“But I’m not going to talk about this.” I pull my arm from her grip. “I can’t.”
She stares at me. Dismay colors her eyes, muting her sharp gaze. She steps back.
“Okay, Professor Marvel.” She jerks her thumb toward the other side of the gym. “Let’s go so I can kick your ass at racquetball.”
We play two games, and I decline her offer of a third before heading to the men’s locker room. After a shower, I change into jeans and a sweatshirt and drive home.
It’s a freezing night, ice covering the sidewalks. I let myself into the apartment and drop my briefcase and coat by the front door.
A single lamp glows in the living room. Liv is curled up in an overstuffed chair, her legs tucked beneath her old quilt and a notebook open on her lap. She’s wearing one of my old San Francisco Giants sweatshirts, the sleeves rolled up past her elbows. The light shines on her long hair. She gives me that smile that makes my heart pound.
I love her. God, how I love her.
“There you are.” She puts the notebook on the sofa. “I was getting worried.”
“Sorry. Bunch of stuff to get done and went to the gym.” I approach her. “Thought you might be asleep by now.”
“I was waiting for you.” She gestures to the coffee table.
A chocolate cake is on a platter alongside two plates and forks. There’s a note propped against one of the plates:
I stop. “It’s my birthday?”
“All day.” Her smile widens. “I wanted to wish you happy birthday this morning, but you were already gone when I woke up. So I waited to tell you in person.”
I sink onto the sofa. “Thanks for remembering.”
“We’ll go out to dinner soon to celebrate.” Liv unwraps a package of candles and puts a few on the cake. “I know you’ve been busy this week, so maybe next weekend.”
“Did you make the cake?”
“Yes, earlier today. Chocolate layer with chocolate-orange ganache and orange buttercream.”
“Wow. Gourmet.”
“Only the best for you.” She lights the candles, which cast a reddish glow on her pretty face. She slides the cake toward me. “Make a wish.”
My one wish comes without any thought, but with my entire heart.
I lean forward and blow out the candles. Liv cuts two slices of cake and puts them on the plates. She hands me one and sits back in her chair with the other.
I take a bite of cake. “This is amazing.”
“Not bad, huh?”
We eat in silence for a while. Liv licks a drop of icing off her finger.
“How was the meeting?” she asks.
“Not good.” I can’t look at her, but her responding dismay lodges in me like a knife.
“You want to talk about it?”
“Later. Tell me about your day.”
“I worked at the library, then helped Allie start planning a treasure hunt day, which is the next big event after her Willy Wonka party.” Amusement softens her voice. “She thinks the promise of chocolate coins will bring in hordes of people.”
“She might be right.”
“I give her credit. She never gives up.”
Liv sets her half-empty plate on the table and picks up her quilt, then moves over to sit on the sofa. She tucks herself against me.
I put my empty plate aside and pull her closer. “That was great. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” She spreads the quilt over both our legs.
She’s had the quilt for as long as I can remember, but I realize I’ve never known where it came from. It’s a faded old quilt with blue, green, and purple rectangles. The edges are frayed and some of the threads are coming loose.
“Where did you get this?” I ask.
“I never told you?” Liv plucks at one of the threads. “The second time I was at Twelve Oaks, another girl and I went to a few of those antique shops along the coast. I found this at one of them. The guy told me it was vintage homemade, but considering it’s falling apart, I don’t think he was quite telling the truth. I think vintage homemade quilts are supposed to last forever. Anyway, it’s warm and has always reminded me of Twelve Oaks.”
“You ever think of going back?”
“Why would I go back when I have you?”
“Just to visit.”
“No. I loved it when I was there, but it’s part of a totally different life. Like a magical place that you realize still isn’t home.”
She burrows farther underneath the quilt, against my chest. Her notebook drops to the floor. I reach down to pick it up. Liv’s Manifesto is written on the cover.
“What’s this?”
“Hmm? Oh, I started that a few weeks ago.”
“Can I see it?”
“Sure.”
I open the book and leaf through several pages of her handwriting.
I close the book. My throat is tight.
“Just promises to myself.” Liv takes the book. “Well, stuff about the future, anyway.”
I will learn what I’m good at.
“But I still haven’t done anything, Dean.”
I know my wife’s doubts. I know where they come from. I know she has wondered what she would have done if we hadn’t gotten married.
Liv moves to pick up the plates and take them into the kitchen. When she returns, she stops by the coffee table and looks at me.