaterandnothingelse,”Isay.“Youthinkshortbread’stoosweet.”
“Thoughtyoumightwantsomething,”hesays.
Hiseyeslookmoregreenthangrayrightnow.I’mfindingithardtolookatthem,soItrainmygazeonthecandy.“ItlookslikeyouthoughtImightwanteverything.”
Hiseyesflash.“WasIwrong?”
“No,”Isay,“butyoudidn’thavetodothat.”
“Trustme,itwasn’tintentional,”hesays.“Iwalkedupforthewater,andnextthingIknowI’vegotawagonfilledwithcornsyrup.”
“Well,that’stheConnorfamilythriftiness.Ifyoubuyawagon,refillsarefree.”
Hislaughturnsintoagroan.Herunsthebackofhishanduphisforehead.“I’msohungover.”
“Didn’tyouhaveonedrinklastnight?”
“Ifwe’reignoringthehalfbottleIdrankinthecellar,”hesays.
“Weshouldprobablyignoreeverythingthathappenedinthecellar,”Isay.
Hestudiesmeforasecond.“Anyway,Ihavenotoleranceanymore.Idrinklessthaneverthesedays.”
“Wow,humblebrag,”Isay.
Helaughs.“Actually,it’sjustthatI’vebeenusingedibles.”
Atmysurprise,hesays,“They’vebeenreallyhelpingmymom,butshegetskindofembarrassed.Abouttakingthemonherown.Soacoupletimesaweek,I’llsplitabrowniewithher.She’sfunny.She’dnevereventriedweedbefore,andshegetssupergiggly.Isortofthinkit’saplaceboeffect,butitdoesn’tmatter.”
Isuppressagrin.“Movedbackinwithyourmomandgethighwithhertwiceaweek.”
“Livingthedream,”hesays.
“Youare,though,”Isay.“I’mactuallyjealous.”
“Itisfun,”hesays.“Butshegetssomunchy.I’veprobablygainedlikefifteenpounds.”
“Itsuitsyou.”Iquicklyadd,“Howisshe,really?”
Heglancesatmeaskance.“Youhaven’ttalkedtoher?”
I’msureheknowsIstilltextregularlywithGloria.Ievenfieldtheoddtextortwofromhissisters.Mostlywhenhislittlesister,Lou,wantsmyopiniononapotentialpresentforWyn,invariablyagaggiftthatrequiresnospecialinsightwhatsoever,orwhenhisoldersister,Michael,wantsanopiniononamedicalailmentthatinvariablyhasnothingtodowithneurosurgery.Asfarashisfamilyknows,heandIarestillengaged.
“Idotalktoher,”Isay.“ButIfigureshe’smostlylying.”
Wyn’slaughislow.“I’msuresheis.”
Hisgazedrops.Iletminelingeronthedarkfringeofhislashes,thecurveofhisfullupperlip,untilhiseyeslift.“Itreallydoeshelp.Theweed.Just…notenough.”
Emotionstangleinmyesophagus.Globussensation,mymindsupplies,asifnamingitwilltakeawaytheache.Itdoesn’t.“I’mgladyou’retherewithher,”Isay.
Hislipspart,cometogether,partagain.“I,um…”Hesetstheboxesofcandyandcupatoptheairhockeytablebesideusandshiftsbetweenhisfeet.Hetakesadeepbreath.“Iknowyoudon’twanttotalkaboutitall,”hesaysinalow,huskyvoice,“andIrespectthat.Butyousaidsomethingyesterday,and…”
Heatcreepsallthewayupmynecktomyears.“Iwashavingabadday,Wyn.”
“No,no—it’snot…”Heshakeshishead,thentriesagain.“SomethingyousaidinthecellarmademerealizeyouthoughthewaswhyIendedit.”
He.Itlandswithaviolentimpact.
Wynswallows.“ThatyouthoughtIblamedyouforwhathappenedwithhim.”
“Ofcourseyoublamedme.”MyspinestiffensasIwillmyselfnottocrack,orrathernottoletthecracksshow.Thetruthis,they’realreadythere.
“Ididn’t,”hesaysroughly.“AndIdon’t.Iswear.Okay?”
Mychestpinches.“SosheercoincidencethatItoldyouabouthimandyouimmediatelydumpedme.”
Ihavenoideawhattomakeofhislookofsurpriseandhurt.Ihavenoideawhattomakeofanyofthis.Iwentintothebathroominoneuniverseandwalkedoutintoanother.
“Harriet,”herasps,shakinghishead.“Itwasmorecomplicatedthanthat.”
MorecomplicatedthanthinkingI’dbetrayedhim.Itwasn’tthathewasangry.Itwasn’tthathedidn’ttrustme.
Hejustdidn’twantmeanymore.Itfeelslikemybodyisturningtosand,likeinaminuteI’llbenothingbutashapelessheaponthefloor.
“Iwasinadarkplace,”hegoeson.
IturnfromhimbecauseIfeelthecracksspreading,myeyesstinging.“Iknow.”
Ididknow.Everysecondofeveryday.“Ijustdidn’tknowhowtofixit,”Ichokeout.
“Youcouldn’thave,”hesays.
IclosemyeyesasItrytogathermyself,stuffallthesemessyfeelingsbackdown.
Thetruthis,IknewhehatedSanFrancisco.Ifeltguiltythathe’dfollowedmethere.Guiltyaboutkeepinghimthere,evenasitwaskillingmenotbeingabletomakehimhappy.
Hishandslidesthroughmine,tentativelylacingourfingersandtuggingmebacktohim.
“Itwasn’tjustthat,”hesays.“Mydad…”
Inod,theacheinmythroattooseveretospeak.
Hank’spassingwassosudden.Idon’tknowifthatmadeitanyworse.Thereneverwouldhavebeenanokaytimetolosehim.NotforWyn.NotforanyonewhoknewHank.
Everythingcombustedatonce,andsomehowIstillthoughtwe’dmakeit.Whenhepromisedtolovemeforever,Ibelievedhim.Thatwaswhatmademetheangriest,withbothofus.
“Ididn’tthinkthatI…”Hiseyesholdmine,hisjawmusclesworking.“Ineverwantedtohurtyou.”
“Iknow.”Butitchangesnothing.
“AllIwant,”hesays,“isforyoutobehappy.”
Thereitisagain,thatword.
“That’swhatIwastryingtosay,downinthecellar,”hegoeson.“ThatIdon’twanttodoanythingthisweekthatmessesanythingelseupforyou.AndI’msorryIalmostdid.”
Thepiecesclicktogether.
“I’mnotwithhim,”Isay.“There’snothingtomessup.”
Hislipspart.
IwishIcouldrollthewordsbackintomymouthanddownmythroat.“Ifthat’swhatyouweregettingat.”
“Okay,”hesays.
Okay?Whatkindofresponseisthat?
Afterabeatofawkwardsilence,hesays,“I’mnoteither.”
Isuppressasmile.“You’renotinalong-distancerelationshipwithmycoworkeryou’vemetonce?”
Anirresistibleblushhitsthetopsofhischeekbones.Heknockshisfootagainstthelegoftheairhockeytable.“Icanhardlybelieveitmyself.Thechemistrywasundeniable,butitwasn’tenough.”
Iswallowthesecondhalfofalaugh,andhelooksupatmefromunderthatonelockofhis.“There’snooneelse,”hesays.
Itdoesn’tmatter,Itellmyself.
Itcan’tmatter.
Hewasn’thappywithyou.
Hebrokeyourheart.
Hewasneveryourstokeep,anddeepdownyouknewthat.
Iwatchedhimfadefromme,bitbybit,daybyday,amiragerecedingintonothingness.
Butthewayhe’slookingatmethreatenstoobliteratelogic,toerasehistory.Ifhe’sablackhole,I’vereachedhiseventhorizon.
Mychestaches,butIdon’twantittostop.Iwanttoleanintothefeeling,thiswholeness.Myheartandbodyandmindareallfinallyinthesametimeandplace.Here,withhim.
Idon’twanttogobackintothetheater,butsomethinghastogive.Wecan’tkeepwalkingoutalongthistightrope,orsomeone’sgoingtogethurt.I’mgoingtogethurt.
Iclearmythroat.“How’sthefurniturerepairbusiness?”
HisCupid’sbowtwitches.“Stillafurniturerepairbusiness.”
“Oh?”Isay.“Notusingittorundrugsandhostillegalgamblingnightsyet?”
Hislipssplitintoasmile.“Stillinthesameapartment?”
Ourapartment.Itstillmanagestoholdtracesofhim.Ormaybethat’sme,carryinghisghostaroundwhereverIgo.“Mhm.”
“How’syoursister?”heasks.
“Good,Ithink,”Isay.“Sheandherhairdresserfriendwentintobusinesstogether.Theymostlydoweddingsanddances.StillFaceTimesmetwiceamonth,makesaboutfiveminutesofsmalltalk,thensaysgoodbye.”
Histeethskateoverhisbottomlip.“I’msorry.”
He’stheonlypersonwhoknowshowmuchitbothersmethatIbarelyknowEloise,thatdespitehavingasister,Ialwaysfeltacutelyaloneinourchildhoodhome.Betweenoursix-yearagegapandherconstantdisagreementswithourparents,wedidn’thavemuchtimetobond.
Ishrug.“Somethingsneverchange,andthebestthingistostophopingtheywill.”
“Otherthingsdo,though,”hesays.
Ibreakeyecontact.“Whataboutyoursisters?Howarethey?”
“Good,”hereplies,halfsmiling.“Lou’swithmymomthisweek.Saidtotellyouhi.”
Ismiledespitethetwingeinmychest.“AndMichael?StillinColorado?”
Henods.“She’sdatinganotheraerospaceengineer,whoworksforacompetingcompany.Theymovedintogether,butthey’rebothunderNDAs,soneitherofthemevenletstheotherintotheirhomeoffice.”
Ilaugh.“That,”Isay,“issounbelievablyon-brand.”
“Iknow,”hesays.“AndLoufinishedattheIowaWriters’WorkshopinMay.”
“That’samazing,”Isay.
Together,thethreeofthemcouldbeloudandrudeandcompetitive.Theyarguedovereverything—whattohavefordinner,whogotfirstuseoftheshower,whoreallyunderstoodtherulesofdominoesandwhowastotallyoff—asifassoonasathoughtorfeelingoccurredtothem,itspewedout.
Butnothingeverblewup.Littleargumentsflaredandextinguished;smallinsultscasuallyfaded.Andeveryonewentbacktojoking,hugging,kicking,actinglikesiblingsdoinmovies.
Iwonderbutdon’taskwhetherhisyoungersister,Lou,isjustvisitingtheirmomorifsheendedupmovinghomeaftergradschoollikeshe’dbeenplanning,backwhenWyn’sstayouttherewassupposedtobetemporary.ShewasgoingtotakeoverGloria’scare.
“Imissthem,”Iadmit.
“Theymissyoutoo,”hesays.
Iask,“DotheywonderwhyInevervisit?”
“Igooutoftownsometimes,”hesays.“Forworkstuff.”
“Workstuff?”Iask.
Henodsbutdoesn’tclarify.“Theythinkwe’reseeingeachotherthen.”
Inod.Idon’thaveanythingtosaytothat.
Heclearshisthroat.“Mymomsaidyouweretakingapotteryclass.”
“Oh,”Isay.“Yeah.”
“IpretendedIalreadyknewaboutit,”hesays.
“Right.That’sgood.”
“Butshementionedthatshethinksyou’regettingbetter.Andyournewestbowllookedwaylesslikeabutt.”
Thelaughrocketsoutofmeasifshotfromacannon.“That’sfunny,becauseyoushouldhaveseentherapturoustextshesentmeaboutthatbutt-bowl.Shepretendeditwasverygood.”
“Nah.”Hegrins.“Shewasn’tpretending.Shetoldmeitwasreallygood.Itjustalsolookedlikeabutt.Youknowhowsheis.”
“Rememberhowniceshewasaboutthatpaintingwegaveherasajoke?”Iask.“Thefucked-upVelvetElvisthatlookedmorelikeBifffromBacktotheFuture?”
Hissmilewidens.“Shekeptsayinghowuniqueitwas.”
“Butfullymakinguniquesoundlikeagoodthing.SomuchnuancetoGloria’sopinions.”
“Thenuancebeingthatshecanknowsomething’sobjectivelyterrible,”hesays,“butifit’sevenlooselyconnectedtooneofherfamilymembers,thenit’sgottoalsobegroundbreakinglyspecial.”
TheideaofbeingoneofGloria’sfamilymembers,ofbeinggroundbreakinglyspecial,pricksatmyheart.
“It’sbeenweirdlyfun,livingwithher,”hesays.
“Nothingweirdaboutit,”Isay.“Gloria’sablast.”
Hesmilestohimself.“It’sjustfunny.IspentallthoseyearsconvincingmyselfIneededtogetaway.Isawmysistersfindingtheirthingsandtalkingaboutleaving,andmyparentsbeingsoproudofhowtheyweregoingtomakesomethingofthemselves,charttheirownpathorwhatever.AndIthoughtIneededtodothattoo.”
Ithinkbackallthoseyearstothedaythefiveofus,sansKimmy,layontheArmases’dock,chartingouralternativepaths,howeventhen,Wynusedhishypotheticalotherlifetogobacktotheonehe’dleftbehind.Apartofhimknewhebelongedthere.
OnceIwenthomewithhimforthefirsttime,metHankandGloriaandLouandMichael,sawthewoodshopandthechildhoodbedroomfilledwithproofofahappy,love-filledchildhood,apartofmeknewhebelongedtheretoo.
Itriedtoholdontohimanyway.Watched,thosemonthsinSanFrancisco,asthewallsclosedinaroundhim—anditkilledmetoseehimsobroken,sohunted,butIhadn’tbeenbraveenoughtocuthimloose.Maybethatwaspartoftheangerthatburnedinmetoo:disappointmentthatIhadn’tlovedhimwellenoughtomakehimhappynorwellenoughtolethimgo.
“Anyway,”hesays,“ifsomeonehadtoldme,attwenty-two,thatI’denduplivinginmychildhoodbedroomanddoingcrosswordswithmymomoverbreakfasteverymorning,Iwouldhavebelievedthem,butI’dbeshockedtohearI’mactuallyhappyinthisscenario.”
“Youdocrosswords?”Isay.“Youneverwantedtodocrosswordswhenwelivedtogether.Iusedtotrytogetyouto,everytimeitrained.”
“AndIalwayssaidyes,”hesays.
“Andweneverfinishedthem,”Isay.
“Harriet.”Hiseyessettleonmine,aknowingglintinthem.“That’sbecauseIcouldneversitstillthatlongacrossfromyouwithouttouchingyou.”
Bloodrisestomycheeksandchest,thrumsdownintomythighs.
Withoutmyrealizingit,we’vemovedclosertogether.Maybeit’slikeCleo’sBernie’s-inducedhangover:aPavlovianresponsethatwillalwaysdrawustogether.
Isay,“AndhereIthoughtitwasthecrosswordsthemselvesgettingyouriledup.”
“Asitturnsout,”hereplies,“it’snotwritinglettersintinyboxesthatgetsmeriledup.”
“That’sgood,”Imanage.“ThatwouldmakebreakfastwithGloriaprettyawkward.”
Thefanblowsawispofhairacrossmyface,andhecatchesit,twistingitbetweenhiscallousedfingertips.Myheartpounds,myeverycelltuggingtowardhim.
Behindus,thedoortothetheaterswingsopen.Ourfriendsstreamoutinaflurryofchatterandlaughter.Intermissionhasbegun.
Istarttowardthem,butWyncatchesmywrist.
“Ilikethebowl,”hesays.“Sheshowedmeapicture.Ithoughtitwasbeautiful.”19
RealLife
Wednesday
“Ithoughtyouweren’tstayingforthesecondmovie,”IwhispertoCleoaswesettlebackintoourseats.Thistime,WynandIareinthemiddle,andIcan’thelpbutwonderifSabrinanudgedusintothispositionsowewouldn’trunoutagain.
Cleoshrugs.“ThisclearlymeansalottoSab.Plus,Idon’twantherhangingitovermethatIleftearly.”
“Pssst.”KimmyleansforwardaroundCleo.Sheholdsaplasticsandwichbagouttome
Isquintatthecontents.“Areyoutryingtosellmedrugs?”
“Ofcoursenot,”shesays.“I’mtryingtogiveyoudrugs.”SheswingsthelittleredgummybearsinfrontofCleo’sfaceandtossesthemintomylap.
“Youare,”Isay,“sodiscreet.”
“Idon’thavetobediscreet,”shesays.“It’slegalhere.”
Wynleansin.“IsKimmysellingdrugs?”
“Wantsome?”sheasks.
Sabrinashushesus,eyesgluedtothescreenassheshovelspopcornintohermouth.
Wynlooksatme,thenbacktoKimmy.“IfHarriet’sin,Iam.”
“Howstrongarethey?”Iwhisper.
Kimmyshrugs.“Nottoostrong.”
“Nottoostrongforyouornottoostrongforme?”Isay.
“Let’sputitthisway,”shesays.“You’llhaveagreattime,butyouwon’tmakemecallthehospitalandaskthemifyou’regoingtodie.Again.”
Whatthehell.WheninRome.
Eachofustakesone.Wetapthemtogetherinatoastbeforethrowingthemback.
“Hey,”Sabrinasaysatfullvolume,“areyouguysdoingdrugsdownthere?”
“We’retakingtinyweedgummies,”Isay.
“Gotanymore?”Sabrinaasks.“Ihaven’tgottenhighinforever.”
Kimmypassesthebagdowntheline.ParthandSabrinaeachtakeone.Cleowavesofftheoffer.“Idon’tsmokeanymore,really.”
“AndI’mcuttingbacktoo,”Kimmysays.“Sowhateverwedon’tfinishthisweek,youallcanfightover.”
“Okay,isitpossiblethisisalreadymakingmehungry,”Sabrinaasks.
“No,”Cleo,Wyn,andIallsayinunison.
Fromthebackofthetheater,someoneshushesus.Weallduckdowninourseats.
“Holyshit,”Kimmyhisses.“Didanyoneknowtherewassomeoneelsebackthere?”
Parthsneaksalookoverhisshoulder.“Ithinkhe’saghost.”
“He’snotaghost,”Iwhisper.
“Howcanyoubesure?”Parthsays.
“Because,”Isay,“he’swearinghissunglassesbackward.That’sRay.He’sapilot.”
“Justbecausehe’sapilotdoesn’tmeanhe’snotaghost,”Kimmysayssagely.
???
Thegray-shingledbuildingsonCommercialStreetsteadilydrip,butthedownpourhasended,andeveryoneisoutforthefirstnightofLobsterFest.Theconcerts,contests,andparadeofred-gownedformerLobsterLadiesdon’tstartuntilFriday,butthefoodtrucksandcarnivalgamesareopen,theirlightsflashingnotquiteintimewiththeBillyJoelhitpipingthroughthespeakers.Kidsinlobsterandmermaidfacepaintdartthroughthecrowd,couplesinmatchingwindbreakersdanceinfrontofthewine-slushiestand,andglassy-eyedteenagerspassaroundsuspiciouswaterbottles.
“Doyousmellthat?”Sabrinaliterallyskipsaheadofus.“Ifthere’saheaven,thisiswhatitsmellslike.”
Saltwaterandburntsugar,garlicsimmeringinbutterandclamsfryinginoil
“Iwantacupofextremelyfoamybeer,”shesaysdreamily.
“IwantfrenchfriescoveredinOldBay,”Kimmysays.
Cleo’snosewrinklesonalaugh.“Iwantavideocamerasotomorrowyoucanseehowhighyouallare.”
“IwanttowinatWhack-a-Lobster,”Parthsays,peelingofftowardthegame’sflashinglightslikeahypnotizedmagicshowvolunteer,andWynfollowsinadaze.
IhookanarmaroundCleo’sshoulders.“Nowaren’tyougladyoudidn’tmissoutonallthis?”
“Itwasn’tthisIwantedtomiss,”Cleosays.Theothershavemovedontoamilk-bottletossgame.Shejerksherheadtowardthelobsterbeanbagsandthebottlespaintedtolooklikenervouslobstermen.“Whatdoyouthinkthenarrativeishere?Thelobstersfightingback?”
“Let’shopeit’snotprophetic,orthistown’sthefirsttogo,”Isay.
Sheturnsbacktome.“IguessIfeellike…thisweek’salreadyhalf-over,andwe’veallbarelygottentocatchup.AndIknowhowimportantthisistoher—toeveryone.Doingallthesethingsonelasttime,andIgetthat.
“Butit’salsobeenalongtimesincewe’vebeentogether,andtodayjustfeltlikekindofabummer.Sittingthroughhoursofmovieswhenwecouldbetalking.”
Igrabherhand.“I’msorry.Thatmakescompletesense.”
Sheglancesback,towhereSabrinaandPartharetauntingeachotherinfrontofthegame,andsmilesalittle.“Ijustwantthisweektobeperfectforthem.”
“Metoo.”Isqueezeherhand.“Buthey,thenightisyoungandsoarewe.Whatdoyouwanttodo?I’llgoonanyrideorplayanygame.I’llevenletyoumonologueaboutmushrooms.”
Shelaughsandtucksherheadagainstmyshoulder.“Ijustwanttobeherewithyou,Har.”
Theweedmustbehittingmehard,becauseIinstantlytearupalittle.
It’sthathappy-sadfeeling,thatintensehomesickache.Itmakesmethinkofmysemesterabroad.Nottheoldcobbledstreetsortinypubsoverstuffedwithdrunkuniversitystudents,butSabrinaandCleoFaceTimingmeatmidnighttosingme“HappyBirthday.”Thefeelingofbeingsogratefultohavesomethingworthmissing.
Wewalk,wetalk,wesweatandfrizzandeat.Funnelcakesandlobsterrolls,overstuffedwhoopiepiesandbattered-and-friedfiddleheadferns,caramelcornandsaltedpopcorn.
“Doesanyoneelsefeelliketime’smovingreallyfast?”IaskwhenIrealizeit’sfulldark.
CleoandSabrinalookateachotherandburstintolaughter.
“You’resohigh,”Sabrinasays.
“Saysthewomanwhospentlikenineminutesmakingusstandinoneplacewhileshegoogledwhethercornisanutoravegetable,”Isay.
“Iwantedtoknow!”Sabrinacries,eyesshrunken.
“Anut,babe,”Cleosays.“Youthoughtcornwasanut.”
“Well,theylooklikelittlenutsbeforeyoupopthem,”Parthsays,comingtoSabrina’sdefense.Cleoisnowlaughingsohardshe’sdoubledover.
WyniswanderingtowardtheFerriswheel,saucer-eyed.
“Dude,Wyn’sabouttobebeamedup,”Kimmysays,andIhavenoideawhatshe’stalkingabout,butitmakesmelaughanyway.
Wynlooksoverhisshoulderandsays,“Lookatit.It’sbeautiful.”Sabrinastaresathimforonesecond,thenthrowsherheadbackandcackles.
Buthe—andhisnot-quite-tinygummy—isright.
Everythinglookssoftaroundtheedges,dreamy.
ParthleadsusintotheFerriswheelline.ItrytopairupwithSabrina,butshesidestepsmeinthequeue,switchingplacessoshe’swithParthandI’mwithWyn.
“Okay,okay,”Parthsays.“Raiseyourhandifyou’rehigh.”
“Whatifweallcloseoureyesfirst?”Kimmysays.“Justsonoone’sembarrassed.”
Wyn’sheaddroopsagainstmyshoulder,hislaughterspillingacrossmyskin,drippingdownmyspine,lightingupmynerveendingsasitgoes.Amixedmetaphor,sure,butwhenareyousupposedtomixyourmetaphorsifnotatthirtyyearsold,highasasatellite?
“Ifeelyoung!”Icry,whichmakesSabrinacackleagain,throwherarmsouttohersides,andspintwice.
Parthgrabsmyshouldersandsaysurgently,“Weareyoung,Harry.We’llalwaysbeyoung.It’sastateofmind.”
“Nowseemslikeagoodtimetotellyou,”Cleosays,“Kimbuysthisshitfromaneighborwhomakesitathome.It’snotregulated.Hopeyou’reallpreparedtogotothefuckingmoon.”
Kimmy’seyeshaveessentiallydisappearedatthispoint.“Listen,”shesays,“you’regonnahaveagreattime.Moon’sbeautifulthistimeofyear.”
Normallytheideaofunregulatedweedgummiesmightmakemeatadanxious.Or,like,haveafull-blownpanicattack.ButthewayKimmysaysitandthegoofylookonherfacemakemesnort-laughsomemore.
“Wait,”Wynsays,facesternandserious,“howdoyoumakegummiesathome?”
“Listen,”Kimmysays.“It’samystery.”
“Listen,”Sabrinasays.“Iloveit.”
TheveryunimpressedtwentysomethingFerriswheelattendantwavesusupthemetalstepstotheloadingplatform.
SabrinaandParthtakethefrontmostopenbench,andWynsteadiesmeasweclimbinthenextone,mybreathstillcomingingigglygasps.
“These,”hesays,“arenotmymother’sweedgummies.”
Ichortleintohisshoulder,thenpullbackquickly.Well,inallhonesty,IdoubtI’mdoinganythingquickly,butIdoremembertoremovemyfacefromhisneckregion,andthat’snotnothingatthispoint.
Weliftourarmsastheattendantchecksourlapbar,thendropthemagainashemovestothebenchbehindustolatchKimmyandCleoin.
“Rememberthemaritimemuseum?”hesays.
Iwipemylaugh-tearsawaywiththebackofmyhand.“Remembermightnotbeaccurate.Ihavebitsandpiecesfloatingaroundinsidemyhippocampuslikelittlesoapbubbles.”
“Itwasthetriprightbeforeyourlastyearofmedicalschool,”hesays.
“Seriously?”Myhandflopsontohisonthelapbar.Ipullitback.“Itwasthatlongago?”
Henods.“ItwasthesametripwhereSabrinaandParthfirsthookedup.”
Thememoryfeelslikeit’sbeingbroadcastfromanotherlife.SabrinaandParthhadstayeduplaterthanallofus,caughtinaviciouslycompetitivegameofginrummy,whereintheytookturnswinning.Latethenextmorning,they’dcomedowntothekitchentogether,crankybutglowing.“Don’tsayasingleword,”Sabrinawarned.“Wearen’tgoingtospeakofit.”Andwe’dallnoddedandhidoursmirks,butthatnight,they’dsharedaroomagain.
“Laterthatdayweallsharedonejoint,”Wyngoeson,“thenwenttothemuseum,andyouwatchedthatboat-makingpresentationforlikethirty-fiveminuteswithoutblinking.”
“Hewasanartist!”Icry.
“Hewas,”Wynagrees.“Andforliketwohours,youwereconvincedyouweregoingtoquitmedicalschooltomakeboats.”
“I’dneverevenbeenonaboatatthatpoint,”Isay.
“Idon’tthinkthat’sstrictlyrequired,”hesays.
“IwasprobablyjustscaredIwasn’tgoingtomatchwithanyresidencies,”Isay.
“Youtoldmeyouwouldn’tevencare,”hereplies.“Yousaiditwouldbeasignfromtheuniverse.”
Mychestpincheswithguilt.AsifI’dcheatedonmyfuture,hadanemotionalaffairwithboatmaking.I’ddevotedmyentireadultlifetothisonething,andallittookwasonepuffoftherightjointformetocontemplatethrowingitallaway.
“Itwasfuckingadorable,”hesays.“Ihigh-textedmydadtoaskwhatwe’dneedtogetforyoutobeabletomakeaboatintheshop.”
“Seriously?”
“Hewasextremelyexcited,”Wynsays.“Hewasgoingtoaskaroundtoseeifsomeonecouldcomeshowyouhowtogetstarted.”
“Younevertoldmethat,”Isay.
“Well,”hesays,“younevermentionedboatmakingagain,soIkindoffigureditwastheweedtalking.”
“Itwasexceptionallytalkativeweed,”Imuse.
“Whataboutthegummy?”heasks.“Isittellingyouweshouldimpulse-buysomeheavymachinery?”
We.HearinghimsayitislikebitingintoaMaineblueberry,thewayyoutastethesaltwaterandthecoldskyandthedampearthandthesunallatonce.Whenwelandsonmytongue,Iseeeverything:
HismoonlitshouldersleanedagainsttheJaguar.
Themomenthepulledhishoodiedownovermyshoulders,myhairpushingoutaroundmyface.
Akissinthewinecellar.
Fallingasleepcrammedinonetwinbed,hissweatstillclingingtome.
Thenightheaskedmetomarryhim.
“Harriet?”hesays.“Whatdoyouthink?Shouldweinvestinyourboat-makingdreamornot?”
ThemorningwefoundoutHankwasgone.
Thedeep,painfulsilenceinourSanFranciscoapartment.
Thenighthebrokemyheart.
Ishakemyself.“Whathavewegottoloseexceptforthousandsofdollarswedon’thaveandlimbswe’refairlyaccustomedtoand—”IscrabbleforhisarmastheFerriswheellurchestolife,sweepingforwardalongtheloadingdockandthenshootingusskyward.
Asthegrounddropsaway,Wyn’sfacelightsinalternatinghuesofneon,colorspulsinginanonsensicalrhythm.
Forafewseconds,I’mhypnotized.
Okay,realistically,IhavenoconceptofhowlongI’mhypnotized.Theweedisstillmakingtimestretchyastaffy.Somecolorspainthisfaceforeons,andothersflashsofastIhardlyhavetimetoregisterthem.
Thebittersaltybreezerunsthroughhishairaswelifthigherintothenight,thesmellofburntsugarstillclingingtohisclothes.
“You’restaring,Harriet,”hesays,thecornerofhismouthtwitching.
“AmI?”Isay.“Orareyoujusthigh?”
Whenhelaughs,Ibecomeintenselyawareofmyfingers,stillclutchinghisforearm,andofthesmooth,drytextureofhisskin.Upclose,wheneverhe’sbeenoutinthesun,therearemillionsoftinydarkfreckles,smallassandgrains,scatteredoverhisskin.Iwanttotouchallofthem.Inmycurrentstate,thatcouldtakedays.
Wedgedtogetherlikethis,Ifeelhisbreathmovinginandoutofhislungs,hisheartbeattappingoutmessagesinMorsecode.
“Whyareyoulookingatmelikethat?”heasks.
“Likewhat?”Isay,abitthickly.
Hetuckshischin.“Likeyouwanttoeatme.”
“Because,”Isay,“Iwanttoeatyou.”
Hetoucheshisthumbagainstthemiddleofmychin,theairtakingonanelectricalcharge.“Isthattheweedtalking,”heteasesgently,“orisitthatI’vestillgotpowderedsugaronmymouth?”
Forsomeonewho’sspentalifetimelivinginsideherownmind,Ibecomenothingbutabodyalarminglyfast,allbuzzingnerveendingsandtinglingskin.
“Thisisconfusing,”Iwhisper.
“Idon’tfeelconfused,”hesays.
“Youmustnotbeashighasme.”
Hissmileunfurlsfromonecornerofhismouth,neverquitemakingittotheother.“IknowI’mnotashighasyou.Youlooklikeyouateatrashbagfullofcatnip.”
“Icanfeelmyblood,”Isay.“Andthesecolorshavetastes.”
“You’renotwrong,”hesays.
“Whatdotheytasteliketoyou?”Iask.
Hecloseshiseyes,hisnosetippingup,thebreezerufflinghisT-shirt.Whenheopenshiseyes,hispupilshaveovertakenhisirises.“Redgummy.”
Isnort.“Howastute.”
Hiseyesflash,lightningcracklinginthepre-tornadogreenofthem.“Okay,fine,”hesays.“Youwantthetruth?”
“Aboutwhattheselightstastelike?”Isay.“Dyingforit.”
Hishandslidesoffthelapbar,thetipsofhisfingersdragginguptheoutsideofmythighallthewaytomyhip,hiseyeswatchingtheirprogress.“Theytastelikethisfabric.”
I’mtryingmybestnottoshiver,nottonuzzleintohim,becausethelightpressureofhisfingersagainstthesatinofmysundressdoesinfacthaveatasterightnow,andit’sdelicious.
“Soft,”hesays.Thebacksofhisfingernailsdragbackdownmythigh,slidingpastthehemofmydresstothebareskinabovemyknee.Myheadfallsbackofitsownvolition.“Delicate.Sofuckinglightitdissolvesonyourtongue.”
Hiseyesmeetmine.Hisnailsdragbackup,alittleheavier.Forseveralseconds,orminutes,orhours,weholdontoeachother’sgazeswhilehishandmakesslowpasses,up,down,upalittlehigher.
“CanIseemorepictures?”hesays.
Istartlefrommylusthaze.“What?”
“Ofyourpottery,”hesays.
“It’snotgood,”Isay.
“Idon’tcare,”hesays.“CanIseeit?”
Ourgazesholdagain.I’mreallystrugglingtomoveatanormalpace.EverytimeIlookathim,everythingelsestops,likewe’refloatingoutsidetimeandspace.
Ifumblemyphoneoutandflipthroughmypictures.
AsidefromahandfuloftargetedadsformurdermysteryTVshowsIwantedtoremembertowatch,thereisn’tmuchtogetthroughbeforeImakeittoshotsofmylastfewprojects.Amug,twodifferentvases,anotherbowlthatdoesn’treallylookbutt-likeatall.Orhardly,anyway.
Ipasshimmyphone.Hestudiesit,histonguetracingoverhisbottomlipasheslowlyflipsthroughthepictures.We’vedoneatleastonefullrotationontheFerriswheelbythetimehereachesthelastoneandstartsflippingbacktheotherway,pausingoneach,zoomingintoseethedetailsoftheglazes.
“Thisone.”He’sstaringatthesmallerofthevases,streakedwithshadesofgreen,blue,purple,andbrown,ahorizonofearthycolors.
Myheartsqueezes.“Thatone’scalledHank.”
Helooksup,faceopen,withtheexpressionthatusedtomakemethinkofquicksand,afacethatcouldpullyouinandneverletyougo.
“Younamedit?”hesays.“Aftermydad?”
“Isn’tthathumiliating?”Itrytopullmyphoneaway.
Hedoesn’tletgo.“Whywoulditbehumiliating?”
“BecauseI’mnotMichelangelo,”Isay.“Myvasesdon’tneednames.”
Heholdsthephoneup.“Thisoneneedsafuckingname,andthatnameisHank.”Ireachforitagain,butheyanksitoutofreach,goesbacktostaringatthescreen,creasesrisingfromtheinsidesofhisbrows.Quietly,hesays,“Itlookslikehim.”
“Youdon’thavetosaythat,Wyn,”Ireply.“It’savase,byanamateur.”
“ItlookslikeMontana,”hesays.“Thecolorsareexactlyright.”
“Ormaybeyou’rejustreallyhigh,”Isay.
“Iamdefinitelyreallyhigh,”hesays.“ButI’malsoright.”
Oureyessnag,warmthgatheringatmycore.Iholdmyhandout.Hesetsmyphoneinit.
“Didyoushowthistomymom?”heasks.
Ishakemyhead.“Iwasthinkingaboutgivingittoher.”
“Letmebuyit,”hesays.
Ilaugh.“What?Definitelynot.”
“Whynot?”
“Becauseit’snotworthanything,”Isay.
“Itistome,”hesays.
“Thenyoucanpayforshipping,”Isay.“Itwillbefrombothofus.”
“Okay.I’llpayforshipping.”Afterapause,hesays,“How’dyougetintoit?”
“Ceramics?”
Henods.
Iletoutabreath.“Itwasaboutaweekafterwebrokeup.Iwaswalkinghomefromashift,andIwasacoupleblocksfromou—myapartment.”Icorrectmyselfatthelastsecond,butmyfaceflamesanyway.
Ihadn’twantedtogohomethatday.I’dscrubbedinonanotherroughsurgery.Thepatientpulledthrough,butI’dfeltsickeversince.
AllIwantedwastobewrappedupinWyn’sarms,andIknewifIwalkedintoourapartment,there’dbeshadowsofhimeverywherebutnotraceoftherealthing.
Iswallowthelumpburgeoninginmythroat.“AndIsawthisshop.Anditremindedmeofbeinghere,because,youknow…”
“Youcan’tgofourfeetwithouthittingaceramicnautilusshellvase?”heguesses.
“Exactly,”Isay.“AndI’veneverbeensuperinterestedinallthosepotteryshopswhilewe’rehere,youknow?ButwhenIsawthisplace,Ifeltlike…likeitwasalittlepieceofhome.Or,youknow,whateverthecottageisforus.”
“Soyoujustwentin?”heasks.
“Ijustwentin.”
Asmileteasesattheedgesofhismouth.“That’snotlikeyou.”
“Iknow,”Isay.“ButIwashavingabadday.Andtherewasanicecreamshopnextdoor,soIgotascoopthere,andbythetimeIwasleaving,peoplewereshowingupatthestudioforabeginners’class,andthealternativewastogohomeandwatchmoreMurder,SheWrote,soIjustwentin.”
Softly,hesays,“Andyoulikedit.”
“Ireallylikedit,”Iadmit.
“You’regoodatit,”hesays.
“Notreally,”Isay.“Butthat’sthething.Nothing’sridingonit.IfImessitup,itdoesn’tmatter.Icanstartover,andhonestly,Idon’tevenmind.BecausewhenI’mworkingonit,Ifeelgood.I’mnotmusclingthroughtoseehowitturnsout.Ilikedoingit.Idon’thavetostayhyperfocused.Idon’thavetodoanythingbutstickmyhandsinsomemudandbe.Izoneoutandletmymindwander.”
Hemustseesomethinginmyexpression,becausehesays,“Whatdoyouthinkabout?”
Mycheekstingle.“Idon’tknow.Places,mostly.”
“Whichplaces?”
Ilookdowntothefestivalstretchedoutbeneathus,watchingalittleboyandgirlzigzagthroughthecrowdwithcottoncandybouquetstwiceasbigastheirheads.“AnywhereI’vebeenhappy,”Isay.
There’salongpause.“Montana?”
Mythroattwists.Inod.
“Thatbowlthatlookedlikeabutt—IwasthinkingaboutthewaterhereinKnott’sHarbor,”Isay.“Aboutthewaves,andhowweirditisthattheydon’treallyexist.Likethewaterisjustthewater,butthetidemovesthroughthemandthewindmovesoverthemandtheychangeshape,butthey’realwaysjustwater.”
“SoIguess,”hesays,“somethingschangeandstaythesame.”
Iknowwe’rehigh.Iknowhehasn’tactuallysaidanythingprofound,butwhenhispalecoyoteeyeslifttomine,myheartseemstoflipover,everythinginsidemeturningafullonehundredandeightydegrees.It’slikeI’vebeenupsidedownallthistime,andthemotionhasfinallyrightedme.
“Isthereonethatlookslikeus?”heasks.
Theyalldo,Ithink.Youareinallofmyhappiestplaces.
Youarewheremymindgoeswhenitneedstobesoothed.
Ishiftonthebench.Hisfingertipsgrazemythigh.Hisfocushomesinonthecontact.
Hislipsknittogetherashetracesthefoldoffabric,andwhilehe’snotexactlytouchingme,thenervesalongmyhipstillwhirtolife,heat,fizz.
“Youhavetofeelthis,Harriet,”hesaysdreamily.
Ibreakintogiggles.“Thatgummywasnottiny.”
“Ontheplusside,”hesays,“it’smakingthisfabricfeelamazing.”
“Youmeantasteamazing,”Isay.
“Likeredgummy,”heagrees,droppinghismouthtowardmyshoulder,runninghispartedlipsoverthestrap.Mybreathcatches.Isetmyhandsagainstthelapbar,whereIcanbereasonablysuretheywon’tspontaneouslyclimbuptheinsideofWyn’sshirt.
“Isthiswhatsilkis?”heasks,liftinghisface,eyessparklingearnestlybeneaththeflashingpurplelights.
