Fuck that. Fix it.
“Get your shit together, Ben.” My voice rang out in the quiet interior of my car, and after a brief glace to the clock to make sure I wasn’t calling too late, I reached for my phone, scrolling to the correct number before hitting dial. I pulled out of the parking spot and turned onto Michigan Avenue.
After about six rings, Max’s voice boomed from the car speakers. “Oi, Ben!”
I smiled, accelerating away from work and headed toward one of the most familiar places on earth to me. “Max, how are you?”
“Good, mate. Very bloody good. What’s this rumor I hear of you lot moving out to the big city?”
I nodded, answering, “We’ll be there in a little over a month. Getting set up at Fifth and Fiftieth.”
“Close by. Perfect. We’ll have to get together when you get to town . . .” He trailed off.
“Definitely, definitely.” I hesitated, knowing Max was probably wondering why I was calling him at eleven thirty at night on a Tuesday. “Look, Max, I have a bit of a favor to ask.”
“Let’s have it.”
“I’d like to take my girlfriend away for a bit, and—”
“Girlfriend?” His laughter filled my car.
I laughed, too. I was fairly certain I’d never introduced anyone to Max that way. “Chloe, yes. We both work for RMG and have been slammed lately with the Papadakis campaign. It’s rolling quite nicely now, and we maybe have some wiggle room before we move . . .” I hesitated, feeling the words bubble up inside me. “Would I be insane to hire someone to pack up our life here, find us a place in New York, and just . . . leave for a few weeks? Just get the hell out of town?”
“That doesn’t sound mental, Ben. It sounds like the best way to keep yourself sorted.”
“I think so, too. And I know it’s impulsive, but I was thinking of taking Chloe to France. I was wondering if you still had the house in Marseille, and if so, whether we could rent it for a few weeks.”
Max was laughing quietly. “Fuck yeah, it’s still mine. But forget renting it—just have at it. I’ll send you the directions straightaway. I’ll have Inès go by and clean up for you. The place has been empty since I was there over the winter holidays.” He paused. “When were you thinking of heading out?”
The vise that seemed to grip my chest loosened immeasurably as the plan began to solidify in my head. “This weekend?”
“Shit yeah, I’ll get on it. Send me your flight details when you have them. I’ll call her in the morning and make sure she’s there to give you the keys.”
“This is fantastic. Thank you, Max. I owe you.”
I could practically hear his sly grin when he said, “I’ll remember that.”
Feeling relaxed for the first time in ages, I turned up the music and let myself imagine getting on a plane with Chloe, nothing ahead of us but sunshine, long mornings spent naked in bed, and some of the best food and wine the world had ever conjured up.
But I had one more stop to make. I knew it was late to go to my parents’, but I had no choice. My mind was spinning with plans, and I couldn’t head to bed until every last detail had been sorted out.
On the twenty-minute drive to their house, I called and left a message for my travel agent. Then I left a message on my brother Henry’s work voice mail that I was leaving for three weeks. I didn’t even let myself imagine his reaction. We had a new office, we had everything at work sorted, and we could leave the business of packing up to someone else. I left a message for each of my senior managers letting them know the plan and what I expected each of them to handle in my absence. And then I rolled down all of the windows and let the cool night air whip around me, taking all of my stress with it.
Pulling up in front of my parents’ house, I laughed thinking back on the first time Chloe and I had come here together as a couple.
It was three days after her presentation to the scholarship board. Two of those days we’d scarcely left my home or my bed. But after the constant calls and texts from my family asking us to come over, for me to let them share some time with Chloe, we agreed to a dinner at my parents’ house. Everyone had missed her.
We talked on the drive, laughing and teasing, my free hand entwined with one of hers. Absently, she ran the index finger of her other hand in small circles over the top of my wrist, as if reassuring herself that it was real, that I was real, that we were. We hadn’t faced the world outside yet, other than that night out with her girlfriends following her presentation. The transition would no doubt be at least a little awkward. But I would never have expected Chloe to be anxious about any of it. She’d always faced every challenge with her own brand of bullheaded fearlessness.
It was only when we stood on the porch and I reached to open their front door that I realized her hand inside mine was shaking.
“What’s wrong?” I pulled my hand back, turned her to face me.