I laughed with her, hoping we were both right.
And within a month, I was sure we were. Cate considered it a miracle—that I had found the one guy in the city who was both thoughtful and reliable, yet also sexy and great in bed. He really was the best of everything. An unaffected, down-to-earth boy from Boston who loved burgers and beer and baseball. Yet he was also a Harvard-educated surgeon-in-training, a natural in Manhattans swankiest restaurants. He was handsome without being vain. Scrupulous but not judgmental. Confident but not arrogant. He did exactly what he said he was going to do—no exceptions—yet retained an air of mystery that kept me on edge, kept me wondering. He cared little what others thought of him, yet seemed to earn everyone’s respect. He was coolly aloof yet somehow still passionate. And I fell hard and fast in love with him, overwhelmed by the certainty that our feelings were as equal as they were real.
Then, six months later, in the dead of the winter, Nick took me back to our burger joint. And after we ate and drank and reminisced, he pulled his keys out of his pocket and carved our initials into the graffiti-covered corner table. Skillful, neat, deep grooves declaring his love. I couldn’t imagine a sweeter gesture, until an hour later, in an empty subway car, he pulled a ring from his pocket and asked me to marry him, promising he’d love me forever.
22
Valerie
As the days turn colder and shorter, they both continue to pretend. They pretend that the visits and phone conversations and texts are the normal course of doctor-patient follow-up. They pretend that their friendship is appropriate and unremarkable. They pretend that there is nothing to hide—that they are not literally hiding in Valerie’s house. Most of all, they pretend that they can stay in this tenuous middle place, between their existence in the hospital and her official return to reality.
It almost reminds Valerie of the days she stayed home sick from school when she really wasn’t. She always had the sense that Rosemary knew the truth, but went along with her feigned symptoms so that she could stay home from work and spend time alone with her
daughter. They were some of her best childhood memories—being curled up on the couch in her Wonder Woman sleeping bag, immersed in soap operas and game shows with her mother, who would bring her chicken soup and root beer floats on an orange lacquered tray, thoughts of school and homework and cafeteria happenings a million miles away. This was the escapism she felt when Nick came over with videos and music for Charlie, wine and takeout from Antonio’s for them. It was as if she was shutting her mind down and living in the moment, forgetting everything else in the world, and especially his family, just a few miles away.
***
But the day before Thanksgiving, their charade becomes more difficult, when Nick stops by unexpectedly on his way home from work—minutes after Jason dropped by to pick up a card table for the feast he’s hosting tomorrow. The second the doorbell rings, Valerie knows she’s in trouble, especially because Jason is in the family room, nearer to the door. She freezes over the sweet potato casserole she’s making, knowing there will be no explanation other than the truth. The real truth—not the one she and Nick have fabricated together.
“Nick,” she hears Jason say, surprise commingling with disapproval and concern.
She arrives in the foyer in time to see Nick reach out to shake her brother’s hand and say, “I was just stopping by to check on Charlie.” His forehead is lined with worry, and he is visibly flustered in a way that Valerie has never seen him before, studying his watch a beat too long, as if stalling to gather his thoughts. “Is he still up? Or did I miss him?”
“He’s in bed,” Jason says purposely.
“But he’s doing very well today,” Valerie finishes, carrying on the .. ridiculous house-call charade. “Would you . . . like to come in ... anyway?”
He opens his mouth, poised to refuse the invitation, but she nods, eyes wide, a smile frozen on her face, as if to tell him leaving now would make things worse, more obvious—and that he has no choice but to stay.