“Satin,”Itellhim.“Apoorman’ssilk.”
“Apoorbutluckyman’ssilk,”Wynsays.“Itfeelslike…dampskin.Here.”Hetakesmyhandfromthelapbarandbringsittomyownthigh,watchingformyreactionasheletsourhandsdriftoverthehemuntiltheveryendsofourfingersareonskin.“See?”
Inod,breathless.
Hiseyesdarken,pureblacknowexcepttheoutermostedgeofsilverygreen.
“Doyourememberwhatyoutoldme,”Isay,“aboutyourbrain?”
Hishandpauses.
“YousaiditfeltlikeaFerriswheel,”Isay.“Likeallyourthoughtswereconstantlycircling,andyou’dreachoutforone,butitwashardtostayonitfortoolongbecausetheykeptspinning.”
Thelinesofhisfacesoften.Hisfingerscurl,thebacksofhisnailspressingintomyskin.“Exceptwithyou.You’relikegravity.”
Icouldn’thavepulledmyselfawayfromhimthenifhe’dburstintoflames.
“Everythingkeepsspinning,”hesaysinalow,hoarsevoice.“Butmymind’salwaysgotonehandonyou.”
Thenightairwarmsbetweenusuntilitcrackles.We’reabouttobreaktherule.We’reabouttokisswithnoonelooking,andIdon’tcare.OrIdocare,inthatIneedit.Ineedhisgravity.Ineedhismouthandhipstopinmeinplace,toanchormeinthismoment,toslowtimeevenfurther,likehealwayshas,untilthisbecomesmyreallife,andeverythingelse—theshoeboxapartment,theachingbackandknees,thesweatpoolingundermygownandmask,thenightsstaringupataceilingthathasnothingtosaytome—isthememory.
“HAR!”someoneshoutsaboveus.Themomentsnaps.
Webothlookup.
“CATCH!”
Idon’tseewhichofthemshoutsit.AllIseeisKimmyandCleo—nowaboveusaswe’redescendingthebackoftheFerriswheel—leanedoutovertheirlapbar,laughinghysterically,andthensomethingflamingopinkfluttering,flapping,twirlingdowntowardus.
Itlandssquarelyinmylap.
“Holdontothat,wouldyou?”Kimmyshouts.Cleodoublesover,hershoulderstwitchingwithlaughter.
Wyntakesholdofthepinkthingandliftsit,spreadingitoutsothehot-pinkbracupsjutfromhischest.
Aboveus,CleoandKimmyareshriekingnow.
“This,”Wynsays,“isexactlywhyIhategettingclothesaspresents.Nothingeverfits.”
“Atleastit’syourcolor,”Isay.
Hetuts,laughing,andshakeshishead.“Thanks,Kim.”
Kimmyhurlsherselfforward,squawkingsomethingthroughherguffaws,butCleoyanksherbackagainstthebench.
“Excuseme,Wyn.”Ipullthetinybraoutofhishands,holdingitinfrontofme.“InwhichuniversedoesthisfitonKimmy’sboobs?”
Hegapes,looksupatCleoandKimmy,whoarestillfallingallovereachotherinfitsoflaughter,thenbackatme.“Damn,”hesays.“Didn’tseethatonecoming.”
“Meneither,”Isay.“IalwaysassumedCleowasdie-hardFreetheNipple.”
“What’sgoingonupthere?”Parthcallsfrombelowus.
They’restartingtoleveloutontheloadingplatform.“Wehavetoactfast,”Wynsays,expectingmetoreadhismind.
Ido.“You’vegotbetteraimthanme.”
“I’mnotevengoingtopolitelyargue,”hesays,andtakesthebra.
Weleanforward,andasSabrinaandParthareabouttodock,WyntossesthebrastraightontoSabrina’shead.
“WHATTHE—”shescreams,herwordscutshortwhenParthpullsthebraoffherheadandholdsitaloftforexaminationintheneonlight,rightasthey’redrawingtoastopbesidethelong-sufferingFerriswheelattendant.
Evenfromhere,hisgrumblesoundslike“millennials,”whichmakesWynandmeburstintolaughtersoforcefulthattearsareliterallyslidingoffmychin.
“Ithappened!”Isqueal.“We’vereplacedourparentsasthedrunk-mom-on-vacationgeneration.”
“Excuseyou,”hesays,“Ithinkyoumeanthehigh-dad-on-vacationgeneration.”
Belowus,Sabrinaclimbsoutofherseat,headheldhighanddignified.Shehandsthebraovertotheattendantand,loudlyandclearlyenoughforallofusandeveryoneinlinetohear,says,“Doyouhavealostandfound?Someoneseemstohavedroppedthisontheride.”
“AreweabouttogetkickedoutofLobsterFest?”IaskWyn.
Hisheadfallsbackwithanotherwaveoflaughter.“Itwasboundtohappeneventually.”
“Endofanera,”Isay.
“Nah.”Hiseyesslicesideways.“Anotherbeginning.”
???
We’restillgigglywhenwespilloutoftheRoverinfrontofthecottage,Sabrinaleaningheavilyonme,KimmyleaningevenmoreheavilyonWynbehindus.We’realmosttothefrontstepswhenourfearless(braless)designateddrivertakesofftowardthesideofthehouse.
“Whereareyougoing?”Parththrowshisarmsout.“Youhavethekeys!”
SabrinaandIexchangealook,thentakeoffafterher,aroundthedarksideofthehouse.Cleothrowsthegatetothepatioopen,kickinghershoesoffassherunsthrough,unbuttoningherpants
Sabrinathumpsmyarmtogetmetorunfaster,andweroundthebendintimetoseeCleo,nowpantsless,leapintothepool.Theotherscomearoundthebend,andSabrinaspinstowardParth,usesherfullweighttoshovehimin.
Withouthesitation,Kimmycannonballsinafterhim,oneshoestillon.Sabrinawhirlsonme.Ishriekandswatherhandsaway.“We’retooold!”Icry.“Don’tmakemedothis!”
Igetholdofherwrists.Heryelpturnsintolaughteraswestruggleatthewater’sedge.
I’msweptoffmyfeetfrombehind.Anarmtightaroundmyribcage,acloveysmell,asI’mpitchedoff-balance.
Wefalltogether,tangled,breathless.Thewaterfoldsaroundus,andIopenmyeyesbeneaththesurface,turninginhisarms.Everythingisglitter,shimmeringbitsofsilverblueatfirst,andthenthereheis,paledbythepool’sstrangelight.Hishairwavesout,dancingaroundhisface,andbubblesslipfromhisnoseandthecornersofhismouth.
Hecatchesmyhandsanddrawsmecloser.Idon’teventhinkaboutholdingmyselfback.I’dliketoblametheweed,butIcan’t.It’shimandme.
Mythighsskateoverhis,nestinglooseagainsthiships.Hebringsmyhandstothebackofhisneck,andwesinklikethat,descendingfromtheglowinglegstreadingwater.Hepullsmeflushtohim,hisheartpumpingagainstmycollarbone.
Andthenwe’vereachedthebottomofthepool.Wecan’tgoanydeeper.Hepushesoffagainstthetile,sendingusbacktothesurface.
Coldair,laughter,screechingfromtheedgeofthepool,whereKimmyandCleohavenowteameduptogetSabrinaintothewater.
AndIdon’tfeelyoung.Ifeelalive.Joltedawake.Myskin,muscles,organs,bones,allsomehowmoreconcretehere.Wyn’sfaceandeyelashesglisten,hisshirtplasteredtohim.Hisfingersaregentleonmyjaw,histhumbtracingovermybottomlipashiseyeswatchitdropopen,asiftobreathehimintome.Ourlungsexpand,pushingintoeachother,andhisgazeliftstomine,andhere,witheveryonetoseeit,wheretheruleIsetwon’tbebroken—whereIcanactlikeit’sanact—Itipmymouthupunderhis.20
NotQuiteRealLife
ButstillWednesday
Histonguebrushesmybottomlipfirst,likehe’sjusttasting.Likehedoesn’tplantokissmeatall.Butmylipspartforhimanyway,andhesighsashismouthsweepsupward,catchingmineinfull.
Hecapturesmyfaceinhishandsandanglesmeuptodeepenthekiss,theheatofhismouthscorchingcomparedtothemildwarmthofthewater.
There’snothought,nologic,nofeelingotherthanhim.Myhandsslipupthebackofhisshirt,nailssinkingintohisshoulderblades,andhishandssweepdownmybody,barelytouching,leavingtrailsofgoosebumps.Mybreathcatches,spinecurvingintohim,andhisgriptightensagainstmythighs,scrapingupbeneathmyhemtopressmeflushtohim.Hiserectionrocksagainstme,sendingsparksshoweringacrossthebacksofmyeyes,andmynipplespinchasIarchintohim.
Mybackmeetsthecornerofthepool.Ourhipsangletogetherashismouthglidesdownmyneck,kissingme,bitingwherevershiverserupt.
Myskinburnseverywhereitwantshim.
Thesavinggraceofthissituationisthatwe’renotalone.ThatIcan’ttakethisasfarasIwantto.
Behindus,CleoandKimmyfinallymanagetoshoveSabrinaintothepool.Thesplashcarriesatorrentofswearwordsuptothenightsky.Wynpullsbackfromme,hisforeheadrestingagainstmytemple,hisheartslammingintome.
AllIwantnowistogotobed.I’mvaguelyawarethattherearereasonsthisisaterribleidea,butI’mhavingtroublepullinganyofthemtotheforefrontofmymind.
“You’refullofsurprisestonight,Clee,”Parthshouts.
Cleobackstrokespastus,grinningupatthevisiblesliverofmoonoverhead.“ThenIguessI’vemetmygoalfortheweek.”
Stillsputteringoverthewaterandpushingfistfulsofhoney-blondoutofherface,Sabrinasays,“YourgoalfortheweekwastothrowyourbraoffaFerriswheelandbodycheckmeintoapool?”
Cleositsup,treadingwater.“Moreorless.”
Kimmyspikesabeachballrightatus,andIdiveawayfromWyn,myfacetingling,mysmileaching,mywholebodybuzzing.
TryasImighttobringmyselfbacktoreality,totheworldoutsidethebubbleofKnott’sHarbor,Iamfully,terrifyinglyhere,wherenothingelseseemstomatter.
???
Afterwe’vetoweledoff,climbedthestairs,andsaidourgoodnights,mybraveryflagsalittle.Wynholdstighttomyhandaswemakeourwaydownthehallandintoourdarkbedroom.
Hepressesmebackintothedoorthemomentit’sclosed.We’vebarelytakenourhandsoffeachothersincethatfirstkissinthepool,butnowthatwe’realone,we’rebothsomuchlesscertain.He’strembling,orelseIam—it’salwaysbeenhardtotellwhereoneofusendsandtheotherbegins—andourhandstwisttogether,ourbreathsshallow.
It’snotthatIthinkwhathappeneddownstairswasanact.Butitwaspartofanagreement.
Thisisn’t.Andneitherofusseemstohavedecidedwhathappensnext.
Mybodyhasoneidea.Mybrainisn’tafanoftheplan.
You’vespentmonthstryingtoforgetwhatyou’remissing,Itellmyself.Howwillyousurvivebeingreminded?Livingthelossofitalloveragain?
Hispulseisdrummingintomychest.Myweightshiftsintohim,mybreastsbrushingagainsthissoakedT-shirt,andheletsoutanunsteadybreath.
I’mstarvedofhim.I’vebeenstrandedinaWyn-lessdesert,mythroatbone-dry,andthatfirstsipdownstairshasmadethethirstworse.Mynervoussystemdoesn’tcarethatthisisamirage.Theviolentkineticthrummingisback,theairparticlesbetweenussparking.
“Isthisokay,”heasksthickly.
Ilifttowardhimlikeacharmedsnake,mykneesbucklingalittlewhenhispalmstouchmystomachthroughthedampsatin,starttoglideheavilyupme.Hislipsskirtalongmycollarbone,hisbreathdiffusingovermyskin.
Hisdarkeyesliftashispalmssettleagainstmychest.Irockintohistouch.Hishandsmovetocupmemorefully.Whenhisthumbsgrazemynipples,hegroans,catchesthembetweenhisfingers,watchingthewaymybreathstaggersandmybodybowsupward.
Heslipsoneofmystrapsdownmyshoulder,kissesthebareskinwhereitusedtobe.Hisfingersfindtheotherstrapandtugitawaytoo.MyheadtipsbackasItrytogetagoodbreath,andheslipsahandintothenowloosetopofmybodice,hisfingerscurlingagainstme.
Hestepsinclose,hiskneebattingmythighsapart.Iwrapmyhandaroundhisnecktokeepfromcollapsingwhenhismouthdropstomychest,hislipsclosingoverme.Myexistencenarrowstothatpoint,tothegentlepressureandfierceheatofhislips.HeyanksmydressdownuntilI’mbaretothewaist,kisseshiswayacrossme,hispalmmovingtorollheavilyagainstme.
“Tellmetokissyou,Harriet,”herasps.
Idon’tknowifit’swoundedprideorfearofthisall-consumingwantorsomethingelse,butIcan’tstandtoaskformoreofhim.
“Tellmetokissyou,”hesaysagain,nudgingmythighswidertoeaseinbetweenmyhips.
Irakemyhandsdownhisback,takeholdofhiswaist,keepinguspinnedtogether.Ifeelhispulseinhisgroin,ormaybeit’smine.Thelinesbetweenhimandmehavebecomefuzzy,insubstantial.
“Whatarewedoing?”heasks.
“Ithoughtthatwasobvious,”Isay.
Hishipsrockintome,andgodhelpme,myhandsgostraighttohisass.Heliftsmeagainstthedoor,mythighsaroundhiships,myarmshookedbehindhishead,hiserectionhardagainstme.
Iwanthimontopofme,beneathme,behindme.Iwanthiminmymouth,hisclothesinapileonthefloor,hissweatonmystomach,hisvoiceroughagainstmyear.Iwantanythingotherthantostop.
“Whatdoesthismean,”heasksraggedly,stillcuppingme,kissingme.
“Idon’tknow,”Isay.
Alow,frustratedsounddiesinthebackofhisthroat,andhestills,holdingmefirmlyagainstthedoor.
“Thisisabadidea,Harriet,”hesayshoarselyafterafewseconds,loweringmebutnotsteppingback.“Wecan’tbetogether.”
Thewordsknockthewindoutofme.
“Iknowthat,”Isay.
AndIdo.Hebrokemyheart,destroyedit.AndevenifIcouldforgivehim,he’shappyinhisnewlife.Iknowthere’snogoingback.
Sowhydoeshearingitmakemychestfeellikeasplitlog?
IpushagainstWyn’sshoulders,pullmystrapsbackup.
Hestepsback,murmuring,“I’msorry.Iwasn’tthinking.”
“I’mnotsureyoustartedit,”Igetout.
Herunsahandupthebackofhishead,hisbrowdeeplygrooved.“I’mnotsurethatIdidn’teither.”
“ThenIguessIshouldsayI’msorrytoo,”Isay.
Hismouthtwitches,asmilethat’sanythingbuthappy.Hesighs.“Thisplace.”
Thisplace,indeed.It’stooeasytoforgetabouttherealworldhere,ourcircumstances,thethingsthatbrokeus.
Allthereasonsthere’snofindingourwayback.
Iflattenmypalmsagainstthedoor’ssmoothwood.“Wegotsweptupinit.That’sall.”
Afterabeat,hesays,“Idon’twanttodoanythingelsethathurtsyou.”
“Youdidn’t,”Isay.
Ihurtmyself,Ithink.
Helooksovermyshoulderatthedoor,almostguiltily.
“IthinkIshouldtakeawalk.Cooldown.”
Thethoughtofbeinganyfartherawayfromhimthanthisistorment.Inod.
Hiseyesscrapedownmeandbackuponcemore,heatwashingfrommyheadtomytoes,aheavypulseofneedbetweenmythighs.
“Thebed’sallyours,”hesays,andstalkspastme.Islideoutofthewaysohecanopenthedoor.“Don’tfeellikeyouneedtowaitup.”
It’snotthatIwaitupforhim.It’sthatassoonasIclimbunderthesheets,it’slikehehasn’tleftatall,onlymultiplied.Everybreezefromthecrackedwindowishismouth.Everybrushofthesheetsishishand,movingacrossmythigh,overthecurveofmystomach.Everycreakofthesettlinghouseishisvoice:Tellmetokissyou
Itrytothinkaboutanythingelse.Mymindiscaughtonhim.
Earliertonight,asCleoandIrestedourchinsatopourfoldedarmsatthepool’sedge,legssweepinginslow,luxuriouskicksthroughthewater,sheasked,Anyprogressonyourgoalfortheweek?
AndmyeyeswentstraightforWyn.
Notyet,Itoldher.
Idon’tevenknowwhatIneedfromthisweek.Tomakeittotheendwithoutcomingapart?OrwithoutruiningSabrinaandParth’swedding?
MylifehasbeenononesetofrailssinceIdecidedtogointomedicine.It’sbeeneasytomakedecisionswiththatasthegoverningforce.Outsideofthat,I’verarelyhadto.
ButIdon’twanttoregretanythingattheendofthisweek.IwanttofeellikeIusedthistime,eveninasmallway,howIwantedto.
Andthat’swhatIfallasleepthinkingoverandoveragain:Whatdoyouwant,Harriet?
Idreamheclimbsintobedwithme.Armsup,baby,hesays,andpeelsawaymyVirginWhoCANDriveT-shirt.
There’snooneelse,hewhispersintothecurveofmybelly,theundersideofmyarm.Perfect,hesays.
WhenIwakebeforesunrise,I’mstillalone.21
HappyPlace
WestVillage,NewYorkCity
Wyn’sandmyfirstplace,justthetwoofus.Ahissingradiator.Aghostwhoneverdoesmuch,otherthanopenawindowwhenit’scooloutorknockabookoffashelf.Sittingonthefloor,eatingnoodlesstraightfromthetake-outboxesbecausewedon’thaveacouchyet.
SidetablesfoundoncurbsandrepairedtoperfectionbyWyn.Ashelfinstalledaboveourbed,linedwiththeJamesHerriotpaperbacksHankusedtoreadWynandhissisterswhentheyweresmall.Plusoneparticularromancenovel,whoseoriginsneitherofusevenrecall.(Wynsaysitprobablybelongstotheghost.)Ourfirstplacetogether,justthetwoofus,andit’sbittersweet.
Weeksago,astheendoftheleaseontheMorningsideHeightsapartmentdrewcloser,CleosatusdowninarowonParth’ssquashycouchtoannounceshewasmoving.
Notjustoutoftheapartment,orevenNewYork.
ToBelize,toworkonanorganicfarm.
It’scalledWWOOFing,sheexplained.Youlivethereforfreeinexchangeforsomework.
Andatfirstnoonesaidanything.Untilthen,we’dbeeninasuspendedreality.Ithadfeltasifwe’dstaylikethis,togetherforever,andnothingwouldchange.
It’sonlytemporary,Cleosaid,asix-monthcontract,butshewascrying.
Weallknew:thiswastheendofanera
Sowesatontherug,ourarmswrappedaroundherlikewewereagiantartichoke,herasourheart.
Thenightbeforesheleft,Parthorganizedaslideshowsend-off,puttingourfavoritememoriesfromthelastthreeyearsuponthewall,andwecriedsomemore,butinthemorning,weputonbravefacesandhuggedgoodbyeoutsideJFK.Seeyousoon,wepromised.
Wetriedtofindanewplacetoaccommodatetheremainingfourofus.
Wecouldn’t.
Instead,ParthmovedinwithafriendfromFordham,SabrinatookoveranArmascousin’svacantChelsealoft,andWynandIscroungedupenoughtorentthetinyapartmentoverthebookstorehe’dbeenworkingat.
Thewholefirstnightwewerethere,Ihadtokeepshuttingmyselfinthebathroomforcryingjags.ImissedCleosomuchithurt.Iwasafraidthiswastheend.Thatmyfriendswouldprovetobepassingfiguresinmylife,familybecomingstrangers.
Aftermylastcryingfit,Icameoutofthebathroomtoacryof“SURPRISE!”
WynhadcalledParthandSabrina.Theycame,withpizzaandchampagne.“Wehadtochristentheplace,”Parthsaid.
“Plus,Iwanttoseeifthisplaceisashauntedasitlooks,”Sabrinaadded
Afterthatnight,theapartmentbecomeshome.
We’rehappyhere.
ParthandSabrinacomeoveronceaweekfordinner,andeventhoughwe’reallegedRealAdults,sometimestheysleepoveronthecouchandairmattress,andinthemorningwegetdinerbreakfastbeforeheadingtoourseparateprogramsor,inWyn’scase,downtothebookstore.
Anditdoesn’tgetboring,justthetwoofus.EverybitofWynhegivesmeissomethingtotreasure,toexaminefromeveryangle.
ThelastwordsIheareverynightareIloveyousomuch.Sometimeshegetstosayitlast,butsometimesIdotoo.Sometimeswecompete,sayingitbackandforthlikewe’refourteen-year-olds:No,youhangupfirst
Medicalschoolrampsup.IstartTAingformyfavoriteprofessor.Thesexslowsdown,butnotthetouching,nottheaffection.Hisloveissteady,constant.Easierthanbreathing,becausebreathingissomethingyoucanoverthink,tothepointthatyouforgethowyourlungsworkandgetyourselfintoapanic.
IcouldneverforgethowtoloveWyn.
Sometimes,lyingbesidehiminourbed,myice-coldfeettuckedbetweenhiswarmcalves,thewordsflitthroughmymind,likethey’recomingfromsomewhereelse,likemysoulhearshiswhisperinginitssleep,Youbelonghere.
OnSaturdaymornings,wedrinkcoffeeonthesofanexttothewindowanddocrosswordpuzzles.Orwestartcrosswordpuzzles.Itbecomessomethingofatradition,startingandabandoningthem.
EveryweekItrytomakeitthroughatleastonemorecluethantheweekprior,whileWyntriestoderailusearlierandearlier.
“Eightacross,”Itellhim,whilehe’skissinghiswaydownmyneck,“isTheWeakestLink.”
“Isn’tthattheonewheretheydroppedpeoplethroughatrapdoorwhentheygoteliminated?”hehumsagainstmycollarbone.
“Ineverwatchedthat,”Isay,“butIswear,themomentIsaidit,that’swhatIpictured.Butthatseemsimpossible,right?It’stooridiculous.”
Heshrugs,pullsmeoverhislap,butIkeepmyholdonmylaptop,typeweakestlinktrapdoorintoaGooglesearch.
Thefirstfewhitsarefrommessageboards.Peoplewhoremembertheshowexactlyhowwedo,thougheverythingelseonlineconfirmstherewasneveratrapdoor.
“Howisitpossibleweallrememberitwrong?”Wynasks.
ItellhimabouttheMandelaeffect,theideathatsometimeshugeswathsofthepopulationmisremembersomethingpreciselythesameway.Scientistsexplainthesharedfalsememoriesasconfabulations,orexamplesoffuzzy-tracetheory,wherememoriesaremalleableandunreliable,whileotherswonderiftheMandelaeffectprovesweliveinamultiverse.
Grinning,Wyntwinesoneofmycurlsaroundhishand.“Ilikehowyoutalktomelikeyouexpectmetounderstandwhatyou’resaying.”
Ifrown.“Idon’tlikehowyoualwaysdownplayyourownintelligence.”
“Idon’t,”hesays.
“Youdo,”Isay.“Andnotknowingsomethingdoesn’tmakeapersonstupid,Wyn.”
“Oh,”hesays,amused.“Thenwhatdoes?”
Afteramoment’sthought,Isay,“Anunwillingnesstolearn.”
“I’mwilling.”Hesetsmylaptopasideandpullsmecloser,handssettlingonmythighs.“TellmeaboutthismultiverseandwhatithastodowithTheWeakestLink.”
“Well,iftherearemultipleuniverses,thenmaybeourconsciousnessesmovethroughthemsometimes.Maybewespendyearsinonereality,thenjumptoanotherwhereonlyonetinythingisdifferent.Likeacertainrealityshowusedatrapdoortoeliminatecontestants.Andthereareinfiniteuniverses,whereeverythingthatevercouldhappenhasandwill.”
Wynbringsoneofmyhandstohismouth,hisexpressionserious.“Howmanyuniversesdoyouthinkwe’retogetherin?”
“Higherthaneitherofuscancount.”
Hismouthquirks.“Andyoucancountveryhigh.”
“It’strue,”Isay.“That’showtheydecidewhogetsintomedicalschool.Youstandinfrontofacommitteeofdoctorsandcountashighasyoucan.”
Hislipstwitch.“Dotheyletyouuseyourfingers?”
“Noneofthegoodschoolsdo.”
Heflattensmyhandbetweenhispalms.“I’mgladI’minoneofthose,”hesays.“IfeelbadforalltheWynsinuniverseswhereyou’rewithguyslikeHarvardHudson.They’resomiserablerightnow,Harriet.”
“OrtheHarrietsinuniverseswhereyou’rewiththeDancersNamedAlisonoftheworld,”Isay.
“No,”hesaysquietly.“Ineveryuniverse,it’syouforme.Evenifit’snotmeforyou.”
Thatisn’thowitworks.
Idon’tcare.
Wyn—myWyn—meansit.
IamhappierthanI’veeverbeen.Don’tyetknowthatthereisalevelofhappinessevendeeper,onesointenseithurts,almostlikelossorgrief.Ahappinesssobrightandhotyoufeellikeitcouldincinerateyou.Thatcomeslaterthatnight,whenWyngoesouttopickupChinesefood,comesbackdrenchedfromtherain.
Atthesoundofthedoorclickingshut,IlookupfromthecrosswordI’vegonebackto,jumpupfromthecouch,andpadovertohelphimwiththerain-speckledpaperbags.Iflickthestoveontomaketeaandtakethebagsfromhisarms,andasI’msettingthemonthecounter,hecatchesmebythewristandlooksdownatmewithsuchsoftnessandvulnerabilitythatI’mafraid,suresomethingterriblehashappened.Quietly,then,amurmur,hesays,“Marryme,Harriet.”
“Yes,”Isayonabreath.
Hestills.Heblinks,likehe’stryingtopuzzleoutwhatIjustsaid.Theteakettlehasstartedtowhistle.Icatchhisjaw.“Wyn,yes.”
Hisbrowtenses.“Wait.”
“Idon’twanttowait,”Isay.
Hefumblesinhisjacket.“Shit.Givemeasecond.Don’tmove.”
Heturnsandrunsbacktothebedroom,andIstandthereshivering,listeningtothescrapeofdresserdrawers.Whenhecomesback,he’sholdingoutabluevelvetbox,hishandquivering.
It’sanoldwhitegoldringwithasquaresapphiremountedinitscenter.“Ithoughtitlookedlikeyou,”hesayshesitantly,“butitwasn’texpensive.Soifyoudon’tlikeit,we’llreplaceit,assoonasIcanafford—”
Hisfaceblursbehindmytears.“Youjusthadthis?”
“Iwastryingtowaitfortheperfectmoment,”hesays,almostapologetic.
“Now,”Isay.“Nowistheperfectmoment.”
“Ijustcouldn’tkeepwaiting,”hesays,stillalittlerueful.
Thetiniestbitofdoubtcreepsin.Iwhisper,“Whatifyougetsickofme?”
“Harriet,”hesays,gentlychidingandtenderallatonce.“Whatifyougetboredwithme?”
Mylaughissotearyitsoundslikeasob.“Never.”
Hecradlesmyfaceinhishands,hismouthsoftandbrowstern.“Thenmarryme.”
“Done,”Isay.
Hekissesme,allteethandtongueandrawemotion,ourhandsscrapingovereachotherineagerfits,bodiespullingtogether,determinedtobecomeonething.
Ineverpicturedmyproposal,butifIhad,itwould’velookednothinglikethis.
Itwouldn’thaveendedwithuseatingthesameChinesetakeoutwegetonceaweekandmakingloveonthericketyIkeacouch,laughingeverytimehisheadcollidedwiththewallbutnotmovingtothebed.
Thisisbetter.Everythingisbetterwithhim.
WhenwegobacktoMainethatsummer,Sabrina,Parth,andCleo—who’smanagedtogetbackfromBelize—throwusanengagementparty,completewithaslideshowcoveringourrelationship(largelyillustratedbystickfiguresParthdrewinMSPaint).
Itdoesn’tmatterhowbusylife’sbeen,howlongthefiveofushavegonewithoutseeingoneanother:meetingatthecottageislikepullingonafavoritesweatshirt,worntoperfection.
Timedoesn’tmovethesamewaywhenwe’rethere.
Thingschange,butwestretchandgrowandmakeroomforoneanother.
Ourloveisaplacewecanalwayscomebackto,anditwillbewaiting,thesameasiteverwas.
Youbelonghere.22
RealLife
Thursday
Sabrinapracticallyskipsdownthedocktowardthesleekwhiterentalboat.
WynbrushespastmetofollowParthdownthepier,andmylegsfullyforgetwhatwe’redoingathissuddencloseness,stoppingabruptly.
WhenIgotdownstairsthismorning,hewasalreadyeatingfruitandtoastonthebackdeck,hishairdampandclotheschanged.Hemust’vesneakedinatsomepointinthenightandoutagainbeforeIwokeup.Eversincethen,we’vebeenpolitelydodgingeachother.
Cleopausestodigatubeofmotionsicknesspillsoutofherbackpack.“Wantone?”
“Didyoujusthappentobringthesewithyou?”Isay.“AndhereIwas,proudofmyselfforrememberingfloss.”
Cleo’sshouldershitch.“Forthedrivedown.Ican’treadinthecarwithoutgettingsick.”
Wynclimbsin,thenturnstoofferhishandtoCleoasshemakesthehopdown.Hemovestohelpmetoo,butIpretendnottonoticeandjumpdown.
Rightthen,sometrafficintheharborsendsawaveundertheboat,andmykneesbuckle.Wynhastocatchmearoundthehips,andthepressureofhisbodyagainstminefromchesttohipsis,oh,threetrilliontimesworsethanacceptinghishandwouldhavebeen.
“Youokay?”heasks.
TowhichIreply,“Mm!”
Cleosettlesontooneofthemarshmallowybenches.“Whereexactlyarewegoing?”
Sabrinahasalreadytakenherstationatthechromesteeringwheel,andParthiszigzaggingaroundthelittlevessel,looseninglines.AtleastIassumethat’swhathe’sdoing.EverythingIknowaboutboatsIlearnedwhilehighoutofmymind,soit’shardtosay.
“Whereverthewindtakesus,”Parthcriesoverhisshoulder.
“Sowe’regoingtodie,”Cleosays.
“Possibly,”Sabrinasays.“Butfirstwe’regoingtoseesomepuffinsandharborseals.”
Parthundoesthefinalknot,andthebreezenudgesusawayfromthedockasSabrinaspinsthewheeltopointustowardtheopenwater,thesmellofbrinethickeningasthewindbrushessaltoverourskin.
Atthebackoftheboat,Wynwatchestheharborshrink,hisshirtripplingtoshowoffslicesofhislowbackandupperarms,onlytohidethemagain.
Overhead,thecloudspart,Sabrina’shairandthewhiteknitofhermatchinghalterandshortsgleaminginthesunagainstheroliveskin.Parthjoinsheratthewheel,inhisownwhitelinencombo,thetopandbottombuttonsofhisshirtcasuallyundoneinawaythattrulymakeshimlooklikehe’sfilmingaTomFordcommercial,orlikethetwoofthemareHollywoodA-listersoffthecoastofIbiza.
I,meanwhile,looklikeafrazzledcampcounselorholdingonfordearlifethroughtheendofthesummer.NotsodifferentfromhowIfeel.
“Ithinktheitinerary’sprompttodresscomfortablycouldhavebeenalittlemorespecific,”IsaytoCleo.
Sabrinabeamsoverhershoulder.“Youactuallyreadtheitinerary!”
Cleoleansintome,thelightglancingoffherseptumring,andsays,“Oh,Harriet.Sabrinacan’thelpitthatshe’smostcomfortableinGucci.”
Sabrinascoffs.“Don’tberidiculous.ThisisChanel.”
“Ohmygod,areyoukidding?”Kimmyflopsontothebenchoppositeus.“You’rewearingChanel?Onaboat?”
Wyntakestheseatbesideher,andItipmyheadtowardhim.“SoisWyn.”
It’sourfirstmomentofdirecteyecontactoftheday.Itmakesmefeellikemybathingsuitisdisintegratingbeneathmyclothes.
“Really,Wyn?Chanel?”Kimmysays.“Ihadnoideayouweresofancy.”
Hisgazesnagsonmineforasecondbeforedraggingtohers.“Onlymybriefs.”
“Well,Ithinkyou’realloverdressed,”Kimmysays.“Theitinerarysaidcomfortable,andifyouwantedtobecomfortable,thenyou,likeme,wouldnotbewearingunderwear.”
“Hardagree,”Parthsays.
Sabrinalooksnonplussed.“Areyouseriouslynotwearinganyunderwear?”
ParthdropsintotheseatbesideWyn.“What,it’sfineforKimmybutnotforme?”
“Kimmyisn’twearingwhitepantsmadeoutoftissuepaper,”Wynpointsout.
Parth’shandsgoprotectivelytowardhiscrotch,thenhesighs,resigned.“Whatever.Everyoneinthisboathasseenmenakedatsomepointoranother.”
“Iactuallyhaven’t,”Kimmysaysthoughtfully.
“Well,Kimberly,”Parthreplies,“itmightjustbeyourluckyday.”
Wyn’seyescatchmineforasecondagain.Inmychest,anengineturnsover.
???
Wecruisethroughthesmatteringofislandsthatdotthecoast,sailpasttwoseparatelighthouses,andpauseforgiddypictureswhenwespotthefirstslewofplumpsealssunbathingontherocks.Prettyquickly,werealizethewaterisbrimmingwiththem.Ahordeofthem,anembarrassmentofseals.
“Quick,”KimmysaystoCleo,“helpmegrabonetotakehome.”
“Thisisn’tmyexactareaofexpertise,”Parthsays,“butI’mguessingtherearelawsagainstthat.”
“Yes,andtherearehigherdivinelawsaboutlittlewhiskeredfacesneedingkisses,”Kimmysays,leaningoutovertheedgeoftheboattowardasealwho’seitherscratchinghisbackontherockorpossiblytryingtorollupright.“Plus,takingasealhomewasmysecretgoalforthisweek.”
“Sometimeswhenyoulovesomething,”Cleosays,squeezingKimmy’sshoulders,“youhavetoletitgo.”
IhavetoworknottolookoveratWyn.
“You’reagoodboy!”Kimmyshoutsatthesealaswepullaway.“Orgirl!Orwhatever!”
Aroundlunchtime,wedockononeofthesummercommunityislandsandclimboverthejaggedshoreline,watchinghorseshoecrabsdartandscuttlethroughthemurkyshallows.
“Thesethingsfreakmeout,”Parthsays.
“TheylooklikesomethingoutofJurassicPark,”Wynsays,lightlytouchingmyelbowsasheleansovermetosee.Thebreezeswirlshisscentaroundmelikealengthofsilk.
“Ilovethem,”Cleosays.
“I’llletyoutakeonehome,”Kimmysays,“ifwegobackformyseal.”
“I’msorry,babe,Ijustdon’tthinkwe’vegotroomforthatkindofresponsibilityinourlives.”
“Iflife’stoohecticforyourbestfriendstovisit,”Sabrinasays,“thenyoudon’thavetimetostartahorseshoecrabpreserve.”
“Wouldyouquitpickingatme,”Cleosays.
Sabrina’seyeswiden.“Iwaskidding.”
“Well,it’snotfunny,”Cleosays.
“Okay,okay,”Sabrinareplies.“I’msorry!”
Cleoturnsaway,hikinguptheshoretowardthegnarledwoods,andSabrinalooksatKimmy.
Sheshakesherhead.“She’sunderalotofpressurerightnow.Giveherabreak.”
It’sasclosetoanadmonishmentasI’veeverheardKimmygive,andshedoesn’twaitaroundforSabrina’sreplybeforestridingupthepathafterCleo.
Sabrinaturnsaway,lookingoutatthewater,shoulderssquareandarmsfolded.Shegivesonefirmshakeofherheadonalaughthatridesthelinebetweenexhaustedandhurt.
“Maybeweshouldeat,”Isuggest.
“Greatidea,”Parthchimesin,clearlyaseagerasIamtosmooththingsover.
“I’llgograbthepicnicbasket,”Icall,alreadypickingmywaybackoverthekelp-strewnrockstowardthedockedboat.Ikickoffmysandalsandhopin
“Whatwasthatabout?”comesWyn’svoice.
Iturntofindhimwalkingupthedock.Ilookbacktowardtheothers.SabrinaandPartharehavingananimatedconversationontheshore,andCleoandKimmyareamblingthroughthewoods,partiallyobscuredbytwistedbranchesofthickdarkpineneedlesandyellow-greenleaves.
“FromwhatI’vegathered,”Isay,lookingawaybeforehisclosenesscanhitmybloodstream,“Sabrina’sjockeyingforaninvitationtothefarm,andCleo’sannoyedthatshe’sjockeying.”
“AndKimmy?”Wynasks.
“AnnoyedwithSabrinaforbeingannoyedwithCleo.”
Theboatrocksundermyfeetashestepsdown.“Sowheredowefitintothis?”
“Idon’tknow,IguessIcouldbeannoyedwithKimmyaboutbeingannoyed,andthenthatcouldpotentiallyannoyyou?”
“Youneverannoyme,”hesays.
Ilookup,catchhimwatchingme.
Mylaughisbreathless,woozy.“Webothknowthat’snottrue.”
Hestudiesmeforasecond,browfurrowed.“Frustrate,maybe.Notannoy.”
“What’sthedifference?”Iask.
Hiseyesdroptomylegsandbackup.“Whenyou’reannoyed,youdon’twanttobearoundaperson.”Hischinshiftstotheleft,notquiteashakeofhishead.“Ialwayswanttobearoundyou.”
Iwanttocallhimout,totrotoutthosekeymomentsfromourhistorythatdecidedlydisprovethis.ButIcan’t.Icanrememberwhatthearcuatefasciculusdoesforthehumanbrainbutnotexactlyhowtouseittomakewords.
“Here,”hesays,reachingforthecooler.“Icangetthat.”
“SocanI,”Isay,liftingitagainstmyshins.
“Harriet.”
Ishufflesideways.
Helaughs.“Sowe’rebacktothis?”
“Backtowhat?”Isay.
Hisbrowscrunchesagainstthesun,hisfullupperlipinchinguplikethere’sastringtiedtohisCupid’sbow.“Fightingabouteverytinything.”
“Isthisfighting?”Isay.
“Harriet,”hesays.“Comparedtotherestofourrelationship,thisisabrawl.”
Iglancedowntheshore.ParthhashisarmaroundSabrinaandthey’reclimbingtherottingwoodenstepsfromthebeachtotheforestedhill,catchingupwithKimmyandCleonow.Ifightanurgetosprintafterthem,totakeuptheroleofbufferorreferee.
“Don’t,”Wynsaysgently.
Ilookbackathim,mylowbackaching.“Don’twhat?”
“Goafterthem,”hesays,driftingcloser.
Iswallow.“Whynot?”
Hepullsthecooleroutofmyhandsandsetsitonthebench.“Becausewe’retalking.”
“Youmeanbrawling,”Isay.
Hislipstwitch.
“Shouldn’twebedonefighting,”Isay,“nowthatwe’rebrokenup?”
Thecornersofhismouthtwistdownwardnow.“Harriet,weneverfoughtwhenweweretogether.Ifwehad…”
Hetrailsoff,doesn’tlandthatfinalblow.Ifeelitallthesame,aknifetwistinmyheart.
Fromtheshore,anairhornblasts,threetimesinrapidsuccession.
Neitherofusmoves,orevenlooksaway.Thewantingispalpable.
