“And I asked him to wait, and he said he couldn’t.”
Marco’s jaw clenches. “What did you say?”
“I said okay. Because what else was I going to do? Chase him down a hallway?”
Marco leans back, frustration vibrating off him. “Jesus.”
Carol reaches across the table and covers my hand with hers, warm and steady. “Did he look… okay?”
That question lands somewhere deep. I swallow. “He looked like… he looked like he’s been living without me. Which is fair.”
Marco’s eyes flash. “It’s not fair that he had to.”
I flinch, because that’s the truth I don’t deserve to be comforted from. I take a sip of water.
“I’m retiring,” I say suddenly. It drops into the room like a stone. Marco goes still. Carol’s eyes widen.
“What?” Marco demands.
I shrug like it’s no big deal, like it’s not the scariest decision I’ve ever made. “After next season. I’m done.”
Carol sits back slowly. “Ollie….”
Marco studies me. “Is this because of him?”
“No.” Then, because Marco knows me too well, I add, “Not just.”
He nods once. “Okay.”
“And,” I continue, forcing the words out before I can talk myself out of them, “the house in San Francisco is official. It went through.”
Carol’s face brightens instantly, the designer in her waking up. “Oh my God. Finally.”
Marco whistles. “Damn. Look at you making moves.”
“Yeah,” I say, but the words feel hollow. Because moves don’t matter if the person you want most won’t look at you.
Carol points her fork at me. “I want pictures. Layout. Floor plan. I’m not kidding. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to get my hands on a project that isn’t ‘open concept but make it farmhouse’?”
I manage a small smile. “I’ll send you everything.”
“And Lindy knows?” Marco asks.
“Yeah,” I say, my smile easy when I think about my sister who’s always had my back. “She’s excited.”
Carol nods. “Of course she is.”
“And Phil is going to do the contractor work again. I know it’s cross-country, but he did my loft in Minnesota, and he’s solid.”
Marco snorts. “Phil’s a saint. That man could renovate a cardboard box and make it luxury.”
He seriously is. When I first met my then-soon-to-be brother-in-law seven years ago, I’d had no idea what to expect. A hardworking guy with his feet on the ground who wasn’t fazed by our uptight shitty parents had been a hell of a relief.
Carol’s smile softens. “And Lindy deserves a husband who doesn’t suck.”
“Agreed,” Marco says firmly, then glances at me. “Remind me what time your flight is tomorrow?”
“Late. Red-eye.”
