“Honey?” a quiet voice calls. “Is that you?”
My heart continues to pound as I follow Stone back, past the big, open chef’s kitchen and into the den.
There Bonnie is, curled up on the couch, blankets tucked around her like she’s a baby bird in a nest. She doesn’t look much bigger than one. Bonnie was always gorgeous—a voluptuous woman with big hips and piles of black hair on her head. It makes me happy that despite her new birdlike frame she doesn’t seem to have lost her hair.
“Hi, Bonnie,” I say. “It’s Lauren Novak.”
Her face changes from slight confusion into recognition, and she breaks into a smile.
“Sweetheart,” she says. “It’s so good to see you.”
Stone sits down next to her and takes her hand. The easy, gentle way he touches her.
“Here,” she says. “Sit.”
She makes an effort to move over.
“No no, stay,” I say. I slip down next to Stone. “It’s really good to see you.”
Her eyes are a deep brown, and her skin is still covered in freckles. I look at Stone next to her—they could not possibly look less alike. Of course they’re not related, not genetically, anyway. But the love between them is so evident here.
I remember now, sitting with Bonnie, a conversation we had out on the deck, right before Stone left for Colorado. I asked her if she’d ever wanted children of her own.
“We tried,” she told me. “For a few years. But I was older whenI met Jeff, and it just didn’t happen. And I knew what I had in Stone. He’s been my son since the day I met him.”
I didn’t ask whether she pursued fertility treatment—I wouldn’t have known what it was back then. I’d never even heard the word. But I remember her clarity. I’ve thought about it a lot these past three years.
When Leo and I first decided we wanted a child it felt like playing hooky. That first time we didn’t use protection, the first time we “tried”—it felt like we’d never been together before that. Everything was new and exciting and innocent, in a way. It felt like the beginning—not even of our relationship, but of our sexual selves. It felt like being a teenager, discovering our bodies for the very first time.
I kept expecting my desire for this child, this baby, to wane. With every passing cycle, every failed IVF, I kept feeling like I’d come around to Leo’s point of view. That I’d see the cost of this, all of it, and I’d decide to prioritize something else, the things that are actually here. That I’d want to jet off to Spain, or retile the bathroom. Give up and get on with it.
But that moment never came.
“Tell me,” Bonnie says. She closes her eyes briefly. I see the translucent skin stretched across the backs of her lids. “What are you reading?”
Stone looks at me. His face is smiling. Even his eyes. “Some things never change.”
Bonnie nudges him softly with her hand.
I am happy to be able to report something I know she will like. “I just finishedSylvia’s Second Actby Hillary Yablon and I really loved it.”
Bonnie closes her eyes again. She rests her head on the wall behind the couch. “Tell me what it’s about.”
I look at Stone. He nods.
“A woman in her sixties finds out her husband is cheating on her and leaves their Florida retirement home to restart her life in New York.”
Bonnie smiles. “Some inspiration.”
“Jeff would never,” I say—half kidding, really, because of course.
“No,” Bonnie says, suddenly earnest. “He wouldn’t.”
I see Jeff and Bonnie—healthy, vivacious, young—in the kitchen. His arms around her waist, kissing the crook of her neck. I remember them dancing to Rod Stewart and Van Morrison. “Crazy Love” drifting through the sound system.
“I always remember you as being so in love,” I say, because it feels important to tell her. I want her to know. “It’s always been so clear to me how much Jeff adores you.”
“Thank you,” she says. “You knew us in the glory days.”