“Shit,”Wynsays,shakinghishead.“Idon’tlikenottouchingyou.”
Ilookaway.Nowmyheartfeelslikeonegiantblister,tootender,toodelicate.Ifonlyhe’dfeltthatwaysooner.IfonlyIhadanycluewhatwentwrong,howIlosthim.IfonlyIbelievedthereweresomewaytofixit.Buthe’snottheonlyonewho’sdonethingshecan’ttakeback.Andrevisitingwhat’shappenedwillonlymakethepainworse.
Theairhornblowsagain.Iclearmythroat.“Yougetthecooler,andI’llgrabthepicnicbasket.”
Henodsforseveralseconds,thenhoiststheicechestintohisarmsandturnsaway.23
UnhappyPlace
AnhouroutsideIndianapolis,Indiana
Aquietbi-levelattheendofaquietcul-de-sac.Aplacewhereeverythingisfamiliarbutnothingbelongstome.Treesstandingtoostillinthestiffhumidity.Mosquitoesbuzzing,mothsgatheringaroundthestreetlights,thescreechofcicadasemanatingfromthewoods.
Imanagedtoputthisoffforalongtime,butIcouldn’tanymore.Itmeanttoomuchtohim.
Atthedoorstep,Iask,“Whatifweleave?Wecanpretendourflightgotdelayed.”
“Delayedforwhat?”Wynsays.“It’sJune.”
“Toosunny,”Isay.“Thepilotscouldn’tseewithallthatlight.”
Hecradlesmyfaceinhishands,hisbrowknitting.“I’mgreatwithparents,Harriet.TalkingtooldpeopleisoneofmyveryfewGod-givenskills.”
I’mtooanxioustocallouttheself-deprecation.“It’snotyouI’mworriedabout.”
Hisfingersthreadintomyhair.“Ifyouwanttorun,wecanrun.ButI’mnotscared.”
“I’mmakingthemseemterrible,”Iwhisper,“andthey’renot.Idon’tknowwhyIgetsoanxiousjustbeinghere.”
Hismouthnestlesintomytemple.“I’mheretoo.I’vegotyou.”
Thewordsdissolveintomyskin,fast-actingrelief.“Just…pleasestilllikemeafterthis.”
Hedrawsback,looksdowntheplaneofhisfaceatme.“Areyouplanningtostabmeorsomething?”
“Onlyifthere’snobetterwaytoputyououtofyourmisery.”
“Harriet.”Hismouthmovestothepeakofoneofmyeyebrowsandthentotheother.“Ifitwaspossibletostoplovingyou,Iwould’vemanageditinthatfirstyearofdesperatelytryingto.I’mhere.Forgood.”
“Well,ifI’dknownyouneededhelpgettingoverme,Iwould’vebroughtyoutoIndianamuchsooner.”
Holdingmygaze,hereachesonehandovermyshoulderandringsthedoorbell.
MyparentsanswerthedoorlookinglikeatiredNormanRockwellpainting.Mom’swearinganapron,andDad’sgotaDavidBaldaccibookinhand,animmediateconfirmationthattheywereinseparateroomsuntilthreesecondsago.
TheytaketurnsstifflyshakingWyn’shand,anddespitehavingbracedmyselfforanawkwardreception,I’mstillembarrassedbythestarkcontrastbetweenaweekendwiththeConnorsandaKilpatrickfamilywelcome.
Afterseveralsecondsinthedoorway,Iask,“DidEloisemakeit?”
“Inthekitchen,”Momsays,ourcuetogoinside.
Inthediningroom,EloiseshakesWyn’shandfromsofarawaytheybothhavetoleanforwardtomakeitwork,andthenweallsitrightdowntoeat.There’salotofforkandknifeaction,unpleasantscratchesandsqueaksagainsttheplates.IimagineWyniswonderingwhetherthisisactuallyagroupofstrangersIhiredovertheinternettoposeasafamily.
Butsomehowhe’sconvincinglyenthusiasticabouteverything:thesweet-tart-flavoredOhioRiesling,theverytamestroganoff,andeventheconversation.
HetellsmyfamilyhowheandImet,asiftheyasked,andaboutourfavoriteparkbackinthecity.Hetalksabouthowmuchwe’vemissedCleosincewelastvisitedherupnearhernewfarmingjobnorthofMontreal.
IprobablydidtellthemaboutCleo’sinternationalfarmingadventureatsomepoint,butthey’venevermetmyfriends,soIdoubttheyrememberwhoCleois.Still,theynodalong.
“Andyou’reacosmetologist,right?”WynasksEloise,whostaresathimforasecondlikeshe’stryingtorememberwhoheisandhoweitherofthemgothere.
“That’sright.”
“Well,she’sincosmetologyschool,”Momsays.
Eloisepicksherforkupandgoesbacktoeating.
“She’sreallygood,”Isay.“WhenIwasinhighschool,shealwaysdidmymakeupfordances.”Thoseweresomeofthefewsisterlymomentstopassbetweenus.We’dbarelyspeak,buttheywerenicememoriesallthesame,havinghertipmychinbackandforthasshedustedbronzeronmycheeksandtaughtmehowtouseshadowtomakemysmallalmondeyespop.
ItwastheonlytimeIeverreallyfeltlikeIhadasister.
“Thisgirlwassmartastheycome,”Dadsays,jerkinghisnoodle-lacedforkinEloise’sdirection.“Evenskippedthethirdgrade.Wantedtobeanastronaut,sameasIdidwhenIwasakid.Butshefellinwiththewrongcrowdinhighschool.”
Eloisedoesn’tevenrollhereyes.Sheisperfectlyunflappableasshedragshersteakknifethroughherstroganoffandstuffsanotherbiteinhermouth.Myhairlineissweating.
“Iwasnevergoodatschool,”Wynsays.“AndIcan’tblamethecrowd,becausetherewerelikefortypeopleinmygrade.”
“ButyougotintoMattingly,”Momsays.“You’reclearlyveryintelligent.”
“Heis,”Isay,rightashesays,“Iwasastudentathlete.”
“Well,togetintomedicalschool,anyway,”Dadsays.
Ifull-bodywince,butWynsqueezesmykneereassuringly.“I’mactuallynotamedstudent,”hesays.
“He’sinlawschool,Phil,”Momsays,irritable.
“That’sSabrinaandParth,”Isay.“Wynworksatthebookstoreanddoesfurniturerepair.”Youknow,Ithink,theoneI’mengagedto.ButIthinkitwithasmilethathopefullysays,Nobigdealthatyoudon’tremembertheslightestthingabouttheloveofmylife
“Oh.”Momtriestosmilepleasantly.Sheandmydadexchangethebriefestoflooks,alliesforasecond.
“Haveyouthoughtabouttheweddingatall?”Eloiseasks.
“Oh,I’msureit’swaytooearlyforthat,”Momsays.“Harriet’sstillgotacoupleofyearsofmedicalschool.Andthenshe’llhavetodoalongresidency.”
Anxietygurglesthroughmygut.“We’refiguringitout.”
Underthetable,Wyn’shandfindsmine,andhelacesourfingerstogether.HedragsthepadofhisthumboverthecalluswhereIburntmyindexfingerwithSabrinaandCleoonourfirsttriptothecottage.Igotyou.
“We’renotinarush,”Wynsays.“Idon’twanttodoanythingthatgetsinthewayofHarriet’scareer.”
It’stheperfectanswerformyparents.Mychestrelaxesatmymom’spleasedsmile.Eloisedownsherglassofwineandsetshernapkinonthetable.“Ishouldgetgoing,”shesays.“I’vegotworkearlyinthemorning.”
“Whogetstheirmakeupdoneearlyinthemorning?”Momasks,likeit’sanentirelyinnocentquestionandnotathinlyveiledexpressionoftwodecades’worthofdisappointment.
“Brides.”Eloisepullsherdenimjacketoffthebackofherchair.“LikeHarriet.”
Momstartstostand.“Atleastletmeputsomeleftoverstogetherforyou.”
Eloiseholdsheroff,insistsshe’stoobusythenextcoupleofdaysandwon’tgetaroundtoeatingthem,andMomsagsalittlebutrelents.Afterquickwavesandnicetomeetyous,Eloiseseesherselfout.
“Morewine?”Momsays.
Wehaveanotherglass,sittingaroundtheclearedtable.Someoftheawkwardnessandtensionfadesaswesip,largelybecauseWynbringsuptheresearchpositionI’vescoredforthesummer,howproudheisofme.
“Youknow,”Dadsays,“weneverhadtoworryaboutHarriet.Neverevenhadarebelliousphase.”
“Nevergotadetention,”Momsays,“hadperfectgrades,gotplentyofscholarships.Nomatterhowstressfulanythingelsewas,wealwaysknewHarrietwasfine.”
WyngivesmealookIcan’tread,atendernessaroundhismouthbutconcerninhisbrow.
He’sgoodatgettingthemtalkingaboutthemselvestoo:Momtalksaboutherreceptionistjobatthedentist’soffice—“Ofcourseit’snotbrainsurgery,”shesaysbrightly,“butit’sfast-pacedwork,anditkeepsmebusy;Idon’tdowellwithboredom”—andDadtellsWynaboutteachingeighth-gradescience.
“Itwasn’ttheplan,”Dadsays,“butit’sallbeenworthit.OurgirlHarrietisgoingtochangetheworld.”
Itmakesmebeam.Itmakesmeache.
It’sthisfeelingliketheuniverseiscompactingaroundme,whilesomethinginmyribcageisexpanding.I’mtheculminationoftheirlostdreams,theirmissedotherlives,andatthesametime,they’reproudofme.
Beforetheyshuffletobedatnineforty-five—thesametimethey’vegonetosleepmyentirelife—Ifollowmymomintothekitchentofinishthedishes.
“So,”Isay.“Whatdoyouthink?”
“Aboutwhat?”shesays.
“AboutWyn,”Isay.
“He’saveryniceyoungman,”shesays.
Iwaitforhertogoon.Foraminute,we’rebothdryingplatesandputtingthemaway.Finallyshefacesmeandsmileswanly.“Justdon’trushanything.You’vegotyourwholelife,yourcareer,aheadofyou.Andyouknow,feelingscomeandgo.Yourcareerwon’t.That’ssomethingyoucanrelyon.”
Imakemyselfsmile.“Butyoulikehim?”
Shesighsandsetsthehandtowelaside,facingmewithacreasedbrow.“He’ssweet,honey,”shesaysinalowvoice,eyesdartingtowardthedoorway,“butfrankly,Idon’tseeit.”
Myheartjitters.“Seewhat?”
“Himmakingyouhappy,”shesays.“Youmakinghimhappy.”
“Iamhappy,”Isay.
“Now.”Shenods,glancestowardthediningroomagain.“Butthat’sthekindofboywho’sgoingtowanttomovehomeandstarthavingkids.He’sgoingtowantsomeonewho’sathome,whohasalifethatmatcheshis.Ipicturedyouwithsomeonewhohadabitmoregoingon,whowouldn’texpectmorefromyouthanyouwereabletogive.”
Iblinkagainstthestingingsensationinmyeyes,thewholefrontofmyface.
Shesoftensalittle.“MaybeI’mwrong.”Shepicksupthetowelandgoesbacktodryingdishes.“It’sourfirsttimemeetinghim.Justbecareful,Harriet.”Shehandsmeanotherdish,andIroboticallytowelitoff.
Inside,IfeellikeI’malogshe’ssplitwithoneswiftswingofanax.
ImissWynfromtheotherroom.Imissourapartmentwithitshissingradiatoranditsfriendlybook-movingghost.ImisssittingontherocksinMaine,shiveringinthecoldwithCleo’sarmswrappedaroundme,bothofusbundledupinoldMattinglysweatshirtswhileParthandSabrinaargueoverthebestwaytomakeas’more.
Perfectlygolden,accordingtoParth.Utterlyburnt,ifyouaskSabrina.
Thefourofussaygoodnightinthelivingroom,andthen,whentheyclosetheirbedroomdoorandit’sjustWynandme,Islumpagainsthischest,andheholdsmeforalongtime,kissingmyhead,rockingmebackandforth.
“Imissedyou,”Itellhim.
Hecupsmyface.“Fromthekitchen?”
Inodinhishands.
“Metoo.”
“Iwanttogohome,”Isay.
Hisarmstightenacrossmyback.“Wewill,”hesays.“Youandme.Intwodays.ButfirstIwanttoseeeverything.”
“Myboobs?”Ijoke.
“Thosetoo,”hesays.“ButIwasthinkingmorelikeyourboybandpostersandembarrassingdiaries.”
“Joke’sonyou,”Isay.“Theperiodictablewasmyboybandposter.”
Hegroans.“God,you’resuchanerd.”
Ilacemyfingersagainstthebackofhispreternaturallywarmneck.“Butyoustilllikeme?”
“You,”hesays,“aremyperiodictable.”
Ilaughintohischest.“Idon’tknowwhatthatmeans.”
“Itmeanswhenwegethome,”hesays,“I’mcoveringourwallsinlewdpostersofyou.”
“It’salwaysfuntohaveahomeimprovementproject.”
Circlingthefirstfloor,examiningtheminutiaeofmyhomewithhim,isafun-houseversionofourtriptoMontana.Insteadofafridgecrammedwithout-of-dateholidaycardsandtime-yellowedcrayondrawings,there’sasmoothstainlesssteelsurfacewithawhiteboardmountedtoit,agrocerylisttidilywritteninMom’shandwriting.“Yogurt,”Wynreads,tappingthelist.“Fascinating.”
“Well,youdidn’tthinkallofthis,”Isay,gesturingtowardmyself,“couldcomefromahomewithoutyogurt.”
Hekissesthebackofmyhand.“Istillhavenoideawherethiscamefrom.”
Hetugsmebackintothelamplitlivingroom.Insteadofwashed-outpicturesinmacaroniframesofmeandEloiseinhomemadeHalloweencostumes,likeI’dseenofWyn,Michael,andLou,mydegreesitsinaframe,offtoonesideratherthancentered.Therewasalreadyanemptyframeontheotherside,waitingformymedicaldegree.They’dboughtitassoonasIcalledthemtotellthemIgotintoColumbia.
“Wherearethebabypictures?”Wynasks.
“There’saboxofalbumsinthebasement,”Itellhim.
“Canwegetthemout?”hewantstoknow.Sowegodownandclickontheoverheadbulb,digarounduntilwefindtherightbox,andcarryacoupleofalbumsbacktomyroom.
Myparents’storyhasneverbeenmuchmorethanacorkboardofhaphazardmentalsnapshots,andthephotoalbumdoeslittletofillinthegaps.Thereareasmatteringofphotographstocapturetheirwhirlwindcourtshipincollege,andacoupleoverthecourseofMom’ssurprisepregnancy.Fivepages’worthofpicturestocapturetheshotgunwedding,whereMom’sbellywasstrainingatherdress’sseams,andafewmorecoveringEloise’sinfancy.Myparentslooktiredbuthappy.Inlove.Ifnotwitheachother,thenatleastwithEloise.
Butthenthepicturesgetmoresporadic—acoupleofbirthdaysandChristmases,atripwithmyauntandherfirsthusband—andmyparents’tirednesshastransformed.
Notstaying-up-all-night-with-a-crying-babyexhausted,butbored-beyond-belief-chafing-at-their-new-rolesfatigued.Youcanpracticallyseetheirdeferreddreamsreflectedbackintheireyes.
There’safairlylargegapintimewheretherearenopicturesatall,andthenI’mborn.Andmyparentsdolookhappyagain,inloveagain,cradlingmywrinklylittlebabybodyinmymuch-too-largepinkonesie.Maybenotquiteasoverjoyedasthefirsttimearound.Insixyears,Mom’stransformedfromacherub-cheekednearteenagertoafull-fledgedandstern-jawedadult.Dad’sgainedsomeweight,alongwithavaguetersenessinthecornersofhismouth.Evenwhenhe’sholdingmeonhishipatthezoo,Eloisedanglingfromhisotherhand,smilinginfrontofthegiraffes,helooksdistracted.
Notmiserable.Justlikeit’snotenough.LikeheandMombothknowthereareotheruniverseswherethey’remore,bigger,happier.
Asweflipforwardthroughpagesandtimes,Eloisebecomesincreasinglysulky,alwaysstandingawaysoff,whereasIstarttosmilelikemylifedependsonhowvisiblemyteethare.
Wynpausesonapictureofmewithmyfirst-placesciencefairtrophy,grinningdespitemymissingfronttooth.“Mylittlegenius.”Hetouchestheedgeofthepicture.“Ihopeourkidshaveyourhair.”
Kids,Ithink.Itknocksthewindoutofme.Thewayhesaysit—soeasily,solovingly.Thatfamiliarhomesickness,thatlonging,roarsawake.Butwhatmymomsaidsneaksintoo,aquietwhisperatthefringesofmymind.
“WhatifI’mbadatit?”Iask.“Beingaparent.”
Hesweepsmyhairbackfrommyneck.“Youwon’tbe.”
“Youdon’tknowthat,”Isay.
“Ido,”hesays.
“How?”Isay.
“Becauseyou’regoodatloving,”hesays.“Andthat’sallyouhavetodo.”
Mythroattightens.Myeyesburn.
“WhenIwasakid,”Isay,“IalwaysfeltlikeIwasbalancedontheedgeofsomething.Likeeverythingwasso…tenuous,anditcouldallcrumbleatanysecond.”
“Whatcould?”heaskssoftly.
“Everything,”Isay.“Myfamily.”
Hishandrunsdownmyspine,turningsoothingcirclesatthecurveatitsbase
“Therewasneverenoughmoney,”Isay.“Andmyparentswerealwaysexhaustedfromtheirjobs.Imean,tonightwasthemostpositiveI’veeverheardthembeabouttheirwork.AndthenwhenEloisegotolder,they’dgetintothesehugefightswithher,andthey’dtellhershehadnoideawhatthey’dsacrificedforher,andhowshewasthrowingitallaway.Andthenshe’dstormout,andthey’dgotoseparaterooms,andIwouldbesosurethatwasit.ThatEloisewouldn’tcomeback.Ormyparentswouldsplitup.Iwasalwayswaitingforsomethingterribletohappen.”
Wyn’sfingersgrazebackupmyspine,settlingatthebaseofmyneck.Helistens,waits,andlikeitalwayshas,hispresencepullsthetruthoutofme.Likewhisperingsecretsintoaboxandshuttingittight,Iusedtothink.
“Iusedtomakethesebargainswiththeuniverse,”Isay,smilingalittleattheridiculousnessofit.“LikeifIgotstraightAs,theneverythingwouldbeokay.OrifIwonthesciencefairasecondtime.OrifIwasneverlatetoschool,orifIalwaysdidthedishesbeforeMomgothomefromwork,orIgothertheperfectbirthdaygift,orwhatever.AndIknowmyparentsloveme.I’vealwaysknownthat,”Isaytightly.“Butthetruthis…”
Wynsqueezesthebackofmyneck:I’vegotyou.
“I’vespentmywholelifetryingtomakeituptothem.”
Wyntucksacurlbehindmyear,everpatientandcalm,warmandsafe.
“Thatwecostthemsomuch,”Igoon.“Thattheydidn’tgetthelivestheywanted,becauseofus.ButifIcouldbegoodenough…”
“Harriet,”hesays,crushingmeinagainsthischest,tighteninghisarmsagainstme,ahumanbarricade.“No.”
Hisvoicetakesonathroatiness.“Sometimeswhenthingsgowrong,it’seasytoblamesomeoneelse.Becauseitsimplifiesthings.Ittakesanyresponsibilityoutofyourhands.AndIdon’tknowifyourparentsdidthattoyouandyoursisterorifsomewherealongthewayyoutookthatblameonyourself,butit’snotyourfault.Noneofit.Yourparentsmadetheirdecisions,andI’mnotsayingtheirsituationwaseasy,orthattheydidn’tdothebesttheycould.Butitwasn’tenough,Harriet.Ifyoucouldeventhinkthat,ifyoucouldeverevenfuckingwonderiftheyregrettedyou,thentheydidn’tdoenough.”
Buthedoesn’tunderstand.They’vedoneeverything.Shelledoutfortutors,paidthefeesforeveryclubIsignedupfor,chauffeuredmebackandforth,helpedmestudywhentheyweredeadtiredfromwork,cosignedmymedschoolloans.
Myparentsaren’tpeopleofwords,buttheysacrificedsomuch.That’slove,andIhatethatIwantmorefromthem.ThatIcan’tjustfeelgratefulforallthey’vegivenme,becauseatalltimesI’mawareofwhatitcostthem.
“You,”Wynsaysroughly,“aretheverybestthingthat’severhappenedtome.Andtheywereluckytohaveyouastheirkid.Evenifyouhadn’tbentoverbackwardtomakethemproud,theystillwouldhavebeenlucky,becauseyou’resmartandyou’refunnyandyoucareaboutthepeoplearoundyou,andyoumakeeverythingbetter,okay?”
WhenIdon’tanswer,hesaysagain,“Okay?”
“Howcanloveenduplikethat?”Iaskthickly.“Howisitpossibletolovesomeonesomuchandhaveitalljustgoaway?”
ThethoughtofresentingWynlikethatistorture.Thethoughtofhimresentingmeisevenworse.Ofholdinghimback,keepinghimfromwhathewants.
“Maybeitnevergoesallthewayaway,”hesays.“Maybeitfeelseasiertoignoreit,orturnitintoadifferentfeeling,butit’sstillthere.Deepdown.”
Hetakesmyfaceinhishandsandkissesmytearsastheybreak.“DoyouwantmetopromiseI’llloveyouforever,Harriet?”hewhispers.“BecauseIwill.”
Anice-coldrushofadrenaline,aspurtofterror,awhole-bodybracing,everymuscledrawingtighttokeepthewordsfromsinkingintomyheart.
Becauseitwon’tmatter.
Becausehecanpromisemeanything,butintheend,feelingscouldcomeandgo,andwe’llbepowerlesstostopthechange.
“Justpromise,”Isay,“we’llendthingsbeforeweeverletthemgetlikethat.”
Hurtflashesacrosshisface.Iwanttotakeitback,butIdon’t.
ThisisallIcangivehim,allIcangivemyself:sometinymeasureofprotection.
TheonlywayIcanbearlovinganyonethismuchisknowingitwillneverturntopoison.Knowingwe’llgiveeachotherupbeforewecandestroyeachother.
“Ifwe’remakingeachotherunhappy,”IsayasevenlyasIcan,“wecan’tkeepgoing.Icouldn’tstandlivingeverydayknowingyouresentme.”
“Iwon’t,”hesayssoftly.“Icouldn’t.”
“Please,Wyn.”Itouchthemusclesalonghisjaw.“Ineedtoknowwe’renevergoingtohurteachotherlikethis.”
Hiseyestravelbackandforthacrossmyface.“I’mnotgoingtostopfightingforyou,Harriet.”
Myvisionblursbehindtears.Hepullsmein,holdsmetight.“I’mnotgoingtostoplovingyou.”
It’snottheanswerIaskedfor.It’stheoneIdesperatelywant.
Yearslater,whenit’slateandIcan’tsleepforthephantomacheinmychest,Ipullthismemoryoutandturnitover.Ithink,Wedidtherightthing.Weleteachothergo.Thattooisakindofcomfort.24
RealLife
Thursday
Wesitwithourtoesintheicywaterandeatthecheese,fruit,andbreadwebroughtfromhome.Wedozeinthesunandwatchthecloudsdrift.Afterwardwehikealongthepine-needle-dustedtrailinthewoods,mossandfernsallglisteningwithdew,thegroundsoftandhollow.
Cleoseemstohaveentirelyletthemomentoftensiongo,butSabrina’suncommonlyquietandkeepsstallingtowardthebackofthepackaswewalk.EverytimeIslowdowntowalkwithher,though,sheseemstospeedupandchimeinonwhateverconversationtheothersarehaving.
Whenwegetbacktotheshore,we’renotreadytoleave,sowestretchoutalongthered-brownrocks,watchingbirdsdivetowardthewhitecapsinthedistance.
“What’sonetinythingyou’llmissaboutthesetrips?”Cleoasks.
“TheWarmCup,”Parthsays.“Ilovewalkingdowntogetcoffeewhileit’sstillcoolandgrayoutandthestreetsareempty.AndSabandIarebothtotallysilentbecausewehaven’thadcaffeineyet,butit’snice.Athomewe’realwaysrushinginthemorning.”
“I’llmissthattoo,”Kimmysays.“Andsittingonthebenchnexttothewalk-upwindow,pettingallthedogsthatcomepast.Andallthejunkshopsandyardsales.EverytimeIcomehere,IenduptryingtoconvinceCleotorentaU-Haultodriveback.”
“AgardenfilledwithlobstertrapshasadifferentaestheticeffectinupstateNewYork,”Cleosays.
“Yeah,butwecouldatleastcoverourwallswithwood-burnedsignsthatsayWickedPissah.”
“Well,nowweknowwhattogetyouforyourbirthday,”Isay.
“Shouldweallgetwickedpissahtattoos?”Parthjokes.
“Wecandobetterthanthat,”Sabrinasays.
“Giantlobsters,”Wynputsin.
“MermaidsthatlooklikeBratzdolls,”Isuggest.
“I’llcomeupwithsomething.”Sabrinapropsherchininonehand,theotherflutteringthroughtheshallowwater.
“What’ssomethingyou’llmiss,Harry?”Cleoasks.“Somethingsmall.”
Isay,“Seeingeveryonesohappytogether.”
Cleobatsherhandagainstmyleg.“Somethingforyou.”
Ithinksomemore.“Iguess…goingtosleep.”
Parthburstsintolaughter.
“I’mserious!”Icry.
“Yourfavoritepart,”Sabrinasays,“ofthisamazingtripIplannedforus…isgoingtosleep.”
“No.”Itossaseashellshardtowardthesparklinglipofthetide.“It’sgoingtosleepsotired,inagoodway.Feelingcontentandexhaustedandrelaxed,butalsoexcitedtowakeupandstillbehere.”
IcatchWyn’seyesandlookaway.“Itfeelslikenothingcangotoowronghere.Atleastonceyou’reoffRay’sairplane.”
Sabrinagrabsmyhandalittletoohard,thenletsgoonasigh.“I’llmissthattoo.Hell,I’llevenmissRay.”
“I’llmissBernie’s,”Cleosays.
“Eventhoughitgaveyouaphantomhangover?”Wynasks.
“ForallIknow,”Cleosays,“thatwasthelasthangoverI’lleverhave.TheleastIcandoisappreciateit.”
Wegetbackontotheboatasthesunisbeginningitsdescent.Thewaterisdiamondedged,theaircoolingandthesprayliftingoffthesidesoftheboatpositivelyfreezing,despitethesunbeatingagainstthecrownsofourheads.
Atthehelm,Sabrinaglows.She’swhereshe’smeanttobe,doingwhatshewasborntodo,andnomatterhowcomplicatedthisweekhasbeen,Inowrealizehowworthititallwas.
ParthpassesoutaroundofCoronaswithlimewedges—andsodaforCleo—andSabrinacranksuptheradio,BruceSpringsteen’s“DancingintheDark”cracklingout.Itfeelsliketimehasbeencanceled,thrownout,suspendedindefinitely.
Aslongaswestayouthereonthewater,saltsprayfleckingourskin,nothingelseexists.
KimmywranglesCleointoaslowdance,andParthandIhecklethemfromourbenchesuntilthecombinationofthesettingsunandbeerhasmeheavyeyedandyawning.
Besideme,Wynliftshisarmininvitation,andeitherbecauseeveryone’swatchingorbecauseIsimplywantto,Icurlagainsthisside,hiswarmarmsettlingoverme,hissweatanddetergentanddeodorantandtoothpasteknittingtogethertocloakmeinmyfavoritesmell.
Evennow,I’dbuyWyn-scentedcandlesinbulkifIcould,keepthemlongafterthewickshadburneddown,untileverylastvaporfadedfromtheglass.
Ataparticularlycoldgust,Iturnmyfaceintohischesttohidefromthechill,letmyselfbreathehiminandfeeltherushofdopamineitbrings.
I’veonlydrunkhalfmybeer,butIfeelverynearlyintoxicated.Hishandslidesfrommystomachtomyhipandlightlysqueezes,andmybreathrushesoutagainsthisneck,acoilofheatdroppingfrommylowbellytothepointbetweenmythighs.
“Thiswouldbethesongforourfirstdance,”KimmysaysdreamilytoCleo,“ifweevergotmarried.”
Ifweevergotmarried
Mymusclesgotaut.IfeelWyn’sheartspeed,hishandslackeningagainstme.Ahead,theharbordrawscloser,andwithit,reality.
Throughlaughter,Cleosays,“Basedonwhat,Kimmy?”
“Thismagicalmomentwe’rehaving!”Kimmysays.“Doweneedabetterreason?”
“Iguessnot,”Cleoallows.“Sincethisweddingisentirelyhypothetical,whydon’twehaveBruceSpringsteenplaythereception?”
“Youreallydon’twanttogetmarried?”Parthasksher,clearlyunconvinced
“Cleohasconflictingfeelingsabouttheinstitutionofmarriage,”Kimmysays,“andIdon’tcarethatmucheitherwayaslongaswe’reinitforthelonghaul.ButIthinkaweddingcouldbefun.It’sjustabig-assexpensiveparty.Nooffense.”
Isitup,pullingawayandkeepingmyeyesfixedonagaggleofcirclinggulls
“No,you’reright,”Parthsays.“It’sanexcuseforthebestpartyyou’lleverthrow,witheveryoneyouloveinoneplace.”
“Allsixofus,”Wynsays.
Sabrinashrugs,steeringusnearertotheharbor.“That’showitwaswithmyparents,anditwasperfect.”
“Ididn’trealizeyouwerethere,”Isay.Iknowadecentamountaboutherparents’relationship,butmostlyconcerningtheendofit.Likemyownparents,herswerebarelytogetherwhenSabrina’smothergotpregnant.Unlikemyownparents,oncetheirinitialhappinessfaded,theyquicklydivorced.
Sabrina’smomwasawreckafterthat,largelybecauseMr.ArmaswastednotimebeforemarryingaNorwegianmodel.Sabrinaquicklybecamehermom’sconfidante,supportsystem,andtherapistallinone,untiltheformerMrs.Armasstarteddatingherself.
FromwhatIcouldtell,Sabrina’ssummersinKnott’sHarborwerethelonebrightspotinalonelychildhood,theonlyplaceeitherofherparentstrulyhadtimeforher.
“Iwasfourwhentheygotmarried,”shesays.“Wewerehereforthesummer,andwe’ddrivendownthecoastabit.”Asliverofherperfectwhitesmileappears,asifevenaftereverything,thismemoryhasbeenguardeddeepinherheart,wherenothingcouldmarit.
“There’sthisbigfarm,”shesays.“Andithasachapel,downatrailinthewoods.Imean,maybechapelisn’ttherightword.It’soutside,looksouttowardthecoast.Youcanseethewaterthroughthetrees.Anyway,itwasarandomTuesday,andmyparentsdecidedtheyweregoingtogetmarried.Sotheyfoundapriest,anditwashim,them,andme,outinthewoods.ForallIknow,thatguywasn’tevenarealpriest.Hecould’vebeenaverysomberstripperDadfoundintheYellowPages.Butwhatever.Wewerehappy.Forthreeyears,anyway.”
Sheletsoutahalf-formedSabrinacackle,andParthjoinsheratthewheel,windinganarmaroundherwaist.
“Haveyoutwofiguredoutyourperfectweddingyet?”Cleoasksme,andmypulsespikesfromtheguilt.
ButWynsayseasily,“Thecourthouse.”
“Noway.”Kimmyshakesherhead.“You’retoomuchofaromantic.Youhavesomeperfecttimeandplacepickedout.ProbablytheexactminuteyoufirsttoldHarryyoulovedher,inafieldfullofherfavoriteflower.”
“Nah,”Wynsays.“MaybeIusedtothinkthere’dbeaperfecttimeorplace.ButnowIthink,ifyoureallywanttobewithsomeone,youdon’twaitforthingstobeperfect.”Hiseyescometomine.“IwouldhavemarriedHarrietatadrive-throughchapelinVegasthedayafterIproposed,ifshewanted.”
Hiseyeslookdarkinthedyingdaylight,thekindofgazethatfallslikeaheavycurtain,shuttingouteverythingelse.
Wouldhave.Thepasttenseofitslicesthroughme.
“Thenshit,”Parthsays,“what’sstoppingyou?I’llfindyouanElvisonlinetoday.Wecanhavethiswholethingtakencareofinforty-fiveminutes.Back-to-backweddings.”
Wyncastshiseyesbacktothedock.“Because.That’snotwhatshewants.”
You,you,you,myheartcries.
Wepullintotheharbor.25
RealLife
Thursday
Whenwegetbacktothecottage,everyonedispersestowashtheday’sgritandsunburnawaybeforedinner.It’sTacoThursday,atraditioninwhichSabrinamakesamuch-too-largemealwhiletherestofusbumblearound,actingashersemi-ineptsous-chefs.
“Tonight,”Sabrinasays,tickinghermenuitemsoffaswewalkuptothefrontdoor,“we’redoingagrapefruitandavocadosalad,dousedincitrusdressingandfennel.Zucchinifrittersandgrilledcorn.Andthenfriedfishtacosforthemeateatersamongus,andpulledjackfruitonesforKimmyandCleo.”
Thesidedisheschange,asdothetacotoppings,butSabrina’salwaysbeenadamantthattheworstthingaboutvacationinginKnott’sHarboristheabsenceofagoodtacoplace,andshecannotabidethat.Ilingerdownstairswhileeveryoneelsegoesup,waitinguntilWyncomesbackwithcleanclothes,headedtotheoutdoorshower,asIknewhewouldbe.
“It’sallyours,”hesays,tippinghisheadbacktowardthestairsatthefrontofthehouse.
“Thanks.”Webothroottothespotforafewseconds.
Hecracksfirst,headingforthebackdoor.
Upstairs,Iriflethroughmyluggageforsomethingcomfyandwarmenoughtositoutonacoolnightlikethis,andthenheadtowardthebathroomportionofthesuite.Myphonelightsuponthesidetable,andIstoptopickitup.
Mom’stextedme,andIhavenoideawhatshe’stalkingabout.
Iknowyou’rescared,butyoucan’tkeepputtingthisoff.Thelongeryouwait,theworseitwillbe.Youhavetotellher,Wynnie—
Idropthephonelikeit’salivesnake.
Hisphone,notmine.Mine’sontheothersideofthebed.
Istepback,heartbeatingfuriously.I’munsureifI’mmoreafraidofbeingcaughtwithWyn’sphoneorofwhatelseImightseeonit.Scratchthat,it’sthesecondone.
ForaminuteIdon’tknowwhattodo.Mymindiscyclingthroughalltheworstpossibilities,thethingsGloriamightwantWyntotellme.
Somethingaboutherhealth.Somethingabouthis.
Ormaybehe’sstartedintroducingtheideaofthebreakuptoher,slowlyguidinghertowardtheexpectationthatwedon’tbelongtogetherandthatithasnothingtodowiththephysicaldistancecaringforherrequires.
Itdoesn’tNotanymore.Thethoughtpingsthroughme,adrunken,angrypinballreboundingbackandforthbetweenmyribs.He’shappy.Hemight’vegonetoMontanaforhismom,buthe’sthereforhimselfnow.
Shemustseehowhappyheis.Shemustknowhe’sreadytoletgoofme.
Isinkontotheedgeofthebed,tearspouringdownmycheeksoutofnowhere.Idon’tknowwhy,butitfeelslikeawholeseparatebreakup.Accepting,now,thetruth:Thathe’smovedon.ThatallthesemomentsIclingto,likelittlementalliferafts,arejustmemoriesforhim.
Thetruthis,Idon’tknowwhatthistextmeans.
Icantalkmyselfinandoutofworryingaboutitallday,butit’snotmybusiness.JustlikeItoldhimmylifewasn’thisbusiness.
Iwon’task.Ican’t.Ifhewantstotellme,hewill,butit’sbeenalongtimesinceWynhasgivenmeanyanswers.Muchlongerthanfivemonths.
Itakeashudderingbreath,squaremyshoulders,andgetintotheshower.
WhereIcrysomemore.
Stupid,stupid,stupidheart.Don’tyouknowhehasn’tbeenyourstocryoverforalongtime?26
DarkPlace
SanFrancisco,California
Agrayingone-bedroomapartmentwetalkaboutpaintingrobin’s-eggblue.Theonewefoundonlineand,despiteitscrampedkitchenandsmallwindows,believedwecouldturnintoahome.Theonewherewewillfinallyplanourwedding,afteryearsofputtingitoff.
He’dhardlybattedaneyewhen,afterthatfirsttriptomyparents’house,I’dbroachedthepossibilityofwaitingtogetmarrieduntilIfinishedschool.Itwasn’taboutwhatmymomsaidinthekitchenthenightshemethim,exceptinasmuchasIwantedhertoseeshewaswrong.
IwantedhertoseehowwellWynlovedme,howpatientandkindandgoodhewas.
Wecantakeourtime,hepromised,andwhenthingsdidn’tcometogether,wedding-wise,duringmyfinalyearatColumbia,itwasobviouswe’dhavetoplanitafterwemovedouttomyresidency.
Ittakesafewmonthstofindmyfootingatthehospital.Orhospitals,rather.Theyhaveusbouncearound,getexperienceinalotofdifferentenvironments.I’dthrivedinmedicalschool,likeI’dalwaysthrivedincollegeandhighschool,butthisisdifferent.Thingsmovetooquickly,andI’malwaystryingtocatchup.Myfeetandkneeshurtfromstandingallday,andmybraincan’tseemtostoreamapofanyonehospitalfloorwithoutblendingitintoanother,soI’malwaysthetiniestbitlate.Fourweeksin,afourth-yearnamedTaye,withbigdarkcurlsandamodel-esquestature,catchesmebytheshouldersasI’mhurryingpast.“Breatheforasecond,”shesays.“Rushingmakesyouclumsy,andwecan’taffordtobeclumsy.”
Inodmyunderstanding,buttheconvictionissomewhatdampenedwhenIimmediatelyknockajarofpensoffthereceptiondeskaswe’repartingways.
Wyn’stheonewhofindstheweddingvenue:arenovatedwarehouseoverlookingthebay,withanopeningthiscomingwinter.“Ifyoulikeit,”Isay,“Ilikeit.”
Weputdownthedeposit.Inthemonththatfollows,though,wemakelittleprogressontherestoftheplan.Therearetoomanydecisionstobemade,andeverythingcoststoomuch,anddespitehisbusinessdegree,Wyn’sstrugglingtofindworkthatpaysaboveminimumwage
“I’mterribleatinterviews,”hesayslateonenight,rubbingthestressfromhisfaceafteryetanotherwe’ve-decided-to-go-in-a-different-directionemail.
“Onlybecauseyoutalkyourselfdown,”Ipromise,climbingintohislap,wreathingmyarmsaroundhisneck.“Nexttimeyou’reinone,justanswereveryquestionlikeyou’reansweringforme.”
Henodssomberly.“Sowhentheyaskformybestqualities,ItellthemI’mamazinginbed.”
Isnortintohisneck,inhalehisscent.“Imean,itworkedformegettingmyresidency.”
Hesmoothsmyhairback,kissesthecornerofmymouth.
“Answerhowthepeoplewholoveyouwouldanswerforyou,Wyn,”Isay.
Hekeepstrying.Wekeeptrying.
Hefindsanotherbookstorejob,butit’sbarelyoverminimumwage,notenoughtocovertherestoftherent,soafteracouplemoreweeks,hetakesanotherpart-timegig,doingupholsteryrepair.
Thenonemorning,Icomehomefromagraveyardshiftandfindhimsittingatthetable,stillinhisclothesfromthedaybefore,hisphoneonthegroundwithacrackthroughitsscreen.
“Wyn?”Isay,heartinmythroat.
