Mila watched as Isabelle headed up the staircase. This left Mila in the grey shadows of the big house. She took her water into the living room, where the grandfather clock ticked away knowingly in the corner. It was eleven-twenty-seven. To the left of the clock hung the last family portrait they’d ever taken together—Peter off to the left with his arm around Mila and their twins in front of them. The photographer had commented that they’d each gotten “mini-mes” out of the twin equation. “We had to pay extra for that,” Peter had joked. “But it was worth it.”
Mila checked her phone again. Graham had written. “Are you free Thursday evening? I’d love to take you out.”
Mila hesitated for a long time. The grandfather clock seemed too loud, now; it interrupted her thoughts.
Finally, she turned her eyes toward Peter’s in the photograph. They seemed to urge her to keep living. “Do you really want to spend your life alone?”
Mila shook her head. Finally, she wrote back. “I’m free Thursday. Let’s do it.”
Inwardly, she thought: here we go again. But excitement tingled through her stomach and across her chest. Maybe, just maybe, this was the guy. Maybe her life was about to change—just maybe.
Chapter Four
The esthetician salon bustled with life. Women buzzed in and out, greeting one another warmly. It was one of the greatest ecosystems in Edgartown, a place where women communed and gossiped and created space for themselves. To Mila, keeping yourself up wasn’t a selfish act. In fact, it proved that you cared enough about yourself to put a brave and confident face in the world. It gave power to relationships, to your work life and it bled over into everything else. “The most beautiful thing a woman can wear is confidence,” is something she had read once. The truth of it stuck with her.
During a dull moment, with the salon cleared, Piper, one of her long-time employees, paused as she cleaned up her workstation. “You’ve been awfully quiet today, Mila.”
Mila hadn’t noticed. She had listened to the gossip buzzing around her and felt a part of it all, even without her own contribution.
“Really? Ugh. Maybe I’m more nervous than I thought.”
“About what?” Piper asked.
“I’m going on a date tonight.”
“Oh! Show me!”
Mila breathed as she lifted her phone from her back pocket and flipped through Graham’s photos. Piper affirmed that he was “incredibly handsome” and “clearly date-able.” The other girls in the salon that day, Sasha and Monica, rushed over to investigate. They all agreed.
“Where are you meeting him?” Sasha asked.
“That beach-side winery near The Hesson House,” Mila told them. “I guess if worst comes to worst, I can always run through the trees and hide away in Olivia’s mansion.”
They laughed appreciatively. “You have a way to escape,” Sasha affirmed.
“Ah, but you have to push yourself a little bit, right?” Monica asked. “You’re bound to feel uncomfortable on a first date with anyone. But the minute things get hard; you can’t just run off into the woods.”
Mila gave her a mischievous smile. “Watch me!”
Around four that afternoon, Monica disappeared and then reappeared with a box of Frosted Delight donuts. Atop the box, a note had been taped. Mila opened it up to find Jennifer’s beautiful scrawl.
“Hi, babe! Good luck tonight. Have a donut and give yourself some sugary confidence. Love you forever. J.”
“Gosh, these donuts are so sinful!” Sasha commented. She held her glazed donut aloft as her eyelids dropped.
“You’re too good to me, Monica,” Mila said as she lifted a maple-frosted donut from the mix.
BACK AT HOME, MILA scavenged through her closet for something date-appropriate. She was a frequent shopper and was obsessed with the idea that you could transform yourself with clothing and present yourself as new versions of yourself year-in and year-out. What kind of woman did she want to be for this Graham guy? Sexy? Intelligent? Secretive? This was another element of online dating; while you could choose what they knew about you, you were also consistently privy to the fact that they could choose what you knew about them, too.
There was a rap at the door. Mila was in her bra and underwear, only. “Who is it?”
“Just me.” Isabelle’s voice was so sweet. “Can I come in?”
“Yes!”
Isabelle entered and quietly pushed the door closed. She eyed her mother, who held two dresses by their hangers through the air.
“Having trouble?”
“The worst kind,” Mila affirmed. “It’s been so long that I have no idea what to wear. And look at this closet. I have eight zillion options.”
Isabelle laughed and joined her mother in front of the wide array of clothing. In recent years, Isabelle and Mila had become worthy shopping partners; Isabelle was incredibly patient at various second-hand and vintage shops, always hunting for the perfect accessory or dress until the shop door sign flipped to CLOSED. Mila adored this about her daughter and she was frequently very impressed with her style choices.
“You should have come to get me ASAP,” Isabelle playfully chided her mother. “This is an emergency.”
“Come on. It’s not that bad.”
“Look at what you’ve picked for yourself, Mom.” Isabelle snapped her hands on her waist.
Mila glanced back down and recognized where she had messed up: a blue and white polka-dotted get-up from the ‘50s and a slinky, maybe overly-sexy black dress. Neither suited the date.
“I’ve lost my mind.”
“Come on. Let’s try these.” Isabelle reached easily into the closet and drew out a dark purple knee-length dress and a cream-colored button-up dress with slightly puffed sleeves. She then lifted her eyes to Mila’s face. “And maybe hair half-up, half-down? It looks great when you part it in the middle.”
