“Wednesday is free,” I said. “I’d love to come over.”
After agreeing that I could come anytime after seven thirty that night, we rang off, and I returned to my Adirondack chair beside Grandpa.
“How’s Hanna?” he asked, voice slow and calm as honey.
“She made a joke that we’re all going through withdrawal.”
I felt him turn and look at me. “Are you?”
“Maybe from all the wine we drank,” I joked, but my laugh was cut off as I stared wryly at my glass of whiskey.
The irony seemed to drift past him. “You really like this Jensen guy?”
I let the question settle between us, plant roots, show me what it was made of. Of course I liked him. I wouldn’t have had sex with him if I hadn’t. We’d been a team. We’d had fun.
But shit, it was more than that. Away from him, I felt sort of hollow, as if some ball of light had been scooped out of me, and it wasn’t only that the trip was over and it had been amazing. It was more of an achy hollow, and it was shaped like his guarded smile, like the big, greedy hands that belied his boundaried facade. It was shaped like the arc of his top lip and the flirty bow of his bottom . . . Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“Yeah, I really like him.”
“You came here because of a loser boyfriend, and here you are again.”
I had to love my grandpa for being so utterly blunt.
“Too right,” I mumbled into my tumbler. Did this feel worse? It was less humiliation and more heartbreak. Humiliation had an angry fire to steer it. Heartbreak just had . . . whiskey and grandfathers, and the Mums waiting for me back home.
And God, I missed them right now.
“It’s not a crime to love, you know,” he said.
This piqued my interest. Grandpa had worked his entire life as a supervisor at a shipping yard; he’d made a decent wage, but it was hard work and the kind of job that called for someone with a distinct lack of turbulent emotions.
“I know,” I said honestly. “But I actually feel terrible about this Jensen thing, as brief as it was. Because even though it only lasted a couple weeks, he was genuinely good. Genuinely kind, and attentive. He’ll be very good for someone, and I’m sad it won’t be me.”
“You never know how things will work out. I was with Peg for fifty-seven years,” Grandpa said quietly. “Never really expected her to end up with me, but she did.”
I’d never heard the story of how he and Coco’s mum met, and the raw edge to his voice caught me off guard. “Where did you meet?”
“She was at her father’s soda shop, working behind the counter.” He swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “I ordered a malt, and watched the way she lifted the metal cup, scooped the ice cream, added the malt. I’d never done that before. Every move she made fascinated me.”
I stayed perfectly still, terrified to disrupt what he was saying because it felt like there was some bone-deep truth in there, something that would tell me what it was I was or wasn’t feeling. Something to let me off the hook of my own torment.
“She handed it to me, and I paid, but when she gave me my change, I told her, ‘I want you to wear your hair like that when we get married.’ I’d never seen her before, but I knew. It wasn’t something I would ever say to a gal. I didn’t ever tell her what to wear or do again, not for fifty-seven years. But that day, I wanted her to look just the same when she became my wife.”
He took a sip and settled the tumbler back on the wide armrest of his chair. “I didn’t see her again for nearly a year, you know that?”
I shook my head. “I haven’t heard any of this.”
“It’s true,” he said, nodding. “Turned out she left for college pretty soon after that. Came back that summer, though, had some preppy following her around like a puppy. Couldn’t say I blamed him. She saw me, and I looked up at her hair, all meaningfully—she had it in the same pretty updo she favored in those days—and she smiled. I guess that was it. We got married the very next summer. When she died, I couldn’t stop thinking about that first day. Like something was itching at my brain. I couldn’t remember how she’d worn her hair the few days before she died, but I could remember how she had it the first day I saw her.”
I had never in my entire life heard my grandpa say so much all at once. If words were doled out across a family, I would have received the bulk of the quota. But here, I stayed entirely silent.
