“If we have a little boy, do you mind naming him that?” he asks.
“Nick? Won’t your other brothers mind?”
“No, Marco. Marco Polo.”
“Very funny,” I say, grinning. I open my mouth, intending to tell him that I suspect Wendy’s pregnant—but realizethat if it’s true, Blake will want to surprise Gabe with the news himself.
“What were you going to say?”
“Just that I’m excited about us trying for a baby this winter.”
“Me, too.”
I appreciate the fact that Gabe hasn’t pushed to start before then, as keen as he is for Henry to have a sibling. He’s been really supportive of my career and knows I want to see my first short play staged and start on a second before I get pregnant.
“In fact,” he adds, “how about some practice this afternoon? My dad’s taking Henry to the farmers’ market in a little while.”
I glance at my phone on the wrought-iron table. It’s two forty-five, and I’d promised myself I’d return to my play this afternoon, but Gabe and I so rarely have the chance for afternoon sex anymore.
“What a good idea. Why don’t I go make myself beautiful?” I say.
“That will take all of four seconds. I’ll see Dad and Henry off, then meet you there.”
Back at the cottage, I shower quickly, and straighten the bedding from this morning. When Gabe arrives, I hear him bound up the stairs.
“Very beautiful indeed,” he says, running his eyes over my body.
Though it’s warm outside, the bedroom feels cool, inviting. We make love at a languorous pace, and afterward, as Gabe dozes, I watch the filmy white curtains flutter in the breeze and let the rest of the world recede for a while.
Eventually, I leave him sleeping, change into a sundress,and tiptoe downstairs. Blake promised he’d play tennis with Henry after he returned from the farmers’ market, so we have a bit more downtime. I slide out a bottle of rosé that Gabe stashed in the fridge, set it in a bucket of ice, and grab a can of nuts from the lightly stocked pantry. As I’m setting them out on the antique wooden trunk that serves as a coffee table, I hear him start the shower.
How nice for Gabe and me to have a little time for ourselves. Though I appreciate that our life is rich with family and friends, I always feel my marriage is at its strongest when we make time for the two of us, whether it’s going to wine tastings, or seeing plays, which Gabe has embraced with gusto, or even simply watching Netflix thrillers at home.
My attention is caught by the muted sounds of two female voices coming from outside, not far from the patio. Glancing out the French doors, I spot Claire and Hannah, their backs to me, meandering alongside one of the gardens on this part of the property. I tug the cream-colored muslin drapes closed, but I don’t back away from the window. Instead, I practically hug the fabric with my body as I listen.
“Absolutely dazzling,” Hannah exclaims. They’re moving closer, and before long their voices are so distinct I realize they’re by the border garden that runs along the edge of the cottage patio. “And what arethesecalled?”
“Here we have mostly foxgloves, alliums, and artemisias,” Claire explains. “But I added some iris and ornamental chartreuse Japanese forest grasses to make the mix more interesting.”
“Did you always have amazing instincts when it came to gardening, Claire?”
Oh my god. Could she be any more of a suck-up?
“I think I always had a sense of what worked visually, but as a professional gardener, your aesthetic interests don’t matter unless you’re aware of what grows where and when.”
“You mean, like knowing whether a certain plant prefers sun or shade?”
“Yes, and the type of soil plants favor, and which climates, and even what they like or dislike as neighbors. I once planted a garden not far from an English walnut tree, which I didn’t realize is toxic to many flowers. Everything started to die.”
“Ouch.”
“Yes, ouch indeed. I had to eat the cost. But I learned over time.”
There’s a moment of silence and then a whoosh of fabric. I sense Claire stooping down, probably touching a plant.
“Do you always wear those gloves?” Hannah asks.
“I do. There are thorns to worry about, of course, and lots of bacteria in the soil. And some plants are toxic, not just to other plants but to humans and animals. Like oleander. Monkshood. And foxgloves. That’s why I don’t use them in indoor arrangements. I wouldn’t want the dogs sampling any petals that might have dropped to the floor.”