“A middle part? Seriously?” Isabelle had tried it out on Mila several times, telling her that this was “in vogue” at the moment. “I don’t know. I’m forty-one, you know.”
Isabelle rolled her eyes. “I’m telling you, the center part makes your face glow. Take my advice or leave it.”
Mila opted for the dark-purple dress. It slid up her slender waist and hugged her curves beautifully, then splayed out across her shoulders, highlighting her collar bones. Isabelle placed a comb at the center of her forehead and then eased her hair on either side, then lifted part of her hair into a barrette. Mila watched her reflection in the mirror. It was a funny thing, having her daughter care for her in this way — especially as Mila was accustomed to being the person doing the caring at the esthetician salon.
“See? What did I say?” Isabelle made eye contact with her mother in the mirror.
“I still don’t know,” Mila said. “I just don’t look like I’m used to looking.”
“You’re the one who taught me that we have to grow in every way — including in the style department,” Isabelle said.
“I hate when you use my words against me.” Mila’s smile lifted. “But what the heck? I don’t even know this guy. I can try out a center part for him, for research.”
Mila and Isabelle headed back into the kitchen, where they discovered Zane hunched over a large bowl of queso. He crunched on tortilla chips as he gave total focus to his phone. It took several “Zane! Zane?”s until he looked up.
“Oh! You look nice,” Zane commented as he took in the sight of his mother.
It was a rare thing to receive a compliment from an eighteen-year-old boy. Mila dotted a kiss on her son’s cheek and said, “Well, aren’t you a gentleman?” Which only led to Zane grumbling and returning his attention to his tortilla chips and phone.
“What are you guys up to tonight while I’m gone?” Mila asked. She drew open the zipper of her purse to peer inside to make sure she had everything, including her lipstick, wallet, phone, and keys.
Isabelle and Zane exchanged glances. Mila groaned. “Another party?”
“No!”
Isabelle quickly replied.
“Not tonight,” Zane affirmed.
“We were thinking about having just a couple of people over...” Isabelle said.
Mila arched an eyebrow. “A couple?”
“Just um — Hannah and Harry,” Isabelle finally said.
“Ohhh.” Mila wagged her eyebrows. Harry was a given, and Hannah had been Zane’s on-again, off-again girlfriend for about two years.
“Mom. Don’t be weird,” Zane said.
“I’m not being weird,” Mila told her son. She paused for a moment as a million thoughts flung through the back of her mind. She’d had several talks with her twins over the years about all the things relating to romance and love, the birds and the bees and she was generally confident that they wouldn’t go the way of Amelia’s niece, Mandy. Teen pregnancy, in Mandy’s case, was a beautiful thing, but Isabelle and Zane had plans.
“Just be...” she began.
“We know, Mom. We’ll be safe,” Isabelle said with a sigh.
“I’ll make sure to only set off the fireworks outside, rather than inside,” Zane said.
“Such a relief.” Mila rolled her eyes as she snuck her purse over her shoulder. She glanced doubtfully at the door. She knew it was clearly time for her to go. “All right. It looks like it’s time for me to face the music.”
The twins walked her to the foyer and picked fun at her — asking if she wanted her photo taken, as though this was her version of prom. She rolled her eyes again and said, “I guess you guys deserve to get back at me after all the photo sessions I’ve forced you into over the years.” She then snuck out the door, just as the Uber pulled up to the curb. It was time to meet the man of her dreams, or whoever the heck Amelia had plucked out of the internet. It would be an interesting night.
Chapter Five
As the Uber skated to a halt outside of the little wine bar near The Hesson House, a text pinged through Mila’s phone.
GRAHAM: I’m here. Table off to the right, by the water.
Mila’s heart surged with panic. Hurriedly, she texted her best friends for moral support.
MILA: Omg. I can’t believe I’m doing this. Another date? Am I kidding myself?
Immediately, she received responses as though her girls had been waiting in the wings, ready to offer all kinds of love and support.
CAMILLA: Come on, girl! You’re so hot right now. He’s the lucky one here.
AMELIA: Yeah! He should be the nervous one.
JENNIFER: Seriously! Just go. Have a good time. You never have to see him again if you don’t want to.
Mila heaved a sigh as she slid her phone back into her purse. When she glanced back up, she peered into the eyes of the Uber driver, who seemed genuinely annoyed that she hadn’t gotten out of the vehicle yet.
“Sorry. I’m just meeting a date, and I’m a bit — well...”
Again, the driver just blinked. Mila shrugged and pushed open the door. “Have a good night,” she said, annoyed that the driver had made her feel so uncomfortable, so soon before a nervous situation. “Great,” she grumbled as the car drove off. “Thanks a lot.”
Mila rebounded swiftly. She sucked in a deep breath, then released it, lifted her chin and strode down the little stone pathway, which led from the road, through the trees, and back toward the wine bar, which lined the water. The evening light was golden and it smeared across everything like buttercream frosting. The waves frothed tenderly against the larger rocks that lined the beach, and the sand cascaded beautifully as though someone had arrived to form it just so.
The hostess greeted Mila toward the back area, where a bar wrapped around the back and a small stereo pumped soft beats.