Looking over at me, he said, “And it was because it didn’t matter. In the beginning, love is this physical thing. You can’t get enough. Everyone loves talking about infatuation, like that’s love, but we all know it’s not. Infatuation becomes something different. Peg became part of me. The idea that you grow into one person sounds silly but isn’t. I can’t go to a new restaurant without wanting to know whether she’d like their eggs Benedict. I can’t get myself a beer without instinctively reaching for the pitcher of iced tea to bring her something, too.” He took a deep breath, looking back out to the street. “I can’t get into bed at night without anticipating the dip of her side of the mattress.”
I reached out, put my hand on his rough arm.
“The thing is,” he continued more quietly, “it’s hard now without her. Real hard. But I wouldn’t change a damn thing. When I said that to her, that first day in the soda shop, she smiled so wide. She wanted it, too, in that second, even if she stopped wanting it for a little while when her life got too busy, too different. But that infatuation grew and grew, into something better.” He looked back at me. “Your mom Colleen’s got that. I know I don’t always understand her choices, but I can tell she loves Leslie the way I loved your grandma.”
I felt the sting of tears across the surface of my eyes, wondering what Coco would give to hear Grandpa acknowledge that.
“And I want it for you, too, Pipps. I want a fella who notices everything about you when you first meet, but would only notice everything that’s missing when you’re not around.”
Will answered the door just after six on Wednesday, but Hanna wasn’t far behind him, bounding down the hallway with an enormous yellow dog close on her heels.
“Pippa!” she sang, throwing her arms around me.
The two of us were nearly knocked over by the dog when it jumped up, paws outstretched against Hanna’s back.
“You have a dog?” I asked, bending to scratch its ears when Hanna stepped away.
“This is Penrose! She’s been at my parents’ place for the past couple weeks, with the birthday party and the trip.” She signaled for the dog to get down, and when Penrose did—obediently—Hanna produced a treat from the pocket of her cardigan. “She’s a year old now, but we’re still working on a few things.” Hanna threw a wry smile to Will over my shoulder.
“I am assuming she’s named after the famed mathematician?” I asked, grinning.
“Yes! Finally someone appreciates our nerdiness!” She turned, leading me down the hall and toward the kitchen. “Come on, I’m starving.”
Having been here twice before, I was familiar with the layout. But this time, the house felt more . . . homey, even though there were no multitudes of squealing children and no buzzing anticipation of a long holiday in the air. Instead, there were just the signs of Will and Hanna, at home, at the end of the day: Hanna’s laptop bag leaning against the banister and the desk in Will’s home office—just off the hallway—scattered with papers, medical journals, and Post-it notes. Two pairs of running shoes were lined up side by side near the front door. A stack of mail was sitting, still unopened, on a small table in the entry hallway. In the kitchen, the scent of rich marinara and bubbling cheese wafted from the oven. After a tight hug, Will returned to the center island and the salad he had been making.
And yet, there was no other dinner guest to be found here. There were only four of us in the kitchen: Will, Hanna, me, and the adorably floppy Penrose.
Dare I ask?
“How’s your grandpa?” Will asked first, dropping a couple of handfuls of cucumbers i
n the dark wooden bowl.
“He’s well,” I said. “And I’m so glad for the wine trip. I love seeing him, but I can already feel how disruptive I’ve been. I think he can really only take a few days in a row of visitors. He’s a man of routine.”
“We know someone like that,” Hanna said with a snort, sliding her eyes to me knowingly.
Well now I have to ask.
After a steadying breath, I let it out: “Will Jensen be joining us tonight?”
Hanna shook her head. “He said he’s got work.”
But from where he stood at the island, Will had gone still and then slowly looked up at me.
Shit.
“Haven’t the two of you spoken?” he asked, voice careful.
“We . . . no.”
His brows pulled together. “After . . . the cabin . . . I would have expected you to at least . . .” He trailed off, glancing to Hanna, who seemed to register that yes, it was strange that I wouldn’t know whether Jensen would be here tonight.
I didn’t want this to turn into drama. I knew how Hanna could be with Jensen—adorably pestering—and Will, too, had seemed to grow invested in the two of us becoming a couple.
