“And did he give up his dreams?”
“No. He became a rock star.”
“So leaving worked out great for his career.”
“I mean…yes?”
“But not for either of you emotionally.”
I don’t have an answer for that.
Emma leans forward. “Here’s the thing. I spent most of my adult life putting everyone else first. My ex-husband. My kids. Everyone’s dreams except mine. And you know what I learned? Sacrifice isn’t love. Sometimes staying is the bravest thing you can do.”
“That sounds like it comes from experience.”
“It comes from a lot of therapy and one very expensivedivorce.” She smiles, but there’s weight behind it. “I moved my kids to a houseboat in a town where I don’t know anyone, and I’m terrified every single day that I made the wrong choice. But I’m also freer than I’ve been in years. Sometimes the scariest path is the right one.”
Grandma Hensley is scribbling furiously in her notepad.
“What are you writing?” Emma asks.
“Character notes. You’re very interesting.”
“I’m really not.”
“That’s what Delilah said too. And look how interesting her situation turned out to be.” Grandma Hensley taps her pen against the page. “The grumpy marina owner. Three kids. A houseboat. I sense a story developing.”
“There’s no story. Paul and I can barely have a conversation without arguing.”
“Arguing is just flirting with extra steps.”
“That’s not…we’re not...” Emma sputters. “He’s impossible. He thinks I don’t know how to do anything. He’s constantly criticizing my boat and my parenting and my coffee maker.”
“Your coffee maker?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I have time.”
“There’s nothing to tell. He’s grumpy. I’m just trying to survive. End of story.”
Grandma Hensley and Jo exchange a look that speaks volumes.
“What?” Emma demands. “Why are you two glancing at each other like that?”
“No reason,” Jo says innocently.
“We just recognize the signs,” Grandma Hensley adds. “Denial and defensiveness. Excessive detail about arguments that shouldn’t matter.”
“You’ve known me for less than an hour.”
“I’m a fast reader. People and books.” She closes her notepad with satisfaction. “Mark my words. There’s a story there.”
Emma opens her mouth to argue, and that’s when Austen makes his move.
It happens in slow motion, the way disasters always do.
Austen leaps from the arm of the couch. His target: the last piece of brie on the decimated platter. His trajectory: directly through Emma’s wine glass.
