“How about I grab sushi and bring it over?” he asked when she didn’t answer.
She swallowed hard. “Sushi, huh?” She tried to sound casual, responsible—anything but eager. Her stomach gave a little growl, and she wasn’t sure if it was from hunger or anticipation.
They decided on a plan. She would go inside and shower, while he would walk and feed the dog and then get the sushi. But he wasn’t to come over until it was dark. And even then, he’d go through the hedge and come to the back entrance, the one that led to Autumn’s apartment, which she’d leave unlocked. No one could see him come through the front door. The ache for company was strong enough to make her take a risk, but she wasn’t stupid. She couldn’t let anyone in the neighborhood report back to the Allards that their son was seen entering her house.
Nothing is going to happen, she told herself as she applied mascara in the mirror.It’s just dinner.
Still, she picked out a maxi dress with a halter topthat accentuated her collarbones and her toned arms, which she considered her best features. And she put on her prettiest thong, only for the confidence boost, she told herself, not because she was going to let Van see her undressed. The mirror reflected back a woman who looked dolled up for a night out, desperate for affirmation, and she hated herself a little for it.
Tori made them both Manhattans, and when she heard the basement door open and his footsteps coming up the stairs, she had to take a gulp of hers to steady her nerves. Every sound seemed magnified—his footsteps on the stairs, her heartbeat in her ears, the ice clinking in the glass clutched tightly in her hand.
In the dim room, he looked older, like Daniel’s younger, fitter brother. A man. She thought of the disdain those wives had shown her when they first met at the block party—the divorced woman living alone, someone to stay away from. Of Jo’s anger when she thought Tori was trying to steal her man. If she could see her now.
“Cheers,” she said, handing Van his cocktail, trying to steady her trembling fingers as their hands briefly touched.
They ate over candlelight, sitting on the floor of the living room. She put trays on the large, tufted leather ottoman, which they used as a table, her legs tucked beneath her and his outstretched, crossed at the ankles. His shorts had ridden up slightly, revealing a strip of untanned skin on his upper thigh, and she had to fight to keep from staring at that paler patch of flesh.
“You don’t have any plans this weekend?” she asked him, swirling some wasabi in her soy sauce, trying to maintain the façade that this was just a casual dinner between… what? Neighbors? Friends?
He smirked. “I’m supposed to be doing all this college stuff. My coach has been nagging me.”
“College coach?” The reminder of his age hit her like cold water. He was going to college in a few months.
He nodded, mouth full, holding up a finger to let her know he’d answer once he had swallowed. “Yup. I’ve been seeing this guy since ninth grade. He’s the one who helped me”—he paused and looked at her with mock sincerity—“craft my narrative. Tell my story.But now that I’m in at Stanford, I have to do all these stupid online orientations. My dad wants me to take a placement test in chemistry. The school wants us to read three books this summer, but I’m just going to have AI summarize them.”
“Your parents hired a college coach to help you get into Stanford.” She didn’t try to hide her contempt.
“Yup. A guy my mom knew from law school, who was kind of a loser the way she describes him. Partied a lot. Got kicked out for cheating. But then he started like the most successful college consulting business. I’m serious. Like all his clients get into Stanford, Georgetown, Brown, you name it. And because he and my mom are friends, he really helped us out. I mean, I would never have gotten into Stanford without his help. I didn’t even break fifteen hundred on my SAT.”
“And that’s not good?”
He laughed. “No. The average for Stanford is, like, fifteen forty? I thought my mom was going to have a stroke when she found out, but then she called Rick, that’s the guy, and he just like, I don’t know, fixed it. The day I got into Stanford she actually wept. It was kind of gross. Were your parents like this?”
“Mine?” Tori lets out a little laugh. “Not exactly. Neither of my parents went to college. They married right out of high school. My dad was in the Navy, he was gone a lot, and my parents divorced when I was young. My mom thought I was wasting my time when I went to college.”
“Where did you go to school?”
She felt her face redden and was grateful for the poor lighting. “You’ve never heard of it. It’s not in the top twenty. It’s not even in the top one hundred. Just a small school near the mountains in Virginia.” She looked up to see how he was taking this, but his face was open and unguarded. No judgment, unlike his mother’s perpetual look of disdain. “It was cheap, I worked through college, and I still graduated with twenty thousand in debt.”
“Your parents didn’t help?”
“What? No. My dad was gone by then, and my mom worked minimum wage. She couldn’t afford to help. I mean, she might send me twenty dollars here or there.” The contrast between their upbringings hung between them—his privilege, her struggle. Another reason this, whatever it was, made no sense.
“But you went on to graduate school?”
She nodded. “I worked at George Mason whilegetting my master’s in counseling. But I’ll probably be paying off student loans the rest of my life.”
“Yeah, but you did it all yourself. That must feel good.” His admiration felt genuine.
“I didn’t want to have to.” She hated not having money. It was the one constant of her childhood, the feeling of never having enough. Always being on the edge of life and not having as much fun as everyone else seemed to be having. Knockoff clothes, generic cereal, no money for eating out or vacations or toys when she was little. Money had influenced every decision she had made, including the one to marry her ex. Despite all the red flags, she said yes when he proposed. If she had had money of her own, she would never have gotten married.
“But at least you know you can take care of yourself.” There was passion in his voice. “My mother wants to micromanage every freaking detail for me. She used to go into my school portal and email teachers pretending to be me, asking for retakes on tests or if I could rewrite essays. She thinks she’s helping me, but it has the opposite effect. It makes me want to do less and less. You know they spent thousands to send me to sailing camp every summer when I could have just stayed with my cousins on Long Island, where my mom grew up, and worked on a real fishing boat? Her brother owns one, and two of my cousins are working on it now.”
“Your mom’s from Long Island?” Tori asked. “She seems so…”
“She’s embarrassed by her family. But I like them.I want to work with them. It’s a family business. More than a hundred years old.”
“You want to be a commercial fisherman?” She couldn’t hide her surprise.