“I’d asked him on Sunday, after we all returned home, whether he wanted to get dinner this week. Unfortunately, he said he’s swamped.” Pausing, I couldn’t help adding with a wry grin, “He suggested—via text—that we shoot for next week.”
“But you’re gone next week,” Hanna said slowly, as if she hoped she was missing some obvious detail that meant her brother wasn’t being a bit of a wanker.
I nodded.
“Is Jensen going to London next week?” she asked, hope bringing her voice up an octave.
“Not that I know of.” God, this was so awkward. If I was being honest, there was more than just heartache here after all. There was some humiliation, too. I loved that Hanna liked me enough to ignore all the reasons why Jensen and I couldn’t be together long term—the fact that we lived on different continents being one—but it did sting a bit that Jensen so obviously couldn’t even be bothered while I was still in town, and now we all knew it. Also, I really liked Hanna and Will; I didn’t want whatever was happening—or rather, not happening—to ruin that.
She reached for three glasses and, over her shoulder, asked if I wanted wine or beer.
“Water?” I said, laughing. “I feel I’ve had enough alcohol to last me a decade.”
Walking to the enormous refrigerator, she growled a little. “I’m so mad at him! I wondered when we dropped you off, but I’d hoped—”
“Honestly,” I said, “don’t be angry on my account.”
Will shook his head a little. “Plum, it’s just not our business.”
“Has that ever stopped Jensen before?” she asked, voice rising. “And I’m glad he did butt in back in the day, otherwise I would never have called you!”
“I know,” he said, voice placating. “I agree. And I know you’re worried about him being alone.” Looking at me apologetically, Will said, “Sorry, Pippa.”
“I don’t mind,” I said, shrugging, and honestly I didn’t. Hearing Hanna’s frustration made me feel better, not worse.
“It’s just that . . .” Hanna started, “I want—”
“I know you do.” Walking over to her, Will wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her in. “But come on,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “Let’s eat.”
Will piled an enormous slice of lasagna on my plate, shoved some salad beside it, and handed it to me.
“I think this plate weighs more than I do,” I said as I thunked it down onto the autumn-themed place mat before me. “If you tell me I can’t leave the table until I’ve finished this, I’ll miss my flight on Sunday.”
“Will’s lasagna is famous,” Hanna said, and then shoved a forkful in her mouth. “Well,” she said after she’d swallowed, “famous in this house. With me.”
I took a bite and could see why. It was the perfect balance of cheese, meat, sauce, and noodles. Unreal. “It really isn’t fair that you’re pretty and you know how to cook,” I said to Will.
He beamed. “I’m also fantastic at taking out the recycling and sweeping the deck.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, babe,” Hanna said, laughing, “you scrub a mean toilet, too.”
“Um,” I said, laughing at this, “not to mention the part where you’re also an investment mastermind with a PhD, Dr. Sumner.”
Will and Hanna exchanged a look. “True,” Hanna said, raising her eyebrows at him.
“Okay,” I said, “I’ve been with you for the past two weeks. What am I missing?”
“We decided last night that I’m probably leaving the firm in . . .” He looked to Hanna for guidance, saying quietly, “. . . the next year or so.”
“Switching careers, or quitting work entirely?” I asked, shocked. I knew Will worked with Max; I assumed it was the perfect work situation for everyone.
Hanna nodded. “He doesn’t need to make more money, and . . .” She smiled over at him. “When I get tenure, we’re going to try for kids. Will wants to be a stay-at-home dad.”
I shook my head, smiling at the two of them. “Is it odd? To be at that place when these things begin to happen, and all of your friends are married and having children? It feels as though it happens in a burst. Everyone I know is getting married this summer. Next it will be babies.”
“It does happen in a burst,” Will said, laughing. “I remember when Max and Sara had Annabel, and the rest of us were like, ‘How does it work? Why is it crying? Why does it smell?’ Now Max and Sara are going to have four kids soon, and we could all change a diaper with one hand tied behind our backs.”
Hanna nodded, adding, “And Chloe and Bennett are joining them. To me, that was the biggest sign that we’re all headed that way. When Chloe told us she was pregnant, I was like . . . okay, this is when it all changes. In the best way.”