Helooksatmeandbreaks,descendsintosobs.Igotohim,kneelonthefloor,takehisweightasheslumpsintome,hisforeheadagainstmyshoulder,hishandswringingmyscrubssohardIthinktheymighttear.
Ittakeshimalongtimetogetoutthewords.
TotellmethatHankisgone.27
RealLife
Friday
“Ithinkweshouldgiveyouaproperweddingtomorrow,”Iannounceoverbreakfast.
“Oh,thankgod,someonesaidit,”Kimmysays,droppingherspoonintoheracaibowl.
ParthcastsaquickglanceoveratSabrina,whodustsherhandsoffonherclothnapkin.
We’resittingatawhitewroughtirontableintheBluebellInn’sovergrowngarden,tuckedupinoneofthehillsthatoverlooktheharbor.Ourserverstopsbytodropofffreshcappuccinos,thenmovesofftoanothertable.
“Wedon’tneedanythingfancy,”Sabrinasays.“This,thesixofus,isallthatmatters.”
“I’mnotsayingfancy,”Ireply.Lyingawake,lateintothenight,itbecameapparentthattheonlywaytomakeitthroughtheselasttwodayswithoutcrumblingwastogivemybrainsomethingelsetofocuson.“I’mjustsaying,like,acake.Aphotographer.Maybesomethingold,new,andblue,orwhateverthesayingis?”
Wynsoftlysnortsbesideme.
“Couldbenice,”Parthsays,eyeingSabrinaagain.
“It’stomorrow,”sheremindsme.
“Itwouldonlytakeafewhours,”Cleosays.
“Wecansplituptasksandknockitallout,”Iadd.Acompletablechoreandalonetime:theperfectcombo.
Sabrina’sheadtiltsasshesipsthefoamfromhercappuccino.“Okay.”Shenodstoherself.“Okay,sure.YouandWynhandlethecake.”
Ibalk.“Wouldn’titbefasterifwealldividedup?Coveredtwiceasmuchground?”
“No,itwouldbechaotic.We’dendupwithsixcakes.”
“ProbablywhyHarrietsuggestedit,”Wynsays.
Iignorehim,regroup,andfaceSabrinaagain.“Ifwe’reteamingup,thenyouandIshouldbeoncakeduty.IwanttobesureIgetsomethingyoulike.”
Herheadslightlycocks,andsomethingflitsbehindhereyes.
SheandIhavebarelyhadasecondalonetogethersincetheridefromtheairport,andforthefirsttime,I’mwonderingifthat’sbecauseI’vebeenafraidshe’dfindWynandmeoutorifshe’sbeenavoidingme
Shegivesalittleshakeofherhead.“Idon’tcareaboutthecake.IfIcareaboutabsolutelyanythingotherthantheceremony,it’sthebachelorette-slash-bachelorparty,soI’llfigurethatout.”
“Iwanttoplanthat,”Parthsays.
“Duh,”shesays.“We’lldoittogether,andCleoandKimcantrytofindaphotographer,ifthey’reupforit.”
“We’dloveto,”Cleosays.
“Butahardoutintwohours,okay?”Sabrinasays.“Nomatterwhatprogressyouhaveorhaven’tmade,intwohours,wemeetbackatthehouse.”
Wyn’sgazedartsmyway,andIlookatthefloor.
It’sonlytwohours,Ithink.
WhathaveIdone,Ithink.
???
Idon’tknowifhe’spickingupmydiscomfortandmirroringitbacktomeorifhe’sreallyinhishead.MaybeaboutthetextfromGloriaormaybesomethingelseentirely.Butaswedrivefrombakerytobakery,webarelyevenmakesmalltalk.
Theafternoonfliesby.We’vereachedtheninety-minutemarkofourallottedtwohourswhenthefifthlocalbakerytellsustheydon’ttouchweddings.“Noonegetsquitesolitigiousastheparentsofanewlywed,”thered-facedbakertellsus.
“Didwesaywedding?”Wynlaughs,looksatme,andclapsahandtohisforehead,shakinghimself.Hefacesthebakeragain,leaningacrossthecounterwithadevastatingsmile,thekindthatlookslikeahookhassnaggedunderhislip.“Imeantbirthday.We’vebeenplanningthisweddingofoursfor,like,fouryears,soIguessthat’swhythatcameout.Thiscakeisforabirthday.”
Thebakernarrowshereyes.“AllourbirthdaycakessayHappyBirthdayonthem.”
“Okay,thenwhataboutaregularcake,”Isay.
“ThosesayHappyBirthdayonthemtoo,”thewomansays,determinednottosellusablackmarketweddingcake,Iguess.
“Great,”Wynsays.“We’lldoaredvelvetoneofthose.”
Thebaker’slipspurse.“Whoshoulditbeaddressedto?”
It’snotenoughthatshe’sforcingustobuyacakewithHappyBirthdayonitwhensheknowsit’sforawedding.
“Happybirthday,wickedpissah,”Wynsuggests.
“That’snothowyouusewickedpissahinasentence,”thebakertellsus.
Therulessurroundingthiscakearegettingmorespecificbythesecond.
AsmileblossomsfromonecornerofWyn’smouth.“Insidejoke.”
Thebakerdoesnotsmile,butsheturnstoinscribeournot-weddingcakeallthesame.
IntheRover,wefallbackintosilence.We’rehalfwayupthewildflower-coveredhilltothecottagewhenWynsuddenlypullsoverontothegravelshoulderthatoverlookstheocean.“Okay,”hesays,lookingatme.
“Okay,what?”Isay.
“What’sgoingon?”heasks.
“Nothing,”Ilie.
Hisheadtipsbackonafrustratedlaugh.“Pleasedon’tdothis.”
“Dowhat?”Idemand.
“Pretendyou’refine,”hesays.“ActlikeI’mimaginingthatyou’repullingawayfromme.”
“Pullingaway?”Thewordssqueezeoutofmytighteningwindpipe.I’msuddenlysofrustrateditbecomesakindofclaustrophobia.Iundomyseatbeltandthrowopenmydoor,stumblingoutintotheharshmiddaysun.
Hegetsouttoo,roundingthehoodofthecartowardme.“Thisisn’tfair.”
Ithrowmyarmsouttomysides.“Whatisn’tfair?”
“Weweregettingalong,”hesays.“Wewereactinglikefriends,andnow—”
“Friends?”Thewordtearsoutofmeonalaugh.“Idon’twanttobeyourfriend,Wyn!”
“Idon’twanttobeyourseither!”hecries.
Iturnupthehill,buthecatchesmyhandandpullsmebacktofacehim.Idon’tknowhowithappens:I’mconfidentIdon’ttripintohismouth,butthat’showitfeels,becauseI’mpositivehedidn’tinitiateit—Wynwouldnever—anditmakesnosensethatIwoulddothis,butIhave.
Iam.
Myhandsaretwistedintohisshirt,andhisareflatagainstmyback,andwe’rekissing,hard,hurried,likethisisatimedactivityandwe’reinourfinalseconds.
“Whatwasthetext,”Ihissoutasourlipsdrawapart.
“Whattext,”heasks,turningmebacktothecar,thewarmmetalofthehoodmeetingmyback.
“Fromyourmom,”Isay.“Isawatextfromyourmom.”
“Nothing,”hesays,liftingmeontothehood.
“Wyn.”
“It’saboutwork,Harriet,”hesays,squeezingmythighs,pullingthemaroundhiships.
“Thatdoesn’tmakeanysense,”Isayashekisseshiswaydownmythroat,handcurlingagainstmyear.
“Icanexplainittoyourightnow,”hesays,“orwecanhavesexinthecar.”
Aplumblineofheatdropsthroughmycenter,mythighstighteningagainsthimashekissesmemoredeeply.“Thecar?We’relikeamilefromthehouse.”
“Idon’thaveamileinmerightnow,Harriet.”
Ipushagainsthisshouldersevenastherestofmybodystrainstowardhim.“Tellme,”Isay.
Hestepsback.Acarfliesbyourspotontheshoulder,andheblinksasifemergingfromatrance.Thenobviousanxietytorqueshisbrowandmouth,andIampositiveImadetherightdecision,thatthere’ssomethingIneedtoknow.
Witharesignedsigh,hepullshisphoneoutofhisbackpocketandtapsonitforseveralseconds,teethworryingathislowerlip,whilethesuspensepummelsmynerves.
Finally,hehandsthephonetome.
There’sawebbrowseropentosomehipminimalisticshop.Awhitebackdrop.Softserifedheadings:Gallery,Contact,SocialMedia.Beneaththem,aphotographofamassiveoakpedestaltableoutinagreen-goldmeadow.Mismatchedwoodenchairslineit,wildflowersburstinguparoundtheirlegs.Behindthemeadow,periwinklemountainsjutupintoacloudlesssky.
It’ssobeautifulitmakesmeache.IfeelthesamebrandoflongingIusedtogetwhenIrodemybikehomeatduskasakid,pastlitkitchenwindows,sawthepeopleinsidelaughingwhiletheysettheirtablesorwashedtheirdishes
Itaptheimage.Anoptiontopurchasethetablepopsup.“Fifteenthousanddollars?Americandollars?”
“It’sthecheapestone,”Wynsays.
Ilookup,stunned.“Wyn.Areyoubuyingafifteen-thousand-dollartable?HereIwasfreakingoutaboutacoffee-tablebook,andyou’rebuyingamillionaire’stable?”
“What?”Helaughsuncomfortably.“No.Harriet.It’snot—I’mnotbuyingit…Imadeit.”
Istareathim.“You…”Ilookbackdowntothetable,thenupathim.“Youmadethis?Oryoufixedit?”
Colorrisesalonghischeeks.“Imadeit.ForthathomegoodsstoreinBozeman.JuniperandSage?”
JuniperandSage.IwentoncewithWyn’sparents,andHankjokedthatweshouldn’ttouchanyoftheirvases,becauseifwebrokethem,we’dhavetomortgagethehouse.
“They’resellingthemonconsignment,”Wynsays.“Thefirsttwotheyboughtarealreadygone.Ikindofhatethatone,andapparentlytheBozemanmillionairesagree,becauseit’sbeensittingforweeks.ButI’vestarteddoingcommissionstoo.Mostlyforpeople’ssummerhomes,butI’vealsogotthissixty-thousand-dollarorderforaresort.I’mgettingrequestseveryfewdays.Touristswantsomethinglocallymade—I’llhavetohiresomeonetohelpsoonifitkeepsup—and…what?”
“Nothing.”Ilookaway,towardthewater,batmyeyelashesagainstthewellingemotion.
“Harriet?”
“You’re…”Ishakemyhead.“You’reamazing,Wyn.Thisisamazing.”
Thecornerofhismouthtwitches,hisgazedroppingtothewaterbelowus.“Yeah,well,turnsoutthatbusinessdegreewasn’tacompletewaste.”
Iflipthroughthepicturesonthehomepage,andhewatchesmeoutofthecornerofhiseye,likehecan’tbeartoseeitstraighton.
Adarkwalnuttablesittinginasparklingcreek,vasesfilledwithprairieconeflowersandcommonchokecherryandRockyMountainpenstemon.Andthenacedartablewithaliveedge,sittinginapineforest,likeanaltarinacathedralmadeoftrees.
Thephotographsendsanimpreciseachethroughmylimbs.Tobethere,maybe,ormaybetobestandingbehindthecamerawiththemanwhobuiltthattable.
“Intheirnaturalhabitat,”Isay.
WhatImeanis,Inyournaturalhabitat
IthinkbacktothosephonecallswhenhewenthometoMontana,howevenovervideo,IcouldseethatthecolorsofWynhadleachedbackintohim,aftermonthsoffadingunderthefoganddrizzleofSanFrancisco.
“Imean,it’satable.”Hereachesforthephone,butIholdontoit.“Notableisworththatmuch.”
“Thisoneis,”Imurmur.
Ilookupandcatchhimwatchingme,alookofrawvulnerability,hope.
“It’samazing,”Iforceout.“Ididn’tknowyouwerebuildinganything.Whendidyoustart?”
Hescratchesthebackofhishead.“IstartedbuildinginSanFrancisco.”
“Youwhat?”Isay.
“ThesecondjobIhad,”hesays.“Itwasn’tupholstery.Iwasapprenticingforadesigner.”
Intheschemeofthings,it’snotasalaciousreveal,butitisdisorienting.TorealizetheriftbetweenusbeganevenlongeragothanIrealized.“Whydidn’tyoutellme?”
“Idon’tknow.Iwasembarrassed.”
“Embarrassed,”Irepeat,likeit’smyfirstintroductiontotheword.Itmightaswellbe.“Whatcouldpossiblybeembarrassingaboutthis?”
“I’veneverbeenlikeyou,”hesays.“Iwasn’tbrilliant.Iwasn’tsomeonewithatonofgoals.I’vespentmyfirstthirtyyearstrippingthroughlife.”
“That’snottrue,”Isay.
“Harriet.”Helooksatmethroughhislashes,everyvarietyofgreenandgrayinhiseyesonfulldisplayinthesunlightreflectingoffthewaterbelow.“Ibarelygotintocollege,andIbarelygraduated.AndthenIfollowedyououttoSanFrancisco,andevenwithadegree,ImanagedtobotcheveryinterviewIwenttoforjobsthatwouldactuallypay.IfIfuckeduptheapprenticeship,Ididn’twantyoutowatchithappen.Sayingitwasanotherupholsteryjobtookthepressureoff,becauseifIlostit,Icouldfindanother.”
Mynoseburns.Idropmyeyesbacktothephone,thescreenblurring.
“Heactuallydidn’tthinkIwasanygood,”hesays.
Ilookup.
“ThedesignerIapprenticedfor,”hesays.“HesaidIhadnoinstincts.”
Isnort.“What,likeyou’resomekindofbirdingdog?Whatanasshole.”
Wynsmilesfaintly.“WhenIleftthatjobandwenthome,IwasprettysureIwasdoneeventrying.FiguredI’dstickwiththerepairs.”
“Whatmadeyouchangeyourmind?”
Heeasesontothehotmetalofthehoodbesideme.“It’shardtoexplain.”
We’rebacktothepushandpull,thelittledripsofhimandthenthedroughtsthatfollow.
I’veneverknownhowtotakehiminsmalldoses.Onetasteonlyevermakesthethirstworse.
“Well,I’mproudofyou,”Isaythickly,foldingmyarms,barricadingmyselffromhimthesamewayhe’sdonetome.
Hiseyesreturntomine.“Icouldmakeyouone,ifyouwant.”
“Atable?”Iask.Henods.“Idon’thavethatkindofmoney,Wyn.”
“Iknow,”hesays.“That’snotwhatImeant.”
“Icouldn’ttakesomethinglikethatforfree,”Isay.
“It’sgoingreallywell,Harriet,”hesays.“AndIhardlyhaveanyexpensesrightnow—maybeyou’veheard:Ilivewithmymom?”
Ilaugh.“IthinkIrememberreadingthatonTMZ.”
Hetouchesmyhandagainstthehood,andgodhelpme,Iturnmypalmuptohis.Ineedtoholdontohimrightnow,needtofeelthecallusesI’vememorizedonhispalm.
“Iwouldlovetomakeyouone,”hemurmurs.“I’vegottime,andIdon’tneedmoney.”
Readingmyexpression,Wynsays,“Orifyoudon’twantone…”
“It’snotthat.”Ishakemyhead.“It’samazing.Seeingyoulikethis.Sohappy.”
Hestudiesmeforabeatbeforedroppinghisgazeonanod.“Iam.I’mreallyhappy.”
Nowmychestisfoldingoveronitself.“I’msoglad.”
“Youtoo,right?”Hematchesmygaze.
Thatseesawfeelingrocksthroughme.“Yeah,”Isay.“Metoo.”
“Good,”hesayssoftly.
“WhywasGloriasoworriedaboutyoutellingmethis?”Iask.
“Becauseshethinkswe’restilltogether,”hesays,hisgazedarkandsteady.“Shethinksyou’restillwaitingformetocomeback.”
BacktoSanFrancisco.
Backtome.
I’mnotwaiting.I’veknownformonthshewouldn’tbecomingback.
Sowhydoeshearingithurtsomuch?
Myphonechimes,andIbreakeyecontact,blinkingrapidlyasIpullitout,readthenewmessage.“Sabrina,”Itellhimthickly,slidingoffthehood.
Hismouthhitches,anunconvincingquartersmile.“Lookslikeourtime’sup.”
Italreadywas,Ithink.Butthepain,itstillfeelsfresh.28
DarkPlace
SanFrancisco,California
AfterHank’sdeath,Wyninsistswedon’thavetopostpone.Hesaysweshouldn’tlosethevenueorthedepositmoney.Buthe’sbarelyeating,hardlysleeping.
“Itwillbeeasierthisway,”Itellhim.“I’llhavemoretimetoadjusttotheresidency,andthenwecanfigureeverythingelseout.”
Monthsgoby,andhisgriefdoesn’tabate.Minehoversclosetoo,alwayswaitingtotripmeup.EverythingstillmakesmethinkofHank,ofwhatGloriamustbefeeling,whatWynmustbekeepinginside.
Somethingasinnocentasacarcommercialcansplitmeopen.IstarttakinglongshowerssoIcanletitalloutwithoutpilingmypainontohis.Wynstartstakinglongrunstoburnitalloff.
Wedon’tpainttheapartment.Oneweekendheoffers,butbetweenhistwojobs,it’shisonedayoff,andhelookssotired.
“We’llgettoiteventually,”Isay.
“I’msorry,”hecroaks,grabbingmebythehips,pullingmetowardwherehesitsonthecouch,burrowinghisfaceintomystomach.
“Youhavenothingtobesorryfor,”Ipromise.
“Iwanttobebetterforyou,”hesays.
“Stop,”Iwhisper.“Idon’tneedthat.Idon’tneedanythingfromyou.I’mokay.”
I’mnot.Iliveinastateofterrorthathewon’tevercomebacktohimself.ThatI’vetakenhimfromhisfriendsandajobhelikedandhisfamily,andnowIcan’tevengivehimthetimeheneeds.
Andthenthere’sthelossofHank,thedadofmydreams,andtheguiltIfeelforthinkingthat,aftereverythingmyownfathergaveuptogivemethislife.
Thesacrificeshe’smade,thejobshe’shatedandworkedanyway,everybitofproofofhislove.Buthe’sneverbeenasoftman.He’sonlyaccessibletoapoint.
ThelasttimewevisitedtheConnorsbeforeHank’sdeath,Wyn’sfathercriedfromhappinesswhenwegotthere.Asweweregettingreadyforbedthatnight,hegavemeatighthugandsaid,Sleepwell,loveyousomuch,kiddo,andafterwardI’dshutmyselfinthebathroomandrunthewaterwhileIcriedforreasonsIdidn’tentirelyunderstand.
Morehomesickness,Iguess.Thatlights-on-in-an-unfamiliar-kitchenpang.
Loveyousomuch,kiddohadbeensuchaconstantrefrainofWyn’schildhoodthatheandhissistershadallgottenittattooedinHank’shandwritingwhenwewenttoMontanaforthefuneral.TheysaidIcouldtoo,butitdidn’tseemfair.Hankdidn’tbelongtome.Nowheneverwill.
Thetracksofourlivessplitlittlebylittle,butthemomentswe’retogether,mylovestillfeelssobigandviolentitcouldconsumeme.
Everyonceinawhile,WynasksifIwanttolookatvenuesorgosamplecakes.Hetriestobehappy.Itrytobeenoughinthissmall,smalllifeI’vepulledhiminto.
“There’snorush,”Ipromise.“I’msobusyatthehospitalanyway.”
Idon’twanttomakehimcelebrate.Idon’twanthimtofeellikehehastobehappywhenhe’sstillacclimatingtoaworldwithoutHankConnorinit.
Itshouldn’thavehappenedlikethis.HankwaselevenyearsolderthanGloria,sure,buthewasstillonlyinhisearlyseventies.Andaren’tseventiessupposedtobelikefiftiesnow?
Sometimesweeatdinnertogetherbetweenhisshifts.Butmostnights,wedon’tseeeachotheruntilhecomestokissmeontheheadwhileIreadinbed,beforetakinghisshower.
Sometimeswhenhecomesback,andhethinksI’masleep,he’llfinallylethimselfcry,andIthink,thoughIdon’tknowtowhomorwhat,Please,pleasehelp.Pleasehelphimstophurtingthismuch
I’llmakebargainswiththeuniverse:IfImaketheapartmentcozier.IfIdon’tcomplainaboutwork.IfImakethemostoftheconstantrain.IfIneednothingfromhim,he’llbeokay.
We’llgetthroughthis.
Onenight,someoftheotherinternsinvitemeout.Theyalwaysdo.Inevergo.ButlatelyWynhasbeenpushingmeto
“Iwon’tbehomeanyway,”hesays.“Youneedtohavefriends.”
“Ihavefriends,”Isay.
“Nothere,”hesays.“Youneedthosetoo.”
SoIgoout,andit’snice,fun,butIlosetrackoftime,andwhenIgethome,Wyn’sasleepinourbed,anditbreaksmyhearttohavemissedevenfivewakingminuteswithhim.
Ifeelguilty.Ifeellost.Idon’tknowhowtofixanyofit.
Thenextmorning,whenItellhimImissedhim,hesays,“Honestly,IcrashedassoonasIgothome.Iwouldn’thavebeenanyfun.”
Afterthat,IgooutacoupleoftimesaweekwithTaye,thefourth-yearwho’stakenmeinlikethehospital’sownferalcat,alongwithacoupleofotherfirst-yearsshe’sunofficiallymentoring,GraceandMartin.Andit’snicetohavefriendsagain,tonotbesoalone.
Finally,whenWynhasafullnightoff,hecomesouttomeetusatthebardownthestreetfromthehospital,andI’mexcitedandnervousandalittleregretfulthatwe’respendingournightoutinsteadofathometogether,butheinsistsit’simportant.
Martin,Grace,andTayespendthewholenighttalkingaboutthehospital,orelsetheirworstprofessorsinmedicalschool.It’sthefirsttimeIrealizeit’sallweeverreallytalkabout,andonlybecauseIwatchWynzoneout,recede,andIhavenoideahowtoholdontohim,keephimherewithme.
ThenMartinfinallyasksWynwhathedoesforaliving,andWyntellshimabouttheupholstery.
“Whatkindofdegreedoyouneedforthat?”Martinsays.Idon’tthinkhemeansforittosoundsnotty,butitdoes,andWynreactsexactlyhowhealwaysdoestoanysuggestionofinferiority.
Heleansintoit.Jokesthathegotadegreeinchairs,butittookhimanextrayear,andeveryonelaughsitoff,butfordaysafterthat,heseemsevenmoredistant.
MyheartisscreamingYou,you,you,asifI’mwatchinghimfallintoapit,andyetI’mimmobilized,unabletofindawaytoreachhim.
WheneverIaskhimwhat’swrong,hetakesmyfaceinhishandsandkissesmyforehead,tellsmesoberly,“You’reperfect,”andweforget,forawhile,abouteverythingexcepteachother’smouthsandskin,andonlylater,whileheliescurledaroundmelikeaquestionmarkinbed,doIrealizehehasn’tgivenmeananswer.
ThencomesGloria’sfall.HerParkinson’sdiagnosis,orrathersheadmitsshe’shaditforyears.ThingshaveprogressedmorequicklysinceHank’spassing.
“I’mold!”shesayswithaflippanthandwavewhenwevideocallher.“IfHankandIhadstartedhavingkidssooner,I’dstillberunningallaround,butwedidn’t,andthingsareboundtostartbreakingdown.”
Sheisn’told.Olderthanmyparents,sure,butnotoldenoughforWynandMichaelandLoutohavetocontemplatelosingtheirmotherwhenthey’veonlyjustsaidgoodbyetotheirfather.
Martinhelpsmewrangleafewdaysofffromthehospital,andWynandIgotoMontana,allthreeofGloria’skidsandhersoon-to-be-daughter-in-lawcrowdedintotheirsquatlittlehouseattheendofitslongdrive.Wyncomesalive.Helightsup,loosens
Andforthesecondtime,Ituckmyselfintotheirtinysecond-floorbathroomwiththewaterrunningandsobintomyknuckles,becauseIknowIcan’ttakehimbacktoSanFrancisco.
KnowIcan’tbeartobethepersonwhotakeshimawayfromwherehebelongs.
WhenItellhimIthinkheshouldstaywhilehismomrecoversfromherfall,hestudiesmeforalongtime.“Areyousure?”
“Onehundredpercent,”Isay.
Weagreehe’llstickaroundforamonthwhilehe,Michael,andLouworkoutalong-termplan.
Iflyhomealone.AssoonasIstepfootintheapartment,Ifeeltheshift.
SomehowIknowhewillneverlivethereagain.
Atfirstwetalkallthetime.Thenwegetbusy.He’scatchingupontherepairworkthathisdadhadn’thadthechancetofinish.I’mexhaustedfromgruelingdaysofscrubbinginandouttostandbehindaringofscrubbed-insurgeonsandresidentssothickI’mluckyifIgetaglanceatascalpel.Andwhenmyinternfriendsbemoanthatsameexperienceoverdrinks,Ipretendtoagreewhenthetruthis,evenbeingtaskedwithasuturesoundsliketoomuchrightnow.
LouhasonlyoneyearleftofherMFAinIowa.Thenshe’llmovebacktoMontana.Wyntellsmethislikeit’sgreatnews—“I’llbehomesoon.”
You’realreadyhome,Ithink.IwonderifIeverwillbe.
CleotextstoaskhowI’mholdingupwithWynaway.IfeeltooguiltytosayanythingotherthanavariationonAllgoodhere.Howareyou?
IfollowTayetohappyhoursandtrivianights.IjoinherBachelorviewingpartytoo.ButmostlyIfillmysparetime,snuggledinbedwithacupofteaandwearingWyn’soldMattinglysweatshirt,halfwatchingandhalfsleepingthroughepisodesofMurder,SheWrote
Thenightbeforehe’ssupposedtovisit,Gloriafallsagainandbreaksherwrist,andhehastocancel.“It’sfine,”Itellhim.“Iwashonestlygoingtobetootiredformuchthisweekendanyway.”
Westartmissingcalls.SometimesI’msotiredIdriftoffonthecouchwhileI’mwaitingforthephonetoring.Sometimeshegetssolostinhiswork,helosestrackoftime.He’salwaysapologetic,beatinghimselfupaboutit,promisingtodobetter.
“Wyn,”Isay.“It’sseriouslyfine.We’rebothbusy.”
I’mworkingoverChristmas,soheplanstocometheweekafter.Hiscarskidsofftheroadonthewaytotheairport.He’suninjured,buthemissestheflight.“I’llcometomorrow,”hesays.
TomorrowistheonlyfulldayoffI’llhaveduringhisvisit,andnowhewon’tgetinuntilthatevening.“Sure,”Isay.“Soundsgreat.”
He’sintownthirty-sixhours,andthenhe’sgoneagain.
ApartofmestillhopesthatifIgivehimroom,space,time,everythingmightbeokay.
Onenight,afteralast-minutevideo-chatcancellation,Idecidetoshowuptotheinterns’usualhappyhourspot,andTayeandGracearen’tthere.“GracehadsomefamilyweddinginMonterey,andIthinkshetookTaye,”Martinsays.
Tayethrivesinbigsocialsettings.She’slikeParththatway—sogoodatsinglingouttheshiestorquietestorclumsiestpersonintheroomandbringingthemintothecenterofthings.Probablywhyshetookmeunderherwing.
IthinknothingofitbeingjustMartinandmethatnight.Westayforonlyonedrink—I’mexhausted—andthenheofferstodrivemehome.
Whenwegetthere,heinsistsonwalkingmetothedoor.Idon’tthinkanythingofthiseither.BecauseofWyn.HowmanytimesdidhesuggestwemeetSabrinaathersummerinternshipsoshewouldn’thavetowalkhomebyherself?HowoftendidhegiveCleoaridetohercaronthefarsideoftheMattinglycampus?
Onthestoop,Martinhugsmegoodnight.Orthat’swhatIthinkhe’sdoingatfirst,andwhenIrealizeheisn’t,I’msoshockedIfreeze.
Letthekisshappentome.BythetimeIthinktoshovehimbackward,he’salreadyrealizeditwasamistake,thatIwasn’tkissinghimback.Helooksembarrassed.
Whichonlyintensifiesmyguilt.DidIgivehimsomekindofsign?WasIflirtingwithhim?Idon’tknow.Apiercingpainstartsbehindmyrighteye.Mybrainfeelslikeit’ssloshingaroundinmyskull.
“I’mnot…available,”Istammer.“Youknowthat.”
Martinlaughs.“Thefurnitureguy?”
IfeellikeI’mgoingtobesick.
“Wyn,”Isay.
“He’snothere,Harry,”Martinsays.“He’sneverhereanymore.Iam.”
Iturnandruninside.IcallWynimmediately,eventhoughit’slatehere,whichmeansit’sevenlaterinMontana.Itgoestovoicemail.Icallback,andheanswersonthethirdring,voicegroggy.
Itellhimeverything,asfastasIcan,poisonI’mlettingfrommyblood.
Afterward,Ihavetobeghimtosaysomething.Whenhedoes,hisvoiceishollow.“Thisisn’tworkinganymore.”
Iwanttotakemypleaback.Iwanttobeghimnottosayanythingelse.
Ibarelyheartherestofthecall.Onlysnatchesgetthroughtheragingofmyheart.
…kidswhenwegottogether…differentnow…what’sbest
Idon’tcry.It’snotreal.Hepromisedhewouldalwaysloveme.Itcan’tbereal.
Butadeeperpartofme,avoicethat’salwaysbeenthere,tellsmeitwasalwaysgoingtoendthisway.ThatI’veknownsincethatfirsttriptoIndianathatIwouldneverbeenoughtomakehimhappy,thatIcouldn’tgivehimthekindoflovehisparentshadwhenmyonlyeducationonthesubjecthadbeentheonemyparentshad.
Twodaysafterourcall,mystuffshowsup.Nonote.Idon’ttellanyone.Ican’tbeartosayit.29
RealLife
Friday
Everyoneisintheirrespectivecornersofthehouse,gettingreadyforthebachelorette-slash-bachelor-partynightParthandSabrinahaveplanned.
Ishouldbegettingreadytoo.Instead,mymindkeepswanderingbacktothatdarkledgeI’vespentmonthsturningawayfrom.Don’tlook,don’tlook,don’tlook.Thepainistoomuch.Itwillsuckmeintoitself,andI’llnevergetbackout.
Letitgo,Itellmyself.
Itdoesn’tmatterthatInevergotconcreteanswersaboutwhatbrokeus.Whatmattersisthatwebroke.WhatmattersisthatWyn’shappywithhisnewlife
We’llmakeitthroughtomorrow,thengoourseparateways.Whenwetelleveryonewe’vebrokenup,we’llbeabletosayitwasamicable,thatitwon’tcostthemanything.
ButIcan’tletitgo.
I’vebeentryingformonths,andI’mnoclosertopeace.Here’smyopportunity—mylastchance.Itmightbeamistaketogetanswers,butifIdon’t,I’llspendmyliferegrettingit.
ThisiswhatIneedfromthisweek,thethingthatwilljustifythetorture.
Ileavethebedroom,marchdownthehallpastthehissofrunningshowersandoldpipescreakinginthewalls.
Everythingfeelsstrange,dreamlike:thetime-smoothedwoodenstairssoftagainstmysoles,theprickleofcoolairasIstepoutback,therushingsoundofthetideslidingovertherocksbeneaththebluff.Icrossthepatiotothesidegate,stillopenfromCleo’ssuddenflightoffancytheothernight,andfollowthepathbeyondit,intothedenseevergreensbeyond.
Thesunhasn’tfullyset,butthefoliageoverheadcoatsthefootbridgeinshadow,pinpricksofmountedsolarlightsilluminatingthepathtotheguesthouse.
It’slikeI’mmovingthroughjelly,everystepslowandheavy.Thenthewood-shingledguesthouseappears,andIroundthecornertowardthecedarwoodshower.
WhenIseehim,itsurprisesme.AsifIdidn’tcomehereexpresslyforhim.
Onlythebackofhishead,neck,andshoulderspeekoverthetopofthecedarwalls,thebreezepullingsteamoutinsilverwisps.Afeelingofloss,heavyasasandbag,hitsmeinthegut.
Ican’tdothis,Ithink.Idon’twanttoknow.Idon’twanttomakethingsworse.
Iturn.Mysleevecatchesonalow-hangingbranch,andallthemoistureaccumulatedtherespatterstothehollowforestfloor.
Wynturns,hisbrowarchingwithamusement.“CanIhelpyou?”Helooksandsoundshappytoseeme.Somehowit’sanotherblow.
Iwaver.“Idoubtit.”
“MayIhelpyou,”heamends.
“Ijustwantedtotalk!”Istepback.“Butitcanwait.Untilyou’reless…”
“Busy?”heguesses.
“Naked,”Isay.
“Oneandthesame,”hesays.
“Foryou,Iguess,”Isay.
Hisbrowscrunches.“What’sthatmean?”
“Ihonestlydon’tknow,”Isay.
Herestshisforearmsatopthewall,waiting.Formetocomecloserortobolt
Nowthattheopportunity’sinfrontofme,havingananswerIdon’tlikeseemseminentlyworsethanneverhavinganansweratall.
“It’snothing,”Isay.“Forgetit.”
“Iwon’t.”Hewipeswaterfromhiseye.“Butifyouwantmetopretend,Icantry.”
Itakeanotherhalfstepback.Hisgazestayspinnedonme.
Asalways,somethingabouthisfacecoaxesthewordsoutofmebeforemybrainhasdecidedtosaythem:“It’skillingmenotknowing.”
Hisbrowsoftens,hislipspartinginthehalf-light.
“Eventhoughit’sbeenmonths,”Isay.“It’skillingme,beinghere,actinglikeeverything’sthesamebetweenus,andwhat’sevenworseissometimesit’snotacting.Because…”Myvoicecracks,butnowthere’stoomuchmomentum.Ican’tstoptalking.
Nomatterhowfragile,needy,brokenImightsound,it’sthetruth,andit’scomingout.
“Becauseyoujustleft,Wyn,”Isay.“Inevergotanexplanation.Igotafour-minutephonecallandaboxofmystuffshippedtomydoor,andI’veneverevenknownwhatIdid.AndItoldmyselfitwasallaboutwhathappenedwithMartin.Thatyoudidn’ttrustme.”
Hewincesatthename,butIdon’tbackdown.
“I’vespentmonthstryingtomakemyselfmadatyou,”Igoonhoarsely,“forblamingmeandjudgingmeforsomethingIdidn’tevendo.AndthenIcomehere,andyouactlikeyoudoblameme.Likeyouhatemeor,worse,feelnothingatallforme.Untilsuddenlyyouactlikenothing’schanged.AndyoutellmeyouneverthoughtIcheatedonyou,andyoukissmelikeyouloveme.”
“Youkissedmetoo,Harriet,”hesays,voicelow,strained.
“Iknow,”Isay.“IknowIdid,andIdon’tevenunderstandhow,aftereverything,Istillletmyselfdothat.ButIdid,andit’skillingme.Thisiskillingme.Everysecondofeveryday,IfeellikeI’mlivingwithapieceofmetornout,andIdidn’tevenseeithappen.
“Ihavethisgapingwound,andnoideahowitgotthere.It’skillingmehearinghowhappyyouare,withoutevenunderstandinghowI—howI—”Myvoicequavers,mybreathcominginspurts.“Idon’tknowwhatIdidtomakeyousomiserable.”
Hismouthjuddersopen.“Harriet.”
Idropmyfaceintomyhandsasthetearsbuildacrossmyvision,myspineachingwiththeforceofitwhentheystarttofall.
Theshowerdoorunlatchesandwhinesopen.Iheartheraspofatowelbeingpulledfromahookandwrappedagainstskin.Heatbillowstowardmeinadampwall,andIflinchatthesuddenwarmthofWyn’shandstakingholdofmyupperarms.Ican’tbringmyselftolookathim,notwhileI’mfallingapart.Notafterbaringalltherawestpartsofmyself.
“Hey,”hesaysinaquietrasp,hiswetpalmsscrapingupmyarms.“Comehere.”
Hetucksmeagainsthischest,thewaterfromhisskinsluicingdownmyarmsandback.Hismouthburrowsintomyhair.“Itwasn’tyou,”hesays.“Ipromiseitwasneveryou.Iwasinsuchafuckingdarkplace,Harriet.AfterIlostmydad.Iwasdrowning.”
Hepressesmecloser.
“I’msorry,”Isay,voicecrackling.“Iwantedtohelpyou.Ididn’tknowhow.I’veneverknownwhattodowithpain,Wyn.AllI’veeverdoneishidefromit.”
Hishandfurlsagainstmyear.“Youcouldn’thavedoneanythingelse,Harriet.Itwasneveryou.Ijust…IlostthebestmanIknew,anditwaslikeIstoppedknowinghowtoexist.Liketheworlddidn’tmakeanysenseanymore.Andyouhadthisnewlife,thisthingyou’dbeendreamingofforsolong,andallthesenewfriends,and—andIwasgreedyforyourtime,andIhatedmyselffornotbeinghappyforyou.Ihatedmyselffornotbeinggoodenoughorsmartenoughordrivenenoughforyou.”
“Fuckthat.”Itrytopushbackfromhim.
Heholdsmefast,doesn’tletmego,anditmakesmesoangry,howhe’sholdingonnow,whenit’stoolate.“Listen,”hemurmurs,“pleaseletmesaythis.”
Iliftmygazetohis.IthinkofthefirsttimeIeversawhisfaceupclose,howhisfeatureshadstruckmeascontradictory,araremixofmagnetismandstandoffishness:Iwantyouclose,butdon’tlookatmeNowhe’spurequicksand.Nostoniness.Wideopen.
“Iwaslost,”hesays.“AsmuchasIlovedmyparents—asmuchasIalwaysknewtheylovedme—IgrewupthinkingIwasaletdown.Ihadthesetwoincrediblesisters,whocameoutoffuckingleftfieldandwerenothinglikemyparentsoranyoneelseinourtown,andasearlyasIcanremember,everyoneknewtheyweregoingtodosomethingamazing.Imean,whenIwastwelveandLouwasnine,peoplewerealreadytalkingabouthowshe’dwinaPulitzersomeday.Noonewasgivingmeimaginaryawards.”
“Wyn.”We’dbeendownthispathtoomanytimes.
“I’mnotsayinganyonethoughtIwasstupid,”hesays.“Butthat’showitfelt.LikeIwastheonewhodidn’thaveanythinggoingforhimexceptthatI’mnice.”
“Nice?”Ican’thelpbutscoff.
Generous,thoughtful,endlesslycurious,painfullyempathetic,funny,vast.NotniceNicewasthemaskWynConnorledwith.
“Iwantedtobespecial,Harriet,”hesays.“AndsinceIwasn’t,Isettledfortryingtomakeeveryoneloveme.Iknowhowridiculousthatsounds,butit’strue.IspentmywholelifechasingthingsandpeoplewhocouldmakemefeellikeImattered.”
Thatstings,somewheredeepbeneathmybreastbone.Itryagain,feebly,todrawback.Wyn’shandmovestothebackofmyneck,light,careful.“AndthenImetyou,andIdidn’tfeelsolostoraimless.Becauseeveniftherewasnothingelseforme,itfeltlikelovingyouwaswhatIwasmadefor.Anditdidn’tmatterwhatanyonethoughtofme.Itdidn’tmatterifIdidn’thaveanyotherbigplansformyself,aslongasIgottoloveyou.”
“Sothat’sit?”Isayraggedly.“Itookupalltheoxygen,andyoudidn’ttellmeuntilI’dsuffocatedyou.Untilyoudidn’tlovemeanymore,andtherewasnothingIcoulddo.”
