I know he thinks he’s got me pegged, but I’m thrilled that—even if it wasn’t my own doing—I have him beat. “Actually, you’llneverbelieve what Tom said to my mom ...”
It’s amazing how much we laugh all night. It’s surreal how much we have to say to each other, as though in person we just get to be exactly the same as we always were, but now with truly nothing between us anymore.
And when we fall asleep together that night, I know that even if the next few months look unconventional, we’ll be able to handle whatever comes our way.
Chapter 33
I love New York in early September. Everyone is running around in back-to-school mode while ignoring the fact that it’s still hot and summery outside. The college students are back and wandering around the neighborhood, overtaking the streets around Washington Square Park by walking in nervous packs, afraid to strike out on their own yet.
Mostly I love that the farmers’ market is still in a full vibrant color explosion. The line for tomatoes at the Eckerton Hill stand snakes around as people choose between the peak heirlooms and Sungolds. You can smell the peaches as you walk by the northwest corner of the market. And the late-August lull of having everyone away is replaced by dogs circling children, even as a musician still sings about summer loftily at the entrance.
And on this late afternoon, everyone is lingering, as though they know the good times aren’t going to last and we need to soak it up while we can. It’s even making Kwan seem to walk more slowly. But it’s been a lovely afternoon meandering together, and we’re both enjoying stopping at every stall and observing and chatting. Lucy is sniffing every dog she can find. George, of course, hates it. He hates the conflation of heat and crowds, so this particular moment is his actual worst combination. He gives everyone a side eye as he trots past, as though he’s personally offended by their reappearance back after their beach trips and summer sojourns.
“Did you know that Gladys actually knows quite a bit about plants?” Kwan is saying, and I snap back to attention.
“Gladys in our building?”
“Yeah, I mentioned I was keeping up Eli’s planters, and she gave me some pointers. Honestly, I could’ve used her advice a few weeks ago in the heat wave, but I’m definitely in the learning curve! Dane may have gotten me started, but I’m doing pretty well now.”
“That’s really great,” I reply, happy to know that Eli’s original project is still proving me wrong so many months later.
“I think next spring I might put a few planters up there for myself. I may actually set some up in the next couple of weeks, because Gladys says this is really the time to plant bulbs. I know we did Eli’s bulbs for next summer, but I hadn’t really considered it for myself.”
I don’t have to respond, because he’s delightedly distracted by some buffalo mozzarella from Riverine Ranch, even though it’s the same mozzarella he’s purchased every week for the better part of a decade.
The truth is, every mention of Eli feels like another poke in the ribs, and it’s all making me sore. I miss him. We’ve chatted every day, but it feels like we’re living in some suspended animation, waiting for our life to begin. We had New York as friends, and we’ve had writing from a distance, but we’ve yet to get the whole package in one place—save for our dreamy weekend in London. I want it.
But I can’tsaythat I want it, because I already know we both do. He has to figure his family things out in his own time. And I know he’s made leeway. His mom has come home, and his dad has started to soften ever so slightly. He keeps saying the right opportunity for a real conversation about the future hasn’t come yet, and I’m definitely not going to push him. Aging parents aren’t something we can handle like bulldozers, and I’m glad Eli, of all people, sees that.
So we catch up on FaceTime and send each other notes throughout the days. We compare what we’re baking and watch movies at the same time. Slowly but surely, I think Eli’s starting to settle in to the idea that I’m not going anywhere.
And I’ve leaned on my expanded friend group to keep me sane while I wait for his return. Case in point, before coming to the market, Kwan wandered with me down to Librae Bakery to get scones before we swung back up here, because I wanted to do some research on flavors so I can work on my own recipe. He might’ve ribbed me for shifting my carb allegiance to a British baked good, but I enjoy the teasing. And he’s not wrong—the sconesarefor Eli. It gives me something to work toward for when he comes back.
I finally drag Kwan away from the cheese, and we make our way home.
“Can I come upstairs with you and have a coffee?” Kwan asks.
I’m tired, and my introvert social meter might be ready for a break even if I don’t want to disappoint him. But on the other hand, a coffee does sound good. I start to say “Sure,” but he cuts me off.
“Don’t tell me to come up if you don’t want me to,” Kwan chides. “I’m a big boy; I can make my own coffee.”
I laugh but shake my head. “I appreciate it, but now you’ve sold me on the idea. Come up for a few minutes, and then I’m going to kick you out when I want to curl up and read alone.”
“Sold,” he says with a grin.
But when I open my door, I’m stopped in my tracks. The whole apartment smells like something delectable is baking, and Dane and Tom are sitting at my kitchen table, already drinking cups of coffee.
And Eli is here.
Eli’s adorably, haphazardly wearing one of my aprons, folded so it’s just around his waist, and he’s cleaning up what looks like the remnants of a dough. A rack with scones is sitting to the side, cooling.
He barely has time for his crooked smile to form before I’m barreling into him, flinging myself fully around him, arms around his neck and legs around his waist, and he quickly grabs hold tight, not giving any signs of letting go.
I kiss him like he’s a mirage in a desert. He tastes like coffee and scones and smells like my shampoo.
“How are youhere?” I say, burying my face in his neck.
He carries me over to the counter and sets me down, stepping back to look me up and down. “So, incredibly, there are these things called ‘airplanes,’ and they carry you across an ocean.”
