The desire to propel them forward, to rescue them fromrehashing the past, swells in Cece’s throat. Looking back, digging up petty injustices—nothing good can come of it. “I’m sorry,” she manages. “I panicked.”
Something like relief works its way into Jonathan’s shoulders, his body slouching forward. He gives her a tired smile and is about to say something, but then Lorraine is at their table, asking about this good-looking boy Cece is flirting with, and why she hasn’t been properly introduced.
Thankfully, Jonathan says they’re old friends, which will save Cece some explaining on the drive home. The revelation that Cece’s been living in Lorraine’s pool house for the last month elicits an eyebrow raise from Jonathan. Cece assures him it’s not as terrible as it sounds. She doesn’t say anything about the oyster farm or the impending job interview when he asks what she’s doing for work, offering up vagaries instead.
“Enough about Cece,” Lorraine says, who smells like she’s had a few more drinks on the tour. “What do you do, Jonathan? Actually, no, no—let me guess.”
Jonathan gives Cece a look, as if to say,Where did you find this kook?Lorraine’s first two guesses aren’t far off—accountant and lawyer—and Cece isn’t sure how she feels about it. Jonathan grins. He’s clearly enjoying this.
“It’s got to be finance, then—private equity, something like that,” Lorraine says, seemingly pleased with herself.
Jonathan is genuinely enthused, like someone’s just read his palm. “How did you know?!”
“I have a knack for this sort of thing. Plus, I saw a fancy car out there. I’m guessing it’s yours. And I don’t think Cece here would be friends with a trust-fund kid. I knew you had a job!”
Jonathan takes it all in stride. “I’m impressed.”
Lorraine settles onto her stool. “So private equity, yes? But what kind of private equity? Specifically, how are you screwing the American people? Buying up single-family homes and flipping them? Taking over nursing homes and maximizing profits?”
“Well…I can’t say we…I’m not really involved directly in those sorts of things. It’s a big firm, you see…”
“Oh, that’s fine, just fine, I was only joshing you. Forgive me, rum always makes me say silly things, and what do I know, I’m just a geriatric botany professor!”
Cece mouths anI’m sorryto Jonathan from across the table.
Willa and Thomas stop by and whisk Lorraine away—something about a food truck outside and the best tacos al pastor she’s ever had in her life, which seems impossible in a place like Stonington, Connecticut.
“She can be a lot sometimes.”
“A character for sure,” Jonathan says.
There’s a commotion as a group of elderly tourists make their way into the tasting room—a sea of sun hats and white knee-high socks.
“Thanks for coming.”
“Thanks for texting back.”
“Why don’t we try that food truck?”
“I have to get back, actually,” he says. “I may or may not have left a few friends hanging to meet you.”
“Sorry about that.”
“Let’s make a plan. How about next week? Maybe you can give me a tour of your pool house.”
Cece can’t think of a worse idea. The last thing she wants is Jonathan walking around the rubble of her crack-up. “Or we could meet somewhere in the middle again.”
They make their way out into the parking lot, passing picnic tables and hulking cloth umbrellas. Cece suddenly understands what Lorraine had meant back inside as Jonathan stops next to a shiny, electric-blue sports car. He clicks a button on the key fob, and the roof starts retracting, shrinking in on itself. Cece knows nothing about cars, but even she can tell this one is expensive.
“Too flashy?” Jonathan asks, sun behind him.
“No…not at all. I like the color.”
“I had to do something nice for myself after you threw me over. Cliché—I know. Dumped guy buys Porsche.”
Cece winces. It’s difficult—hearing it in such plain terms. “Why’d you text me anyway? I mean, I’d understand if you never wanted to speak to me again. I didn’t exactly handle the situation with grace.”
Hands in his pockets, Jonathan lets out a long breath, his cheeks deflating like a balloon. “We were good together, and I’m not one to give up easily, and while I hate to admit it—I think you were right to call things off. We weren’t ready, but that doesn’t mean we should throw it all away.”
