“Right. Okay. Anything else?”
Gennie floated on her back, her arms swishing at her sides. “You should tell her you love her. Tell hera lot. I think that’s what you’re supposed to do.”
She flipped around and returned to her handstand practice.
Maybe she was right. Maybe that was exactly what I needed to do.
chapterthirty-four
Shay
Students will be able to talk themselves in and out of anything.
It wasstrange being in Noah’s house alone. It felt like someone could pull up at any minute and ask what I was doing here. If they did, I’d have to say Noah and I were married—or something like that—and I lived here now. And I’d have to make it sound like those were real, true things and not the ramblings of a deranged person who broke in and decided to call it home.
The first day, I almost packed up and headed down to Twin Tulip. Thomas House was lonely and empty but it was stillmyplace. I kept that debate going for hours. I packed a bag, set it by the door, stared at the door until I decided it was crazy to move out while Noah and Gennie were away.
Then I decided it was crazy to stay here while Noah and Gennie were away.
In the end, I went to Twin Tulip, walked the land until the sky was dark, and then drove to the next town over to grab takeout. Being out like this on a weeknight, aimless and untethered without the structure of mealtimes and bathtimes and bedtimes, was just as strange as hanging around Noah’s house without him. The world felt different, like a place I no longer recognized.
And it seemed as though everyone on the roads and everyone in the restaurant was aware that I was carrying on an entirely foolish debate in my head. They knew I had an overnight bag in the back seat of my car and they knew I couldn’t stop arguing with myself over where to sleep tonight. Like they knew I curled in and out of believing I loved Noah—and Gennie too—and those feelings came from all the things we’d found together rather than vintagepick meissues. Like they knew I teased at every loose thread of our relationship until I could unravel the whole thing in less than a minute.
I returned to Twin Tulip but only paused a moment on the gravel lane before shaking my head, mentally kicking myself in the ass, and driving up the hill. “All of my things are here,” I explained to the takeout bag. “I don’t want to throw off my morning because I can’t find any deodorant”—I scowled as Noah’s crisp white farmhouse came into view—“or the right shoes.”
The scowl didn’t come from anger. It wasn’t about resentment. It wasn’t even frustration at all this pointless spiraling.
The scowl came from wanting to be here. And that was the truth, as odd and uncomfortable as it was to wrap my hands around. I wanted to be here and I wanted Noah and Gennie here with me. It wasn’t the same without them.
I wasn’t the same without them.
I’d never meant to fall for these people. I hadn’t come here looking for a patchworked family. And I hadn’t expected for any of this to start putting me back together.
* * *
I venturedout for a second attempt at happy hour on Friday afternoon.
This time, I met a bunch of teachers from my school at the swanky oyster bar on the water in Friendship. We were celebrating a third grade teacher who was recently selected for a prestigious program with a big tech company that would give her lots of specialized training around the country plus all kinds of hot new gadgets for her classroom.
Janita also received a hefty stipend and that was the reason she chose the swanky oyster bar on the water. The first round was on her.
Unlike that disaster at the beginning of the school year, no one ditched me while I was in the restroom. Not that I’d expect that from this group. These women reminded me of my friends back in Boston. I’d gotten to know them over the past months but there was something about seeing them outside of school, in a setting unencumbered by students and brightened by wine, that made them seem fresh and new. More themselves than they could ever be in a twenty-minute lunch period or in the hall during morning arrival duty.
Dana was bold and a little loud (just like Emme), Ingrid listened more than she spoke and was extremely thoughtful about her words when she did speak (Audrey all the way). Neveen tended toward dry wit and cynicism (Grace to be sure), while Mieke was warm and caring (not that anyone could ever compare but definitely Jaime).
They were different, of course, but there was a funny comfort in spying the things I loved most about my friends in these women. I could see myself folding right into this group, but more than that, Iwantedto fold into this group. I wanted to hear more about Neveen’s never-ending kitchen renovation headaches and I wanted Mieke to introduce me to her colorist because her plum and magenta bob was divine, and I wanted to show Ingrid around my tulip fields and I wanted wine to fly out of my nose (again) because I was laughing at Dana’s outlandish takes. And that was funny in an uncomfortable way because I didn’t know whether I should want it.
Putting down roots was never the plan. Not that I’d had a plan when setting out from Boston with a box of Cheez-Its and my life shattered into a million tiny pieces. If anything, the absence of a planwasthe plan. Survive one day to the next. No sudden moves. Expect the worst. Plan for nothing.
And I’d tried to do that. I’d triedso hard.
But then there was a kid who needed help, and a new life for an old farm, and a fake marriage—one sudden move after another. Stepping stones from one new plan to the next. It wasn’t about my survival anymore because it was all of us, me and Noah and Gennie. And Lollie’s farm and a permanent teaching position next year and falling for my husband.
I didn’t know whether I should want any of this or if I could trust it.
I’d meant to take this year to snatch up the last bits of home I could find at Twin Tulip and figure out who I wanted to be now. Finding a family, finding places to call my own—never part of the equation.
Yet here I was, surrounded by people who hounded me almost as frequently as Helen about whether I’d be taking next year’s first grade position or the kindergarten one.
