“We should go, then,” he heard himself saying. “To the ocean. The honeymoon is still a year away! That’s too long to wait.”
“We’ll live closer once we’re in Asheville,” Maribel said sleepily, nestling her face into his neck. “Maybe we can go for a long weekend then.”
“You don’t get much time off at the new job—you’ll need it all for wedding planning.”
“I suppose you’re right. But the wedding is only a year away. It will fly by.”
“Tomorrow.” The idea seized Finn with surprising conviction. “We should go tomorrow! We can be outside of Charleston, South Carolina, in nine hours or so.”
She laughed. “You’re crazy. I have to work on Monday! I’m already tiptoeing around the office now that I’ve given notice.”
“Oh, come on. You gave well over two weeks’. You’re, like, the best quitter ever.”
“Still. Any unannounced vacation days, and my boss will not be happy.”
“So we’ll have you back by Monday. Tomorrow’s only Saturday. Plenty of time.”
“Drive eighteen hours round-trip for one night?” Maribel twirled herself across the room and bounced down onto the couch.
Finn dove on top of her in a gentle tackle, and she let out a squeal of fake protest. “Or two. You could catch the Finn red-eye back to Cincinnati Sunday night. There are occasional benefits to unemployment, you know. I can sleep it off while you’re at work Monday.”
She made a serious face, but he could see in her eyes that she was as taken with the idea as he was. “We really ought to start packing for the move,” she said dutifully. “We’ve only got a month. And we have to load up both our apartments and combine them into one.”
Finn had already sold off a bunch of his things. Maribel’s were so much nicer. He leaned his face down to hers until their noses were touching. “You are spoiling. My grand. Romantic. Gesture.”
She looked up at him, wide-eyed. Her dark hair was splayed out on the throw pillow beneath her as if a Vogue photographer had arranged her that way, and a part of Finn’s brain resisted the urge to run upstairs for his sketchpad to try to capture the exquisiteness of her. The symphony played on, the highest and lowest notes reverberating in a spot that had once been hollow in his chest, and he felt that the sound track seemed to do her beauty more justice than he knew his drawings ever could. “You seriously want to go?” she asked. “You’d really let me sleep in the car? Job or no job, that doesn’t seem fair.”
He spread his hand over his heart. “I solemnly promise that for the rest of my life, every questionable decision I make while drunk on love and champagne will be for the sole purpose of making you happy.”
“Well,” she said, and there was a hint of that slur in her voice again, “I guess we’d better start cleaning up, then!”
*
By the time Finn climbed into Maribel’s bed next to her, it was nearly three o’clock. They’d found a half-full bottle of champagne that someone had the presence of mind to stick inside the refrigerator door, and polished it off as they made quick work of sweeping the mess into trash bags, tossing them over the back fire escape into the Dumpster below, and making an assembly line at the kitchen sink. Then, buzzed anew, they’d run upstairs and started flinging things into a suitcase, giddy at their newfound sense of impromptu adventure. Finn had never technically moved in, but he had more than enough clothes and toiletries here to pack for a night or two away. Maribel made a game of tossing swimsuits and sundresses across the room to him—more than she could possibly need—as he volleyed them into the open suitcase. When they were done, he’d made love to her urgently, not bothering to turn down the covers or remove more clothes than absolutely necessary. She’d changed into his T-shirt and snuggled in happily while he brushed his teeth.
Finn downed a couple of ibuprofen before sinking in next to her. He doubted it would do much to overcome the headache that promised to overtake him by morning, but he hardly cared. Maribel’s breathing was already slowing as he spooned himself around her and settled onto the edge of her pillow.
“Babe,” she said sleepily.
“Hmm?”
“If we’re not really leaving in the morning, that’s okay. It was still fun, just the idea of it.”
“It’ll be even more fun when we’re stuffed full of fresh crab cakes and pi?a coladas,” he said, smiling into the darkness.
“Mmmm.”
He would remember the way she said that mmmm for all of his life.
12
AUGUST 2016
Violet sat obediently at the chintzy drop-leaf table that was awkwardly planted in the middle of her tiny kitchen. It was the only one she and Finn had been able to find that would fit the space here, and she hated it. She hated having to raise the semicircular leaf to make room for Bear’s booster seat at every meal, constantly hauling the extra chair and booster into the pantry to keep them out of the way, always worrying Bear was going to hang on the edge and snap it right off, tumbling to the tile.
Of course, none of those steps were necessary at the moment. It was just Violet and Gram, who fit cozily across from each other at the little rectangle. Violet hated that too—the reminder that she did not need to make room for a third—or a fourth, for that matter. As she watched Gram brew a pot of coffee that the well-meaning woman insisted they share but that Violet did not especially want, she couldn’t conjure any comfort from this crowded little room. Especially not when she saw Gram open three different cabinets before managing to locate the mugs.