“Iwillalwaysloveyou,”hesaysfiercely.“That’sthepoint,Harriet.It’stheonlythingthat’severcomenaturallytome.ThethingIdon’thavetoworkat.Ilovedyouallthewayacrossthefuckingcountry,andatmydarkest,onmyworstdays,IstillloveyoumorethanI’veeverlovedanythingelse.
“ButIwasn’thappyaftermydaddied,andIkeptwaitingforthingstofeeleventhetiniestbitbetter,andIcouldn’t.Ididn’t.AndIwasmakingyouunhappytoo.”
Iopenmymouth,buthecutsacrossmesoftly,hishandsgentlinginmyhair:“Pleasedon’tlie,Harriet.Iwasdrowning,andIwastakingyoudowntoo.”
Itrytoswallow.Theemotiongripsmythroattootightly.
Wyndropshisgaze,hisvoicecracking.“WhenIwentbacktoMontana,Icouldfeelhim.”
“Wyn.”Myhandsgotohisjaw,andhisforeheaddipstomine.
Hiseyesclose,adeepbreathpressinguscloser.“AndIfeltsostupidforrunningawayfromallthat.FortryingsohardtobedifferentfromhimwhenhewasthebestmanI’veeverknown.”
“You’vealwaysbeenlikehim,”Isay,“inallthewaysthatmatter.”
Thecornerofhismouthturnsup,butit’satenseexpression,awroughtone.He’sshaking,fromthecoldoradrenaline.
“Ijust…”Hetakesabreath.“IfeltlikeIwasfailinghim,andmymom,andyou.Iwantedyoutobehappy,Harriet,andtheMartinthing—maybeitwasanexcuse,butIwassolowthenthatIgenuinelyconvincedmyselfthatwasthekindofguyyouwantedtobewith.Andyoukeptpushingtheweddingoff.Youneverwantedtotalkaboutit.Youneverwantedtotalkaboutanything,andwhenIsawyouwithallofyournewfriends,Ithought…Ithoughtyoushouldbewithsomeoneasbrilliantasyou,whocouldfitintothisworldyouspentyourwholelifefightingfor.”
“That’snotfair,Wyn,”Icry.
“WhatwasIsupposedtothink,Harriet?”heasks,voicefraying.“WhenI’dhavetocancelavisit,youdidn’tcare.WhenImissedaphonecall,youdidn’tcare.Youwerenevermadatme.Youneverfoughtwithme.Itfeltlikeyoudidn’tevenmissme.”
Ibreakintosobsagainastherealityofithitsme.ThatallthattimeandenergyI’dspenttryingtobefineforhim,tonotcrackundertheweightofmyjob,tonotneedanythinghecouldn’tgive—allithaddonewasdrivehimawayfrommefaster.
“Iknewyou’dneverleaveme,”hegoeson,hisvoicelikesandpaper.“NotwhenIwassuchafuckingwreck.ButIdidn’twanttotrapyou.Ididn’twantyoutowakeuponedayandrealizeyouwerelivingthewronglife,andI’dletyoudoit.
“That’swhythephonecallwassoshort.BecauseIcouldn’thavetimetochangemymind.That’swhyImailedyourstuffbacksofast.WhyIcouldn’tstandtohaveasinglepieceofyouleftwhereIcouldseeit.
“BecauseI’malwaysgoingtoloveyou.Becausemorethananything,Iwantyoutobehappy.Andnowyouare,”hesays.“AndIamtoo.Notallthetime,butI’msomuchbetterthanIwas,andwhenSabrinacalledandaskedmetocomehere,IthoughtIcouldhandleit.
“IgenuinelythoughtIwouldshowup,andI’dseeyou,andI’dknowyouwerehappier.I’dknowIdidtherightthinglettingyougo.
“I’veworkedsofuckinghardonmyselftheselastfivemonths,Harriet,andI’mdoingwell.I’mwithmyfamily,andI’mdoingworkI’mproudof,andI’monmedicine.”
“Medicine?”
“Youaskedwhatchangedmymindaboutthejobearlier,”hesays.“That’swhatdidit.Medicine.Fordepression.”
Mythroatsqueezes.JustonemorehugethingIdidn’tknowabouthim.“Fromlosingyourdad?”
Heshakeshishead.“Ithoughtitwasjustthat.ButonceIstartedtakingit,Irealizedthathadjustmadethingsworse.Butit’salwaysbeenthere.Makingeverythingharderthanitshouldbe.It’slike…”Hescratcheshistemple.“Inhighschool,Ihadthisfriendonthesoccerteam.Andoneday,afteragame,hecollapsed.Hischesthurtandhecouldn’tgethisshirtoff,buthewantedtobecausehecouldn’tbreathe,andweallthoughthewashavingaheartattack.Turnedoutitwasasthma.
“Spentlikeseventeenyearsoperatingonfifty-fivepercentlungcapacitywithoutrealizingbreathingjustwasn’tsupposedtobethathard.Startingantidepressantswaslikethatforme.Ifeltlikeshitallthetime,andthensuddenlyIdidn’t.Andallthisstuffseemedpossibleforthefirsttime.Mymindfelt…quieter,maybe.Lighter.”
Idashawaythetearsprickingmyeyes.“Ihadnoidea,”Icroak.
“Ididn’teither,”hesays.“Ispentalotofenergytryingtobefine,and—thepointis,thingsarefinallygoodforme.AndIthoughtifIcamehereandsawyou,itwouldprovewewerebothexactlywhereweweresupposedtobe.Andinstead,Ishowedupandyouwerefuriousatme.AndyouknowwhatIfelt?”
“Iknowyou’reangrywithmetoo,Wyn,”Iforceout.
Hegivesasharpshakeofhishead.“Relief.Ifeltrelief.Becauseitfinallyfeltlikeyoucared.Ifyouweremadatme,itmeantyourheartreallywasasfuckingbrokenasmineis.IthoughtwhenIfoundawaytobehappy,I’dthinkaboutyouless.Butinstead,it’slike…likenowthatthegriefisn’tstranglingme,there’sallthisextraroomtoloveyou.
“Butwecan’tgoback,soIdon’tknowwhattodowithanyofthis.Idon’tevenknowifyoufeelthesameway,andit’skillingmetoo.IgobackandfortheverythirtysecondsthinkingI’mhurtingyoujustbybeinghere,andthenthinkingyoucouldn’tpossiblystilllovemeafterallthistime,andevenifit’snotreal,apartofmewantstopretendIhaveyou,butanotherpartthinksI’lldieifyoudon’ttellmeyouloveme,evenifitdoesn’tchangeanything.Evenifit’sjustgettingtohearitonemoretime.
“Everything’sdifferentandnothing’schanged,Harriet,”hesays.“Itriedsofuckinghardtoletyougo,toletyoubehappy,andwhenIseeyou,Istillfeellike—likeyou’remine.LikeI’myours.Igotridofeverysinglepieceofyou,likethatwouldmakeadifference,likeIcouldcutyououtofme,andinstead,Ijustseeeverywhereyou’resupposedtobe.”
Istareathim,heartcrackingopenundertheweightofwhatI’mfeeling.
“Pleasesaysomething,”hewhispers.
Myeyesfill.Mythroatfills.Idropmyfaceintomyhandsagain.“Ithoughtyoudidn’twantme,”Ichokeout,“soItried.Itriedtolovesomebodyelse.Itriedtoevenlikesomebodyelse.Ikissedsomeoneelse.Isleptwithsomeoneelse,butIcouldn’tstopfeelinglikeIwasyours.”Myeyestightenagainstanotherwaveoftears.“Likeyou’remine.”
“Harriet.”Hetiltsmyfaceup.“Lookatme.”
Hewaits.“Please,Harriet.”
Ittakesafewsecondstoforcemyeyesopen.Waterdropletsstillclingtohisbrows.Rivuletsracedownhisjawandthroat.Histhumbgrazesmycheekbone.
“Iam,”hesays.“Iamstillyours.”
Thenailthathasbeendrivingcloserandclosertomyheartallweeksinkshome.
Thepadsofhisfingersslideacrossmybottomlip.Hiseyesaresosoft,everygingertouchpushingbackanotherlayerfrommyheart.
Butdoesitevenmatterthatwebelongtoeachotherwhenwecan’tbewitheachother?Ourlivesareimmovablyseparate.Everythingmaylookdifferentthanitdidtenminutesago,butnothing’schanged.He’smine,butIcan’thavehim.
Myhandstangleinhiswethair,asifthatcankeephimherewithme.Hisdothesametomine.
“Whatisthis?”hewhispers.
IwantittobeanI’msorryandanIforgiveyouandaPromiseyouwon’teverletmegoandamillionotherwordsIcan’tsay.
Wyn’sfinallyhappy.Hehasthelifethatwasmeantforhim.Hehasacareerhe’sproudof,onepredicatedonhisbeinginMontana,andevenifhedidn’t,there’sGloria,whoneedshim.Thetimewithherthatheneeds,timehemissedwithHank.AndI’minCaliforniaforatleastafewmoreyears,toodeepintobackoutbutnotsofarintothetunnelastoseethelightatitsend.
Maybe,inanotherlife,thingscouldbedifferent.Inthisone,thiscanbeonlyonething.
“Ithink,”Isay,“it’sonelastIloveyou.”
Hisfingerstightenonme,hisbreathstilling.Andthen,likehe’sansweringaquestion,hislungsexpandonaninhaleandhislipsmeetmine.
WhenIletoutashakybreath,histongueslipsintomymouth.ThetasteofhimreachesdeepandloosenssomethingI’vespentmonthstyingintoknots.Needstretchesoutineverydirection,wakingupmyskin,nerves,blood.Wynanglesmyfaceup,deepeningthekiss,andhistonguesweepsmine,hungry,tender.Awhimperrisesoutofme.
Hishandspreadsacrossmystomach,findingitswayseveralinchesupbeneathmyshirt,andmyspinearcsintohim,everymuscleinmystomachtryingtodrawclosertohis.
Helocksanarmaroundmeandwalksusbackward.Hisshouldercollideswiththeshowerstall’sdoorashehaulsmeinsideandknocksitshutagain.
Myclothesarealreadywetfrombeingheldbyhim,stickingtomyskininplaces,butheshieldsmefromthewateranywayashepeelsmyshirtovermyshouldersanddrapesitoverthewallalongwithhistowel.Ileanbackagainstthewall,catchingmybreath,ashemethodicallyundoesthebuttonsonmyshorts.Hetakeshistimeeasingthemdownmylegswithmybikinibottoms,andIstandthere,skinprickling,breathuneven,andmindonfire.Hehangsthosetoo,withouttakinghiseyesoffme.
“Isthisreal?”Iask.
Hereachesformywaist.“Whatelsewoulditbe?”
“Adream,”Isay.
Hepullsmeinagainsthim,hiswarm,dampstomachslidingagainstmine.“Can’tbe,”hesays.“Inmydreams,you’realwaysontop.”
Mylaughcatchesashisthumbsweepsuptheoutsidecurveofmybreast.
Iwindmyarmsaroundhisneck,andheliftsmeagainstthewallinasmoothmotion,mythighswrappingaroundhiswaist.
Igaspintohismouthatthesuddensensationofsomuchofhimonsomuchofme.Thebandsofmuscleacrosshisstomachtighten.Mylipsparthungrilyunderhis.Hishandsuntiemybathingsuittop,peelitaway,andmyheartpoundsintohisurgenttouch.
Hewhispersmynameatthehingeofmyjaw,thewatersprayingoverhisshoulders,wrappingusinitsheat.
Hegroans,palmingmeinslow,intensecirclesasmybreathquickens.Hismouthglidesdownmythroat.“Areyousureaboutthis?”hemurmurs.
Iholdhimtighter.Hedrawsbacktoaskagain,butIpullhimclose,mytongueslippingintohismouth,findingthebitter,breadytasteofCoronaandsharptangoflime.
Ireachbetweenusandthrillatthefeelingofhiminmyhand.Hisheadbowsintomyshoulder,oneofhishandscomingtogripthetopofthewallbehindme.
“Ididn’tbringcondomshere,”hesays,butneitherofushasstoppedmoving,lookingformorefriction,forrelease.Themusclesalldownhisbackandstomachandarmsandassarerigidwithtensionasourhipsrolltogether.
Hishandsslideroughlybehindmyhips,cantingthemuptohim.“Weshouldn’tdothiswhileyou’reupsetanyway,”hesays.
Imovemyhanddownhim.“I’llbelessupsetonceyou’reinsideme.”
Hewrapsahandovermine,holdingmestillforasecond,ourheartsslammingtogether,hotwaterracingdownus.“Wedon’thaveacondom,”hesaysagain
Somekindofpatheticsoundofdissentsqueaksoutofme,andheseemstoforgetwhathewassaying,pushesmebackintothewall,ourhipsgrindingtogether,nailsskatingoverwetskin.Heliftsmeahalfinchsohe’srightagainstmenow.It’snotenough.Hegrabsthetopofthewallagainforsupportaswemovetogether.
“Harriet,”heraspsagainstmyear.“You’resofuckingsoft.”
“Thanks,”Isay,breathless,“Idon’tworkout.”
“Don’tjokerightnow,”hesays.“Wecanjokelater.Rightnow,tellmewhatyouwant.”
“Ialreadytoldyou,”Isay.
“Wecan’t,”hesays.“I’llfindawaytogetsomewhilewe’reoutfordinner.”
Ilaughintohisthroat,catcharivuletonmytongue.“Areyougoingtohangoutinalleywaysandwavetwentiesatstrangerswholooklikethey’repackingcondoms?”
“IwasthinkingI’dgotoadrugstore,”hesays,“butIlikeyourwaybetter.”
Hedrawsback,hishandsslowingmydescentuntilmyfeetmeetthewetcedarplanks.Everythinginmerisesinprotestuntilheturnsme,liftsmyhandstotheedgeofthewall,andletshisownslidedownthebacksofmyarms,downmysides.Oneslipsaroundmyhipandbetweenmythighsashepressesinbehindme.
Forasecond,Ican’tbreathe.Evenmyorgansaretoobusywantingtodoanythingelse,everylastbrainwaveoccupiedwiththesensationofhishand.Hisotherarmwindsaroundme,pullingmeflushagainsthim,hismouthonthespotbetweenmyneckandshoulder
“Wasthisyourgoalfortheweek?”Iask.
Hebitesthesideofmyneck.“Actually,itwastomakeitthroughtherestoftheweekasaperfectgentleman.”
“Occasionalfailure’sgoodforaperson,”Isay.
“Isit?”heteases.“Goodforyou?”
Ipushmyselfbackintohim,pleading.“Please.”
Wynswears,grabsmyhips,andturnsmeagain,pinningmebackagainstthewallandkneelinginfrontofme.
Myjointsseemtoliquefyashekissestheinsideofmythigh,movesuptomycenter.Myhipsliftintothepressureofhismouth.Hisleftpalmskimsupmystomach,therightmovingaroundtocupmyass,anglingmeuptohim.
Itrytourgehimbackupme,buthestayswhereheis,theinsistentheatofhismouthedgingmeclosertounraveling.
“Wyn,”Ibeg.
Goosebumpseruptoverhisneck.Hemurmurs,“Comeforme,Harriet.”
Itrytoresist,toaskformoreofhim,butmybodybowsup.Hisnamerushesoutofmeinabreathlessplea.Hedrivesmeintoawavesoheavyanddarkthat,forseveralseconds,there’snothingbutsensation.Nowoods,nocedarshower,nothingbuthismouth.
Whenitrecedes,Islumpbackagainstthewall,kneesweak.Wynrisesandgathersmeintohimsothatmychinrestsonhisshoulder.Thehotwaterpoursdownusasheleavesastringofkissesdownmythroat.
“Thankyou,”Isaythroughthedreamyhaze.
Hissmilebloomsagainstmyneck.“Sopolite.”Heswaysmegentlybackandforthbeneaththewater.“Theothersarewaiting.”
“I’mnotfeelingpoliteanymore.”Itipmychinbacktomeethiseyes.“Theycanwait.”
“Theairhornwillstartgoinganyminutenow,”hesays.
“Waitingneverkilledanyone,”Isay.
“Idon’tknow,”Wynsays.“I’vefeltprettyclosetodeaththisweek.”
“Goodpoint,”Isay.“Waitingcanbedangerous.Weprobablyshouldn’t.”
Hislaughmeltsintoanothergroan.“Later.Letmebuyyoudinnerfirst.”
“I’mamodernwoman,Wyn,”Isay.“I’llbuyyoudinner.Imean,ifIcanaffordyourdinnernowthatyou’refancy.”
“Yougetmeagasstationhotdog,HarrietKilpatrick,”hesays,kissingthecornerofmymouth,“andI’llgiveyouthebestnightofyourlife.”
Iclosemyeyes,trytoholdthemomentstill.It’salreadyslippingaway.Onemoreday.30
RealLife
Friday
WhilemostoftheLobsterFestfestivitiesareontheothersideoftown,theoverflowhaswounduphere,atthesalt-coatedpicnictablesonthegrayingLobsterWharf,wherecoveralledlobstermenzigzagamongthedockedboats,thewarehouse,andthewalk-upstands.
Evenafterwe’veputinourorders,we’rewaitingawhileuntilatableopensupnearthebandatthedock’sbackcorner.Weslideontothebenches,andWynholdsmythighunderthetable.Isetmyhandoverthetopofhis,tryingtomemorizethisfeeling.
Basketsoffriesandcrisphotdogbunsoverflowingwithfluffylobster,heavilyseasonedonionringsandfriedhaddocksosoftthattheplasticforksslicethroughitlikeit’smeltingbutter.Cornonthecobandtragicsidesaladsloadedwithredonionandslicedradish,andblueberrylemonadeinredplasticdinercups.
“I’mgoingtogoseehowmuchthebarwillchargemetoaddvodkatothis,”Kimmysays,startingtorise.
“Youmightwanttoholdoffonthat,”Sabrinasays,withacrypticsmile.IlooktoParth,whogivesamy-lips-are-sealedshrug.
Withadelightedyetsuspiciousgleaminhereye,Kimmysinksbackontoherbench.
Wyn’smouthdriftsacrossmyearlobe.Ittakesmeasecondtoactuallyinterpretwhathe’ssayingthroughthebarrageoffragmentedmemoriesfromearlier:“Youthinkshe’sPostmatesingmagicmushroomstothetable?”
Iturntowardhim,theendsofournosesalmosttouching.Theglobelightsstrungoverheadmakehiseyesglitter.“Thatorshe’stakingusstraightfromheretoaspacecampzero-gravitychamber,”Isay.
Hishandcreepshigherasheleansin.Iturntohearhiswhisperedreply,butinsteadhislipsmeettheskinbeneathmyear,aslow,softkissthatmakesmeshivercloser.
Sabrinacrumplesanapkinasshestands.“Who’sreadyforthenextphaseofthenight?”
“Spacecamp,herewecome,”Isay.
???
Wefollowtheresidentialstreetalongthewater.Evenfromhere,wecanhearthemusiccomingfromthefestivalonthefarsideoftheharbor,alongwiththewharfband,likethetwoshoresareoppositeendsofaduelingpianobar.
Sabrinaleadsusdownthelong,skinnyfootbridgeacrossthewater,thesoundofPattyGriffin’s“LongRideHome”cross-fadinginto“It’sStillRockandRolltoMe.”
“Wherearewegoing?”Cleoasks.
“Tofulfillalong-termgoal,”Sabrinacallsoverhershoulder,pickingupthepace.There’sanelectricityintheair,afeelingofpossibility.
Maybeit’semanatingfromWynandme.Maybeeverytimeourhandslink,orhetugsmeintohissideorpullsmetoastopandpressesmebackagainsttheguardrailforakisswhiletheotherskeepwalking,weletalittlemorechargeintotheair.
“Keepup,”Parthcallsbacktous.
Wynbrusheshislipsagainstmineoncemore.“We’llhavetimelater,”hesays.
Notenough,Ithinkwithapang.HowcanIexorciseallthistrapped,combustibleloveinoneday?HowcanIstockpilepiecesofhiminthenexttwenty-fourhoursandthenlethimgo,likeheneeds?Likehedeserves
Iforcemyselftonod,andwecatchupwiththeothers.
Theharborsitsinabasin,thewaterfrontlinedwithrestaurantsanddocks,whiletherestofthetownrisesupalongcurvingandcrisscrossingstreets,wildandverdantgardensspillingoverthesidewalk,tinyfernsdottingthelawnsofthesalt-weatheredbed-and-breakfasts.
Wemakeourwayuponeofthesestreets,pastthedarkwindowsoftheFudge&TaffyFactoryandSkippy’sPopcorn,withitshundreddifferentflavorsondisplaybehindglass.They’llbeopenlaterfortheweekend,buteverythingisalreadyshutteredtonight.
PasttheWarmCup,weturnupaquietsidestreet.EasyLane.Ittakesmeasecondtoplacewhyit’sfamiliar:Isawthisstreetmentionedontheitinerary.Tomorrowmorning,pre-wedding,Sabrinahadscheduledpersonalizedsurprisesforeachofus,andtheaddressforminewas123EasyLane.WhichI’dnoted,specificallybecausenamingastreetEasyLaneinsteadofEasyStreetstruckmeasapurposefullymissedopportunity.
AttheendofthefirstblockofEasyLane,Sabrinaturnsusdownanotherstreet.Onlytwobuildingsarestillaglow:asprawlinghotelandpubcalledtheHound&Thistle,andablack-trimmedstorefrontwithoff-whitesansseriflettersacrossitswindowreadingTEMPESTTATTOO
Sabrinastopsandspinsbacktous,armsthrownouttohersides.“So,”shesays,“whatdoyouthink?”
“Sab!”Kimmysays,pouncingonher.“You’regettingatattoo?”
“Close,”shesays.“We’regettingtattoos.”
Noonereacts,apartfromthestrainedsmileParthflashesandthetwitchofWyn’sfingersagainstmine.Kimmy’sgazedartstoCleo,hergrinflaggingatCleo’sstunnedexpression.
“We’vetalkedaboutitforever,”Sabrinagoeson,“andthisistheperfecttime.Tocommemorateourlasttriptothecottageandthelasttenyearsoffriendship.Somethingthatwillalwaysconnectus.”
Mystomachsinks,evenasmyheartfeelslikeacrazedbirdfightingitswayupthroughmywindpipe.
It’sonethingtoacceptthatImightalwaysbealittlebitinlovewithWynConnor.It’sanothertoputapermanentreminderofthatonmybody.BeforeI’vecomeclosetofindingawayoutofthis,Cleosays,“Idon’tthinkso,Sab.”
You’dthinktheshockedsilencemight’vepreparedherforthis,butSabrinalooksgenuinelyflabbergasted.“Whatdoyoumeanyoudon’tthinkso?”
Cleoshrugs.“Idon’tthinkweshouldgetmatchingtattoostonight.”Kimmytouchesherarm,someunspokensentimentpassingbetweenthem.
Sabrinalaughs.“Whynot?”
“BecauseIdon’twantto,”Cleosays.“Andlookingaround,I’mnotsureanyoneelsedoeseither.”
Sabrinablinksandscansus.
“It’snotthat,”Isay.“It’sjust…reallysudden.”
“We’vebeentalkingaboutthisforadecade,”shesays.
“Andwe’veneverdecidedwhatitwouldevenbe,”Wynsays.
“Whocareswhatitis?”Sabrinasays.“It’saboutthebond.”
“Maybenexttime,”Isuggest.“Wecanpickadesigntonight,andtheneveryonehassometimetogetusedtoit,andthen—”
“I’vealreadyputadepositdown,”shesays.“Igottheshoptostayopenforus.”
Cleorubsthespotbetweenherbrows.“Sab.Youshouldhaveaskedusbeforeyoudidthat.Youcan’tassumewe’llgoalongwithwhateveryouwant.”
“Whatthehelldoesthatmean,Cleo,”Sabrinasays,hurtsplashedacrossherface.
“Shejustmeansthisisabig,permanentdecision,”Isay.“Weallneedalittletimetocommittothiskindofthing.”
“That’snotwhatImean,”Cleosayscalmly.“ImeantwhatIsaid.Thatshecan’tjustdecidehowthingsshouldbebetweenallofusandthenbulldozeallofustogetherway.”
“She’snotbulldozinganyone,”Parthsays,steppingintowardSabrina.“She’sdoingallofthisforyouall.Thiswholetripwasforyou.Allofit.”
“Ifit’sforus,”Cleosays,“thenyou’llrespectmydecisionnottodosomethingI’muncomfortablewith.”
“Youhave,like,nineteenseparatetattoos,”Sabrinasays.“What’ssouncomfortableaboutthisone?”
“Canwepleasedropthis?”Cleosays,avertinghergaze.
“Sure,”Sabrinasays.“I’lldropit.I’lldropthefactthatoneofmybestfriendskeepscancelingplansandtheotherwillbarelytextmeback,andmydad’ssellingtheonlyplacethat’severfeltanythinglikehometome,andthatnooneexceptmeseemstogiveafuckthatwe’regrowingapart.”
Sheturnsbacktowardwhereweleftthecar.
“I’lltalktoher,”Itelltheothers,chasingherdownthesidewalk.WhenIcatchup,Ireachforherwrist.“Sabrina,wait.”
Shetriestokeepmoving,forcingmetoruntokeepmyhandonher.
“Weallcareaboutthisfriendship,”Isay.“It’sjust—”
Shespinsback,eyesdamp.“Sudden?”
Myheartplummetstowardmyfeet.Idon’tunderstandwhyshe’ssohurt,butit’sobvioussheis.Sabrinanevercries.
Butshe’scryingnow.Full-fledgedtearsstreamingdownherface,andIneedtofixthis,tomakeherunderstandthisisn’tabouther.
Andinthismoment,thelastmomentIhavetomakeadecision,Iseenootherway.
“It’snotaboutourfriendship,”Isay.
“Ofcourseitis,”Sabrinasays.“You’recheckedout,andCleodoesn’twanttospendanyreal—”
“It’saboutWyn,”Isay,beforethisconversationcangoanyfurtheroffthetracks.
Shestaresatme,darkeyesglassy,hairfrizzedwithhumidity.
“Ican’tgetamatchingtattoowithhim,Sabrina.We’renoteventogetheranymore.”
Hervoicecomesoutsmall,cracking:“Butitseemedlikeyouguyswereworkingthingsout.”
Ishakemyhead,tryingtountanglewhatshe’sjustsaid.“What?”
“Thisweek,”shegoeson.“Itseemedlikeyouwerebacktogether.”
Backtogether?
Howcoulditseemlikewewerebacktogether…tosomeonewhodidn’tknowwe’dbrokenup?
Unless,ofcourse,shedidknow.31
RealLife
Friday
“Youknew?”Isay.
Shedoesn’treply.
“Sabrina,”Isnap.
Shethrowsherarmsouttohersides.“OfcourseIknew!NotthatIhearditfromyou.Notlikemybestfriendstellmeasinglethingabouttheirlivesthesedays.”
It’slikemissingthetopstep,onlytorealizethestairsleaddirectlytotheedgeofacliff.
Igetout,“How?”
“ParthvisitedWynafewweeksago.”
Theharborstartstoswirlaroundme.“Didhe…tellhim?”
“No.”Shecrossesherarms.“Wynwenttothebathroom,andParthwasgoingtosendyouapictureofhimselforsomethingfromWyn’sphone.Onlywhenheopenedyourtextthread,therewasnothingnewformonths.AndIguessWynhadthiswholelongmessagedrafted,apologizingforhowthingsended.”
“Sohereadit,”Isay,thewordsbitteronthebackofmytongue.
“Itwasn’tintentional,”Sabrinasays.“Andnotthewholething.Butenoughtoknowwhathappened.”
“Whydidn’tyousayanything?”Isay
“Me?You’retheonewhohidthis,Harry.Formonthsyou’vetoldmealmostnothingaboutyourlife,andmeanwhileCleocancelseverysetofplansshemakes,andWynwasn’tevengoingtocomethisweekuntilIbegged,and—”
“Wait.”Iclosemyeyes,shakemyhead.
Itcan’tbe.
Ithastobe.
“That’swhatthisisallabout?”Iopenmyeyes,lungscompressing.“Thiswholetrip?”
Sabrina’sshoulderssquare,herchinrising.
IthinkofallthemomentsSabrinashovedWynandmetogether.Ithinkofallthetimessheweaseledoutofevenafewminutesalonewithme.Evenonthedrivefromtheairport,shehadthemusicblastingandwindowsdownsothatevenifI’dwantedtotellheraboutWyn,shecouldplausiblydenyhearingit.
Theangerfloodsmenow.AngerlikeI’veneverfelt.“Thistripdownmemorylane?Thebathroomwithnofuckingdoor?Thiswasall—allsomegametoyou?”
“Agame?”shesays.“Harriet,weweretryingtohelpyou.YouandWynbelongtogether.”
“Howcouldyouputusthroughallofthis?”Myvocalcordsareshiveringfromanger.
Sabrina’seyesflare,buthermouthjamsshut.
“Youmadeusbendoverbackwardallweek.Youtorturedus,”Isay.“Howcouldyoualldothis?”
“Wedidn’tknow,”comesaquietvoice.
Cleohasfollowedus,thelightfromtheHound&Thistlelimningherinredgold.“Didn’tknowyouandWynbrokeup,”shesays.“Didn’tknowthiswholeweekwasasham.”
“It’snotasham,”Sabrinasays.“Wewerehelpingthem.”
“Helpingusdowhat?”Isayraggedly.
“Getbacktogether!”shereplies.
“Ifwewantedtobetogether,”Isay,“we’dbetogether!”
“Oh,please,”shesays.“Youdon’tknowwhatyouwant,Harriet!You’relosingtheloveofyourlifebecauseyou’retooindecisivetojustpickaweddingdateandavenue.”
White-hothurtblazesoutfrommychest.“We’renottogetherbecausewedon’twanttobe,Sabrina!Becausewecan’tmakeeachotherhappy,nomatterhowbadlywewantto.”
“Really?”shesays.“BecauseParthsawwhatWynwrote,anditsuresoundslike,onceagain,yousatthereandletyourlifehappentoyouinsteadoffightingforwhatyouwant.”
“Youdon’tgettodecidewhat’sbestforeveryone,”Cleosays.“Itdoesn’tmatterhowgoodyouthinkyourintentionswere.Youmanipulatedus.YouknewhowstressedoutIwasaboutthisweek,andyouknewwhyWynwasn’tcoming,andyouforcedusallintoitanyway.”
“IdidwhatIhadto,”Sabrinasays.“JustlikeIalwaysdo,becausenoonemakeseventhetiniestbitofeffortanymore.IfIwaitedonallofyou,thisfriendshipwouldalreadybeover,andyouknowit.Isendthefirsttext.Imakethephonecalls.Ileavethevoicemails.Ischedulethetrips,andwhenyoucancelonthem,Ipitchotherdates,andwhenyoucan’tgivemeanimmediateyesorno,guesswhat?I’mtheonetocheckbackinacoupledayslater.”
“Wehaveotherthingsgoingoninourlives,”Cleosays.“Wecan’talwaysdropeverythingtorelivetheglorydayswithyou.”
Instantly,IcantellfromSabrina’sexpressionthatCleo’shitanerve,adeepone.
Allmyvirulentangerbreaks,afogclearingenoughtorevealasteepdrop-offahead.Theanger’sstillthere,butthefearisheavier,rootingthroughme,yelling,Stop,stop,stopthis,beforeitgetsanyworseStopthisbeforesomeoneleaves.Beforeyoulosethem.
“Let’sallcooloffforasecond,”Ichokeout.
Cleo’seyeslockontome.“I’mnotangry,”shesaysevenly.
Shemeansit.There’snofirebehindhergaze,onlyexhaustion,onlydisappointment.“I’mjustnotpretendinganymore.”
Thesidewalkseemstocrackunderneathme,theworldsplitting.IfIdon’tdosomething,thegapwillyawnwiderandwideruntilIcan’treachthem.UntilI’mallalone.
“Notpretendingwhat?”Sabrinaasks.
“Thatthesearetheglorydays,”Cleosays.“Thatwe’reascloseasweusedtobe,whenthetruthis,it’sdifferent.We’redifferent.”
“Cleo,”Isay,quiet,pleading.
“Ourlivesaretotalopposites,”shegoeson,“andourschedulesaretotallydifferent,andwedon’tlikespendingourfreetimethesamewayanymore,andWyn’soutinMontana,andHarriet’sallbutcutusoutofherlife,andyouandParthstillwanteverythingtobeonebigparty,butit’snot!There’srealshitgoingoninourlives,andwenevertalkaboutanyofit.”
“Ihaven’tcutyououtofmylife,”Isay.“WekeptsomethingfromyouthatwassopainfulIhaven’tbeenabletomakemyselftellanyoneaboutit.Icanstillhardlythinkaboutit—abouthim—withoutfeelinglike…liketheworld’scomingapartattheseams.”
Cleo’seyesaredarkandglossy.“We’reexactlywhoyou’resupposedtocometowhenyoufeellikethat,andinsteadyoustoptalkingtous,andthenwhenthingsare…arehardforus,whatarewesupposedtodo?”
“Oh,comeon,Cleo,”Sabrinasays.“Don’tactlikeyou’reanybetter.You’vebeendodgingplanswithmeformonths.AsfarasIcantell,I’mtheonlyonetryingtoholdallthistogether,whileeveryoneelsewouldbetotallyfineneverseeingoneanother.”
“We’veseenoneanotherallweek,”Cleosays,“andyou’rejustnowtellingusthiswasallsomekindofMachiavellianscheme,andHarriet’sjustconfessingsheandWynaren’teventogether,andwe’vehaddays,andithasn’tevenmattered.Becauseyou’drathersitinatheaterforfivehours,justbecauseweusedto,thanadjusttothefactthatmaybewe’dallratherdosomethingdifferent!We’renotinthesameplaceanymore.We’regrowingup.”
Hervoicewavers.“Andindifferentdirections.Andtherearethingswecan’ttalktooneanotheraboutanymore,andmaybewe’veallbeenfightingit,orpretendingwedon’tnotice,whenweshouldacceptit.We’renotwhatweusedtobeforoneanother.Andthat’sfine.”
“It’sfine?”Sabrinarepeatsemptily
“Thingsarechanging.Theyalreadyhave.AndI’veneverbeenthispersonwhojustgoesalongwiththingsshedoesn’twanttodo,butyou’vemadeitsoIhaveto.Itallhastobeonyourterms.”
“Noone’sforcingyoutostay!”Sabrinasays.“Ifyouwanttogo,go!”
Cleolooksdownatherfeet,atinyferngrowingupbetweenthecracksinthesidewalkthere,rightbetweenhersandals.“Fine,”shesays.“KimmyandIwillfindahotelforthenight.”
AnothercoldlaughfromSabrina.“So,what,you’regoingtoconsciouslyuncouplefromourfriendship?”
“I’mgoingtotakesomespace,”Cleosays.
“Thisisridiculous,”Sabrinareplies.“Youwon’tfindanywheretostayonthisentirecoast.”
Cleo’slipspresstighter.“Thenwe’llsleepintheguesthousetonight.”
“Andthenwhat?”Sabrinasays.
“Idon’tknowyet,”Cleosaid.“Maybeleave.”
Ihavenoideahowtoarguewithher,orifIevenwantto.Myheadthrobs.Everythingisallwrong.
Finally,Sabrinasays,“I’llgetthecar.”Sheturnsandstalksdownthestreet.Ilookbackthewaywecame.Eveninsilhouette,Kimmy,Wyn,andParthlookrigid.Theyheardeverything.
Inaway,Itellmyself,it’sarelief,tohaveeverythingoutintheopen.
Butthetruthis,ifIcouldtakeitallback,Iwould.I’ddoanythingtogobacktothathappyplace,outsideoftime,wherenothingfromreallifecantouchus.32
RealLife
Friday
Onthedrivehome,we’resilent.Nowthatthetruthisout,WynandIcan’tevenlookateachother.Hewon’tlookatPartheither,keepshiseyesfixedoutthecarwindow.
Assoonaswegetinsidethecottage,everyoneretreats,andratherthanendureanymoreawkwardorpainfulrun-ins,Ituckmyselfawayinthefirst-floorpowderroom.
WhenImakemywayupthestairs,though,KimmyandCleoarecomingdown,bagsinhand,boundfortheguesthouse.
Cleodoesn’tlookatme.
Neitherofthemsaysanything,butKimmyflashesatensesmileandsqueezesmyhandaswepass.Alumpformsinmythroatatthewhineofthefrontdooropeningbehindme.
Idon’tgotoWyn’sandmyroom.Thebubblehaspopped,thispocketuniversecollapsed.Instead,Itakethekids’room.It’stidy,thetwinbedsreturnedtooppositewallsandneatlymade.CleoandKimmyleftnotraceofthemselveshereapartfromthelingeringscentofKimmy’speppermintoil.
Isitontheedgeofthebed,feelingthelonelinessswell,notknowingwhetherit’spressingagainstmefromtheoutsideorgrowingfromwithin.
Eitherway,it’sinescapable,myoldestcompanion.
Ishuckoffmyclothesandcrawlintobed.Idon’tcry,butIdon’tsleepeither.
Theargumentreplaysinmymindonafeverishloopuntilitfeelslikethewordsmelttogethernonsensically.
Iaskmyself,againandagain,whyIdidn’ttellthem.Allthesamehalf-assedanswerscyclethroughmyminduntilI’massickwithmyselfaseveryoneelseis.
Iturnontomybackandglareupatabeamofmoonlightontheceiling.
Iwasn’tafraidthey’dbemadatme,exactly,forhowthingsendedwithWyn.Iwasafraidoftheirsadness.Iwasafraidofruiningthistripthatmeantsomuchtothem.Iwasafraidofruiningthisplacewherethey’vealwaysbeenhappy.Iwasafraidtheywouldresentmeandneversayit,afraidtheywouldn’tlikemeasmuchwithoutWyn,becauseIdidn’tlikemeasmuchwithouthim.
Iwasafraidthey’daskmewhatwentwrong,andnomatterwhatanswerIcobbledtogetherfromtherubble,they’dseerightthroughit.
They’dknowIwasn’tenough.
I’mnotthebrilliantdoctormyparentswantedmetobe,andI’mnotthepersonwhocouldgiveWynthehappinesshedeserves,andI’mnotthefriendSabrinaandCleoneeded.
I’vetriedsohardtobegood,todeservethepeoplearoundme,andI’vestillmanagedtohurtallofthem
Theblanketsfeeltoohot,themattresstoosoft.WheneverIrollover,Ithwackthewall.
IftherewereaTVinhere,I’dputonMurder,SheWrote,fallasleeptoitsblueglowandsoftlyjauntysoundtrack.
Thesilenceleavestoomuchroomforquestions,formemoriestovinearoundme,holdmecaptive.
Notjustofthefightbutofthedarkplace,oftheweeksbeforeandafterlosingWyn.Ofcryingintoapillowthatsmelledlikehim,andwakingupfromdreamsofhim,mychestfilledwithknots.OftryingtoflushhimfrommysystemwithadoubledatewithTaye,herboyfriend,andtheirfriend.
Ofcominghome,sicktomystomach,andcleaningtheapartment.Asifscrubbingthegroutandthecondimentsplattersonthekitchencabinetscouldmakeeverythingaboutmylifelookdifferent.Makemedifferent.
Irememberstandinginmykitchen,myphoneclampedinonehand,wishingthereweresomeonetocall.
ThatifIcalledmymother,she’dsay,Comehome;I’lltakecareofyou
ThatifIcalledWyn,hissoftvoicewouldtellmeithadallbeenamistake,amisunderstanding,thathe’dlovemeforever,likehepromised.
EvenifIdidfeelcapableoftellingthemthetruth,SabrinaandParthwould’vejustgottentosleep,andCleoandKimmywouldneedtogetupinafewshorthours;andifIcalledEloise,she’dassumesomeonedied,becausewenevertalkonthephone.
IwassoclosetodialingWynthatnightthatIblockedhisnumber.
