Porter grins widely with my interest. “I’d call it a modern-day retelling ofThe Odyssey.It’s about a young king from rural South Carolina who finds himself at home up north on the Princeton University campus. But he must go out into the world and fight his internal struggles and overcome his demons to ultimately recognize the gifts life has given him. He strives to find his way back to his true home and to all that he has loved and felt loyal to in his life.”
“But when Odysseus finally returns home to Ithaca, his wife, Penelope, his great love, she doesn’t recognize that man,” I remind Porter, hinting that the person I see before me is both very different and very much the same as the young man I once knew. “Am I supposed to be Penelope? And if I am, will you be killing off all my suitors to regain my trust?”
“Do you have suitors?” Porter asks, deadly serious.
I can’t help but chuckle under my breath at the fear in his eyes. Fear that perhaps he has screwed up yet another opportunity with me. “Not at the moment,” I assure him, and Porter’s grip on my hand relaxes once again.
“I was hoping you’d say that, because I’m still working out the ending, but I’d love for it to resolve like Homer’s original: Odysseus proves his worth to Penelope; they reunite and live happily ever after.”Porter locks his eyes with mine, daring me not to look away from his bold proclamation.
In this moment, I realize that what Porter hopes to regain with me, he never truly lost. I match Porter’s gaze but veer the conversation off the two of us and back to him. “So in your retelling ofThe Odyssey, Odysseus is a farmer not a fighter. Is that it?”
“He’s had to be both in his life,” Porter professes.
“I went through with it, you know. I’m working in New York again.” I want Porter to know that I, too, have been fighting to get back to me. The last time I saw Porter was when I left him on the dance floor at Alice’s wedding. We had fallen into each other and perhaps fallen a little bit back in love, but in the end, I needed to focus on myself and follow through with my plans.
“I know.” Porter nods with a half smile.
“You do?”
“Chap and Maureen. But mostly Quinn.” Ah. No wonder she was so desperate to get me to come to Princeton and be on time for kick-off, which, now that I think about it, would have been a first for the two of us. I should have been suspicious when her fanaticism for Princeton football returned with a vengeance this fall after she had long ago buried it.
“Why’d you come back to Princeton? I thought you loved California. I believe you called it ‘less complicated’ for you than the East Coast.” Porter nods in agreement but doesn’t add any further explanation. “And Chap’s there too.”
“He’s got himself worked out pretty well, and his mother’s close by. Besides, no way is Maureen going to let him fall again.” We both laugh at Queen Maureen and her need to make sure everyone and everything is as she believes it should be.
“But Princeton?”
“It was always my place. My Ithaca.”
“Yes, I guess it was,” I agree as I clear some damp leaves on the walkway with my right foot.
“And it was always our plan.”
“Our plan?” I look up, confused. I thought I’d made it clear at Alice’s wedding that there was onlymyplan, and that entailed me in New York working atJuice.
“You in New York working in journalism, me in Princeton with my books until I got up the gumption to move to New York.”
“No one saysgumptionanymore,” I kid.
Porter throws his head back and lets loose a wholehearted laugh. “Ha!Sounds like you’re already on board to be my editor. I’m going to need one.”
“I’m happy for you, Porter. I really am happy that you’ve returned to the place where we both have such fond memories.”
Porter picks up my other hand and clasps them together between his rough palms that still tell the story of a farm boy turned professional football player, turned mentor of young men, and now writer. He pulls me in close to him, so that our fists rest against his heart and mine.
“Do you have a title for your book?” I gasp at our closeness.
“I do. Callie, do you remember what I used to say when you were running behind?”
“Of course.‘Better last than never.’”
“What if we changed it up a little?”
“You, of all people, Porter, are suggesting changing up our long-standing motto?”
“Just this once. And only for us and our story.”
“What do you have in mind?” I ask, equal parts skeptical and burning with hope.
