“Because you left without saying a word, and then didn’t return any of my messages, and then said we needed to stop living in a fantasy?”
He shakes his head slightly, and then his gaze locks on mine. “No,” he says, and my heart splits into a million ragged pieces. I force myself to stay seated instead of running out the door. I wait, hands pressed between my thighs, until he speaks again.
“I shouldn’t have done those things, and I’m sorry, Fern. I am,” he says slowly. “I was stressed and not thinking straight. But that’s not why I can’t sleep or eat or get that image of you sitting alone on the dock nine years ago out of my head.”
“Then why?” I whisper.
“Fern, you must know . . .” His chest rises and falls with a long exhalation.
I stare at him, eyes wide.
His voice is quiet. “I’ve never wanted anything for myself the way I want you. I’m completely in love with you.”
A loud breath rushes from my throat, my relief instant.
“But I don’t know if I can do this,” he says as I shift closer. “I don’t—”
I put my fingers over his mouth. “You can do anything.”
Will’s gaze softens.
“I’m going to give you some advice that someone once gave me. He was a pretentious art school grad, but he knew what he was talking about,” I say, and a faint smile blossoms beneath my fingers. “I know how much your family means to you, and I would never question that. But it’s your life, Will.”
He’s silent.
“So I guess what I need to know is whether you want me in it.”
Will takes my hand from his mouth and wraps his arms around me. We stay that way, breathing and holding each other, for a full minute.
“Is that a yes?” I ask, my face against his chest. I feel a quiet laugh rumble in his chest. “Because there’s a lot of stuff we need to talk about, but none of it really matters otherwise.”
He leans back, his fingers in my hair, his gaze darting between my eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says. I start to pull back, but he doesn’t let me go. “Wait. I told you before that I’m bad at prioritizing relationships along with everything else. I thought I could figure it out this time.” He runs his thumbs across my cheeks. “I almost told you the truth about being there nine years ago, but the more time we spent together this summer, the harder it got. I’m sorry I didn’t.”
“What is the truth?” I can barely get the words past my lips.
“I thought about seeing you every day for a year. I got halfway down the hill to the lake, and then, finally, I did. You looked so beautiful. I wanted to sit down on that dock with you.”
“Why didn’t you?” I whisper.
“It wasn’t you, please understand that. Sofia was four or five months old, and it was a dark time for me. I was a wreck.” He leans back, running his hands over his face. “And I guess I was embarrassed. After everything I put down on that list, there I was—working a nine-to-five in an office—doing exactly what I said I wouldn’t a year earlier. Back then, I hated my job. I knew you’d see it right away. You’d be able to tell that I’d changed, that I wasn’t happy. You would have called me on it.”
“Maybe,” I say. “Or maybe I would have been impressed by what you’d taken on. You could have at least said hello.”
“That’s the thing. I couldn’t just say hello. You were sitting there in that green bathing suit, and I remembered exactly how it had been between us. We would have talked. I would have told you I’d given up my art, and you would have been surprised. I wouldn’t be able to pretend that everything was okay. I didn’t want to see myself through your eyes. I thought if I said hello, I wouldn’t want to say goodbye. Maybe I wouldn’t want to go back to my sister and my niece. Or my job. Maybe I’d be selfish. I couldn’t risk it.”
“I wish you would have. I wish you would have let me in back then.” I put my palms on his cheeks. “You are one of the least selfish people I’ve met, but it’s not selfish to want something for yourself. It’s human.”
Will lets out a long breath. “Being with you, being at the lake, away from all this—it’s like I remembered who I used to be, what I used to want. I don’t know that I still want those things. I don’t really know who I am, Fern.” He pauses, and I don’t move, I don’t blink, I don’t fill my lungs, until he speaks again. “But I know I want you in my life.”
I skim my fingers over his jaw, tracing them to his scar. I meet his eyes, and he looks so tired. More than that. He’s exhausted. I remember what Annabel said this morning about dumping my feelings on Will at a bad time.
“I’ve got a hotel room,” I tell him. “Why don’t we call it a night, and I can come back tomorrow? You really do look terrible.”
Will’s face crumples a little. “I don’t want you to go.”
I don’t want to say the rest of what I have to say when he can barely keep his eyes open. I chew the inside of my cheek. “How about we just veg for a bit?” I can pretend like this is any other night.
Will agrees, and we settle in on the sofa, a Frasier rerun playing on the flat-screen. Eventually, I coax him to lie down with his head in my lap, and when he falls asleep, I switch off the TV and sit in the last gasp of evening light, studying the photos that hang above the couch. There are three. Annabel holding a toddler Sofia in a garden, their noses pressed together. Sofia on what looks like her first day of school, backpack and goofy grin firmly in place. And the one that makes my heart swell: a young Will with shaggy dark hair, staring down at a little pink baby in his arms.
When Annabel unlocks the front door, Will is still sleeping.
“Jesus fuck,” she cries, surprised to find us on the sofa in the dark.
“Sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t want to move him.”
She creeps over. “Finally, he sleeps.”
I brush Will’s hair from his forehead.
“I’m glad you found me,” I tell her.
She smiles. “I hope I am, too.”
When my left butt cheek falls asleep, I nudge Will. He looks at me, startled, and begins to speak. I shoosh him. “Let’s get you to bed.”
We climb two flights of stairs to his room, and Will collapses onto the mattress.
“Stay,” he says, reaching for my hand.
“Okay,” I tell him, pulling the sheet up. “I’m not going anywhere.”
* * *
—
I wake before Will does. The house is silent. Either Annabel isn’t up yet, or she’s already out.
Will’s room takes up the entire top floor of the house, with sloped ceilings, an enormous sparkling bathroom, and a sliding glass door that leads to a deck. There’s no artwork up here. It’s serene. Everything is white and the palest shade of blue—it feels like being in the clouds.
I change out of the T-shirt I took from Will’s drawer last night and get dressed quietly so I don’t disturb him, then make my way down far too many stairs to the kitchen so I can figure out his spiffy coffee maker and get him something to eat. I find a carton of raspberries in his double-door fridge, but then I see the milk and eggs. I hunt out flour, baking powder, and butter. I know Mom’s recipe by heart.
Will is sitting up in bed when I return, sheets kicked off around his ankles. He’s still wearing the dirty shirt, but the purple blots under his eyes have faded. I want to pull him into the shower and wash his wonderful Will smell back.
“You’re here,” he says, his voice scratchy.
“I’m here.” I put the coffee on his nightstand and pass him the plate of pancakes. “I promised I’d cook for you one day. I covered them in an ungodly amount of maple syrup.”
He smiles, crinkles fanning out around his eyes. There he is, I think.
“So good,” he says after his first bite.
“Eat up. You’re going to need your energy.”
His eyebrows rise.
“Not for that,” I say, rummaging in my purse for the folded piece of hotel stationery. I sit beside Will, leaning back on the white linen headboard while he eats. Once he’s finished, I hand him the paper.
“What’s this?” he says, opening it. I stay quiet as he reads, amusement tickling the corners of his lips when he gets to the end.