AndthelongerIwentwithoutcallinganyofthem,themoreimpossibledoingsofelt,themoreembarrassedIwasbythetruth.
Ispentmywholelifetryingtogethere,andwhy?Itwasn’twhatIpictured.
No,it’sworsethanthat.Becausehonestly,I’mnotsureIeverbotheredtopictureit.
Iimaginedgivingrelievedfamilymembersgoodnewsinhospitalwaitingrooms,andIpicturedmyownparents’happinessandpride,theirfacesoutinthecrowdatgraduation,theiradoringnotesatthefootofthefamilyChristmascard.Ipicturedahousewithair-conditioningthatalwaysworkedanddoorsthatstayedopen,andlongdinnersatnicerestaurants,witheveryonelaughing,pink-cheeked.Iimagineddowntime,thoughtfulgiftsformyparents,thefamilyvacationswe’dnevertaken,theirmortgagepaidoff.Iimaginedalltheirhardworkfinallyrepaid,alltheirsacrificesnotonlycompensatedbutrewarded.
Iimaginedthemthinkingitwasallworthit.Tellingmehowmuchtheylovedme.
Allmylife,whenIthoughtofmyfuture,thatwaswhatIpictured.Notacareer.ThethingsIthoughtwouldcomewithit.
Happiness,love,safety.
Andthatdreamhadbeenenoughforalongtime.Whatwasschoolifnotachancetoearnyourworth?Toprove,againandagain,thatyouweremeasurablygood.
OnemoredealIstruckwithadisinteresteduniverse:IfI’mgoodenough,I’llbehappy.
I’llbeloved.
I’llbesafe.
Instead,I’vepushedawayeveryoneIlove.
Myheartclangsinmychest.Ineedtooutrunthesefeelings.
Istandandtearthesheetoffthebed,wrappingitaroundmyshoulders.ThetemperaturedropsasolidtendegreesasImakemywayintothehallway,anotherfewasIdescendthestairs,butIstillfeelhotandstuffy.
Thekitchenisawreck.Isetmysheetasideand,inmyunderwear,putawaythedishes,loadingthedirtyonesintotheemptydishwasher.Iwipedownthecounters.Isweep.Itellmyselfitwillmakeadifference.Thattomorrow,wheneveryonecomesdown,tonight’swreckagewon’tlookquitesobad.
Theanxietydoesn’tletup.Myskinfeelstootight,hotanditchy.Gatheringthesheetagain,Iletmyselfoutback
Thewinddoeslittletobreakthefeverishfeeling.Iclimbdowntothebluff,andinthedark,thewaterseemslouder,powerfulbutambivalent.Iimaginewhatitwouldfeelliketobesweptupinit,todriftacrossitsback.Iimaginebeingcarriedawayfromthislife,openingmyeyesinadifferentplace.
SomethingSabrinasaidintrudesonthefantasy:You’relosingtheloveofyourlifebecauseyou’retooindecisivetojustpickaweddingdateandavenue
Iknowthingsaremorecomplicatedthanthat,butthosewordskeepreplaying,braidinginandoutofwhatWyntoldmeearlier.
Igenuinelyconvincedmyselfthatwasthekindofguyyouwantedtobewith.Andyoukeptpushingtheweddingoff.Youneverwantedtotalkaboutit.Youneverwantedtotalkaboutanything.
Youwerenevermadatme.Youneverfoughtwithme.Itfeltlikeyoudidn’tevenmissme.
IkeptsomuchofwhatIwasfeelingfromhim,thinkingtheweightofmyemotionswouldonlydrivehimfurtherfromme,pushhimbackbehindadoorIcouldn’topen.
Andevenafterhetoldmethattonight,Ifelttrappedinsidemyself,unabletogetthewordsout.
Nowtheywriggleinmygut,burrowingdeeper,gainingground.
AssoonasImakethedecision,timeaccordions.Thesteepclimbupthebluff,thelengthofthepatio,thecreakystairs,thehallway—itallblurspastandI’mstandingathisdoor.
Knockingquietly.Maybehavebeenforawhile,even,becausethedoor’salreadyswingingopen,asifhe’sbeenwaiting.
Thatwouldexplainwhyhe’sfullydressed,butnotwhyhelookssosurprised.
NotthewayhislipspartandhisbrowfurrowsasIseemtofloatintotheroom,inflatedwithhelium-lightpurpose.
Anditdefinitelywouldn’texplainthepackedluggagesittingbythedoor.
Atthesightofit,ahotcoalslipsdownmythroat,hitsthedeepestpitofmystomachandsizzles.“You’releaving?”
Hissteel-graygazeflicksbacktowardhisluggage.“Ithoughtthatmightbeeasiest.”
“Easiest,”Imurmur.“How?Onlylikethreeflightsleavetheairportaday,andnoneofthosedepartsinthedeadofnight.”
Hegrabsthecornerofthedoorandclicksitshutbehindme.“Idon’tknow,”headmits.
Finally,Imanage,“No.”
Hisbrowlifts.“No,what?”
“We’renotdonefighting,”Isay.
“Ithoughtweweren’tfighting,”hesays.
Istepincloseenoughtofeelthewarmthradiatingoffhim.“We’reinanall-outbrawl.”
Helooksaway,thecornersofhismouthtwistingdownward.“Aboutwhat?”
“Forstarters,aboutthefactthatyoupackedyourbagsupinthenight,”Isay,pressingcloser.Hetakesahalfstepback.Myvoicewobbles.“AndIdon’twantyoutogo.”
Hishandscometomyhips,holdingmebutkeepingmeatadistance.“Ishouldn’thavecomeinthefirstplace,”hesays.“Thisisallmyfault.”
“No,it’snot,”Isay.
“Itis,”hesays,insistent.
Ipresscloser.Ourchestsbrush.“There,”Isay.
“Therewhat?”
“Somethingelsewehavetofightabout,”Isay.
Faintly,grudgingly,hesmiles.Itdoesn’tlast.Heglancesaway,hisbrowtightening.“I’msofuckingsorry,Harriet,”hesays.“IfI’djuststayedawaythisweeklikeIsaidIwould…”
Isetmyhandsonhisshoulders,andhiseyessnaptomine,acurrentflaringinthem.Ipushdowngently,andhesitsattheedgeofthebed,hisheadtippeduptostudymeinthelightofthelonebedsidelamp.HisthighsfallapartasIstepinbetweenthem,myhandstrailingupoverhiswarmshoulderstohisjaw.Hiseyesfluttershut,andheturnshisfaceintomypalm,kissingitscenter.
Hishandscometomywaist,andIslipmykneeoverhiship.Hiseyesopen,inkydark,andhetakesmyweightasIslidemyotherkneeoverhisfarhip,shiftingoverhim.
“Thisisfighting?”hemurmurs.
InodasIsinkintohislap.HisAdam’sapplebobs.Hishandsclutchtheundersideofmythighs,thebedsheetstillcapedaroundmyshoulders.Hesays,“Thisiswhatyouworetofight?”
“I’mnewtothis,”Isay.“Ididn’tknowtherewasastandarduniform.Doyouwantmetogochange?”
Hisgazewandersdownme,considering.“Didyoupackanythingsmaller?”
Ishakemyhead.“Notunlessyouknowagoodwaytowearatoothbrush.”
“Wecanmakedowiththis,”hesays.“Now,whatarewefightingabout?”
“Everything,”Isay.
Hecupsthebackofmyneckwhilehisotherhanddragsmeuphislap,fittingustogether.“It’susuallyeasiertostartwithsomethingminor,andthenletitslowlybecomeabouteverything.Atleastthat’showmyparentsalwaysdidit.”
“Yourparents,”Isay,“didnotfight.”
“Everyonefightswiththepeopletheylove,Harriet,”hesays.“Whatmattersishowyoudoit.”
“Therearerules?”Iask.
“Thereare.”
“Liketheuniform,”Isay.
“Likenoname-calling,”hereplies.
“Whatabouthoney?”Iask.
Hishandsmovetothetopsofmythighs,slidebackandforthagainstthem,thecoarsetextureofhispalmsmakingmyskinprickleandrise.“I’dhavetodouble-checkwithParthandSabrina,Esquires,butIthinkhoneyisallowable,”hesays.“Nojurywouldconvict.Nothingmeanerthanthat,though.”
“WhatelsedoIneedtoknow?”
“It’sokaytowalkaway,”hesays.“EveryonesaysDon’tgotobedangry,butsometimesapersonneedstimetothink.Andifyouneedthat,it’sokay,butyoushouldtellme,becauseotherwise…”Hisjawflexesonaswallow.“Otherwise,thepersonmightassumeyou’releavingforgood.”
Iswallowtooandmovecloser,ourchestsmeltingtogether.“Whatelse?”
“Theredoesn’tneedtobeawinnerandaloser.Youjusthavetocarehowtheotherpersonfeels.Youhavetocaremoreaboutthemthanyoudoaboutbeingright.”
“Thisdoesn’tsoundlikefighting,”Itellhim.
“ThisinformationcamestraightfromHank,”hesays.
Ican’thelpbutsmile.“ThenIguesswe’dbettertrustit.”
“Doyouwanttotry?”hesays.
“Somethingminor?”Isay.
Henods.
“Youloadthedishwasherwrong,”Isay.
Hebreaksintoasmile.“Wrong?”
“Fine,notwrong,”Isay.“ButinawaythatIhate.”
Hissmilesplitsopenonanexhalationoflaughter.“Goon.Don’tholdback.”
“Youfillthebottomracktoofull,”Isay,“andthewatercan’tgettothetoprack.Andyoudon’trinsethingswellenough,soevenwheneverythingdoesgetsoaped,there’sstill,like,fullpiecesofcerealstuckinsidethebowls.”
Hefightshiswaybacktoasomberexpression.“I’msorry,”hesays.“You’reright.IhurrywhenIdothedishes,anditendsupmakingmorework.Whatelse?”
“Idon’tlikewhenyoudownplayyourintelligence.”
“I’mworkingonthat,”hesays.“Andhonestly,themedicinehelps.Sodoesfeelinggoodatmyjob.”
Myribcageseemstoshrink,orelsemyheartgrows.“Good.YoushouldbeatleastafractionasproudofyourselfasIamofyou.”
“Those,”hesaysquietly,smiling,“arenotfightingwords.”
“That’sbecauseit’syourturn,”Isay.“You’remadatmetoo.”
“Iam?”hesays.
“Furious,”Isay.
Hesqueezesmetohim.“Furious,”hebreathes.“Aboutwhatagain?”
Sabrina’swordsreplayinmyhead:You’relosingtheloveofyourlifebecauseyou’retooindecisivetojustpickaweddingdate…ParthsawwhatWynwrote…yousatthereandletyourlifehappentoyouinsteadoffightingforwhatyouwant.
Mystomachflip-flops.“Maybebecauseofthewedding.”
“Whatwedding?”hesays.
“Ours,”Isay.
“Wedidn’thaveone,”hesays.
“AndmaybeyouthinkIdidn’tcare,”Isay.“OrthatIwasafraidtocommittoyou,andthat’swhyIcouldn’tmakeanydecisions.MaybeyouthinkIwasintentionallyputtingitoff.”
Heswallows,murmurs,“Weren’tyou?”
Myheadswimsattheconfirmation,thefinalpieceofthepuzzleclickingintoplace,fivemonthstoolate.Tearsglossmyeyes.
Itwasn’tonemomentwheneverythingwentwrong,whenIfailedhim,whenwelosteachother.Thereweredozens,oneitherside.Missedsigns.Droppedlines
Itfuckinghurtstorealizeit.TounderstandthatImadehimthinkIdidn’twanthim.
“Iwastryingtobeeasy,Wyn,”Ichokeout.“Youweresounhappy.AndIdidn’twanttorushyouwhileyouweremourning.Ididn’twanttoneedyouwhenyouwereinsomuchpain,soIpretendedIwasfine.IwasscaredthatifyourealizedwhatawreckIwas,youwouldn’twantme,soIpushedyouaway.”
Hismouthsoftens,buthisfingersdrawtight.“Harriet,”hesays,allroughtenderness,theexactcontradictionofWynConnor,funneledintoonespokenword.“Ialwayswantyou.”
Ittakesmeasecondtogetanythingout.“AnotherthingI’mmadabout…IhatewhenIhurtyourfeelingsandyoudon’ttellme,soIhavetotrytoguesswhatIdidandhowtofixit.Liketonight.”
“Tonight?”heasks.
“Whenwegotbackinthecar.Youwouldn’tevenlookatme.”
“Shit,Harriet,”hesays.“Iwasjustembarrassed.Aboutthisentirefuckingweek.Aboutdraggingyouintothissituationwhenitturnsouttherewasnogoodreason.”
“Butwhenyoudon’ttellmewhat’swrong,Iassumethings,Wyn,”Isay.“Andit’sallIcanthinkabout.ThatI’vemessedthingsup.”
“That’snothealthy,”hesays.
“Iknow,butit’sthetruth,”Isay.
“Well,Idon’tlikethat,”hesays.“Youshouldknowyou’resafewithme.Youshouldn’tspendeverymomentsecond-guessinghowIfeelwhenI’vespenteightyearstellingyououtright.”
“AndyoushouldhaveknownIdidn’twantanyoneelse.”Myvoicesplintersapart,myheartgoingwithit.“Youshouldhaveknownthatyouwereitforme,fromthenightwemet.Iwouldhavedoneanythingtofixit,butyouwouldn’tfightforme.Yousaidyouwould,andIbelievedyou,Wyn.AndIunderstandwhyyoucouldn’t.ButIhaven’tforgivenyouforbreakingmyheart.”
Hishandscrapesintomyhair,hismouthburrowingagainstmyneck.“Good,”hesays.“Don’tforgiveme.Staymadatme.Don’tgetoverme.”
“AndI’mmadatyoufornotcomingtometonight,”Isay.
Hetiltsmychin,kissingtheothersideofmythroat,whisperingsoftly,“Iwould’vemadeittoyoueventually.”
“Youpackedyourbags,”Isay.
Helaughsjaggedlyintomyskin,hishandsgoingbacktomythighs,hoistingmeupsnugagainsthim.“Itwasbullshit,”hesays.“IwastryingtoconvincemyselfitwouldbebestifIleftyoualone.Thesadthingis,Iactuallybelieveit,Harriet.ButIwasn’tgoingto.Iwasonmywaytofindyouwhenyougothere.HowdoyouthinkIansweredthedoorsofast?WhydoyouthinkIwasalreadyhard,Harriet?”
Apleasantshiverclimbsmythighs.“Maybeyouweredoingacrossword,”Isay.
Hekissesthesoftskinundermyear.“Icouldn’tleaveyoualone.I’veneverbeenableto.”
“You’veleftmealoneforfivemonths,”Ipointout.
“Youblockedmynumber,”hesays,hisfingerstighteningonmethroughthethinsheet.“Orelseyou’dknowthat’sbullshittoo.Itwasn’toneunsenttextmessagethatParthsaw,Harriet.ItwastheonesI’dsentyoutoo.Theonesyoudidn’treplyto.”
Myheartfluttersupthroughmyesophagus,agiddycanarycatchingabreezeofcoolair.Hiscallousedhandsturnmyfaceuptohis,andhekissesmedeeply,coarsely.
Mynerveendingslightupinconcentriccirclesthatreverberateoutward.Cellularfireworks.NeurologicalFerriswheelspokes.Myhandssiftintohishair,andheflipsusontothebed,thetwinsheetfallingoverusasgentlyassnow.Heshiftshisweightbacklongenoughformetosloughhisshirtoff,thenstretcheshimselfovermeagain,ourmouthscolliding,hiskneedippingbetweenmythighs.Hishandsrollheavilyoverme.Mynailsscrapeoverhiswarmback.
Hekissesdownmysternum,sneakshistongueunderthefabric,followsitwithhisteeth.Icryoutfromthereliefandthesimultaneousneed.Wearchcloser.Hishandworksbehindmyback,findstheclaspformybra,andafterabriefstruggle,he’spullingitawayfromme,tossingitoutofourway,andourchestsarefinallypressingtogether,mineflatteningunderhis.Hegroans.Hispalmsmoveheavilyovermychest,cupping,liftingmetohismouth.
Thebedcreaksaswemovetogether.
Heshiftsontooneelbow,hisotherhandgratingdownmyribsandwaistuntilitreachesthesideofmyunderwear.Hejerksthemdownmyhip,andhishandskimsmythigh.“Imisshearingyou,”hewhispersagainstmyear.“Allthelittlesoundsyoumake.”
Justbysayingit,he’scoaxedoutafewmore.
“Weshouldfightmoreoften,”Isay.
“Iagree.”Hejerksmyunderweardownovermyotherthigh.Ireachforthebuttonsofhispants,andhisheadlollsagainstmineonagroanasIslipmyhandintohiswaistband.
“Didyoufindcondoms?”Iwhisper.
“Beforedinner.”Hefishesastripofthreeoutofhispocketandtossesthembesideus.“I’vebeencarryingthemaroundallnight,likesomefuckingteenagerhopingtosneakintothebathroomatprom.”
“IfI’dknown,”Isay,“wecould’veskippedthefightentirely.”
Hegrabsmythighandplacesitagainsttheoutsideofhiship.“Pleasedon’tleave,”hesaysinalowgrate.“Whenthisisover,don’tgosleepinanotherroom.Staywithmeallnight.”
“Iwon’tleave,”Ipromise,slidinghispantsdown,kissingthejutofhiship.
Hisarmstrapsaroundmylowback,andherollsusagainsothatI’montopofhim.Heliftshishipsenoughtopushhisbriefsdown,andthenIfoldoverhim,nothingseparatingusnow.Nothinghaseverfeltsoblissfullygoodasthissimplecontact.Hegraspsmyhips,slidingmeoverhim,ourbreathshallowing.Hepullsmywristsabovehishead,stretchingmeoverhim,anddragshispartedlips,histongue,overmychest.
Isearchthroughthebeddingforthecondoms,tearopenthefirstone,andworkitontohim.AsIliftup,hetakesholdofmyhips,hiseyesheavyanddark,guidingmeontohim.Hisheadtipsback,athroatysoundemanatingfromhimasIriseupandsinklower.Hefeelssofamiliar,soright,butafterallthistime,strangelynew.
Ourmovementisslowbuturgent,sointenseIkeepforgettingtobreatheforasecondtoolong,likenothingelseisquitesonecessaryformysurvivalasthis.Hishandsarecarefulonmyjaw,hislipssoftonmine,histongueskimmingintomymouthalmosttentativelyuntilIcanbarelytakeanymoregentleness,anymorerestraint.I’mtiredofhimholdingbackanypieceofhimself.
WhenItellhimso,heflipsusoveronemoretime,myarmspinnedabovemyhead.Sweatslicksourskinaswebecomefeverish,wild.Ibowupunderhim,meetinghisrhythm,tryingnottocomeapart,notyet.Isayhisnamelikeit’saspell.
OragoodbyeandIloveyou,apromise.
Ijustknowmyheartagrees:You,you,you.
???
WelIEinasweatyheap,Wyntoyingwithoneofmycurls,hislungsliftingandloweringmelikeaboatonatide.“Doyouforgivethem?”Iwhisper.
“Honestly,”hesays,“Iwashavingtroublebeingmad.Iknowtheyshouldn’thavelied,but…Idon’tknow.It’sfeltworthit.Tobehere.Toseeyou.”
“Tometoo,”Iwhisper,holdinghimalittletighter.Then,afteranotherminute:“Doyouthinkthey’llforgiveus?”
“Yes,”hesays.
“Youdidn’tthinkaboutit,”Ichide
“Ididn’tneedto,”hesays.
Iliftuptopeerintohiseyes.“Howareyousosure?”
“MoreHankwisdom,”hesays.“Lovemeansconstantlysayingyou’resorry,andthendoingbetter.”
Ismile,letmyfingersplayacrossWyn’schest.“Hedidokaywithyou,WynConnor.He’dbeproud.”
Hewrapshisarmstightaroundme.“I’mgladyouthinkso.”
Withinminutes,I’masleep,dreamingofasunlitpineforest,thewarmwoodofatablebeneathme,thesmellofcloveeverywhere.AndIknowthisplace,evenifIcan’tnameit.IknowthatI’msafe,thatIbelong.33
RealLife
Saturday
Wynleftthedrapesandwindowsopenlastnight,andnowtheroomiscoldandbright,saltwaftinginonthebreeze,andbringingwithitthedistantsquawkofherringgulls.Mybodyfeelslikemeltedicecream,inthebestway.Bitsoflastnightglanceovermymind:handsfistingintobeddingandhairandskin,raggedwhispersandpleas.
Andtheneverythingthatcamebefore.
Thefight.Therestoftheweek.EverythingwithWyn.
Thattodayisthelastdayofourtrip.
Thepleasantsorenessgivesway.NowIfeellikeI’vebeenhitbyabus,thenbackedoverandhitonemoretimeatanangle.Wynisfastasleep,onearmstilldrapedovermyribsandonecornerofhismouthlifted.Mychestachesatthesight.
Usually,he’sabacksleeper.Weusedtofallasleepcurleduplikethis,butwe’dnevergetanyrestuntilheshiftedontohisback.Ifwewerefittedtogetherlikespoons,he’dalwaysstartmovingrestlesslyinhissleep,andwe’dfindourwaytoeachotherinaheady,lust-crazedblur.Whichwasgreatuntilthemorning,whenwebothhadtogetupforworkorschool.
He’smadeitthroughthewholenightbesideme,butthewholenight,forus,wasnomorethanacoupleofhours.
Hedoesn’tsomuchasstirasIslideoutfromunderhim.Healwayslooksyoungerwhenhe’sasleep.Iwonderifthat’ssomeevolutionarytrait:Whatanimalcouldstandattackingsomeonewholookssopeacefulandinnocent?
Okay,Icould,butthenicethingwouldbetolethimsleep.
Ipullonapairofjeansandasweaterandsneakoutoftheroom,makingmywaythroughthesilenthouse.AseagerasIamtofixwhathappenedlastnight,everyone’seitherstillasleeporinhiding.
Afteracoupleofminutesofaimlesslywanderingthekitchen,IdecidetowalkintotownandgeteveryonedrinksfromtheWarmCupasapeaceoffering.
I’veoftenthoughtthattheworldsavesitsverybestweatherfordayswhenyoufeellikeeverything’sgonewrong,andtodayisnodifferent.It’sgloriouslysunny,witharefreshingbreeze.Whenthesunreachesitshighpoint,Knott’sHarborwillnodoubtbesweltering.Orswelteringforthemidcoastanyway,whichistosayextremelycomfortablewhencomparedtotheswampysummersofsouthernIndianaortheburning-under-a-microscopeheatofJulyinNewYorkCity.
Amidcoastsummerdayistheexactdayyoupineforinthedeadofwinter.
Still,aftertenminutesoffollowingthecurvingroad,pastoverflowingrhododendronbushesandgrayingwood-shingledinnsbeingscrapedandrepaintedforthehundredthtime,I’mwishingI’dputatanktoponundermysweater.
I’llhavetofindacabback,easiersaidthandoneinatinyvillagelikethis.Usually,Sabrinaschedulesourtransportation,andI’mnotsurehowfaraheadshehastodoit.
IfIwaitedonallofyou,thisfriendshipwouldalreadybeover,shesaid.She’snotentirelywrong.FriendshipwithSabrina,withthiswholegroup,hasalwaysfeltlikeacurrentIcouldtossmyselfbodilyinto.Andthat’swhatI’mmostusedto:coastingalongonotherpeople’swhimsandfeelings.
Ithadneveroccurredtomethatthatcouldbereadasapathy.ThattheymightthinkIjustdon’tcare.Guilttwingesthroughme.
Thecrackedsidewalkturnsanddepositsmeintowninfrontofthecoffeeshop.Underthefadedawningoveritswalk-upwindow,collectingarecycleddrinkcarrier,isCleo.
Shestiffensatthesightofme,slowlyliftsonehand.
Idothesame.
Foramoment,neitherofusmoves.Thenthebaristacallsout,“Doug!”andtheonlyotherwaitingcustomernudgesCleoasidetopickupanorder.
Sheamblestowardmewithhercarrier,andImeetherhalfway,infrontofthecheerilypaintedbenchinfrontoftheItalianrestaurant.Inbetweenrowsofcutesyredcartoonlobsters,incutesyfont,arethewordsFORCUSTOMERSONLY!!!
“Hi,”shesays.
“Hi,”Isay.
Sheliftsthedrinkcarrier.“Coffee?”
“Thenyou’donlyhavethreeleft,”Isay.
Shecracksahalf-heartedsmile.“Thesalted-caramellatteisforyou.”
Ilookdownatthecarrier.Threeveryaverage-sizeddrinks,andonethat’sthecoffeeshopequivalentofaBigGulp.“Sotheywereoutof5-HourEnergiesandAdderall,Isee.”
Hersmilewidens.“Icouldn’tcarryfivedrinks.SoIgotonebig-assAmericanoforSabrinaandParthtosplit,ablackcoffeeforWyn,andamatchaforKim.”
Mycheststings.“Youhaveourdrinkordersmemorized.”
Sheliftsoneshoulder.“Iknowyou.”
Anotherbeatofsilence.
“Youwanttowalkforaminute?”sheasks.
Inod.
“Here.”Shebalancesthecarrieronthebenchandpriesmypapercupoutofit.
“I’llVenmoyou,”Isay.
Shewincesalittle.“Pleasedon’t.”
Wemeanderdowntowardthewater,thebrineintheairthickening.
Afterasecond,Itellher,“Ineverlearnedhowtofight.”
Sheglancessidelongatme.
“EspeciallynotwithpeopleIcareabout,”Isay.“Imean,notwithanyone.ButespeciallynotwiththepeopleIlove.Infact,Ispecificallyonlyknowhowtoavoidfights.Or,usuallyIdo.”
Shewatchesmewithadivotbetweenhereyebrows.
“Idon’tknowhowfightsaresupposedtoendwhenyoulovethepersonyou’refightingwith,”Igoon.“Inmyfamily,everyonealwaysleftwhenthingsgotbad.Eloisewouldstormout,ormyparentswouldsendhertoherroomandthengoshutthemselvesinoppositesidesofthehouse,andthingsnevergotbetterafterward.Theyalwaysfeltalittleworse.
“AndIguessIthought…ifIkeptusfromeverfighting,theneveryonewouldstay.Iwasnevertryingtocutanyoneout.Itwastheexactopposite.Ihaven’tbeenfuntobearoundinalongtime,Cleo.”
Herbrowsknittighter,anairofuttermystificationtoherexpression.IwonderifIaccidentallysaidthewholesentencebackward.
“Thepointis,”Isay,“I’msorry.IshouldhavetoldyouaboutWynandme.Ishould’vecalledmore.”
Afteramoment,shelooksbackoverthewater.“Iwasn’ttotallyfairlastnight,”shesays.“Iunderstandwhyyouwouldn’ttellus.”
“Youdo?”Isay.
Shelooksbackatme,nodsonce.
“Lucky,”Isay.“CanyouexplainittomelikeI’mfiveyearsold?”
Shedoesn’tcrackasmilethistime.“Youwereindenial,”shesays.“Andtellinguswould’vemadeitallfeelreal.Andevenifitisreal,evenifit’swhatyouchose,youstillknowit’sgoingtochangeeverything,andthat’sscary.Becauseyouneedus.We’reyourfamily.”
Istareather.“Damn.”
“WasIclose?”sheasks.
Isetmydrinkdownononeofthepoststhatlinethewaterhere,thickropestrungbetweenthem.“Morelike,areyoupsychic?”Isay.
Sheletsoutalittlebreathlesslaughandlooksbacktothewatersloshingagainstthebank.Tearsglintinthecornersofhereyes.“I’mpregnant,”shesays.
Iknowtheremustbesoundsallaroundme—thewater,thelowhornofboatsleavingtheharbor,thelobstermenacrossthebayshoutingbackandforth,ribbingoneanotherastheyloadandunloadtraps.
Butit’slikesomeone’sclippedthewirestomyears.
Whenitrushesbackin,Ihearmyselfburstintotears,whichmakesCleoburstintotears.
Igrabthedrinkcarrierfromherhandsanddeposititonthenextpostover.ThenIpullherintoahug.
“Whyareyoucrying?”sheaskswetly,armstwiningaroundme.“You’renottheonewho’sgoingtohavetopushasquashoutofherbody.”
“Iknow!”Isay.“I’mjustsohappy.”
Cleolaughs.“Metoo.Andfuckingterrified.Imean,Ichosethis.Iknewwhatitmeant—it’snotlikeItrippedthroughthedoorofaspermbank.Wespentmonthschoosingtherightdonor.But…IthinkIexpectedittotakelonger.Tohavelongertowrapmyheadaroundtheideaofbeingamom.
“Butthat’snothowithappened.AndI…I’msoscaredI’llbebadatit.”
Ipullbacktolookintohereyesasshewipesawayhertears.“Areyoukidding?”Isay.“You’regoingtobeaperfectmom.You’regoingtobeyourmom2.0,and—waitasecond!Howfaralongareyou?Howlonghaveyouknownyouweredoingthis?”
Sheducksherhead.“LikeIsaid,”shemurmurs,“itwasn’tentirelyfairtobesoupsetaboutyoursecret.”
“Apparently,”Isay.
“Andthat’swhyI’vebeenhesitanttohaveSabrinaandParthvisitthefarm,”shegoeson.“Wealreadyhaveatonofbabyshit.Kimmy’sdadmailsussomethingneweveryday,andIhaven’tfeltreadytoexplainwhywehavefourseparatebassinets.”
“BecauseKimmy’sdadisababy-obsessedhoarder?”Isay.
“He’sgoingtobeanamazinggrandpa,”shesayswistfully.“Ididn’tevenwanttotellhimyet,butKimmyaccidentallyblurteditout.I’monlyacouplemonthsalong.Somanythingscouldstillgowrong.”
Ijogherbytheelbows.“Somanythingscouldgorighttoo.”
Shegivesawansmile.“Idon’tknowwhatitmeansforus.”
“Itmeansyou’regoingtobemoms,”Isay.
Sheshakesherhead.“Whatitmeansforallofus,Harry.IfmyGooglesearchesareanythingtogoon,I’mgoingtobetiredallthetimeandaworriedwreckwheneverI’mconscious.I’malreadynotthe‘funone’inthegroup—”
Isnatchherhands.“Cleo!That’scompletelyridiculous.Youaresofun.”
“Kimmyisfun,”shesays,skeptical.“AndImean,it’swhyIfellinlovewithher.Butsometimesit’shardnottofeellike…likeeveryonealreadylikesmygirlfriendmorethanme.Evenmybestfriends.AndthemoreIgrowintomyself,thelessroomtheremightbeforme.”
“Howlonghaveyoufeltlikethis?”
“Idon’tknow,”shesays.“ProbablysinceIstoppeddrinking.”
“Iwishyouwould’vesaidsomething.”
“It’sembarrassing!”shesays.“Beingjealousofyourownpartner?Ididn’teventellKimmyuntilafewmonthsago.”
“IloveKimmy,”Isay,“andyouknowthat.Shehasalotofamazingqualities,andshe’sbecomeoneofmybestfriends.Butyouknowwhatmyfavoritethingaboutheris?”
ThecornersofCleo’smouthturnup.“Herbangingbody?”
“That’snumbertwo.Numberoneishowhappyshemakesyou.Whenyoutwostarteddating,itfeltlikethefinalmissingpuzzlepieceto…allthis.Ourfamily.Butthatdoesn’tmakeyouanylessessential.YouandSabrinaaremybestfriends.Always.AndI’msosorryIevergaveyoureasontodoubtthat.”
Hereyesgloss,andhervoicequivers.“Butwhatifhavingababychangesme?Whatifthegulfgetswiderandwideruntilwedon’thaveanythingincommon?”
“Idon’tneedyoutostaythesame,Cleo,”Isay.“Andit’snot‘havingthingsincommon’thatmakesmeloveyou.We’resodifferent,Clee.Allofus.AndIwouldn’tchangeanythingaboutyou.LikeIsaid,youareamissingpieceofmyheart,andSabrinaistoo.Ifyourschedulehastochange,oryoustartsingingBarneysongstoyourself,orbecomeoneofthosepeoplewhopostabouttheirkids’diaperblowoutsonsocialmedia—”
“You’llputmeoutofmymisery?”sheasksquietly.
“God,yes.I’lltakeyourphoneandfeedittothesea.ButI’llalsostillloveyou.You’refamilytome.YouandSabboth.”
Cleo’ssmilefades.“Ishouldn’thavebeensohardonhereither.”
“Theremight’vebeenabetterwaytosayit,”Iadmit,“butIthinkyouneededtogetsomeofthatoffyourchest.Andweprobablyneededtohearit.”
“Maybe.”Cleochewsherlip.“Sabrina’sprettyloyal,butwhenshefeelswronged…”
“I’mnottellingyoutouseyourpregnancyasabargainingchip,”Isay,“butIthinkwhenshefindsoutwhatyou’vebeendealingwith,she’sgoingtounderstand.Andthenshe’sgoingtoplanyouaveryover-the-topparty,withaphotorealisticbabycakeandactuallivestorksflappingaroundyourhouse.”
Cleodevolvesintolaughter,lettingherheadfallagainstmyshoulder.“Ican’twait.”
Shelacesherfingersthroughmine,andwestaytherealittlelonger,watchingtheboatsglideinandout,listeningtofullconversationsheldovermegaphonesaspeoplepassoneanotherinthewater.
Everythingischanging.Ithasto.Youcan’tstoptime.
Allyoucandoispointyourselfinadirectionandhopethewindwillletyougetthere.
Anothermaritimemetaphor.Iamtrulyalocal’sworstnightmare.Butthepointstands:changehappens.
Twoofmybestfriendsarehavingababy.
Anear-painfuljoyflaresthroughme.“Ohmygod.”
Cleolooksup.“Hm?”
“Ijustrealized,”Isay,“I’mgoingtobeanaunt.”
Shesnortsalaugh.“Harry,”shesays.“You’regoingtobeaco-godmother.”34
RealLife
Saturday
“She’sgoingtobeupsetthatItoldyoufirst,”Cleosays.
“Icanpretendnottoknow,”Ioffer.
Shegivesmealook.
“Or,”Isay,“wecanbeup-frontaboutitandtalkitout.”
Shegivesmeanotherhug.“Yousureyoudon’twantarideback?”Shechecksthetimeonherphone.ShecalledKimmyforarideacoupleofminutesago.She’llbedowntotheWarmCupanysecond.
“I’llmeetyouinabit,”Isay.
FirstIneedtofindsomethingforSabrina.Wewon’tbeleavingthistripwithmatchingtattoos—asitturnsout,mostartistswon’ttattooapregnantperson,thusCleo’strueresistancetotheidea—butthatdoesn’tmeanwecan’tfindsomethingtoholdontofromthisplace.
AfterKimmypicksCleoup,Igrabasecondcaramellatte,icedthistime,andwanderpastshopwindows.Ihavenoideawheretobegin.I’mhopingI’llknowitwhenIseeit.Sofar,thebestoptionseemstobematchingT-shirtsthatsayGOTLOBSTAHonthem,ormatchingT-shirtsthatsayMAINEIACoveralobsterwearingaviators.
Ifollowawindowdisplayfilledwithlampsandcutesyteatowelsaroundthecorner,righttoawindowdisplayfilledwithcolorfulbuoysthathavebeenturnedintoallmannerofyardornaments.IpausetoletagrimySubarubreezethroughastopsignatthenextcrossstreet,andthat’swhenIrealizewhereIam.
EasyLane.Thebackdroptoourfightlastnight.Upahead,Ispotthetattooshopontheleft.Myfirstinclinationistogetawayfromthesceneofthecrime.ThenInoticetheglossygoldshopnumberoverthedooronmyright:125.
Number125,onEasyLane.
Ittakesmeasecondtofigureoutwhat’ssofamiliaraboutthat.WhenIdo,Ibacktrackandcheckthenumberofthebuoystore.127.Wrongdirection.
I’mlookingfor123.
Iwaitforanothercartopassthroughtheintersection,andthenjogacross.
123EasyLane.Thesiteofmypersonalizedsurprise.
Onthedoor,adecalreadsEARTHEN,alongwithsomehoursofoperation,butintheglareofbrightsunlight,Ican’tmakeoutmuchthroughthewindows
Icheckthetimeonmyphone:9:16a.m.IfIremembercorrectly,theitinerarysaidSabrina’s“personalizedsurprise”formewouldstartatnine.Iwaffleforamomentaboutgoingin,thenbitethebulletandpushthedooropen.
Agustofwarmairmeetsme.
“Harriet?”awoman’svoicesays.
IblinkasIwaitoutmypupillarydilationfromthesuddenchangeinlight.“Yes,hi!”
Iturntowardthevoice,wonderingifshecantellIcan’tseeher,oranythingatall,yet.
“Yourspaceisallreadyintheback,”shesays.
“Great.”Forsomereasonitdoesn’toccurtomeuntilahalfsecondtoolatethatIcouldtellherIhavenoideawhyI’mhere.Orwherehereis.
Myvisionresolvesassheleadsmetothebackoftheshop,thefloatingoakshelvesthatlinethewallscomingintofocusalongwithallthekitchenwareforsaleonthem.Bowls,plates,cups,allincandy-coloredtonesthatpopagainstthegallery-whitewalls.
Theshop’sattendant—awomanwithbluntfringe,flaredpants,andhoopearrings,allofwhichlookpluckedfromtheseventies—leadsmedownahalltoaroomtwicethesizeofthefirstone.
Ipullupshort,nolessshockedthanwhenIwalkedintothecottageandsawWynthere.
“Feelfreetotakewhicheverwheelyouwant,”thewomansays.“Nooneelsehasspacebookeduntilfour.”
Istillhaven’tmanagedasyllablewhenthebellsovertheshopdoorsringbehindus,andtheseventiesdemigoddesssays,“Letmeknowifyouneedhelpfindinganything,”andexcusesherselftogreetthenewcustomer.
Istandthere,computing.
Thebackwallisallwindows,lookingoutontothenextstreet.Woodenshelves,liketheonesinthefrontoftheshop,stretchfromonewalltotheother,ladenwithbowlsandvasesandmugs.Ontheright,clay-streaked,pastel-tonedapronshangonhooks,anddownthemiddleofthepolishedconcretefloorsitsalongwoodentable,potter’swheelsatopitatevenintervals,stoolspusheduptoeachofthem.Ontheleftwall,there’salongcounterwithasinkandabunchofcabinetsanddrawers,andfromtheceiling,pothosandphilodendronshanglikelivingstreamers,catchingthelightasthepotstwirloneway,thenbacktheother.
Alumpisrisinginmythroat.
Icouldn’thavementionedmypotteryclasstoSabrinaanymorethanthreetimes.Iknowthis,becauseingeneral,Ifindtalkingabouttheclassembarrassing.
Afraidpeoplewilltakemetooseriously,thenbedisappointedwhentheyfindouthowmediocreIamatit.Andsomehow,nearlyasafraidthattheywouldn’ttakeitseriously,thatthey’dbrushitoffwithamildWell,everyoneneedsahobbywhenitfeelslikesomuchmore.
Notacareer—I’mnotgoodatit.Somethingelse.TheplaceIgowhenIfeeltrappedinsidemyself.WhenI’mterrifiedthatallmyhappiestmomentsbelongtothepast.Whenmybodyishummingwithtoomuchofsomething,orachingfromtoolittle,andlifestretchesoutaheadofmelikeathreat.
InourfewphonecallssinceI’dstartedtheclass,Sabrinaaskedacoupleofbluntfollow-upquestionsaboutit,andIgavesuccinctanswers,thenturnedtheconversationinanotherdirection.ItwasonemorepieceofmylifeIhadn’tfeltreadytosharebeforethisweek,andyetSabrinasawit,sawmemorefullythanIrealized.