“It’s amazing,” I said, poking at my dinner. I felt mildly melancholy, but not because I wanted a child, or even a husband. I just wanted one specific person here with us, and the seat beside me felt like an obvious absence. “It feels so far away for me, though not in a bad way.”
“I think Jensen feels that way, too, sometimes,” Hanna said, as if reading my mind, stabbing at her salad with a fork. “But in his case I think it does—” She stopped talking when Will let out a sigh. “Sorry,” she said, slumping. “I’m doing it again.”
Will laughed. “You are.”
“But maybe it will be better now?” I asked. “With a little of the Becky water under the bridge? He was quiet through it all, but I have the sense it was pretty cathartic for him to register that he didn’t need anything from her.”
“I agree,” Hanna said. “It seemed really good for him. I was ready to Hulk-smash her, but he handled it better than I ever would have. I’m sure a lot of that has to do with you.”
“I would agree with that,” Will echoed.
“Is it weird that I see Pippa and I’m immediately thinking about Jensen?” She looked over at her husband, and when he shook his head, she turned back to me. “You guys were so cute together. I honestly don’t think I’ve ever seen him happy like that.”
I wiped my mouth with my napkin before speaking. “I don’t think it’s weird, but I do think ‘Jensen and Pippa’ was just a vacation fling. The holiday, in large part, is why he was happy.”
She stared at me, disbelieving, and I could tell that she did not agree. “So you don’t mind if it ends?”
The thought of this caused a twinge of pain to twist through me.
“I do mind. I don’t want it to end.” The words were so raw they left my chest feeling a bit achy. “But what do we do? I live in London.”
Will groaned sympathetically. “I’m sorry, Pippa.”
“I like him,” I admitted, suddenly wishing I’d taken Hanna up on the offer of wine. “I . . . wanted it to keep going. But—distance aside—I don’t want him to
need to be convinced of anything. I wouldn’t feel good about any of this if he called me only because someone had yelled at him to do it.”
Hanna winced a little at this, understanding. “Would you ever consider moving here?”
I thought this over, holding in my thoughts for a few breaths even though my immediate reaction was an enthusiastic yes. I loved the Boston area, loved the idea of living somewhere else for a bit, even if I would miss the Mums and Ruby and my other friends in London. But I craved a change. I already had friends here—people who I once aspired to know, whose esteem felt like a goal to me, and who now seemed eager to spend time with me, too.
Nodding slowly, I said, “I would move here for a good job, or even a job that allowed me to move and be comfortable.” I met her eyes, saw the tiny gleam there. “I wouldn’t move here for Jensen. Not like this.”
She smiled guiltily. “Well, I have a few names of contacts who are expecting to hear from you when you return to London. A couple are at Harvard, but there are a few at firms in the Boston area.” She stood, walking to the buffet near the windows and picking up a folded piece of paper.
“Here,” she said, returning to hand it to me. “If you want any of these opportunities, they’re there.”
I sat in Grandpa’s car in their driveway for a few minutes after we’d said our goodbyes. We’d made tentative plans to see each other on Saturday, but Hanna was fairly certain she would have to go into the lab to help one of her graduate students at some point, so I felt a bit as if I’d just said goodbye to them for an indefinite amount of time. Ruby and Niall had returned to London a couple of days ago, and I would see them soon enough, but I felt more than the momentary sadness of a holiday ending. I felt a connection to the place and the people here, and the idea of returning to rainy London, and a shit job, and a shittier boss, made me . . . grumpy.
I reached for the keys in my purse and felt the paper Hanna had given me at dinner. Pulling it out, I realized it was actually two pages, single-spaced and full of names. Professors looking for someone to run their lab, privately funded campus institutes, engineering firms looking to hire someone into a position much like the one I was already in . . . each job described there seemed realistic, and Hanna had put so much time and thought into this. If I wanted to come to Boston or New York, there were at least twelve opportunities for me to pursue.
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