One More Night

by Jennifer Mckenzie

  It had always worked before and this time would be the same. She’d count off the months, calculate her grieving period and get on with it. Even if her heart felt shattered. Even if just thinking about Owen made her knees weaken and threaten to buckle.

  This was why she’d had to leave the city, her apartment and all the memories that lingered there. They were too close, too much. She could gather herself together here, remind herself of who she was. The memories would still be there, she knew that, but Grace hoped that she would be different.

  She closed her eyes and exhaled. She had to be different.

  * * *

  GRACE STARED AT the computer screen in front of her. She’d been back at her childhood home for four days and was already beginning to feel antsy. Living under her parents’ roof, coupled with no work and nothing to keep her distracted, left her feeling out of sorts and a little cranky.

  It didn’t help that Laurel’s pregnancy was now obvious and their family dinners were filled with conversations about the baby, child-rearing practices and how they planned to raise her as “her own person.” Which was ridiculous. Of course the baby would be her own person. Who else would she be?

  Although they didn’t actually know the baby’s sex, Laurel and Sparrow had decided to use the female pronoun, believing it would somehow offset the innate patriarchy that suffused society. “She’s a woman, being born into a man’s world,” they’d spout.

  Grace’s mention that the baby might “be a man born into a man’s world” had been met with sniffles from Laurel, which made Grace feel like a heel, and a sharp retort from her mother on the benefits of putting positive thoughts out into the world. Grace had kept her mouth shut after that and had taken to hiding in her room once dinner was over. She liked Laurel, but if she had to debate the merits of baby clothing made from hemp versus homespun wool or listen to another treatise on the wonders of going diaper-free—which, as far as Grace could tell, meant having specially marked bowls all over the house and holding the baby over one when necessary—she’d go insane.

  She was self-aware enough to know it wasn’t just a difference of opinion. That was only part of it, but jealousy was just as much a factor. Grace could admit that. While her younger brother and his partner were bringing new life into the world and were totally content with the life they’d chosen for themselves, Grace was not. No baby, no partner and although she loved her work, it clearly wasn’t enough.

  Which was why she was now sitting on the bed, her laptop beside her, staring at the screen trying to decide if her potential partner’s age was somewhat important, important or very important.

  She didn’t want someone too old or too young because they might not be on the same page when it came to a future plan. But at the same time, how much did that have to do with age? Owen was completely age-appropriate and yet totally wrong when it came to everything else. Grace ignored the tug of heat between her legs. Okay, maybe not everything else, but most things.

  And surely there would be other questions to sift out those potential mates who weren’t looking for the same things she was. Grace clicked important and moved on. There were more than fifty questions to fill out and a short essay to write. She’d typed up the essay last night, so all she had to do was cut and paste when she got to that section.

  She’d decided yesterday afternoon that she needed to prepare herself for the next step in her life plan: searching for a husband. Personal-life planning was something she hadn’t done enough of over the past few months. Which was why she found herself in her current situation. So she’d gone online using her cell phone as a hotspot, since her parents still refused to get internet service. When Grace had pointed out that they could put up a website about the farm and the store, which would increase business, her mother had given her a pitying look and patted her on the shoulder as though Grace was the nutty one.

  Maybe Grace was the nutty one, at least in this family, but in this family that was okay. No one hinted that she needed professional help, though her mother had been known to leave brochures for holistic retreats on her pillow, which Grace simply stuffed into her suitcase and recycled when she got home.

  If things went well and she found a good match, maybe they could go to one of those holistic spots together. The spas looked nice and there were massages and hydropaths and other treatments meant to relax. It might even be fun. She could imagine Owen there, making jokes and probably kissing her when he wasn’t supposed to.

  Grace’s smile faded. That was why she wasn’t booking a trip with him. Because the kind of man she intended to marry would take his relaxation seriously. She turned back to the questionnaire. She’d signed up with the city’s most discreet and well-respected service. They didn’t advertise and the only reason Grace knew about them was because she’d planned weddings for more than one couple who’d met through their services.

  The company seemed to know what they were doing. At least, according to the polite and educated testimonials on their polite and educated website. They certainly charged enough for their services, which included a personal consultation with a matchmaker, an invitation to a monthly supper group where she’d be seated at a table with good matches for her, as well as at least three one-on-one dates.

  Grace ignored the punch in her stomach at the hit her bank account would take, ignored the little voice that said she could spend that money on multiple holistic retreats or start a university fund for her new niece or nephew. She could afford it, and it would be worth it to meet her future husband, to get started on the next phase of her life and leave this one behind.

  She exhaled slowly and worked her way down the list. She heard her brother and Laurel leave to make the short walk across the lawn to their own house and heard her dad come upstairs, his tread even and heavy.

  She was staring at the last question when someone knocked at her door. “Grace?”

  She pushed herself off the bed, still thinking about the final question, and opened the door. ‘Hi, Sparrow.”

