“I’ve got good news and bad news!” she announces and steps into the living room. “Also, are you asleep?”
“Not anymore,” Grace jokes.
“Perfect. Because the good news is that I found this amazing hat at the five-and-dime on the boulevard, and it’s possible that it’s now my entire identity.”
Grace can’t help it. She snorts. “Is that also the bad news?”
“Very funny.” Jenny moves into the kitchen, sets her car keys and the wine bottles on the table. “How was your morning, birthday girl? Did you take a little time for yourself?”
Grace pulls herself up on the cushion. “I found out my mother was down here last August and never told me.” She massages her fingers over her face. “Apparently, the entire Murphy family knew, and I didn’t.”
Jenny nods, the hat’s wide brim shaking with her movements. Without a word, she picks her car keys back up and heads toward the door.
“What are you doing?” Grace asks. “You haven’t even told me the bad news.”
“It’s on the counter.” She points toward the kitchen. “Adam stopped by earlier and dropped off a birthday card, then made me promise I’d tell you he’s hoping you’ll meet him for dinner tonight at the hotel where he’s staying.” She adjusts her hat. “Apparently, all the details are written down.”
Grace lets herself melt into the cushions, frowning. “I don’t understand. Where are you going?”
Jenny pushes open the screen door. “I think wine might have been the wrong choice.” She looks at Grace, then the counter, then back at her friend. “I’m going back to the store. I thought Adam’s card would be the bomb, though after your news, I’m thinking we might need something stronger on deck instead.”
Twenty-Six
It was high school all over again.
Grace and Jenny spent the rest of the day deliberating. Making pro/con lists. Talking. Crying. Laughing. Trying to figure out whether Grace should accept the invitation outlined in her birthday card—Dinner? Tonight? Just us? 8:00 p.m.? The restaurant at my hotel, the Beachcomber.—and go on a date with a handsome boy. Only unlike in high school, the boy in question isn’t some cute crush from geometry class. It’s Grace’s husband. Or almost-ex-husband. Or whatever he is to her at the moment.
“It doesn’t fit,” Grace says, standing in front of the beach house’s small bathroom mirror, tugging at the neckline of her dress. Jenny’s dress—a simple white linen maxi she threw in her duffel bag, just in case—which she insisted Grace wear, telling her she’d feel better about things if she is confident in the way she looks. “It doesn’t sit right on my chest. It’s pinching my rib cage.” Grace pulls and twists the fabric to get it to lie right. “I feel like I can’t breathe in it.”
“That’s impossible,” Jenny insists, sitting on the edge of the bathtub and picking on a leftover pancake. “For one, we’re practically the same size. And second, it’s designed to be loose-fitting.” She takes another nibble, wipes her fingers on the front of her PTA tee. “Pretty sure the shortness-of-breath thing has more to do with the situation you’re about to walk into than it does with hemlines.”
Grace huffs, takes another look at her reflection. “What am I doing?”
Jenny stands, smooths a strand of Grace’s hair. “I think that’s what you’re about to go try and figure out.”
“You’re sure you don’t care that I’m ditching you to go meet him?” Grace asks.
Jenny smiles at her in the mirror. “I didn’t come to be entertained.” She blends an uneven patch of makeup on Grace’s cheek. “I came to make sure you’re okay.”
Adam stands when he sees her. He wears a collared shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and a pair of khaki shorts—casual dressy. Grace makes her way through the dining room, still pulling on the neckline of the dress. The restaurant is busy—families having early dinners, couples getting a head start on the night, the space buzzing with conversation and the clink of glasses.
“I wasn’t certain you’d come,” Adam says when Grace arrives at their table.
“Neither was I,” she admits.
“Well, I’m glad you did.” He pulls out her chair. “You look very nice.”
They both sit and fidget, smoothing napkins over their laps, taking sips of water, neither of them sure what to do or say next. Nearby, laughter rises from another table. Just as their silence begins to feel awkward, their waitress appears, sets down two wineglasses, and tells them she’ll return in a few minutes.
“I hope it’s okay that I ordered for you.” Adam gestures to the stemware. “I noticed on the menu that they have that rosé you used to like. The dry one that the Italian place near our old apartment used to stock.” His smile is so small it’s almost not even there. “Remember?”
Of course she did. They used to go every Wednesday night, Adam meeting her after he left his office, Grace just emerging from the library or a coffee shop or whatever her chosen writing cave was that day.They’d drink wine and talk and eat off each other’s plates. It felt so grown-up, like something from a good sitcom. Except that it wasn’t. It was real life.
“I do,” she says, not able to lie and pretend those memories have faded.
Adam nods, happy to hear this. He holds up his glass, gently taps it against hers. They both take small sips. Grace can’t ignore the fact that it does taste like that old place, that whole era in their relationship. Their sixth-floor apartment with the tiny kitchen and the radiator that made too much noise. How the light filtered into their bedroom. The way their shared future felt as big and beautiful as the city’s skyscrapers.
“I drove the whole island today,” he tells her. “Back and forth a few times.” He takes a drink of his blush beverage, like he needs it to calm his nerves. “Stopped off at the lighthouse for a bit. Went down to the boardwalk. Took a walk on the beach.”