“Hello! Table for one?” she asked.
“Actually, I’m meeting someone,” Mila replied. Her eyes scanned the tables, which were scattered across the sand. Off toward the right, a man sat alone; his dark blonde curls caught the evening light beautifully, and he leaned over a wine menu and read it with the kind of concentration required for a very thick text. Somehow, it was tender to see — as though he genuinely wanted to order something Mila would appreciate. “I think that’s him.”
“Oh! You think?” the hostess said. “I guess it’s a first date?”
Mila’s eyes widened. “Wish me luck. If he tries to murder me at the table, don’t try to intervene. Just call the police.”
The hostess laughed outright as Mila sauntered out across the sand. She felt strangely confident suddenly, as though the sudden jolt of realization that this was it, it was happening now — had eliminated all the fear of earlier. When she neared the table, her shadow splayed across it. Graham looked up. He looked precisely like his photo — a miracle, to say the least, and his smile was so utterly shocking that Mila could only grin back.
“You must be Mila.”
“I am.”
Graham stood. He wore a white button-down shirt and a pair of Levi’s jeans. He looked refined, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, Mila told herself, but his eyes evoked kindness and enthusiasm about her own appearance.
“I never know how to start these things. A handshake? A hug?”
“A handshake seems too business-like,” Mila said.
“True.” He furrowed his brow. “And a hug is too much, I guess?”
“What about a salute? Like the army,” Mila tried.
“Not sure about that, either,” Graham said. He tilted his weight and feigned disappointment. “Man. If we can’t figure out how to greet one another, I can’t imagine how the rest of the date will go.”
Mila’s grin widened all the more. He was funny and smart. She liked the banter.
“What about the old-fashioned way? I curtsy; you bow.”
“Not bad. Very regal. Like kings and queens,” Graham said.
“Shall we count to three?” Mila put on a silly English accent.
“Indeed, we shall.” He matched hers.
“One.”
“Two.”
“Three.”
Their eyes still connected, they dipped — Mila into a curtsy and Graham into a very gentlemanly bow. Mila’s stomach filled with butterflies. This was going well, perhaps too well.
Graham pulled out the chair beside him. Mila sat gently at the edge of the chair, her eyes focused on his. Was this a connection? Was this what it meant to fall for someone at first sight?
“I thought we could order something from Sicily,” he said. “If you don’t mind?”
“Do you have a special love for Sicilian wine?”
“I do,” he said. “I spent all of last summer there, in fact. One of the best summers of my life — although this one on Martha’s Vineyard isn’t doing me such a disservice. I have to admit that.”
Mila smiled wider at that. She shoved away a few thoughts in the back of her mind — ones of jealousy toward traveling to Sicily, toward the memories he might have had along that Italian coastline. None of it mattered. They were there in the moment, now.
The server came. Mila took pleasure in listening to his deep voice as he ordered the bottle. She was reminded of long ago when Peter had taken control of the ordering or anything else. He was always driving his wife and kids home after long days; always taking her hand as they walked along the water; always grabbing the box on the high shelf, so she didn’t have to grab a chair—always taking care of her and everyone around him.
But she couldn’t think of Peter. Now was not the time.
After the first of the wine was poured, Graham and Mila zeroed in on one another. It was now officially time for the date to begin.
“Mila, Mila, Mila.”
She liked how her name rolled off his tongue; she liked being seen with him. She liked this.
“I have to admit. I didn’t expect to match with anyone quite like you this week,” Graham said.
“What do you mean by that?”
Graham tilted his head. “I haven’t been on the island long. But it seemed to me, just through a cursory glance on the app, th
at many of the available women around here were largely — how to say this? — uninteresting.”
Mila’s heart lifted. “What do you mean?”
“I can’t put my finger on it, exactly. They seem made of money, from family lines. And like they haven’t had a single day of struggle in their lives,” Graham continued.
“And you think I look in the middle of a struggle or something?” Mila asked with a laugh.
“No! Not at all. Just that you’ve seen some stuff before is all,” Graham said. “Which I like. Every life has a story to it, a story to tell, right? And I can just tell. You have a few up your sleeves.”
Mila gave a light shrug. “I could weave a tale or two, sure. But it sounds like you have some, yourself.”
“All in good time, Mila.” Graham’s blue eyes caught the evening light perfectly. He held her gaze as he sipped his wine.
In the meantime, Mila’s stomach tied itself into a million knots. Was this what it was like to be wooed? And what did he mean about time? Did he already want a second date? Was that some kind of red flag? Mila wasn’t sure; the concept of red flags was a bit foreign to her, just something Isabelle had mentioned when she’d talked about one of her dear friend’s boyfriends at the high school. “He flirts with everyone during gym class. It’s a huge red flag,” she’d said.
“So what brought you to the Vineyard, anyway?” Mila asked, swirling the wine in her glass.
Graham cleared his throat. “I’m here on business. I have a few important meetings over the next few weeks, along with an investment and development opportunity. And I have to admit. The allure of staying here for the rest of the summer and into the fall does hit me hard.”
“I imagine you’ve spent some time sailing?”
4152 Witchwood Lane Page 3
