“We’ll be able to teach the baby Yiddish. And Italian. And about his famous great-grandfather, Professor Spiegel.”
“And his famous mother, Professor Julianne Emerson. You will finish your program, Julianne, and you will become a professor. I swear to it.”
She burrowed her face in the wool of his winter coat.
Chapter Seventy
January 1, 2012
Stowe, Vermont
Paul found himself sitting next to the fireplace in a chalet in the wee hours of the morning. Heather and Chris had already retired to their bedroom, having rung the New Year in already, leaving Paul and Allison to drink their beer in companionable silence.
They were both seated on the floor. Allison was gazing at Paul with an inscrutable expression on her pretty face.
“Do you remember our first time together?”
He sat bolt upright and nearly expelled his beer.
He coughed.
“What? Why are you asking me that?”
She looked away, visibly embarrassed. “I was just wondering if you ever thought about it. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
He began peeling the label from his bottle of Samuel Adams as he waited for his heart to start beating again.
“Is that something you think about a lot? Our first time?” Paul cared about Ali and didn’t want to make her feel bad. He didn’t want her to be ashamed of their past. He sure as hell wasn’t.
“Um, don’t you?”
“You broke up with me, remember?” He picked at his beer bottle again. “Where are you going with this?”
“I just wondered if you ever thought about me that way.”
“Of course I do. But what are you trying to do—torture me? I had to stop thinking about you like that, otherwise . . .” Now it was his turn to look embarrassed.
“I’m sorry.” She wrapped her arms around her legs, resting her cheek on her knees. Her eyes found his in the firelight and she looked so lost. So sad.
Paul shifted to stare into the flames.
“What do you think about?” he asked at last.
“The way you smell. The way you sound when you whisper in my ear. The way you used to look at me when we . . .” She gave him a half-smile. “You don’t look at me like that anymore.
“I understand why. It was my fault and I have to live with that.”
“Maybe everything happens for a reason.” Paul kept his eyes fixed resolutely on the fire.
“Maybe. I just wish I could take it back. That I wasn’t so stupid.”
“The long-distance thing was tough for me, too. We were arguing.”
“They were stupid arguments.”
“Yes, they were.”
“I’m sorry.”
Now he was looking at her.
“Stop saying that, okay? You did what you thought you should do. I got over it. End of story.”
“But that’s what I’m most sorry about,” she whispered.
“What?”
“The fact that you got over it.”
Their eyes met, and Paul swore he saw tears swimming in her eyes.
She brushed at them quickly.
“Don’t get me wrong, they’re good memories, happy memories. But after you and I broke up and I started dating someone else, I couldn’t help but think about it again.”
“You dated a guy named Dave, right?”
“Yeah. We worked together but not anymore. He moved to Montpelier.”
“You didn’t date him for very long.”
She pillowed her cheek on her knees again. “He was nice enough, but not as nice as you.”
“Did he hurt you?” Paul’s tone was wary.
“No. But when we had sex he wouldn’t look at me. He always kept his eyes closed. I never felt like he was really there, you know? I felt like I could have been anybody. Any girl he’d taken home with him, rather than his girlfriend.”
“Ali, I—”
She interrupted him. “I couldn’t help but compare him to you. That’s why I brought up our first time. How you insisted that we get to know each other really well before we had sex. How you booked a hotel just down the road for our first time.” Her expression was wistful. “You always made me feel special, even before you told me you loved me.”
“You are special.”
She looked at him steadily.
“Do you think we could pick up where we left off?”
“No.”
She cringed.
He reached over to grasp her hand. “I still have feelings for you. But I’m not ready to jump into something right now. Even if I were, we can’t just pick up where we left off. We’re both different people.”
“You don’t seem that different.”
“I am. Trust me.”
Allison squeezed his hand. “I’ve never trusted anyone more. I was jealous of Julia. Of the way you said her name. Because that’s how you used to say my name. But I broke up with you and you fell for someone else. I would have kept my mouth shut if things worked out between you two. But they didn’t.”
Paul took another long pull from his beer and shook his head.
On January second, Paul had to leave for the Modern Language Association’s annual convention, which was being held in Seattle. All his interviews for prospective jobs would take place during the convention.