Becausethisweekwasn’tabouttorturingWynandme,anditwasn’tjustaboutpreservingourdelicatelybalancedfoundfamilyeither.Everythingshedid,misguidedornot,wasoutoflove.Outofknowingusandcaringthatwe’rehappy.
Igotothewallofhooksandchooseablush-pinkapron,loopingitovermyneck.ThenIgotothedrawersonthefarsideoftheroomandbegingatheringsupplies.
Ifillabowlwithwaterandsetitonthetablealongwithacoupleoftools,asponge,ahunkofclay.
NothavingadistinctplanbeforeIstartaprojectrarelyturnsoutwellforme,butIdon’tcarerightnow.Itdoesn’tmatterwhatImake,onlythatIappreciatethetimespentmakingit.Itwillfeelgoodtodipmyhandsinmud,curveoverthewheeluntilmybackaches.
Itakethestoolclosesttothewindowsandpoundtheclayintoaball.ThenIplopitontothewheelandflattenitwiththeheelsofmyhands.
ThemomentIslipmyfingersintothewatertostartconingtheclayup,calmfloodsme.Mythoughtsfritteraway.Ipressthefootpedal,maneuveringthelumpofmuckupwardasitcentersonthespinningwheel.
Ilosemyselfintherhythmofit.
Coningitup.Coningdown.
Iwon’thavetimetoglazeitbeforeIleaveKnott’sHarbor,won’thaveroomtotakeithomeinmyluggageonceit’sfired.Idon’tthinkaboutanyofthat.
Throwingmakesmymindfeelliketheseaonaclearday,allmythoughtspleasantlydiffusedbeneathlight,rollingalongoverthebackofanever-movingswell.
Mymeditationappoftentellsmetopicturemythoughtsandfeelingsasclouds,myselfasthemountainthey’redriftingpast.
Atthewheel,Ineverhavetotry.Ibecomeabody,asequenceoforgansandveinsandmusclesworkinginconcert.
Ieaseoffthepedal,openingtheclay.Myelbowslockagainstmysides,thumbsdippingintothecenter,andastheclaywhipspast,amouthwidenswithinit.Mythumbscurveunder,thinningthewallsbeneaththelip.
Theearthysmelliseverywhere.Sweatpricksthenapeofmyneck.I’mdimlyawareofanacheinmyupperspine,butit’sonlyanobservation,afactrequiringnoaction.Thereisnoneedtofixit,tochangeit.
Justanotherclouddriftingpast.
Thelooseshapeofabowlappearswithinmyhands.Itaketheyellowspongefromthetable,pressingitlightlyagainstthebottomofthebowl,smoothingtherings.Sweatbeadsonmyforeheadnow.Theacheinmyspinesnakesthroughmyshoulders.
Itakeholdofthebowl’sthicklipanddrawitupward,stretchingtheclay,coaxingithigher.Whenit’srisenashighasitsafelycan,Ibringmyhandsbacktothebase,funnelingthem,collaringthepieceupward.
Thisismyfavoritepart:whenI’veworkedtheclayintoastablecylinder,whentheslightesttouchcanshiftandshapeit.Ilovethewaythateverythingcansoeasilyfallapart,andtheecstasyoffindingagrooveinwhichIknowitwon’t,withoutunderstandingthephysics,thewhy.Theclaybecomesanextensionofme,likeitandIareworkingtogether.
ItremindsmeofsomethingHanktoldmealongtimeago,aboutgrowinguponaranch,trainingnewhorses.
He’dbeengoodatit,apparently,andattributedthattohispatience.Hecouldwaitoutanybadmood.Theangerofananimaldidn’tmakehimangry.Ithelpsyouunderstandthembetter,hetoldme.Youdon’twantthatangerbecomingfear.Youwantitturningintotrust
Andwhiletherewerealotofthingshe’dhatedaboutworkingataranch,he’dlovedthefeelingofcomingtoanagreementwithanotherlivingthing,ofunderstandingeachother’sneeds,givingspacewhenitwastimeforit,andpullingclosewhenitwasneeded.
Wynniewould’vebeengoodatittoo,hetoldme.He’salwaysknownhowtolisten.
Atfirst,Imistakethestingforsweatcatchinginmylashes.OnlywhenIfeelthewarmtrailscuttingdownmycheeksdoIrealizeI’mcrying.
AdifferentkindofcryingfromthewidevarietyofitI’vedonethisweek.
Notsobs.Nottearsquakingoutofme.Aslow,quietoverflowoffeeling.
Igiveasnifflylaughbutkeepmyhandswheretheyare,shapingthisbeautiful,delicatethingfornoreasonotherthanmyownjoy.
WhenIlookupandseehimstandinginthedoorway,mystomachbuoys,andmyheartsays,You.
Likeit’ssummonedhimherejustbybeating.
Irisefromthestool,handssmearedwithwateryclay.“Whatareyoudoinghere?”
Therightsideofhismouthrises.“CametoreenactthatscenefromGhost.”
Atmyapparentlackofcomprehension,hesays,“Iwokeupandyouweregone.”
Iwipemyhandsontheapron.“IwenttogetcoffeeandthenIrememberedthesurprisesSabrinaplanned.Seemedlikeashametoletthemgotowaste.”
“Ifigured,”hesays.“Iwenttominetoo.”
Ichecktheclockoverthedoor.I’vebeenherealotlongerthanIrealized.Twohourswiththesamevase.“How’dyoufindme?”
Hisheadtilts.“Youdon’tforgetanaddresslike123EasyLane.”
“Becauseofthemissedopportunity,”Isay.
Hissmilefaintlyspreads.“Should’vebeenEasyStreet.”
“AlltheseMainers,”Isay,“tryingtheirdamnedestnottomaketheirtownstooadorable.”
Hecomescloser,peeringatthewheel.“Whatareyoumaking?”
“Honestly,”Isay,“I’vebarelybeenpayingattention.”
“Lookslikeavase.”
“Youmightneedglasses,”Isay.
Hisgazelifts.“Isithard?”
“Ithinkwhat’shardaboutit,”Isay,“isthatyouneedtodolessthanyourealize.Andoverthinkingitandtryingtoohardtocontrolitmessesitup.Atleastinmyexperience.”
Hegivesahalf-heartedsmile.“Life.”
“Doyouwanttotry?”Iask.
Heverynearlyrearsback.“Iwouldn’twanttoruinit.”
“Whynot?”Isay.
“Because,”hesays,“itlookssonice.You’veworkedsohard.”
IsnortasIcrosstowardtheapronhooksandchooseapaleyellowoneforhim.“It’swetclay,”Isay,handingtheapronover.“It’snotbreakable.”
“Itlooksbreakable,”hesays.
“Imean,youcouldknockitoverorcollapseit,butnothing’sgoingtoshatter.AndI’mnotgoingtohavetimetofinishitanyway,soifweputtheclaybackwhenwe’redone,it’snobigdeal.”
“Isthatsad?”Hisbrowspeakupinthemiddle.“Workingonsomethingyouwon’tgettofinish?”
“I’vehadanicetime.”
Wyn’ssmilegrows.“Shedidgood,then.”
“Shedid,”Iagree.“Whatwasyoursurprise?”
“Kayaking,”hesays.
Ilaugh.“Ilovethatyourswasexerciseandminewassittingverystillandplayingwithmud.”
“CaretoguesswhatCleo’sandKimmy’swere?”heasks.
“Didtheygo?”Isay,wonderingifCleohadachancetotalktoSabrinayet.
Henods.
“Cleo,”Isay,considering,“wenttoanagriculturalmuseum,andKimmywenttoahallucinogenicswapmeet.”
“Soclose.Theygotacouples’massage.”Atmyexpression,headds,“Youlooksurprised.”
“Iamsurprised,”Isay.
“Why?”
“IguessnowthatIknowcouples’massageswereonthetable,I’msurprisedshedidn’tsendustoonetoo.”
“I’mnot,”hesays.“Youhatebeingtouchedbystrangers.”
Myheartkeens.Anotherlittlereminderofhowwellthesepeopleknowmeagainstallodds,allthepiecesofmeI’vecometoseeasdifficultorunpleasant,thepartsInevervoluntarilysharebuthavesneakedouthereandthereacrossyears.
Iswallowthebuildingemotionandtipmyheadtowardmystool.“Sitdown.”
Wynslipstheapronoverhisneckandperches,hisfaceetchedwithconsternation.
“Relax.”IshakehisshouldersasIcrosstothenextstool.Idragituptohisandsit.“It’slikedriving.Getyourhandsalittledamp.”
“Oh,Ineverdrivewithdamphands,”hesays.
“Well,that’syourfirstmistake,”Isay.“It’sillegaltodrivewithdryhands.”
Hesays,“IthinkthelawsaredifferentinMontana.”
“Don’tberidiculous,”Isay.“TherearenolawsinMontana.Ifyouhaveabigenoughhat,youcanjustclaimwhateveryouwant,andit’syours.”
“True,”hesays.“IonceownedaslewofWalmartsthatway.”
“Untilaguywithabiggerhatcamealong,”Isay.“I’mnotgoingtomakeyoudothis,Wyn.Ithoughtyouwantedto.”
“Ido,”hesays.“I’mstallingbecauseI’mafraidI’mgoingtoruinit.”
“Ialreadytoldyou,”Isay.“Youcan’truinit.Thatisthewholepoint.Nowgetyourhandsdamp.”Ileanforwardtodragthebowlofwatercloser,andwithaslightgrimace,hedipshishandsintoit.
“Good,”Isay.“Nowuseyourlefthandtogiveslightpressuretothesideofthevase.Yourrightismoreforbalance,tokeepitupright.”
Hesetshispalmsagainstthestructure’ssides.“Nowwhat?”
“Easeontothepedal,”Isay.
Hedoes,andbecausehe’sWyn,hedoessobeautifully.Butassoonashereachesfullspeed,hepushestoohard,andIdivetocatchhisrighthand,steadyingitbeforethewould-bevasecantopple.“ToldyouI’druinit.”
“Sodramatic,”Itease,brushingmynoseagainsthisneck.“Youdidn’truinit.We’rejustchangingtheshapeofit.”
Ileanacrosshimtoputmyotherpalmontheoutsideofhislefthand,matchingthepressure,thevasenarrowingandfunnelingupward.
“NowwereallyaredoingtheGhostthing,”hesays.
“Notquite,”Isay,“butIdon’tthinkmyarmsarelongenoughthatIcouldsitbehindyouanddothis.”
“Definitelynot,”hesays.“Butyou’rewelcometositinmylap.”
“Excuseme,”Isay.“I’mtheoneinchargehere.Everyoneknowsthepersonsittinginthelapistheamateur.”
“Soyouwantmetositinyourlap,”hesays.
“Idon’thaveadeathwish,”Isay.
“Gladtohearit.”Hisgazeflickersbacktotheclay.Somehow,we’rekeepingitfromcollapsingortippingover.Itflaresout,narrows,andflaresagain,wonkybutstanding.
Icatchmyselfstaringathim,withoutanyintentionofreplying.
Whenhelooksup,myhearttrips.
Hismouthcurls.“What?”
“Ihavetotellyousomething,”Iwhisper.
Hisfootliftsoffthepedal,hissmilefalling.“Okay.”
Itrytosteelmyself.IfeellikeJell-O.Iwishwewereinthedark,onoppositesidesofthekids’room.It’ssomuchhardertosaythingsinthelightofday.
IclosemyeyessoIwon’thavetoseehisreaction,won’tseeiftheworldsuddenlyrupturesatthewords:“IthinkIhatemyjob.”
Iwait.
Nothing.
Noeardrum-destroyinggroanastheearthsplitsintwo.Myparentsandcoworkersdon’tcomebarrelingintotheroomwithpitchforks.Myphonedoesn’tringwiththecallsofeveryteacher,tutor,andcoachwhoeverwrotemearecommendationletterorgavemearesearchpositionorsentacongratulationsemail.
Butallofthosethingswere,arguably,alongshot.
Theonlythingthatmattersrightnow,theonlythingI’mafraidof,isWyn’sreaction.
Allthosesensationsthattendtoprecedeapanicattackbubbleupinme:itchyheat,atightthroat,asuddendropinmystomach.
“Harriet,”hesayssoftly.“Willyoulookatme?”
Onadeepbreath,Iopenmyeyes.
Hisbrowisgrooved,hiseyesandmouthsoft.Quicksand
“Didsomethinghappenatthehospital?”heasks.
Mystomachsinksalittlelower.Iwishitwerethatsimple,aconcretemomentwheneverythingwentwrong.Ishakemyhead.
Wyn’sclay-coveredhandsgingerlycatchmywrists.“Thenwhat?”
“It’shardtoexplain.”
“Willyoutry?”heasks.
Iswallow.“It’snotsupposedtobeaboutme.I’msupposedtobehelpingpeople.”
“Itisaboutyou,”Wynsays.
HowdoIsumitup?Thereisn’tanyonethingIwouldchange.It’sthatforsomereason,Ispendninetypercentofmytimeexcruciatinglyunhappy,andthemoreItrytotampitdown,themoretheunhappinessgrows,swells,pushesupagainstmyedges.
It’sthatwhenI’mnothere,Ifeellikeaghost.Likemyskinisn’tsolidenoughtoholdthesunlight,andmyhairisn’ttheretodanceonthebreeze.
“I’mnotgoodatit,Wyn,”Ichokeout.
Hejogsmyhands.“You’rebrilliant.”
“ButwhatifI’mnot,”Isay.“WhatifI’veputeverythingIhave,allmytimeandenergy,intothis,andmoney.God,themoney.Hundredsofthousandsofdollarsinloans,someofwhichmyparentshadtocosignbecauseIdon’thavegoodcredit,andI—I’vebuiltalifewhereallIdoiswait.Waitforthesurgerytobeover.Forthedaytoend.Waittobehere,whereIfeel…”
Wyn’slipspart,hiseyespainfullysoft.
“Likemyself.LikeI’mintherightplace.”
Therightbranchofthemultiverse,Ithink.Whereyou’restillsocloseIcantouchyou,tasteyou,smellyou.
“Ilovedschool,”Isay.“ButIhatebeinginhospitals.Ihatethesmelloftheantiseptic.Thelightinggivesmeheadaches,andmyshouldershurtbecauseIcan’trelax,becauseeverythingfeelsso—sodire.Andeveryday,whenIgohome,Idon’tevenfeelrelieved,becauseIknowIhavetogoback.AndI…Ikeepwaitingforittochange,forsomethingtoclickandtofeelhowIthoughtitwould,butithasn’t.IgetbetteratwhatI’mdoing,butthewayIfeelaboutdoingitdoesn’tchange.”
Wyn’shandstense,hiseyesdroppingashisvoicefrays.“Whywouldn’tyoutellmethis?”heasks.
“Iamtellingyou.”
“No,”hesaysroughly.“WhenIwasthere.Whenyouneededme,andIcouldn’tgettoyounomatterhowhardItried.Whywouldn’tyouletmein?”
“BecauseIwasashamed,”Isay.“You’dfollowedmeacrossthecountry,andthingsweresohard,foryouandforus.Iwasterrifiedofmakingthemworse.Iwantedtobewhoyou—whoeveryone—thinksIam,butIcan’t.I’mnot.Ineverwantedtoletyoudown.”
Hestaresatmeforthreeseconds,thenletsoutagruff,frustratedlaugh.
“I’mnotjoking,Wyn.”
Hescootsforward,andmykneesslotinbetweenhis,bothmywristsstillcradledinhismuddyhands,histhumbssweepingbackandforth,aslighttremorinthem.“I’mnotlaughingatyou.Ijustfeelsostupid.”
“You?I’mtheonewhodevotedthelasttenyearsofherlife,andalotofimaginarymoney,tosomethingshehates.”
“I…”Hedartsaglanceatourhands.“Youwereinpain,andIdidn’tevennotice,Harriet.OrIdid,butIthoughtitwasaboutme.Ifuckedup,andIlostyouforit.”
Ishakemyheadferociously.“Youhadbiggerthingsgoingon.”
“Therewasnothingbiggerthanyou,”hesaysraggedly.“Nottome.Notever.”
Bloodrisestomycheeks,mythroat,mychest.It’spainfultoswallow.“Maybethat’swhatmadeitsohard.Youbuiltyourwholelifearoundmyplans.Youleftourfriendsandmissedtimewithyourfamily—withHank—andnowIcan’thackit.Youdidallofthatforme,andI’mnoteventhepersonyouthoughtIwas.”
“Harriet.”Thetendernessinhisvoice,hishands,ripsopenallthosehastilystitchedsuturesinmyheart.“Iknowexactlywhoyouare.”
Ilookup,voiceshrinking.“Really?BecauseIdon’t.”
“Iknewwhoyouwerebeforeweevenmet,”hesays.“Becauseeverythingourfriendstoldmewastrue.”
“Youmeanyousawanakeddrawingofme,”Isay.
Hesmiles,hishandsmovingtotouchmyjaw,neitherofusbotheredbytheclay.“ImeanthatyouhavetheweirdestlaughofanyoneI’veevermet,Harriet,”hesayssoftly.“AnditfeelsliketakingashotoftequilaeverytimeIhearit.LikeIcouldgetdrunkonthesoundofyou.OrhungoverwhenIgotoolongwithoutyou.
“Youseethebestineveryone,andyoumakethepeopleyoulovefeellikeeventheirflawsareworthappreciating.Youlovelearning.Youlovesharingwhatyoulearn.Youtrytobefair,toseethingsfromotherpeople’spointsofview,andsometimesthatmakesithardforyoutoseethemfromyourown,butyouhaveone.Andevenwhenyou’remadatme,Iwanttobeclosetoyou.Noneofit—noneofmyfavoritethingsaboutyou,noneofwhatmakesyouyou—hasanythingtodowithajob.That’snotwhyIloveyou.It’snotwhyanyonelovesyou.”
“Maybenot,”Imanage,“butit’swhythey’reproudofme.It’sthethingaboutmethatmakesthemhappiest.”
Hestudiesme.“Yourparents?”
Idipmychin.
“Comehere,”Wynsays.
“Why?”Iask.
“BecauseIwantyouto,”hesays.
“WhathappenedtoyourMontanamanners?”
“Comehere,please,”hesays.
Ilethimdragmeacrosshislap,oneofhisarmsropedaroundmyback,hisotherhandrestingonmyknee,claysmudgingintomyjeans.“Yourparentsloveyou,”hesays.“Andeverythingtheydo—andpushyoutodo—isbecausetheywantyoutobehappy.Butthatdoesn’tmeanthey’reautomaticallyrightaboutwhat’sbestforyou.Especiallywhenyouhaven’ttoldthemhowyoufeel.”
“Ifeelsoselfisheventalkingaboutthis,”Iadmit.“Likeeverythingtheydidformedoesn’tevenmatter.”
“It’snotselfishtowanttobehappy,Harriet.”
“WhenIcouldbeasurgeoninstead?”Isay.“Yeah,Wyn,Ithinkitmightbeselfish.”
“Fuckthat,”hesays.“Ahappypotter’sbetterforthisworldthanamiserablesurgeon.”
Warmthspillsacrossthebridgeofmynose.“I’mnotapotter,Wyn.Thisisn’tsomethingI’mmakingmoneyon.”
“Maybenot.Anditdoesn’teverhavetobe,ifyoudon’twantthat,”hesays.“Butthat’sthepoint.Yourjobdoesn’thavetobeyouridentity.Itcanjustbeaplaceyougo,thatdoesn’tdefineyouormakeyoumiserable.Youdeservetobehappy,Harriet.”Hebrushesastrandofhairawayfromthecurveofmyjaw.“Everything’sbetterwhenyou’rehappy.”
“Forme,”Isay.
“Forme,”hesays,vehement.“ForCleoandSabrinaandParthandKimmy,andyourparents.Foranyonewhocaresaboutyou.Theworld’salwaysgoingtoneedsurgeons,butit’sgoingtoneedbowlstoo.Forgetwhatyouthinkanyoneelsewants.Whatdoyouwant?”
Itrytolaugh.Thebackofmynosestingstoobadlytoletoutafull-blownsnort.“Can’tyoujusttellmewhattodo?”
Hisarmsclosearoundme.Iburrowintohischest,breathehimin,andfeelmybodycalm.“Whatif…”Ibracemyself,grabholdofeverylastscrapofcourage,andfrankly,it’snotallthatmuch.Ipullbackenoughtolookupintohisface,myvoicewhittlingdowntofilament.“WhatifIcametoMontana?”
Hisgazedrops,hislashessplayingacrosshischeeks.“Harriet,”hesays,sothickly,likemynamehurtstosay,andmyownheartflutterspainfully.BecauseIknowhim.
IknowwhatanapologysoundslikeinWynConnor’svoice.
Hiseyesrise,thegreenofthemmossyandwarm.Theheavinessthatpressesintomychestthreatenstocrackmyribs,puncturemyheart.Myeyesfillup,butsomehow,Ifindthestrengthtowhisper,“Whynot?”
“Becauseyoucan’tkeepdoingwhatotherpeoplewant,”hesays,voicegravelly.“Youcan’tfollowme,likeIfollowedyou.Iwon’tbeenough.”
“ButIloveyou,”Ichokeout.
“Iloveyoutoo,”hecroaks,hishandsmovingrestlesslyoverme.“Iloveyousomuch.”Hekissesadampspotonmycheek,thenletsourforeheadsleantogether.“Butyoucan’tfollowme.Ididthat,andittoreusup,Harriet.Ican’tletyoubuildyourlifearoundme.Itwouldbreakusalloveragain,andIcan’t.Youhavetofigureoutwhatyoureallywant.”
Myheartfeelslikeit’sbeingstretchedonamedievalrack,pullingapartbitbybit.“WhatifallIreallywantisyou?”
“Rightnow,”hemurmurs.“Whataboutlater?WhenyouwakeupandrealizeI’veletyougiveeverythingupforme.Ican’tdothat.”
Thosemonthsofwatchinghimdrown,thrashagainstalifethatdidn’tfithim,surgebacktotheforefrontofmymind.He’dbuilthislifearoundme,anditalmostcrushedus.Starvedourloveuntilitwasunrecognizable.
Iloopmyarmsaroundhisneckandbreathehimin,onelastsiptotidemeoverforyearstocome.“Idon’twanttokeepfeelinglikethis.”
“It’llgeteasier,”hepromiseshoarsely,hishandbrushingmyhairbehindmyear.“Somedayyou’llhardlyrememberthis.”
Thethoughtissearing.Idon’twantthat.Iwantanyuniversebutthatone.Alltherest,whereit’shimandme,scatteredacrosstimeandspace,findingourwaytoeachotheragainandagain,theoneconstant,theonlyessential.
Ican’tbeartolethimgoyet.Butit’slikehesaid.
We’reoutoftime.
“Weshouldgetback,”Iwhisper.
Wynliftshischintowardthevase,asksdamply,“Shouldwescrapit?”
Ishakemyhead.“Maybetheycanshipitonceit’sbeenfired.”
“Youreallywantit?”hesays.
Istudyitinallitswavy,wonkyglory,myribcagesotightIcan’tgetagoodbreath,afirmbeatofmyheart.“Desperately.”35
RealLife
Saturday
Assoonaswestepintothehouse,Iknowsomething’swrong.It’stooquiet,still.WynandImakeourwaytothekitchenwithoutseeingorhearinganyone.
“Wheredoyouthinktheyare?”heasks,checkingthetimeoverthestove.“Theyshouldbebackbynow.”
“I’llseeifKimmyandCleoareintheguesthouse,”Isay.“YouwanttoseeifParthandSabrinaareupstairs?”
Wynnods,andIletmyselfoutontothepatio,headingthroughthegateattheside.
There’snosignoflifeintheguesthouse,butIknockonthedooranyway.Whereiseveryone?ItypeintothegrouptextasImakemywaybacktothepatio.Onawhim,Igotothetopofthestairsdowntotheshore.
Parthsitsontherocksbelow,sungleamingoffhisdarkhairandwindripplingthroughhisjacket.Ipickmywaydown,callinghisnameasIgo.Heglancesoverhisshoulderatme,thengoesbacktostaringoutatthewater.
“Where’sSabrina?”Iask.
Ashruginresponse.Ittriggersasinkingsensationinmygut.Ilowermyselfontotherockbesidehim,stretchingmyclay-streakedlegsouttowardthewater.“Forwhatit’sworth,”Isay,“WynandI,we’rereallysorrywedidn’ttellyou.”
Helooksup.“Youshould’ve.ButIshould’vecomestraighttoyouwhenIsawWyn’stexttoo.”
Ifollowhisgazeouttoawhiteboatdriftingtowardoneofthesmallislandsoffthecoast.“Ihopeeventuallyyoucanforgiveus.”
Hisgazeflickerstome.“Forgiveyou?Harriet,you’realreadyforgiven.You’relikeasistertome,youknowthat?I’llalwaysforgiveyou.You’refamily.”
Myheartpangs.“Ithoughtbeingfamilyjustmeantyouhavelimitlesstimetoholdgrudges.”
Parthscoffsandtucksanarmovermyshoulders.“Maybeforsomepeople.Notforus.”
“Ifyou’renotoutherecontemplatinghowwe’vefailedyou,”Isay,“thenwhyalltheforlorngazingintothesea?”
Hesmiles,butitfadesfast.“SabrinaandIgotintoafight.Shewalkedout.”
“Ohmygod,Parth.I’msosorry.Thisismyfault,”Isay.“I’llcallherand—”
Hisarmslidesclearofme,andheanglestowardme.“It’snot,”hesays.“Honestly,apartofmehasbeenwaitingforhertobackouteversincewegotengaged.Imean,sheonlyagreedtogetmarriedbecauseherworldwasfallingapart.Nomatterwhatshesaid,Iknewshewantedananchor.Andapartofmealwaysexpectedhertorun.Lastnightweargued,andshewentdownstairstocooldown,andwhenIwokeupshewasgone.Hasn’tansweredherphoneallday.”
“She’sscared,Parth,”Isay.
Hescoffs.“We’retalkingaboutSabrina.Sheisn’tscaredofanything.”
Ipuzzleforaminuteoverhowtoexplainit.“Youknowwhatyoujustsaidtome?Thatwe’refamily?”
Henods.
“Well,foryouandCleoandWynandKimmy,thatmeansonething,”Isay.“ForSabrinaandme,it’sdifferent.Inourfamilies,therewasnocomingbackfromfights.Herdadwouldratherdivorcethanapologize,andinmyhouse,argumentsalwaysendedwitheveryoneleaving.Thingsnevergotresolved;theycallousedover.”
“Whatareyousaying?”Parthasks.
“Sabrinadidn’trunbecauseshedoesn’twantyou,”Isay.“Sheranbecauseshe’sscaredthat,intheend,shewon’tbeworthchasing.”
Parth’seyeslockontomine,hisfaceslackeningashetakesitin.“Shit.”Hescramblestohisfeet.“Weneedtofindher.”
“Wewill,”Ipromise.
???
CleoandKimmyhavejustgottenbackfromtheirmassageswhenwereachthehouse.Theyhaven’theardfromSabrinaeither,andafterwealltaketurnscallingandtextinghertonoavail,weacceptthatwe’regoingtohavetolookforher.
“Youtwoweresupposedtospendthemorningtogether,”Cleopointsout.“Whatwereyougoingtodo?”
“Idon’tknow,”Parthsays.“She’dplanneditall,andtherewerenodetailsontheitinerary.”
“Noaddress?”Wynasks.
Parthstaresathim.“Oh,yeah,therewasanaddress,buthowcouldthatpossiblybenefitus?”hedeadpans.“No,nothing!ForallIknow,sheleftinthemiddleofthenight.ForallIknow,she’slyinginahospitalbedrightnow!”
“We’llfindher,”Wynsays.“Don’tassumetheworst.”
“Thisismyfault,”Parthsays.“Iwasupsetabouthoweverythingwentdownlastnight,andIblamedher.LikeIhadn’tbeentotallyonboard.Iwas,completely,andwhenitblewup,IturneditaroundlikeI’dhadnothingtodowithit,andnowshe’sgone.”
Cleo’seyesgodistantassheretreatsintothought.“Weneedtobelogicalhere.”
“You’regonnahatethis,”Wynsays,facingParth,“butwhatifwecalledherfamily?”
“There’snowayshe’dgotothem,”Parthsays.“Shehardlytellsthemanything.Imean,myfamily’salreadyplanningablowoutwedding,andhersdoesn’tevenknowwe’reengagedyet.”
“Thenwe’lllookaroundtown,”Cleosays.
“We’llfindher,”Kimmypromises,rubbingParth’sshoulder.
“Weshouldsplitup,”Isay.
WynandParthtaketheLandRover.CleoandIuseherstationwagon.KimmyhangsbackincaseSabrinashowsupatthehouse.
Mostoftheplaceswefrequentonthesetripsaredowntown,buttherearealsosomebeachesandparksworthchecking,alongwithacoupleofothertownsweoccasionallyvisit.
ButwhenwereachBernie’s—packed,thankstothesunshineandthefactthatit’sLobsterFestweekend—Irealizeapartofmewasbankingonfindingherhere,sippingcoffeeandwatchingseagullsfightoverhashbrownsonthepatio
“Weshouldaskthehost,”Cleosays,“incasethey’veseenher.”
Buttheyhaven’t.Though,tobefair,thestreetsaresopackedwithface-painted,ice-cream-cone-eatingtouriststhat,foronce,it’sactuallyfeasiblethatSabrinacouldblendinwithacrowd.
WechecktheRoxyTheater,asktheticketagent(todayinaporkpiehat)whetherhe’sseenher,andwhenherefusestoanswerwithanythingotherthanashrug,weeachbuyaticketandsplitupinsidetocheckboththeaters.Notthereeither.
WecheckMurder,SheRead;thewharf;andtheLobsterHut,aswellastheLobsterHut’sheavilygraffitiedbathrooms.Weevencheckthetattooshopontheveryoffchancethatshe’senactingsomesmallrebellionandgettingherownwickedpissahtattoo.She’snowheretobefound,andournextcallgoesstraighttovoicemail.
“Shemust’veletherphonedie,”Cleosays.
“That’snotlikeher,”Isay.
“Youthinkshewaslyingabouthotelsbeingbookedup?”Cleosays.“Couldshehavecheckedinsomewhere?”
Ipullupasearchforavailableroomsinthearea.Naryahotel,motel,bed-and-breakfast,orhostelavailableinsight.
Thegrouptextchimeswithatext,andwebothjump.
It’sonlyWyn,whosenumberI’dunblockedagain.Anyluck?hewrites.
None.You?Iask.
Parth’sreallyworried,Wynreplies.He’sgoingtocallhospitals.Justtobesure.
Mystomachflips.Keepusposted.
Youtoo,hesays.
Cleo’snosewrinklesasshescansourlist.“That’salltheusualspots.Shewouldn’t…berecklessenoughtosailoffbyherself,wouldshe?”
Thebloodrushesoutofmystomach.“She’saprettyconfidentsailor,”Isay.“AndIthinksailingissortofherhappyplace.Itmakesherthinkofhermomandwhen…”
“Harry?”Cleosays.“Whatisit?”
“Hermom,”Isay.
“Whatabouther?”Cleoasks.
“Itmightbenothing,”Isay.“ButI’vegotonemoreplaceforustocheck.”
???
“Stopthecar!”Ishriek,withsuchconvictionthatCleoinstantlyobeys,rightinthemiddleoftheroad.
AlthoughroadisafairlyaspirationaltitleforthewoodedlanetheGPShasdirectedusonto.Onehastoassumethatthere’saparkinglotsomewhereahead,butparkingnolongermattersbecause(1)thelittleopen-airchapelisvisiblethroughthetreesonourright,and(2)acherry-redJaguarsitsparkedonthedirtshoulder.
Cleohitsthegasagainandpullsover.Wecheckthecarfirst—empty—thenscrambleovertheshortstoneretainingwalltohikeupthehillsidetowardthechapel.
Thedampgreenwoodsgivewaytoamanicuredgarden.Initscenter,apavilionofgraystonestands,ivycrawlingupitsleftside.Butterfliesmoveindizzyspiralsthroughthefloweringbusheshuggingthesteps,thedistantcrashofwavestheonlysound.
NowonderSabrina’sparents’weddingmadesuchanimpressiononher.Thisplaceisbeautiful.Itfeelslikenothingcouldgowronghere,nothingbadcouldhappen.
WhenIstartforward,Cleohangsback.Hermouthopensandclosesacoupleoftimes.“Whatifshewantstobealone?”
Shehasapoint.It’spossible.
Butpeopledon’trunorhideonlywhentheywanttobealone.
“Whatif,”Isay,“sheneedstoknowsheisn’t?”
Cleotakesmyhand.Weclimbthestepstothebackofthepavilion.
Thereareahandfuloftimewornpews,aflagstonefloor,andafewwoodenarcadesoneitherside.Straightahead,astonearchframesasliceofpureMainebluewaterinthedistance.
Sabrinasitscross-leggedbeforeit,staringout.Thewholesceneisserene,downtothefaintchirpofbirdsoverhead.Thenshelooksoverhershoulderatthesoundofourapproach.
I’dbracedmyselfforsomemeasureofawkwardnessaftereverything,butthesecondweseeherdrawnface,puffyandred-rimmedeyes,lastnight’sfightstopsmattering.
BothCleoandIruntoher,kneelontheground,slingourarmsaroundher.
“Youscaredus,”Cleosays.
“Ididn’tmeanto,”Sabrinawhispers
Wepeelapart,sittinginatriangle,thesamewaywedidsomanynightsinourmustyfreshmandormroom.
“Myphonediedacouplehoursago,”Sabrinasaysfinally.“And…IguessIwantedtoputofftheinevitable.”
“Theinevitable?”Cleosays.
Sabrinadrawsherkneesintoherchest,wrappingherwillowyarmsaroundthem.“Theendofthetrip?Goodbye?Everything’schanging,andI’mnotready.”
It’slikesomeonehastakenanicecreamscooptomychest,hollowedmeout.
“Iwantedtoputitoff,butCleo’sright,”shesays.“We’vebeengrowingapartforyears.”
“Sabrina,”Isay.“YouhavenoideahowsorryIamIdidn’ttellyouwhatwasgoingon.”
“It’snotjustthat.”Sabrinaliftsherchin.“WhenIfoundoutaboutthebreakup,Iwashurt,andthenafterawhile,Iwasmad,butthen—Idon’tknow.Irealizedit’sbeenthesixofusforsolong.Andthefiveofusforevenlonger,andthethreeofusbeforethat.Andit’snotonlythatyoukeptthishugethingfromus.It’sthat…itfeltlikeifyouandWynweren’ttogether,thenyoudidn’twantuseither.Likeyou’vebeenphasingusout.”
“Sabrina,no,”Isay.“IpromiseIwasn’t.I’mnot.”
“Maybenotconsciously,”shesays.“Butthat’swhyyoudidn’ttellus,right?Becausewe’refriendswithWyn.Becauseourwholefriendshipistangledupwithyourrelationship,andifyoutwogrewapart…”
“WynandIdidn’tgrowapart.”Ican’tgetitoutanylouderthanawhisper.“IpushedhimawaythesamewayIdidtotherestofyou.Anditwasalwaysaboutme,notyouoranyoneelse.”
“Butit’snotjustyou,Harriet,”Sabrinasays.
Cleotouchesherhand.“Thingshavebeen…complicatedforme,Sabrina.That’sall.”
“Youknow,”Sabrinasays,watchingabutterflypirouettepast,“Iwasreally,reallyhappywhenIwasakid.Myparentswerehappy.Andthentheyweren’t.Andwhentheyseparatedandmovedon…ittookawhile,buttheybothfoundhappinessagain.Or,youknow,theirsemi-twistedversionsofthat.
“Withnewpartnersandnewkids.Everyonegotthisfreshstart.ButIwasn’tapartofeitherone.Iwaspartoftheirrelationship.Andoncethatwasover,Ibouncedbackandforthlike—likeamementoorsomething.Theonlythingthateverfeltpermanenttome,likeitbelongedtome,wasthisplace.”Hervoicepitcheshigher.“UntilImetyoutwo.”
She’salwaysbeensotough,anditbreakssomethinginmetohearthevulnerabilityinhervoice.
“Imetyou,”shesays,“andIfinallybelongedsomewhereagain.”
“Ifeltthatwaytoo,Sab.”Iscootcloser.
“Metoo,”Cleosays.“Highschoolwashellforme.Imean,IchoseMattinglybecauseIdidn’tknowanyonegoingthere,andthebestsocialsituationIcoulddreamupformyselfwastotalanonymity.Thosefirstfewweeksofhangingoutwere,like,thisweirdout-of-bodyexperience.I’dneverhadfriendslikethat,thekindyoudoeverythingwithandtalktoabouteverything.Honestly,Ikeptwaitingforyoubothtofindnewpeopleandmoveon.
“Andthenoneday—itwasrightbeforefallbreak,andwewerehugginggoodbye,andIrealizedI’dstoppedwaiting.Withoutevenrealizingit.Iknewyouweremyfor-lifesthen.That’swhatmyparentscalleachother.Becausenomatterwhat,they’realwaysgoingtobefamily.Andthat’syouboth.Therelationshipcanchangeshapeathousandtimes,butyou’realwaysgoingtobeinmylife.Oratleast,that’swhatIwant.”
“Same,”Isay.“NomatterwhathappenswithWyn,I’malwaysgoingtobelongwithyou.I’mnotgoinganywhere.Iloveyou,Sabrina,andI’msosorryImadeyoufeellikeyouwerejustapartofmyrelationshipwithWyn.You’reapartofme.You’resodeepinmyheartthatIcouldn’tgetyououtifItried,andIdon’twantto.IknowhowluckyIamtohaveyou.TohavepeoplewholovemeenoughtoholdonevenwhenI’mscaredtoletthemclose.”
CleoandSabrinaeachgraboneofmyhands,theirfingerslacingintomine.
“God,I’vebeencryingalotthisweek,”Sabrinamanagestearily.
“Metoo,”Isay.“Themagicofthecottage,Iguess.”
“Same,”Cleosays.“Exceptinmycase,Ithinkit’spregnancyhormonesor—”
“WHAT!”Sabrinawhirlsonher,herhandsjerkingclearofourstoclampontothesidesofherfaceinaperfectimitationofMacaulayCulkin’sbigHomeAlonemoment.
“Shit!”Cleosays.“Iwasgoingtotellyouinaspeech!”
“You’refuckingserious?”Sabrinashouts.
“We’reinachapel,”Cleosays.
“Oh,please.God’shearditall.Butme!I’veonlyonceeverheardoneofmybestfriendssayshe’smotherfuckingpregnant!”
“Well,”Cleosays,“I’mmotherfuckingpregnant.Surprise.”
Sabrinacackles,herfeetkickingagainstthefloor.
“Andbeforeyouask,”Cleosays,“yes,ItoldHarryfirst,butnotonpurpose.Sheambushedmethismorning,andithappenedalotlikethis.”
“Well,aslongasHarryambushedyou,”Sabrinasaysthroughmorebreathless,shriekinglaughter.“Honestly,anythingelseyoubothwanttogetoffyourchests,now’sthetime!I’mincapableofangerrightnow,Ithink.”
“Ibrokeyourstraightenerincollege,”Itellher.
“OnceIhadagirlstayoverwhousedyourtoothbrush,thinkingitwasmine,”Cleosays.
“Okay,gross,”Sabrinasays.“Icould’vegonetomygravewithoutthatsecondone.”
“I’mtheonewholostthosevintageRay-Bansweusedtoshare,”Iadmit.“God,that’sactuallyahugeloadoff.”
“Oh!”Cleochirps.“ItoldthatoneshittypoetyoudatedthatIwasawitch,andthatifheevercontactedyouagain,I’dhexhimsohisdickfelloff.”
Sabrinatouchesherchest,evidentlymoved.“See,thisiswhyyou’regoingtobeagreatmother.”
