“I have, too,” I admitted. But there was more to say. And though certainly there was an artful way to phrase it, I instead blurted, “Josh and I are really over. He told me he isn’t ready to have kids, and we’ve decided we’re truly going to get divorced. I know having a baby might be super complicated, and it definitely complicates things with you and me. But I am going to go for it, and you should probably know that. No matter what happens with my mom. And between us . . .”
Ugh, I didn’t want to admit it. Saying it out loud would make it real. But now that my mother was home and the guilt and worry were clearing, I knew this was the final frontier in shedding my identity as the person who gave up her dreams to make other people’s come true. “She told me she probably has Alzheimer’s, and she’s going to need a lot of help,” I said.
“Damn.”
“I know.” I bit my lip. “But . . . I still don’t want to move back, Ben. I love seeing you, and I want to do it all the time. Every day, to be honest,” I said before I could censor myself. “And yet the truth is that I also don’t want to live in New York. It feels like a place where old Laine lives. And I’m not that person anymore.”
Ben was looking at me with a mix of empathy and something else, something I was afraid to make any assumptions about. And he was walking closer to me. Closer still, so near that I could smell him. But he didn’t touch me, and even though I wanted to put my hands on him—really, really wanted to—that felt okay, too. If this was going to happen, we needed to be sure; we needed to do it right. “Laine Francis, is that your very candid way of telling me you’re interested in being more than friends?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Good,” he said. “But if you go back to Michigan, what does that mean for us?”
I could feel my heart starting to flood with sadness. “You want me to stay here.” Just like my sisters and my mother did. Almost everyone who really mattered to me wanted the same thing; why couldn’t I bring myself to want it, too? After all, didn’t everyone say that it didn’t matter where you were if you had the people you loved with you? What was wrong with me? And now he was going to tell me that what I wanted made it impossible for us to be more than friends. I’d never wanted to slip back into my people-pleasing ways quite as much as I did then.
And yet I forced myself not to take it back.
“Actually, no,” he said. “Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself, but you know I don’t mind moving around, and renting this place would be a cinch. There’s a nice little culinary scene happening in Detroit, and Ann Arbor isn’t too bad, either. I’m not saying let’s pack a U-Haul together today. But, Laine . . .”
He looked so serious that my pulse started to quicken again. Of course—why hadn’t I realized that the real issue wasn’t geography, but my wanting a baby? What a mess, what terrible timing! Why had I let myself feel so optimistic, when clearly the other shoe was seconds from dropping? “What is it?” I said.
He wrinkled his nose, and in spite of my panic, he looked so adorable that it was all I could do not to kiss him. “Can we worry about details later and maybe just hold each other right now?”
I had to laugh. “I thought you’d never ask.”
He put his arms around me, and it felt so good and right that we stayed like that until the omelets lost their rise and went cold. I put my head on his chest at one point, and as I listened to the steady beat of his heart, I was both sated and starved; confused yet clearer than ever.
I didn’t want to lose him again. The very thought of it filled me with panic and sadness.
But if I did, I would at least be grateful to have him here with me now.
THIRTY-TWO
LAINE
I rose early the following morning, before Josh and my mother were awake, and went out for a walk. My heart was heavy as the sun began to rise in the sky, and my mind had barely shut off since I’d returned from Ben’s; sleep had been all but impossible the night before. Because the minute I’d told Ben the truth, it was like a dam had broken. As surprising as it had been to hear myself admit it, I’d meant every word I said: I did not want to move back to New York. And although I did want to help my mother, I didn’t want to be her full-time caregiver. I had a feeling that made me sound like a monster—or at least it would to my sisters, who were counting on me to lighten their load. As I’d promised Hadley, I would find a way to do that.
But as I paced the streets of Carroll Gardens, which were already starting to get crowded at seven in the morning, I finally understood that whatever way that was would not be what everyone else had in mind. And I was going to have to find a way to deal with whatever fallout came with it.
Josh was at the table, hunched over his computer, when I returned to the apartment. His shirt looked like he’d slept in it, and his hair was sticking up all over the place. It occurred to me that this was probably one of the last times I’d see him with bedhead.
“Morning,” I said. “All good?”
He yawned, then nodded. “Just working on a few last-minute details. Launch is in two weeks.”
“Wow. That was fast.”
“Yeah. We’re moving right along.” He glanced at the computer and smiled. “I’m in talks with a health company who wants to buy it. Maybe even before it launches.”
“Really? That’s amazing.”
“I don’t want to get my hopes up, but I’m a lot closer to the goal than I’ve been before.”
He was, and although I didn’t say it, this launch did feel different; it was impossible not to feel optimistic for him. “I’m happy for you.”
“Thank you,” he said. “I made coffee if you want some.”
“That sounds perfect,” I said, pulling a mug from the cupboard. “Refill?”
“Sure,” he said, and after I’d poured myself some, I refilled his and then handed him the cream.
“Mom still sleeping?”
He smiled. “I heard her snoring when I got up. How’s it going with you two? Have you made any decisions?”
Where to even start? “Josh, I have a lot to tell you.” I lowered my voice. “Mom told me yesterday that my grandmother had Alzheimer’s, not Parkinson’s. She thinks she does, too. She had me write it all down in a notebook, and she said she’s getting ready to tell the rest of the family.”
He was very still, and I could practically see the wheels in his mind turning as he processed this. “Wow . . . I mean, we suspected, but . . . knowing is another thing.”
“I know,” I said, sliding into the chair beside him. “We’ve got some decisions to make. Big ones. Everyone wants me to stay.”
“But you want to be in Ann Arbor.”
I startled. “How’d you know that?”
He leaned back in his chair and stretched his long legs out in front of him as he observed me. “Laine, I’ve known you for fourteen years, three months, and some-odd days. I’m pretty good at reading you. Well,” he said, making an exaggerated grimace, “most of the time.”
“Fair enough. And yeah. I’m just not sure I want to be Mom’s caregiver.” But even as I heard myself, I realized that I had to stop trying to tie the truth into pretty little bows and give it to him—and everyone else—straight. “Actually . . . that’s not true. I don’t want to,” I admitted. “I want to help her, but not the way I said I would. I just feel really crappy about taking it back.” Even what I’d learned about my mother and Reggie didn’t assuage the obligation I felt toward my one living parent.
“Then don’t,” he said.
“You say that like it’s easy.”
“It could be. You already have a home, and you just stay there. That’s definitely easier than moving. Um, Laine?” His right eye had started twitching. It only did that when he was super nervous.
“Whatever you have to say, you can say it, Josh. It’s okay.”
“Um, the town house is all yours. If you want it, I mean. I’m going to move out.”
“Okay . . .” I wasn’t sure why this would cause him anxiety.
He coughed. “I’m actually thinking about moving here.”
“To New York?” I said, unable to hide my shock. This was how my sisters must have felt when I told them we were divorcing. It made . . . zero sense. “Really?”