  She was rewarded with a wide, warm smile. “You finished in here? I thought maybe we could sit down and have that tea.”

  Though they’d had the past four days together, there had always been someone else around, someone else needing her mother. Grace smiled and felt something inside her release. “That sounds great.” She glanced over her shoulder at the computer, which was still humming away on the bed, then stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her. She could answer the question later.

  Her mother had already boiled the water and had the tea steeping in a ceramic pot. She carried it into the sunroom, which was more of a rain room in the winter season. But the weather was clear tonight and Grace snuggled into one of the thick woolen blankets draped across the chairs and looked out at the stars. It was almost like being outside.

  “Let’s talk.” Sparrow poured the tea. “What’s going on with you and Owen?”

  Grace sighed and took the cup from her mother, wrapping her hands around the ceramic. “Who said Owen had anything to do with this?”

  Sparrow sent her a withering glare. “Do you really think you can fool me? I’m your mother.”

  “And that means you’re psychic?”

  “When it comes to my children, yes.” Sparrow nodded and sat down, cupping her own mug between both hands. “I like him.”

  “I like him, too.” It would have been so much easier if she didn’t. If he was a jerk or thoughtless or cruel. Grace hardened her heart. She couldn’t think like this. It was already going to be hard. She couldn’t focus on all the wonderful things about Owen. Not yet, not until she had the distance of time so that her heart didn’t ache and question whether she was doing the right thing.

  “Then what happened? Because I know he likes you.”

  Grace seriously doubted that was true now. She shrugged. “It just didn’t work out. These things happen.
”

  “They don’t just happen.”

  Grace knew her mother wouldn’t be so easily brushed off. If she was honest, it was one of the reasons she’d wanted to come home. She’d wanted to talk to someone, wanted to share everything and hear someone else’s opinion. “We were too different.”

  Sparrow nodded and blew on her tea. “How so?”

  Grace sipped the earthy-flavored liquid. It wasn’t her favorite tea, but when she was sick or down, it was better than chicken noodle soup, which was probably because her mother had used it in place of chicken noodle soup as a cure-all when Grace and Sky had been little. She needed it now. “I want to get married, have a family. He didn’t.” She looked up from the tea. “And I know I don’t have to get married to have a family, but it’s important to me.”

  “I know that, Grace.” Sparrow leaned over to smooth a hand over her hair. “God knows I tried to break you of your insistence on following societal norms, but in an odd way I’m proud that you do.”

  “Really?” Grace was dubious, seeing as this was the first time she’d ever heard it.

  “Yes.” Her mother’s patchouli scent wafted over her. “You have strong beliefs and you don’t waver just because someone else disagrees. I can appreciate that.” She smoothed Grace’s hair again.

  And Grace found her mouth opening and the words spilling out. How she’d known nothing could come of her and Owen seeing each other, but she’d given in to her attraction anyway. How hurt he’d looked when she’d ended it. And how hurt she felt, even though it had to be this way.

  “Who says it has to be that way?” Sparrow’s hand was still smoothing, still soothing.

  “I do.” Grace closed her eyes and let the comforting sensations flow through her. Hadn’t she thought this out? Hadn’t she scheduled her grieving over the relationship that wasn’t even a real relationship? Hadn’t she already signed up for a matchmaking service? Well, half signed up. She hadn’t yet hit Send or handed over her credit card information, but she would. “I’m going to use a matchmaking service.”

  Her mother’s hand stilled for a moment and then pulled away. “Are you?”

  Grace opened her eyes and met her mother’s curious gaze. “Yes.” She lifted her chin. “I know that you and Dad met at a Grateful Dead concert.” And hadn’t they all heard the story, about her mother in faded jeans and a halter top, her dad with long hair, her and Sky pretending to vomit as they listened. “And Sky and Laurel met at an ashram in India. But I’m not like you.” She felt the press of hard ceramic as her fingers tightened around the cup. “I can’t find someone like that. I don’t have time.”

  Sparrow leaned back in her seat. “I’m not going to say I understand it. Seems a little clinical and cold to me.” She shrugged. “But you have to do what’s right for you.”

  “Oh.” Grace loosened her hold on the cup. “Well, it is. Right for me.” Which was why she was almost finished filling out the form. And if it had taken her two nights to finish what should have taken less than an hour, that was only because she was being thorough.

  “And you’re sure there’s no chance of getting back together with Owen?”

  “No.” Grace ignored the pain that lanced through her chest. Better to move on.

  “He’s very handsome.”

  “He’s very wrong for me.”

  But instead of confirming or denying Grace’s statement, Sparrow merely tilted her head and looked at her. “I’m glad you came this week.”

  Grace let go of the breath she’d been holding and reached for her mom’s hand. “Me, too, Mom. Me, too.” They sat like that for a while, looking at the stars and talking about life. Grace’s plans for her business, Sparrow’s plans for the farm and grandmotherhood, holding hands and sipping tea.

