“That bad, huh?”
“The dance is tomorrow, so Jamie is busy with last-minute stuff while I’m interviewing job candidates who call me Fran and think customer service is one of the underlying problems of capitalism.”
I take a bite of the cheese croissant Peter dropped off earlier, then wipe the flakes from my chest. He keeps swinging by with food. I think he wants to make sure I’m okay after his revelation about him and Mom. Mostly I’m sad they didn’t get a happier ending. I’m sad she never told me about Peter herself. I wish we could have had more time together, the three of us. My family.
“What’s going on?” I could use a distraction.
“Much bigger problems over here, let me tell you,” she says. “I have no idea what to wear tomorrow. My body is all wonky after having a baby. Nothing’s in the same spot it used to be. Can you look at the photos I sent?”
I scroll through the pictures. “You know I’m not good at this stuff. Maybe the pink romper?” I suggest.
“Yeah, maybe. Maybe with heels. What about you? Did you find anything in town?”
“No. I meant to, but I haven’t been able to find the time. I’m going to raid Mom’s closet tonight.” I’m sure she kept every party outfit she ever wore. “I think there are dresses from the nineties in there.”
Whitney gasps. “Remember the purple one with the big bow in the front?”
It had ruffles at the neck and the most over-the-top sash. The fabric was so stiff, it could stand up on its own. We were probably fourteen the summer she wore it to the dance.
“We called her Grimace all night,” I say. “God, we were assholes.”
“Yeah,” she agrees. “But she loved us anyway.”
She did.
“So . . .” Whitney says after a few moments of silence. “Two more nights with Will here.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“And after that?”
“After that, he goes back to Toronto.”
“But obviously you’re going to keep seeing each other.”
I don’t know if that’s obvious. I don’t want Sunday to be the end, but I haven’t come out and said it.
“We’ll stay in touch.” I think.
Whitney scoffs. “Stay in touch? That man is into you. Not into you in the Hey, let’s bang when you come to the city kind of way. He’s into you in the I’m picturing what our kids will look like way. Trust me, he’s in deep.”
I chew on a nail. “I wonder if it’s just that he’s here, with his first taste of freedom in a long time. He’s in vacation mode. Once he goes back to his actual life, he might realize I don’t fit in it.”
“I really don’t think that’s what’s going on here,” Whitney says. “He made risotto.”
I laugh. “And a cheese board. I just don’t know if I can put myself out there again, especially right now.”
Whitney stays quiet for a moment. “Even before the hiatus, you closed yourself off. And maybe that has to do with your mom. And maybe it has a bit to do with he who shall not be named”—which is how Whitney refers to Eric—“and maybe what happened with Will back then didn’t help.”
I sigh.
I’ve been trying not to think about what happened nine years ago—how big my feelings were and how suddenly they got crushed. I’ve been trying not to think about how much bigger those feelings have become.
“Come on,” Whitney says. “You can tell some guy you like him.”
“Yeah,” I murmur. If only that were it.
22
June 15, Ten Years Ago
Will was already up when I opened my eyes. He sat at my table, writing in his book, a dark slash of hair over one eye. Seeing him in my apartment was strange all over. But it felt like he belonged there, scribbling by my window.
The bed groaned as I tucked an arm under my head. Will’s gaze shifted to mine. We eyed each other in silence, the morning sun slipping through the glass, capturing bits of dust in its rays and painting squares of light on the hardwood.
“Hi.” My voice cracked with the day’s first word. The fridge was making a steady whir. The power must have come back on while we slept. “What are you doing over there?”
“Just thinking.”
“I can’t spell my name without coffee.” I crawled off the bed. “I’ll make some. It’s not as good as at the café, but it is strong.” I pulled the box of paper filters from the cupboard.
“Actually, I’ve got to head out,” Will said, standing. “It’s almost ten. I’m going to be late for breakfast with my sister, and then I’ve got to grab my stuff before getting out to the airport.”
“Oh.” I cleared my throat, trying not to wear my disappointment like a diamond tiara. “Of course.”
“It was such a late night—I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Yeah, no. I appreciate that,” I said, my chest tightening. “So?”
“So . . .” He gestured to a piece of paper on the table. He’d torn his drawing of me from his sketchbook. “That’s for you.”
I swallowed. “Thanks.”
“And I had an idea,” he said, twisting his ring. “I’m going to be back next June for my dad’s wedding. I thought we could check in on each other—see how we’re making out with our plans.”
He picked up his notebook, holding it open to the lists. He’d written, June 14, Brookbanks Resort, 3 p.m. on the bottom of each page.
“You’re serious? You want to come visit me at Brookbanks? For real?”
“If only to eat more sourdough.” He gave me a hesitant smile. “I want to see where Fern Brookbanks grew up. You can show me how to hold a paddle. Make sure I don’t embarrass myself out on the water.”
“We both know you will.”
His smile widened. “So is that a yes? You’ll meet me up there in a year?”
“Yeah, I can do that.” My heart had ramped up to double time. “Maybe in a year . . .” I drifted off. I couldn’t finish that sentence. I’m not sure I knew how to.
A door slammed out in the hallway. Will blinked, then ripped my plan out of his book, passing it to me.
I looked down at the page. “It’s a pretty big place,” I said. “We should pick a spot.”
“What do you suggest?”
“How about we meet down at the docks near the beach? I’ll need to know how Will Baxter really looks in a canoe as soon as possible.”
“Sensational, I’m telling you.” He grinned. “The docks it is.”
Will tucked his sketchbook into his bag. I eyed the little red streetcar pin fixed to the flap, then grabbed my phone.
“What’s your number so we can stay in touch?” I said as he tied his boots. “And if you give me your address, I’ll make you a CD. A West Coast theme. Or trees? There probably aren’t enough tracks for that, but nature in general could work . . .”
Will stood back up, a pained look on his face. “I think it might be best if we don’t.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t think we should text each other or become friends on Facebook. You probably shouldn’t send me a mix CD. I just think since . . .” He looked over at the bed and the indents our bodies had left behind, then back at me. “Why didn’t you tell me about Jamie?”
My legs wobbled.
I could have lied and said Jamie simply hadn’t come up. It was less complicated than the truth. Only I didn’t want to lie to Will.
“At first, it didn’t really matter that I had a boyfriend. But later, I kind of wanted to pretend that the rest of the world didn’t exist for a day, and that included Jamie. Not that I would have done anything,” I added quickly. “I would never cheat.”
Will nodded, but I had no idea what he was thinking.
“Do you think I’m horrible?” I asked quietly.
“No. I think you’re pretty fucking awesome, Fern Brookbanks.” He squeezed my hand once and let it go. “But I think it would be a bad idea for you and me to continue whatever this is.”
“Because of Jamie?”
He nodded.
“A year is a really long time,” I said, staring down at his pink laces.