“I’m glad you two are happy,” he says.
“How are you?” I say. I am distracted. I am trying to pick out a dress to wear. It is too hot for jeans, and everything summery I own makes me look like I’m in an L.L.Bean catalog. I settle on some black crepe shorts and a white T-shirt and heels. Sophisticated, not trying too hard.
“Did Mom tell you?” Dad says.
“What?”
I peer close into the mirror, applying lipstick.
“Stone is back.”
I hold the coral shade to my lips. Of course he is back. Just because I’m not there, doesn’t mean he isn’t.
“She didn’t mention it.”
“He came because Bonnie wasn’t doing so well. You know she’s been sick for a while, right? But she seems to be responding to this new trial they have her in.”
New trial. This makes me stop.
“What new trial?”
“I don’t know. Something Stone campaigned for. I guess he came out here and ended up convincing her to do it, and it worked. Good news.”
Good news. All at once, I feel breathless. I close my eyes and open them again. Is it possible that this wasn’t just a reset for me but for him? For all of us? Bonnie—alive and improving.
I haven’t let myself think about that night. Sometimes, when Leo falls asleep (immediately, always) and I’m lying in bed, my mind will wander right up to the seam of it. But I don’t cross the line. There’s nowhere to put it. There’s nowhere to put it because it never actually happened.
But now I see that not only did it not happen but thingshadto happen this way. It was only in taking it back that we got what we were really meant for. And now it’s not just true for me and Leo—it’s true for Stone and Bonnie, too.
“That’s incredible,” I say.
Stone is not with me—in the ocean, at breakfast—at the edge of the Greek. And with that time he’s changed Bonnie’s mind. With that time he’s saved her life. There’s been nothing for him to do but be close to her, exactly as he wanted.
“Yes,” Dad says. “Let’s hope it stays that way, but it’s looking really promising.”
“It will,” I say, firmer than I mean it. “I know it.”
“Where are you guys off to tonight?” Dad asks, changing the subject.
“Gramercy Tavern,” I say. I cap the lipstick, pick up my bronzer brush.
Dad whistles. “Fancy.”
“We’re celebrating,” I say, more defensive than I mean to be.
Dad pauses. “It’s a good thing,” he says.
“Yeah,” I say. “I know.”
He wants to talk more then. About New York and the weather and if I think Brooklyn is better than Manhattan these days, theway everyone says. But I’m rushing to get off the phone. I have to send half an hour’s worth of emails, and I should be on the subway in fifteen minutes.
“All right,” he says. “I get the hint.”
“I’ll call you next week!”
We hang up, and I pull my shirt over my head—careful to avoid the makeup—open my laptop, and settle on the couch.
The place in Brooklyn is happy, and I’ve found myself falling into a rhythm here. I wake up and go for a walk, stop for a coffee at one of the plethora of hipster bean shops. I’ve taken to having a cortado, which I didn’t even know existed before I got here but now I don’t think I can possibly live without. Then I come back to the Henry Street apartment and work from the couch. Leo leaves early—usually before I’m up—and I have the place to myself.
