Whit began pacing again, suddenly wary.
“Okay. Maybe do the less painful one first.”
He could almost hear her eye roll. “Neither one is painful, but you might be annoyed with me. Okay, fine, the first one is this: I am not going to press, but I am signaling to you my interest in this Merritt woman—that’s it, end of statement. I am interested.”
Whit’s mouth hung open slightly, unsure of what to say, until finally he went with, “Okay. Statement acknowledged.”
Evie laughed. “All right, and the second thing is... listen, Whit, I know you are essentially fine, because you are always fine.”
Whit waited.
Evie waited.
“Okay,” he said eventually.
“And I really do think you have the Annie stuff under control. But... okay, don’t take this the wrong way. I am not judging or critiquing you or anything like that.”
She trailed off, and Whit predicted, accurately, what she was going to say next.
“I just wonder if it might be good for you both if I came to stay with you for a bit.”
“Evie—”
“Don’t be defensive, it’s just a thought. Édouard is neck-deep in some case, and he hardly has time for me anyway, and you know I can work from anywhere, and—”
“Evie,” Whit said, surprising even himself, “I think that would be great.”
The pause on the other end of the line was so pronounced that Whit repeated himself.
“Did you hear me? I said I think that would be great.”
“I heard you all right,” Evie said, her grin audible. “I’m just seriously,seriouslyweighing the body-snatcher possibility, that’s all.”
“If you annoy me, I will change my mind.”
“It’s too late,” Evie laughed. “I’ve already started packing.”
Chapter Sixteen
Evie didn’t mess around. The next morning, a Sunday, she texted to say she had bought a plane ticket and would be landing in Boston Monday at noon. He felt the pinch in his chest that he often experienced when he got something he more or less wanted and then immediately second-guessed both the wanting and the thing itself.
He had been cheered by the thought of Evie in the house for however long (a week? two weeks? a month?), playing board games with Annie, helping with carpool, and noticing whatever ghastly household things he’d let go before setting them to rights again in her capable, attentive way. Why, then, did he feel something that wasn’t quite dread but certainly wasn’t excitement, either?
Sitting on the freshly made guest-room bed, he ignored that thought in order to text Merritt.
Hey Merritt. My sister is flying in tomorrow as a last-minute thing, and I don’t think we’ll make it back from the airport until time to pick Annie up. Then I have my writing group Tuesday. See you Wednesday?
He headed down to the refrigerator, which he planned to clean out to avoid the silent shaming Evie was destined to give him when she discovered four separate weeks-old takeout containers hiding in the back.
No worries, Merritt texted as he stood there, head in the fridge like Robin Williams inMrs.Doubtfire.
That was it.No worries.
No “See you then,” no “Oh, that’s nice.”
For the first time, he felt defensive. He had tried to kiss her,yes. That was stupid. Misguided. Deranged even. But it had felt right in the moment, and they had had a good time when he arrived, and he had also valiantly saved her from Ian Hoult—oh. Ian Hoult.
Whit retraced what had happened back there with Ian Hoult and Merritt. First, Ian’s grandstanding about his class and autofiction and his nextAtlanticpiece, and Merritt on the back porch, offering him a confession. Vouchsafing a true and painful thing to him.We were in love.And then he’d gone and tried to kiss her, and they hadn’t spoken again about what she’d revealed to him.