“Ididn’tknowyoudidthat,”ItellCleo.“IfIhad,Iprobablywouldn’thavetoldthesameguythatmydadwasinthemob.”
AlaughcracksoutofSabrina.“Ihavethebestfriends.”
“Bestfamily,”Cleosays.
Theacheinmyheartisalmostpleasant.Itspreadsthroughmylimbsintomyhandsandfeet,aheaviness,likelovehasitsownmassandweight.“Youknow,”Isay,“Parth’snotgoinganywhereeither.”
Hergazeaverts.“IfyouandWyncouldn’tevenmakeitwork…”
Igrabherfaceinmyhands.“You’renotus,”Isay.“Youareso,so,somuchbraverthanme,Sabrina.”
Sherollshereyes.
“I’mserious,”Isay.“Youcandothis,ifyouwantto.”
Hervoiceisawisp.“Idowantto.He’stheloveofmylife.Iwanttomarryhim.”
“Thenlet’sgetyouhome,”Cleosays
Sabrinaswipesthetearsoutfromunderhereyes.“Let’sgohome,”shesayswithanairofrelief.Asif,nowthatshe’smadethedecision,she’sunafraid.
Onourwaytothecars,Sabrinathrowsonelastlookbackatthechapel,thetreesbelow,thewateroutahead.
Shesmiles.Likewhenshelooksbackatit,allsheseesisthehappinessofthatdayshespentherewithherparents,ratherthanthepainofwhatcameafter.
Likeevenwhensomethingbeautifulbreaks,themakingofitstillmatters.36
HappyPlace
Knott’sHarbor,Maine
ASaturdayafternoon.Awedding,onlyinthemosttechnicalofterms.Therearesunflowerbouquetsforallofus,deliveredrighttothefrontdoor,andacakethatsaysHappybirthday,wickedpissahonit,surroundedinreal,edibleflowers.AtSabrinaandParth’sexpressions,Ishrug.“Alotofbusinesseswon’tdoweddingstuff.”
“Yes,butwhoallowedyoutousewickedpissahinthisway?”shesays.
“This,”Parthsays,“isthebestbirthdayI’veeverhad.”
HewearsasuitthatmakeshimlooklikeJamesBondOnVacation.Sabrinadonshersailing-chiclook.TherestofussportourLobsterHutoutfits,allrumpledfromhardwearandtightfromeatingwell.
Thephotographerarrivesatthreethirtytophotographusdoingnothingmuchatallasidefromsittingaroundthepoolinsemiformalwear,tossingoutincreasinglyridiculousnamesforCleoandKimmy’sbaby.
Whenthey’dtoldParthandWynaboutthepregnancy,Parthhadblinked,stunnedtospeechlessness,andWynhadleapttohisfeetandstartedlaughing,eyesmovingbetweenallofuslikehewaswaitingforagotcha
“Seriously?”Parthsaid.“There’sababyinyourbody?Rightnow?”
Cleolaughed.“Yes,it’sinmybody.”
“Thisis…ohmygod,”Wyncried.“You’rehavingababy!”
“Someonegetthefaintingcouch,”Kimmysaid.“Wynnie’sgoingdown.”
Hewalkedaroundthekitchentohugeachoftheminturn,thenlookedatme,hiseyessparklingandclear,nofog.Likehisfirstinstinctwhenhefeltjoywastocheckwhetherithadhitmetoo,toshareit.
Itmademyheartsoarandthrobandburnwithhope.
Nowwe’realldrinkingchampagneandsparklingciderinthesunandpressuringourfriendstonametheirbabyKardashianKimberlyCleopatraCarmichael-Jameswhileapaidprofessionalsnapsphotographsofus.
Theweddingofficiantarrivesatfour.
Byfive,ParthandSabrinastandattheedgeofthedock,lightglintingofftheirhair,eyessparklingwithtears,andpromisetoloveeachotheralways.CleoandIwrapourarmsaroundeachother,oursunflowerbouquetscaughtbetweenus,andtrynottosob.
Byfivethirty,we’reflingingourselvesofftheendofthedock,shriekingwithlaughter,failingbadlyatDON’TFUCKINGSCREAM,thenpullingourselvesoutoftheicywaterandrunninguptothewarmcomfortofthepool.
Weorderpizza—noonewantstoleavethehouse,andKnott’sHarborisn’tbigondelivery—andeatitwithVeuveClicquot.Wedon’ttalkabouttomorrow,whenwe’llsaygoodbye.Tooneanother,tothishouse,toaneraoflifewewishcouldhavelastedforever.
Rightnowwe’rehere.
Whenthesunstartsfallingdownthesky,webundleupandclimbbackdowntotherockstowatchnightsettle.Webuildafire,roastmarshmallows.Sabrinaburnsherstoacharredcrisp,andParthpatientlytoastshistogoldenbrown.
WhenWyncatchesmeshivering,hetakesoffhisworn-outMattinglysweatshirt—he’salwaysrunwarm—andyanksitovermyhead,smilingashetiesabowbeneathmychin.Itsmellslikesmokeandseawaterandhim.Ineverwanttotakeitoff.
WelightthesparklersParthfoundinthegarage,andwewriteournamesinthedark,impermanentbutallthebrighterandmoreblazingforit.
ThisishowIusedtothinkoflove.Assomethingsodelicateitcouldn’tbecaughtwithoutbeingsnuffedout.NowIknowbetter.Iknowtheflamemaygutterandflarewiththewind,butitwillalwaysbethere.
Wetalkaboutthenightsky.Wetalkabouttheghostofourolddormbuilding.ThebrightpurpleflowersthatalwayseruptedalongsidethelongroadtoMattingly,andthebrokeneaveoverourNewYorkapartmentthatleticiclesgrowintothree-footdaggers.Wetalkaboutthethingsweremember,thethingswe’llmiss.
“We’llcomeback,”Kimmysays.“BabyneedstoknowaboutthemagicofMaine.”
“Idon’tknow,”Sabrinasays.“Maybenextyear,wegosomewherenew.”
Wyn’shandtightensonmine,likeeventhementionofnextyearmightturnustosmoke.
Andeventhatpainisakindofpleasure,tofeelsoloved,tolovesodeeply.
WestayupuntilCleoisnoddingoffagainstKimmy’sshoulderandSabrinacan’tstopyawning,andthenwesaygoodnight,likeit’sanyothernight.Liketomorrowwemightwakeandstartthewholeweekover.
Whenwecloseourselvesintoourbedroomforthenight,WynandIstandlockedtogetherinthedark,myhandsagainstthebackofhisneck,hisheadbowedintomyshoulder,breathingintoeachother.
Mybodyhasalwayslovedhimwithoutreservationorcaution.Itknewsolongbeforemybraindid,anditstillknows.
Hisneck,hisshoulders,hiswaist,thesofthairthatleadstohiswaistband,thejutofhishipbones.Thesmoothcurvesofhisbackandthetighteningmusclesofhisstomach.EverypieceofhimI’vethoughtabout,dreamedof,longedfor.
“Yourfingersarecold,”hewhispers,bringingmyhandtohislips.
“Yourskin’ssowarm,”Iwhisperback.
Slowlyweundress,findourwaytoeachother.Wedon’tpretendtomorrowwon’tcomebutgiveourselvesoverfullytotonight.
Atangleoflimbsandblankets.Skinslidingagainstskin.Fingersgrippingthebacksofnecks,thesoftpartsofhips,thehardmuscleofthighs.
“Iloveyou,”hesaysintomymouth,andIwishIcouldswallowit,likethatwouldletmekeepthatsoundforever,thismomentforever.
Mynoseburns.Myvoicecrackles.“Don’tsaythat.”
“Whynot?”hewhispers.
“Because,”Isay,“thosewordsdon’tbelongtomeanymore.”
“Ofcoursetheydo,”hesays.“TheybelongedtoyoubeforeIeversawyou.Theybelongtoyouineveryuniversewe’rein,Harriet.”
Iclosemyeyes.Trytoholdontothewords.Theyburnintomypalms.
BeforeIknewWyn,Icouldhavebeenokaywithouthim.NowI’llalwaysfeeltheplaceheisn’t.
Wantisakindofthief.It’sadoorinyourheart,andonceyouknowit’sthere,you’llspendyourlifelongingforwhatever’sbehindit.
Heknotshishandswithmine,tellingmehelovesmeineverywayhecan.
OnlyonceI’mhalfasleep,driftingoffwithmytemplepressedtohischest,doIhearhimwhisperitonelasttime:“Iloveyou.”
Throughthegauzylayersofsleep,Ihearmyselfmurmur,“You.”37
RealLife
Sunday
Iwakebeforemyalarmandturnitoffbeforeitmakesapeep.Wynisfastasleep,nakedandbeautifulinthedeepblueofearlymorning.
Hewouldwantmetowakehim.
ButIcan’tstandforourlastmomenttogethertobeagoodbye.Iwanttorememberhimlikethis,whilehe’sstillmineandI’mhis.
Ifinishpackingquietlyandtiptoedownstairs.
CleoandSabrinaarealreadysippingteaandcoffee,respectively,inthekitchen.“ItoldyouIcouldtakeacabtotheairport,”Iwhisper,joiningthemasSabrinafillsamugforme.
“Noway,”shesays,“areyourlastfewminutesinKnott’sHarborgoingtobewithastranger.”
“Actually,”Isay,“mylastfewminutesinKnott’sHarborwillbespentwithRay.”
“Allthemorereasontogiveyouaride.Thesecouldbethelastminutesofyourlife,period,”Sabrinasays.
Cleospitsamouthfulofteaintohermug.“Sabrina.”
“Kidding!”shesays.“IsWyncoming?”
“Ilethimsleep,”Isay.
SheandCleoexchangealook.
“Iknow,”Isay,headingthemoff.“Butit’swhatIneed.”
Sabrinaslingsanarmovermyshoulder.“Thenthat’swhatyouget,mygirl.”
WedrivetotheairportintheRover,andSabrinaandCleoinsistonparkingandwalkingmeinside.Welingerbythesecuritygateforawhile—we’rewaytooearlyforanairportthistiny—butIcan’tstandlonggoodbyes.Everysecondgetsharder.
Imakeitthroughourtightgrouphugwithoutcrying.Ikeepmystiffupperlipaswetaketurnspromisingwe’llseeeachothersoon.AndwhenSabrinaremindsmethatthere’sroomonhercouchinNewYorkanytime.
Istilldon’tknowwhatI’mgoingtodowhenIgetbacktoSanFrancisco,andwhenIcamecleanwiththemabouthowI’dbeenfeelingatwork,they’dbothbeenadamantthattheycouldn’ttellmewhattodoeither.IneedtofigureoutwhatIwant.
Asifreadingmymind,Cleotouchesmyelbowandsays,“There’snowronganswer.”
Onelasthugapiece,andthenweputourindexfingers,withtheirmatchinglittleburnscarsfromourfirsttriptothecottage,togetherinasilentpromise.Withoutanotherword,Ijointhetwo-personsecurityline.
ItellmyselfIwon’tlookback.ButIdo.
Mybestfriendsarecrying,whichmakesmestartcrying,whichmakesallthreeofusstartlaughing.
“Ma’am,”theTSAagentsays,wavingmeforward,andI’mstilllaugh-cryinginthebodyscannerandasImakemywaydownthehallwaybeyondit,lookingbackeveryfewfeettoseethemwavefromthefarendoftheairport,untilfinallythehallcurvestotherightandI’mforcedtogiveonefinalwavegoodbyeandroundthecorner.
BythetimeIreachmygate,I’vegottenittogether.Theseatingareaisempty.Anyreasonablepersonwould’veshownuptothisparticularairporttwentyminutesbeforetakeoff,butI’veleftthestandardtwo-hourwindow,andnowIhavehourstositwithmythoughts.
IpulloutthebookIgotfromMurder,SheReadandstareatthefirstpageforprobablytwentyminuteswithouttakinganythinginotherthanthewordscrownmolding
Istuffthebookintomybagandpullmyphoneout.
Myheartstuttersattheimageon-screen.ThewebsiteIhadWyntypeinformelastnightisstillpulledup.Anoaktableinafieldofyellowgreen,wildflowerssnakingupitslegs,andajaggedrangeofpurplemountainsbehindit.
Itknocksthebreathoutofme.Nottheimageitselfbutthelonging,theneeditshootsoutfrommycore.That,Ithink.ThatiswhatIwant.
Azingofadrenalinegoesdownmyspine
Mypulsespeeds.Shiversspread,wildfirefast,acrossmyskin.
Istand,almostlaughingfromthebluntforceoftherealization.
Wynmightbehappierandhealthierthanhewassixmonthsago,andImightbealittlemorehonestaboutmyfeelings,butIknowhim,everyinch.I’vememorizedtherhythmofhisbreathingwhenhesleepsandthesmellofhisskinwhenhe’sbeenoutinthesun,andIknowwhenhe’safraid.
MaybeIdidn’tseeitrightawaybecauseI’msounusedtotrustingmyself.I’vespenttoolongfollowingeveryoneelse’slead,placingeveryoneelse’sjudgmentabovemyown.ButnowIseeit.
He’safraid
Hestilldoesn’ttrustthatIcanlovehimforever.Somepartofhimiswaitingformetochoosesomethingelse.BelievesthatifIweregiveneveryoption,hewouldn’tbemypick.Hemightthinkhe’sprotectingme,buthe’sprotectinghimselftoo.
Hewasrightaboutonething,though.Hecan’ttellmewhatIwant.
Allmylife,I’veletothervoicescreepin,andthey’vedrownedoutmyown.
Nowmymindisstrangelyquiet.Forthefirsttimeinsolong,Ihearmyselfclearly.
Oneword.Allittakestoanswertheonlyquestionthatcan’twait.
You.
Istandandgrabmybag,headingbackthewayIcame.Butitdoesn’tfeellikeI’mmovingbackward.
Itfeelslikethefirststeptowardsomeplacenew.38
RealLife
Sunday
Idon’tknowwhyI’mracingthroughtheairport.There’snoplanetocatch,nodeadlinetoslideunder.
Thisisn’tmylastchancetotellWynhowIfeel.
Instead,it’stheearliestmomentIcanpossiblygettohim.Idon’twanttomissanotherminute.SoIbarreldownthehallway,throughthesecurityexit,mybagscrapingalongbehindme.Ialmostsmackintotheslidingglassdoorsasthey’reopening,thentripoutontothecurb,blinkingagainstthesun,shiveringatthechill.
Notasinglecabidlesinthepickup/drop-offlane.IpulloutmyphoneandhammeroutasearchforcarservicesinKnott’sHarbor.ThefirstnumberIdialgivesmeabusysignal.
Ididn’tknowbusysignalsstillexisted.Iletoutawordless,angrygruntandendthecall,scanningtheparkinglothelplessly,asifhitchhikingmightbeaviableoption.
ThenIseeit.Aflashofredthatmakesmyheartstop.
Acarpullingintoaspace.Amanjumpingout,windbattinghissun-streakedhairaround.
Mylungsspasmfromtheshockofhim,hispresencealwaysabitmoresolidthananythingelsearoundme.
Whenoureyeslock,hefreezes,thecardoorstillajarbehindhim.Iseemtobefloatingacrossthelaneuntilacarlaysonitshorn,lettingmeknowI’vecutitoff.
Ibreakintoajog.Wyndriftsforwardtoo.Wemeetinanemptyspotinthecraggylot.
“You’rehere,”hesays,outofbreath.
I’mstillworkingonregainingthepowerofspeech.
“Youdidn’tsaygoodbye,”hesays.
ThebestIcandointhatmomentis“Icouldn’t.”
Hisbrowspinch.Themomentholds.
“Isthatall?”Iask.
“What?”
“Didyoudriveallthewayheretosaygoodbye?”Isay.
Hescratchesthebackofhishead,glancessidelongtowardthethicketoftreesattheedgeofthelot,thenbacktome.Thecornersofhismouthtwist,andmyheartmimicsthemotion,wringingeverylastbitofloveintomyveins.
“Whyaren’tyouontheplane?”hesays.
“It’sgoinginthewrongdirection.”
Hisbrowtensesonaslightshakeofhishead.
“YousaidIneedtofigureoutwhatIwant,”Isay.“ThatIcan’tkeepdoingwhatotherpeoplethinkisrightforme.”
“Imeantit.”Hisvoicerattles.
“Doesthatincludeyou?”Iask.
“Whatdoyoumean?”hesays.
“Imean…”Imovecloseenoughtobreathehimin,myshouldersmeltingwithreliefathisnearness.“Doyougettotellmewhatwillorwon’tmakemehappy?”
Hisbrowfurrows.“Iwasn’ttryingtodothat.”
“Youwere,”Isay.“AndIgetwhy.IcouldcomeouttoMontana,andmaybesomedayIrealizeIwantto—Idon’tknow—getintoclowningorsomething.”
Onesideofhismouthquirks.“Clowning?”
“Ormarinebiology,”Isay.“Ihavetoleavetostudywhales,oroctopi.”
“Closer,”heallows.
“Andeverythingcouldimplodeagain,”Isay.“Worsethanlasttime.Sobadlywecouldn’tfindourwaybacktoeachother.”
Hischindipsonce,hisvoiceabrading.“Itcould.”
“You’rerightthatIdon’tknowwhatIwanttodonext,”Iadmit.“I’mgoingtohavetofindsomeotherjobthatIhatealittlelessandchipawayatmyloanswhileIfigureitout.ButIknowwhatIdon’twant.
“Idon’twanttobetiredallthetime.Idon’twanttobeonoppositeschedulesfromeveryoneIlove,oroncallduringdates.Idon’twanttobeonmyfeetforeighthoursatatimeandhavemyknucklesbleedinthewinterfromoverwashingmyhands.Idon’twanttofeellikeIdon’thavetimeorenergytotryanythingnewbecauseeverythingIhaveisgettingpouredintoajobIdon’tevenlike.Idon’twanttolivemylifelikeit’satriathlonandallthatmattersisgettingtosomeimaginaryribbon.Iwantmylifetobelike—likemakingpottery.Iwanttoenjoyitwhileit’shappening,notjustforwhereitmightgetmeeventually.
“AndIdon’twanttobeacrossthecountryfromyou.Oryourfamily.Idon’twanttomissasingleholidaywiththem.Idon’twanttogotosleepwithoutbeingabletoputmyfeetonyourcalvestowarmthemup,andIdon’twanttosaygoodbyetoyourrodeoshirt,andIdon’twanttoletyouleaveherewithoutunderstandingthatItrustmyselfonthis.Andyoucantellmetogorightnow,andIwill,butyoudon’tgettothinkit’snoble.Youdon’tgettothinkyou’reright.”
Hiseyeswiden.“Rightaboutwhat?”
“Aboutallofit!”Icry.“ThatIdon’twantyou!Thatyoucan’tmakemehappy!ThatifIgobacktoCaliforniarightnowithasanythingtodowithwhatIwant.Thatyou’retheluckyoneinthisrelationshipwhenit’sobviouslyalwaysbeenme.ThatGroceryGladiatorsisarealgame,andthatitmakesanysensetoputglassesonthebottomrackofthedishwasher.Youcantellmeno,Wyn,butyoucan’ttellyourselfit’swhatIwant.Ifyou’retooafraid,ifyoucan’thavefaithinme,thentellmetogo,butdon’tconvinceyourselfit’swhatIwanted.”
“Harriet,”hesayscoarsely.
Myheartteeter-tottersinmychest,readyingitselftoflyskywardorplummet
Wyntakesholdofmyface.“Iamscared.”
Abeatofquiet.Nothingbutourbreathandtheicywindflutteringacurlacrossmyface.
“Oh,”Ibreatheout.
Hisslightsmileunzipsme,vertebrabyvertebra.Hisfingersslipbackintomyhair.Hisjawworksasheswallows.“WhenIwokeupthismorning,thebedwasalreadycoldwhereyou’resupposedtobe.”
Hisgazelifts,solightandclear,hardlyanyfog.
“Iwould’vedoneanythingtobringyoubacktomeforonelastminute,”hesays.“ButIcouldn’t,soIfollowedyou.Andifyouhadn’tcomeouthere,Iwould’veboughtaticket.AndifIgotinsideandyouwerealreadyboarded,Iwould’vegottenontheplane.Iwould’vewaiteduntilwelandedinBostontotalktoyou.AndifsomehowImissedyouindeboarding,Iwould’vefoundyournextgatetotalk.AndasIwasdrivinghere,watchingthisstupidfuckingplanformforhowIwouldgettoyouandsaygoodbyeinperson,Irealizedwhywecandothis.”
Myheartwhirs,liftstowardhimasifpulledbyamagnet.“Why?”
Hesmilesdownatme,anditfeelslikeafistonmyheart,atighthugthatvergesonaheartattack.“Becausethere’snowhereIwouldn’tgoforyou.AndifyougetouttoMontanaandrealizethere’ssomewhereelseyouneedtobe,there’snothingI’mnotwillingtodotomakeitwork.I’dratherhaveyoufivedaysayearthananyoneelseallthetime.I’dratherarguewithyouthannottalk,andwhetherwe’retogetherorwe’renot,I’myours,solet’sbetogether,Harriet.Asmuchaswecan.Aslongaswecan.Assoonaswecan.Everythingelse,we’llfigureoutlater.”
“Wyn,”Iwhispershakily.Hisfingerstwitch,tighteningthroughmycurls.“AreyousayingIcancomehome?”
“I’msaying,”hemurmurssoftly,“it’snothomeunlessyou’rethere.”
Myarmstwinearoundhim,myheartspeedingwildlyasthewindbattersus.“Iloveyou,”Itellhim.
“Ineveryuniverse.”Hekissesmethen,awindblowncurlcaughtbetweenourlips.Likeit’safirstandalast.Theendofoneeraandthebeginningofanother.
This,Iknow,isexactlywhereIwanttobe.39
RealLife
AMonday
ThedayIwithdrawfrommyresidency,Icallmyparentstogivethemthenews.
Theyare,understandably,shocked.TheywanttoflytoSanFranciscoimmediately.
“Let’stalkthisout,”Dadsays.
“Wecanhelpyoufigureoutwhat’sgoingonhere,”Momsays.
“Don’tmakeanydecisionsuntilwecangetthere,”Dadsays.
Theyhaveneveroncevisitedme.
Theironyofitallstrikesmethen:workingsohardtoearntheirloveandpride,andit’sbroughtmenoclosertothem.Ifanything,Ithinkmaybeit’skeptthematadistance.
“Ialreadymadethedecision,”Itellthem.“Iwithdrew.ButI’mgoingtopaybacktherestoftheloansmyself.Idon’twantyoutoworryaboutthat.”
Momstartstocry.“Idon’tunderstandwherethisiscomingfrom.”
“It’soutofnowhere,”Dadagrees.
“It’snot,”Isay.“It’stakenmeyearstomakethisdecision.AndIalreadyfoundanotherjob.”
“Ajob?Whatjob?”Momasks.
“Atapotterystudio,”Isay.
“Pottery?”DadsoundslikeIjustpitchedhimamulti-levelmarketingschemesellingmethamphetaminefordogs.
“Youdon’tevenmakepottery,”Momsays.
“Ido,”Isay.“Butit’snotgood.AndIknowthatwon’tlookveryimpressiveontheChristmascard,butthat’swhatI’mspendingmytimedoingrightnow.”
“Thenwhyareyouwastingyourtimedoingit?”Dadsays.
“Becauseitmakesmehappy,”Isay.“AndIdon’tconsideranythingthatdoesthatawasteoftime.”
“Maybeyoujustneedabreak,”Momsays.
“Iwantalife,”Isay.“Idon’tlovesurgeryenoughforthattobemine.Iwanttosleepinsometimes.Iwanttostayuptoolateandtakevacationswithmyfriends,andIwanttohaveenergytodecoratemyapartmentandtotrynewthings.Ican’tdoanyofthatwhenI’mthisworn-out.Iknowthat’sdisappointing,butit’smychoice.”
“Harriet,”Momsays.“Thisisamistake.Oneyou’llregretfortherestofyourlife.”
“Maybe,”Iallow.“ButifIdo,that’sonme.AndIswear,Iwon’tletitaffectyou.”
“Slowdown,”Dadsays.“We’llcomeoutthereandfigurethisout.”
“Youcan’tcomeouthere,”Isay.
“We’reyourparents!”Momcries.
“Iknow,”Isay.“Andifyouwanttovisitmeinacoupleweeks,I’dlovetoseeyou.ButI’mnotgoingtochangemymind,andthere’snopointinyoucomingtoSanFranciscorightnow,becauseI’mnoteventhere.”
“Whatdoyoumeanyou’renotthere?Whereareyou?”
Overtheintercoms,anannouncementringsout.Mygatehasbeenmoved.“TheDenverairport,”Isay.“Ihavetogo,butI’llcallyouwhenIgetin.”
“Getinwhere?”Momsays,hervoiceraisinginawayitneverhas,notwithme.
“Home,”Isay,thenclarify,“Montana.”
Anothersilence.
“Iloveyouboth.”Itfeelsunnatural,butthatdoesn’tmeanit’snottrue,onlythatI’vegonetoolongwithoutsayingit.“I’llcallyoutonight.”
Igetoffthephone,dragmystuffovertothenewgate,stoppingforaCinnabonandanicedcoffee.WhenIslumpdowninoneofthetearingfaux-leatherchairs,myphonevibrateswithatext,andIreadymyselfforanimpassionedlectureorapersuasiveletter.
Instead,IfindamessagefromEloise.We’veneverbeenatext-for-conversationsetofsiblings.
Momcalledme,freakingout,shewrites.
Iwince.I’msorry,Iwrite.Hopethatwasn’ttoostressful.
Iwatchhertyping,butthenshestops.Igobacktosystematicallydismantlingmycinnamonroll.
Thenherreplybuzzes:URnotresponsibleforMom’sfeelings.Atleastthat’swhatmytherapistsays.Ijustwantedtocheckinonyoubcshe’sconvincedURhavingsomekindofbreakdown.RU?
EloiseistheonlypersonIknowwhotextsincompletesentences,completewithpunctuation,butstillrefusestotypeoutareoryou.Butthat’sabouttheonlypartofthattextmessagethatdoesn’tcomeasashock.
IhadnoideaEloisesawatherapist.Thenagain,Idon’tknowmuchaboutEloise,period.Weneverspeakthisopenly,andI’mweirdlytouched.
Itmightbesomekindofbreakdown,Iwrite.ButthetruthisIdon’tthinkIeverreallywantedtobeasurgeon.Ijustlikedmakingpeopleproud.Andtheideaofthemoney.
Shit!shewritesback,andforaminutenothingelsecomesthrough.Maybethat’sit,theendofourlate-in-lifesisterlybonding.Tenminutespassbeforehernextmessageappears.
IshouldprobablytellUIresentedU,bcIthoughtUwerejustlikethem,andsotheyalwayslikedUmore.NowI’mrealizinghowmuchpressureUmust’vefelt,andmaybeifwe’dactedlikesisterssooner,thingscouldhavebeendifferent.Sothismightnotmeanallthatmuch,butforwhatit’sworth,I’mproudofU.AndMomwilldefgetoverthis,eventually.Shegotovermybellybuttonring.
Really?Isay.
Well,sheneveracknowledgeditoutright,Eloisereplies,butsheDIDstoplookingatmystomachandsighing.Thiswillgobetterthanthat.I’vegotURback.
Ileanbackagainstthecounterasthatwashesoverme.Thanks,Itellher.I’msorryIdidn’thaveyoursmore.IwishIhad.
Don’tworryaboutit,shesays.Uwerejustakid.Neitherofushadmuchsayoverourlivesbutnowwedo.URdoingwhat’srightforU.That’sallUcando.
I’venevercriedoveramessagewithsomanyabbreviationsinit,butI’mconsideringprintingthistextoutandstickingitontheConnorfamilyrefrigeratorforsafekeeping.Wemaynothavepicturesofusinmatchingsisters’Halloweencostumes,butweloveeachother.There’shope.IfIwanttobeclosetoher,Icanworkatit.
???
Dadcomesaroundfirst.Hestartssendingmearticlesaboutthementalbenefitsofmakingpottery,andtextsaboutanewTVcompetitionbetweenceramists.
Momisahardersell.
WhensheandDadfinallyflyouttovisitusinMontana,she’svirtuallysilentthewholefirstday.
Itakethemantiquing,andonabeginnerhorsebackride.WehituphappyhouratabarwhosethemeseemstobeHuntingButFancy,oneofthosenewspotscateringtothesummercrowdbypretendingtobefolksy.
“Hankhatedthisplace!”Gloriasayshappilyastheserverleaveswithourorder.“Wouldn’tevercomewithme,soI’dhavetobringourneighborBethAnne.”
MomandDadtagalongtothebeginnerclassesI’vestartedhelpingwithatGallatinClayCo.Daddoeshisbesttoseeminterested,whileMomsettlesforsimply“notcrying.”
Afterward,Ishowthemmylastfewprojects.Momholdsabowlglazedineveryshadeofblue,scrutinizingitforalongtimebeforesaying,“Thisone’snice.”
“Thanks,”Isay.“ImadethatforSabrinaandParth.”
“Yourfriendswhojustgotmarried?”Dadsays.
“Right,”Momtellshim,“thelawyers.”
Again,Iwonderifmyfriendsweren’ttheonlyonesIpushedaway.IfeverytimeIturnedthefocusbacktothethingaboutmeIknewmyparentsloved,Imissedthechanceforthemtoknowtherest.
Wehavefunattimes.It’sincrediblyawkwardatothers.Thenit’sover,andayellowcabispullinguptheConnors’driveway,andWynexcuseshimselfsoMom,Dad,andIcansayourgoodbyesinprivate.
Igoinforhugsbeforeitevenoccurstomethatmyfamily’sneverdonemuchhugging.It’stooawkwardtotakeback,soDadandIstifflyholdontoeachotherforabeat.ThenMomandIdothesame.
Dadgetsinthecar,andMomstartstofollow,thenturnsback,crunchingacrossthegravel.“It’sneverbeenabouttheChristmascard,Harriet,”shesays.“Youhavetounderstand.”
Thebackofmynosestings.Somelatentinstinctinmebelievesthissurgeofemotionrepresentsdanger.MynervoussystemtellsmyglottistostayopentoletmoreoxygeninsoIcansprintaway.ButIdon’t.
“Igaveeverythingup,”shesaysweakly.
“Iknow,”Isay.“Yougaveeverythingupforus,andIunderstandwhatthatcostyou,andI’msorry—”
“Harriet.No.”Shegrabsmyelbow.“That’snotwhatImean.Igaveupeverythingforyourfather.Hewantedtokeepworking.HewantedtomovetoIndiana.AndIthoughtifhewashappy,thatwouldbeenough.It’snotthatI’mnotproudofyou.I’mterrifiedforyou,honey.Thatyou’regoingtowakeuponedayandrealizeyoubuiltyourlifearoundsomeoneelseandthere’snoroomforyou.ItwasneverabouttheChristmascard.Iwantyoutobehappy.”
“Iamhappy,”Ipromiseher.“Ididn’tcomehereforWyn.Icamehereforme.AndIdon’tknowhowthiswillallendup,butIknowwhatIwant.”
Tearsrushhereyes.Sheforcesasmileasshepushesmyhairbehindmyear.“I’mnevernotgoingtoworryaboutyou.”
“Maybeyoucouldlimitit,”Isay.“Liketwentyminutesadayofworrying.BecauseI’mokay.AndifI’mnot,I’lltellyou.”
Shetouchesmyhair.“Willyou?”
“Ifyouwantmeto,”Isay.
Shenods.“Iloveyou.”
“Iknow,”Isay.“Iloveyoutoo.”
Shenodsoncemore,thenjoinsmydadinthecab’sbackseat.
AsIwavethemoff,thescreendoorcreaksopen.Wyn’spineyscentwrapsaroundmebeforehisarmsdo,andIsinkbackintohim.He’scuthishairshortandshavedhisbeard,andhisfive-o’clockshadowscratchesagainstmytemple,followedbythesoftnessofhismouth.
Westand,listeningtothehootofsomedistantowl,watchingthetaillightsshrink.
“Hungry?”hesaysfinally.
“Voracious,”Isay.40
HappyPlace
RealLife
Ourhome.Awoodentable,avaseoverflowingwithwildflowers,agolden-greenfield.LongwalkswithWyn,andshorteroneswithGloria.
Sittingonthebackporch,smokingajointwiththeloveofmylifeandhismom.Gettinggigglyandmunchy,andmakingbrowniesfromscratchinatoo-hotkitchen.SleepingoverinaroomfullofWyn’shighschoolsoccertrophiessowedon’thavetodrivebacktoournewapartmentovertheoverpricedstationerystoredowntown.
OurnewSavetheDatestuckprominentlytoGloria’sfridge.
Imemorizeallthefloorboardsthatcreakorgroan,soIcantiptoedownstairsinthemorningwithoutwakinganyone,taketheJeepintotownforasugarylatteformeandblackcoffeeforthem,orangecinnamonmorningbunsforallofus.OratleastWynwillhaveabite,andI’llpolishofftherest.
Iwalkforawhile,enjoythebittersweetscentofwhitebarkandpineandquakingaspen.
There’sanentireshophereforsauces,syrups,andoils.Lastweek,aftersamplingeasilytwodozen,WynandIboughtasmokymaplesyrupagedincharredbourbonbarrels.ForGloria’sbirthday,wemadepancakes,andwhenshetastedthesyrup,shesaid,“Tasteslikecamping.”
Thenshegotchokedup,becausecampingwassomethingsheandHankusedtodo.“Whenwewerefirstdatingandhadnomoney,”sheexplained.Then,afteratearylaugh,sheadded,“Andoncewe’dbeenmarriedfordecadesandstillhadnomoney.”
Wynstoodandwenttowraphisarmsaroundhershoulders,andshepattedhisarmassherecovered.Iunderstood,then,theimmensehonoritistohurtlikeshedoes.Tohavelovedsomeonesomuchthatthetasteofmaplesyrupcanmakeyoucryandlaughatthesametime.
AndIknow,ifnothingelse,I’llhavethat.IknowI’vechosentherightuniverse.
Thethoughtbreaksmyheartalittleformyparents.Formydad,whoworkednearlyeveryMondaythroughnearlyeveryFridayatajobhedidn’tlikeenoughtoevertalkabout,andIunderstandthatsomethingwasstolenfromhimandheacceptedit.Becauseweneededhimto,orbecausehebelievedwedid.Andformymom,wholeftbehindonehometofollowhimandneverquitefoundanother.
Iduckintotheshopandbuyfourbottlesofcampfiremaplesyrup.
OneforParthandSabrina,oneforCleoandKimmy,andoneforeachofmyparents.Iwantthembothtohaveeverydrop.
Iwantthemtohaveeverythingthey’veeverwanted.
Therearetimes,still,whenIamanxiousaboutmydecision,worryoverwhethermyparentswilleverunderstandit,understandme,orifI’lleverfindsomethingtobemything.
AndwheneverIneedahappyplace,Istillthinkofthecottage.OrmaybenotthecottagesomuchasanalcoveunderthestairsthatsmellslikeWyn,asun-washeddockandCleoaskingaboutourotherlives,SabrinaandParthfumingoveragameofginrummy,andKimmysingingCrashTestDummiesintoawoodenspoon.
Ithinkofsittinginarowonanextralongtwinbedinamustydormroom,silkscarvestuckedintodroptilestosoftenthefluorescents,watchingClueless
Ipictureanever-less-run-downfarminthenorthernmostpartofNewYork,andthefirsttimeIheldmygoddaughterZora,couldn’tstopstaringathertinyfingers,thegolden-browneyesofhermotherstaringrightbackasmyheartsaid,Miracle,miracle,miracle
IrevisitthedriveoutfromSanFranciscowithmymom,whenwefinallypackeduptherestofmystuffintoarentedtruckandhauleditout.Theseedymotelswecheckedinto,theepisodesofMurder,SheWrotewewatchedwhilefeastingonvendingmachinecandy.Somuchofthetripwasobjectivelyawkwardorstressful,butinmymemory,thosearen’tthemomentsthatloomlarge.
Instead,it’sMomtellingmeallabouthowsheandhersisterusedtopretendtobewitchesinthewoodsofKentucky,where’dthey’dlivedwhentheyweresmall,grindingblackberriesintomudandwildoniontosmearontheirforeheads,pretendingitmadetheminvisible.
It’swhensheasksmetotellherthewholestoryaboutmeetingWyn,andafterward,howshesaysthroughtears,AllIwantisforyoutobehappy
AndIsay,Whataboutyou?Don’tyouwanttobehappy?andshelookssobaffled,likethethoughthadneveroccurredtoher.Allthattime,thosenightslyingawakeinmylittleyellowbedroommakingbargainswiththesky,spendingwishesonherjoy,andnowIunderstand.
Nooneelse’shappinessisyourstogrant,Mom,Itellher.Youneedtofindyours.
EloiseandItextonoccasion,mostlysurface-levelstuff,butI’mtryingagain.I’mhoping.
SometimesIcastmymindforwardtoo.ThinkoftherusticranchturnedeventcenterthatWynandIputadepositon,andimagineanearlyfalldaywithabiteintheair,thesmellofsweethayanddyingleavesthick.IimagineourfriendsandfamilylinedupbeforeoneofWyn’stables,anantiquelaceclothdrapedoverit,blanketswaitingoneverychairforgueststoswaddlethemselvesinasthesunsinks.(OrtheVegasbachelorettetripSabrina’sstartedbooking.)
Butmoreoftenthananyofthoseplaces,whenIneedtofeelsafeandhappy,Igohome.
Andnomattertheweather—feetofsnoworsunbleedingthethirstyfieldsdry—whenIwalkupthestepsandputmykeyintothelock,Ifeelaliftinmychest,asurety:
Hewillbewaitingontheotherside,stillcoveredinsawdustandsmellinglikepine.BeforeIevenseehim,myheartstartssingingitsfavoritesong.
You,you,youAcknowledgments
Firstandforemost,Ihavetothanktheteamwhohasbeenbymysideforeverystepofthis:AmandaBergeron,Dache’Rogers,DanielleKeir,JessMangicaro,SareerKhader,andTaylorHaggerty.This,likemylastthreebooks,trulywouldn’thavebeenpossiblewithoutallofyou,andeverydayI’mgratefulforyou.Thankyou,thankyou,thankyou.
Ahugethank-youalsotoAlisonCnockaert,AnthonyRamondo,andSannyChiuforthegorgeouscoverartandinteriordesign,aswellastomyincrediblecopyeditorandproofreader,AngelinaKrahnandJamieThaman,respectively.
UnendingthanksalsotoCindyHwang,ChristineBall,ChristineLegon,ClaireZion,CraigBurke,IvanHeld,Jeanne-MarieHudson,LindseyTulloch,andthewholeteamatBerkley.
Ialsoneedtothankmyteamacrossthepond,Viking,especiallyVikki,Ellie,Lydia,Georgia,Rosie,andmyfantasticcoverdesigner,HollyOvenden.
SomuchgratitudealsotoHollyRoot,JasmineBrown,StacyJenson,andtherestofRootLiterary,aswellastomyforeignrightsagent,HeatherBaror-Shapiro,andherteamatBarorInternational.
Publishingcanbeaverytransientindustry,withpeoplealwayscomingandgoing,butonepersonwhohasbeenwithmefromtheverybeginningismyincomparablefilmagentandchampion,MaryPender,alongwithherteamatUTA.Sogratefultohaveyoubymysidethroughallofthis.
Somanyauthorfriendshavebeenhereformethroughthis(andother)books,butIespeciallyhavetothankthepeopleIcanalwayscountontospeed-readformeandtotalkthroughstickyplotpointsandsortoutmycharacters’emotionallogic.BrittanyCavallaro,IsabelIba?ez,JeffZentner,andParkerPeevyhouse:I’llneverbeabletothankyouenoughforthetime,energy,kindness,andloveyougivetomeasbothfriendsandcolleagues.AsJefflikestosay,“You’remy