“Anything else?” she asked me.
“Um, no,” I said, glancing behind me. Too many people in too small a space—the doughnut could wait. “Just this.”
As she rang me up, the door opened again and more women in spandex and NAMASTE T-shirts entered, clearly from the same class. Distantly, I could still hear Phone Lady, which meant she had to be practically shouting.
I paid for my drink, grabbed a lid, and started to wind my way to the door through the ladies now lined up behind me, dodging flip-flopped feet and yoga bags. Despite my efforts, someone bumped me from behind just as I was passing Phone Lady’s table, sending me stumbling into the back of her chair. When I hit it, she jerked forward, her phone falling from her grip and clattering across the floor.
“Oh, God, sorry,” I said, putting down my drink on an adjacent table and going to fetch it. “That was all my fault.”
“It’s okay, I’ll get it,” she said quickly, right on my heels.
“No, let me,” I said. “It’s the least I can do.”
She was still behind me, though, as I reached the phone, bending down to pick it up. “Don’t . . .” she said.
I knew the second I held it in my hand something was weird. It wasn’t just the screen, cracked, black and dead, or the way it felt cold in my hand. You can just tell when something doesn’t work, or never did. All that talking, all those days. But no one was ever there on the other end.
She was still standing right behind me, close enough that I could feel her breath on my back before I slowly turned around. “Here,” I said quietly, holding it out to her. “Sorry again.”
“It’s fine,” she said, grabbing it from me. “Don’t worry about it.”
And then she was walking away, back to her table, her dead phone in her hand. Maybe she put it back to her ear right away, or waited until I was gone. I wouldn’t know. I was too sad to look.
CHAPTER
26
“WHAT DO you think?” my mom asked, moving the daisies a bit more to the center. “Perfect, right?”
It was. All of it, from the table set out on the back deck with our best wedding linens, votives, and vases, to the spread of stuffed olives, spanakopita, and pimiento cheese, my favorites and William’s specialties. For dinner, there would be thick steaks topped with onion rings and mashed potatoes that were mostly butter and cream, just like I’d requested.
“It’s great,” I said, even as she continued to putter, moving a fork a millimeter to one side, then back again. Through the kitchen window, I could see William, his apron on, standing with Matt at the kitchen island. As it was for Ben and John, this dinner would be Matt’s first formal introduction to our little family, such as it was, and it felt both strange and nice to see our numbers double after all this time.
“You’re nervous,” I observed, as my mom moved the fork again.
“Nonsense,” she replied, not looking at me. “I just want everything to be perfect for my only daughter’s birthday party.”
“Sure you do,” I said, as she again glanced around the house to the driveway, where John was due any moment. “You know I’m going to like him, right?”
“Oh, I know,” she said, although she didn’t exactly sound fully confident. “It’s just my first boyfriend in eighteen years. Kind of a big deal.”
“Huge,” I agreed. She shot me a look. “I mean in a good way! I’m going to be gone soon. You can’t only hang out with William. Especially if he’s part of a couple now, too.”
With this, we both looked into the kitchen again, where William was pouring glasses of wine, one for him, one for Matt. He must have sensed our attention, because he turned, blushing slightly, then looked flustered. Matt, however, waved cheerily. I waved back.
“To be honest, I never thought something like this would happen for me,” my mom said now, coming around to stand beside me. “You just get to the point where you think, well, that’s over, you know? That part of my life. I was okay with it. I had what I thought I needed: you, and William, my work. It all made sense.”
“But maybe,” I said, reciting what I now knew to be one of her favorite lines from Workholes, “we don’t always know what we need.”
She beamed at me, proud. “Exactly.”
William slid open the glass door, sticking his head out. “We’re on target for everything to come together by six, just so you know. You both ready for the guests?”
“You make it sound so formal,” I said.
“It’s a celebration!” His phone beeped; he pulled it out, glancing at it. “And as such, I think you might need shoes. I don’t cook for barefoot people.”
“I have flip-flops in the kitchen,” I said.
“This is a party,” he insisted. “Throw me a bone. Please?”
I looked at my mom, who shrugged so innocently it was obvious she was in on whatever he was up to. “What’s going on?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said, as his phone beeped again. “Just want everything to be perfect.”
My mom looked at me. “You might as well humor him. When he gets like this, there’s really no other option.”
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll go get some real shoes.”
As I started inside, passing Matt, who was arranging cheeses on a platter, I heard William say something to my mom, his voice low. She replied, also quietly. Thick as thieves. Some things never change.
I climbed the stairs two at a time, glancing at the clock as I went. In my closet, I scanned the various options lined up against the wall, trying to decide which ones went best with what I had on. Then I saw the black sandals under that same colored dress, their beaded straps folded neatly around them. If I really was moving on, I thought, it was time to do it in all ways, not just some. I stepped closer, picking them up, and slid my bare foot into one. It still fit perfectly, the worn spot at the toe from all the walking that night instantly familiar, even as I’d long forgotten it.
I’d just finished buckling them when I heard voices outside my open window. Walking over, I expected to see Ben, or maybe Jilly and Michael Salem, who were also joining us. But the yard was empty, whoever had arrived already out of sight under the front porch overhang. When I headed back downstairs to greet them, though, there was only William, shutting the front door. When he saw me, he jumped, startled.
“You’re supposed to be upstairs,” he said, shifting what I now saw was a box in his arms, on the top the name of a bakery just down from the office.
“It only takes so long to pick out shoes,” I said. “What’s that?”
He looked down at the box as if he’d never seen it before. “This? Oh. Nothing.”
“Looks like a cake,” I pointed out.
“It might be a cake,” he said. “It could also be any number of other things that come in boxes.”
I cocked my head to the side. “Looks like a cake,” I said again.
“Fine.” He sighed, shaking his head and looking at the ceiling. “If you must know—”