‘I’m not talking about our existing relationship. I’m talking about a new life somewhere together. Away from memories here. No more waiting.’
Now it’s Rachael who looks nervous. Rach, who has ultimately knocked back every man she’s dated since we met and whom I desperately want to impress now, if only I knew how.
Then suddenly, right when I need the insider intel, I remember a conversation I once had with Audrey. It was some late-night debrief across our pillows after Rachael had dumped yet another failed suitor:They’re all utterly hopeless, Fraser. Here’s what men need to know if they’re going to woo Rachael McKenzie. She wants a man who’d take a stand. Someone who’llnoticeher. And tell her. Make a grand speech, you know? Is that too much to ask?Whyare men the way they are?
I recall thinking,Yes, that is a lot to ask. I was exhausted at the idea, glad I’d already won Audrey over and would never have to put myself on the spot like that. Now here I am, face to face with Rachael’s famed high standards, knowing I have to take the floor.
‘The thing is, every time I approach our restaurant, I know you’ll have ordered the veal scallopini,’ I begin. She looks confused at this diversion. ‘You’ll have it with tap water, the 2021 pinot gris, and you won’t want dessert. I won’t want dessert either, but I’ll order the tiramisu, because you will have a few mouthfuls, regret you didn’t order it, and I’ll suggest you take the rest home in a container you’ll have brought in your handbag—’
‘Yes, because I know how much you hate food waste. Where is this going, Frase?’
I risk picking up her hand, and she allows it. ‘It gives me a thrill to make you happy in that one tiny, unimportant way.And in a thousand other tiny ways. And it’s the same in reverse. When I walk in, there’ll be a glass of red on the table waiting, and you’ll have ordered the herbed bread and the vegetarian fettuccine, because you’ll know I had a late class and a full afternoon of meetings and won’t have eaten since noon. It’s seamless.’
This is nothing like the slow drag into the ocean with Maggie. It’s nothing like the plunge into it with Audrey. It’s as if we’ve been in the ocean, one way or another, all along.
‘Rachael, somewhere in the last couple of years, this friendship has slipped into the territory of a relationship, in almost every way. Perhaps the reason I haven’t been interested in dating is less to do with never wanting to replace Audrey. More to do with the fact that I don’t need to. Because I’m with you.’
She is staring at me, unable to speak.
‘When you said you were going to move countries, every part of me railed against it. I’m not free to leave. Not yet. It eats me up that you might, and I’d be trapped here without you.’
She’s not even worrying about the tears falling down her face. Such a rare sight for this woman who holds it all in, nearly all the time.
‘As for the idea of your baby, I meant I am here to help. Actually, I meant much more than what I said …’
With no warning, she clambers across me and moves right into my lap, hands on my shoulders, pulling us together as if we’re starting the conception process right this second. She brings her lips onto mine. Soft and fierce. All fireworks and history and the agony of shared loss and tantalising hope, as if we know every inch of each other already.
This feels like life starting again as floodgates open and the future rushes in.
‘Does this go on the list of micro joys?’ I ask her, when we finally pull apart. ‘You said we should chase them, remember?’
‘Um, sorry, Fraser! Were you and I just present in the same kiss? There was nothing “micro” about that.’
Her lips are almost on mine again, when she stops, pulls back, and says, ‘Wait, are we okay with this?’
My fingers are threaded through her hair, thumb at the side of her face, desperate to pull her towards me. But I know where she’s going here. It’s the same place that I go every time I’m surprised by something good that would never have happened if Audrey hadn’t died.
‘You should be with her,’ she whispers, blinking back tears, her face a contradiction of happiness and desire and grief and guilt.
‘I can’t be.’
‘But if she were still here—’
‘That is not how this works.’ I take her hand. ‘I’ve gone around and around on this. And I’ve concluded, very unscientifically, that it’s probably best to commit to the universe we are occupying. To accept the reality we’ve been dealt.’
I don’t mean it to sound that way, as if she is second prize.
‘And the one I’ve been gifted, in your case …’
She reaches for a tissue.
‘Rach, somewhere in the middle of this hopeless mess, I don’t know when, exactly, but I’ve fallen completely in love with you.’
Now she is outright crying, and I pass her the entire tissue box.
‘But don’teverthink this is a sequel for me. This is a completely new, standalone story.’
Her face softens, this reassurance providing profound relief.