  When Grace sent her mother to bed, quietly washed the cups and put them in the drying rack, then climbed the stairs to her own room, she knew what she had to do. She didn’t think, didn’t review. She filled in the last question and hit Send.

  She wouldn’t be back in the city for a few more days, but she’d schedule a meeting with the matchmaking service then. In fact, she’d schedule something exactly eight days from now, since according to her breakup calculations, she had exactly eight days left to mourn. Not mope, mourn. There was a difference.

  She would spend a few more days with her family—hopefully talking about something other than how a yet-to-be-born baby would void his or her bladder—and a few days organizing herself at home. She needed to put away the holiday decorations and get her staff back into a routine and then she would have her meeting.

  Clearly, there was no point in wasting time. Wasn’t that what she’d done the past four months? She ignored the pull in her heart that said it had been more than that, the pull that said Owen had been more than that. Because there was no reason to head down that thought path. It wouldn’t lead her anywhere she wanted to be.

  Then she shut down the computer, washed her face, brushed her teeth, crawled into bed and prepared herself for the next step in her life plan.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  GRACE TURNED AROUND to eye herself from the back in the mirror. Were the pants too tight? Too revealing? She fiddled with the sides, smoothing them down, even though they lay perfectly flat, then pressed a hand to her stomach. Which did nothing to stop the butterflies trapped there.

  She practiced her Pilates breathing. In and out. She was ready for this, ready to date.

  She’d met with the professional matchmaker to go over her questionnaire in detail, flesh out certain areas, so they could better match her. She’d signed up for the supper club next month, which would feature twenty men who could be possibilities.

  In preparation for that, Grace had agreed to a blind date. The matchmaker had encouraged it as a way to get comfortable in the dating pool, and so she was meeting a man named Garrett for drinks. Casual, no need to linger and make awkward small talk over a meal if they didn’t click. Still, she wanted to look her best because what if Garrett was her match?

  She’d been surprised to learn that although the setting was less targeted, more matches were made at the supper club. Grace figured it had something to do with feeling less pressure. At the supper club, you were just one of a group. You didn’t know who your best match was, which allowed a sense of freedom. Or maybe it was just the idea of choosing your own destiny, eyes meeting across the room and all that.

  She turned back around, eyeing herself from the front. She wore fitted black pants with a matching draped top, an unstructured blazer in white and a multichained silver necklace. With her hair back in a loose knot and strappy black heels on her feet, she looked cool and chic. Elegant but fun. Interested but not trying too hard.

  The matchmaker had suggested Grace and Garrett meet at a Yaletown restaurant known for its oyster bar. No personal information was exchanged aside from first names and photos taken at the matchmakers in-house studio. Following a meeting, both parties had to separately contact the matchmaker to release any further information. Though they could disclose cell numbers, emails or anything they wanted in person, the matchmaking service cautioned against it, recommending that they use the service instead.

  Grace liked that idea. It was tidy and controlled, the way she liked her life to be.

  She glanced at the time on her phone. She still had ten minutes before her cab would arrive. The restaurant was close enough to walk, but January nights were dark and cold, and Grace was in heels.

  She added lipstick, a small package of tissues, a sewing kit and emergency Band-Aids to her clutch. She put on her winter wool peacoat and leather gloves, locked the door behind her and went to wait in the lobby of her building.

  * * *

  “GRACE?” SHE LOOKED UP as she exited the cab. A man who looked very much like the picture she’d been provided by the matchmaking service smi
led at her. He strode forward to help her out of the cab. “I’m Garrett.”

  Points for politeness. “Grace.” She shook his hand, feeling a shiver crest through her. Too bad it was only from the icy weather outside. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “You, too.” He closed the cab door, keeping her hand in his for a moment. Just long enough for her to realize that she might not have felt an immediate zip, but he did.

  He was handsome. Thick blond hair, brushed off his face in a clean style. His eyes were pale blue and crinkled at the corners. The sign of someone who smiled a lot. Grace liked that. His coat was a classic style and showed no signs of wear and tear, and his shoes were dark and polished.

  Garrett let go of her hand and offered his arm instead. “Shall we?”

  Grace put her fingers on the inside of his elbow. It was a little old-fashioned and courtly. She wasn’t used to it, but she could get that way.

  Garrett smelled nice. Of toothpaste and soap, and his teeth were straight and almost blindingly white. Grace told herself these were good signs. Indications of good hygiene and genetics.

  He shielded her with his body as they stepped into the busy lobby. A harried-looking hostess gave them a forced smile and explained that their reservation system had accidentally double-booked everything this evening. The wait for even a seat at the bar would likely be an hour.

  Grace hid her wince. She didn’t wear these particular shoes often and for good reason. They weren’t meant for standing. But she wouldn’t whine. It was her fault for wearing them.

  “Do you want to go somewhere else?” Garrett had to lean closer to be heard over the roar of conversation in the lobby.