“They met on the Vineyard, right?” Candice asked.
“That’s the story,” Lindsey said. “I mean, I think that’s all I know about it?”
“They were two rich kids.” Henry shrugged. “Rich kids with pretty faces who wanted to go on to have more rich kids with pretty faces. I don’t think it’s that surprising.”
Candice thought Henry was simplifying things a little too much, but she had no other conclusions to make, so they dropped it.
That first semesterat NYU’s MFA program, Candice, of course, met the marvelous wordsmith Nathan Lerner. She fell in love with him after reading the first story he submitted for the workshop about an ice fisherman in Ontario who was unable to express himself to anyone, not to his wife, not to his kids, and hardly to himself. It was such a beautiful meditation on life and how we find different ways to sustain ourselves that it brought Candice to tears.
But Candice could see that many of the other women in their writing cohort liked Nathan, too. And why wouldn’t they? He was handsome and charming and thoughtful. He was one of the best writers, if not the best, and he wasn’t from the city, which was a godsend. It meant that he was more empathetic, that he knew the entire world didn’t revolve around Manhattan.
Nathan didn’t start a conversation with Candice until after Candice submitted her first story for the workshop. It was about an older woman living on the coast who thought she was a witch until her final spell—to heal her daughter in the midst of her tumultuous pregnancy—failed, and her daughter died. It was a devastating story, one that nearly killed Candice to write.
They ran into each other at a bar not far from the NYU campus and around the corner from Candice’s apartment. They locked eyes at the bar while Candice was trying to order a beer,and Nathan followed her over to her table, where she’d planned to spend the evening reading James Joyce. Nathan had other plans. “Do you mind if I sit down?”
Candice felt a blush crawl up her cheeks. She put her book away and said he could.
Nathan’s eyes shimmered with the candles that flickered around them. It seemed there was too much of him on the inside of his brain, as though he spilled to the surface of himself. “I read your story this afternoon,” he said. “It’s weird to run into you here. I feel like I called you here.”
Candice hadn’t allowed anyone to read her short story before submitting it, so this was the first feedback she’d gotten. She could tell from his flushed face and his tone that he loved it. More than that, she could tell that her story had confused him, that he hadn’t known what to make of it.
They spent more than an hour discussing the characters, the world she’d put them in, and whether or not she’d been inspired by anything in “real life.”
“Not really,” she said, although for some reason she thought of her mother on the coast, living in her grand mansion, her eyes to the stormy ocean. “But I don’t think you need to write from experience to write at all. You’re not an ice fisherman, are you?”
Nathan smiled. “Not last time I checked.”
That night, Nathan walked Candice back to her apartment, where he kissed her lightly on the lips before whispering, “Good night, beautiful writer.” Candice shivered. She felt as though her life had just cracked open.
They fell in love quickly after that. During Candice’s workshop, Nathan fought any person tooth and nail who didn’t say it was “perfect.” He said that it was already fit to be published. He said that he’d never met a character like Candice’s “old witch on the shore.” Candice, who wasn’t allowed to speak during the workshop for her own piece, sat there, biting hertongue to keep from grinning. When the workshop was over, Nathan invited her over to his apartment, which he shared with three other guys from NYU. She slept over that night. She never wanted to leave him again.
It wasn’t till the end of that first year of the MFA that Candice invited Nathan to Martha’s Vineyard to meet her parents. During that time, Ben and Stella spent nearly all their time at the Harbor Estate and only dipped into Manhattan for various events. They said the winters made their bones harder, and they loved the snow.
But it was a gorgeous eighty-degree day when Nathan and Candice drove from the city to Martha’s Vineyard. On the ferry, they kissed at the railing and watched Candice’s island come closer. Nathan sang that song “Island Girl,” and Candice laughed and said, “I don’t really think it’s that kind of island.” But Nathan assured her that all islands had a similar vibe. “It’s like island people don’t need anyone else. All they have is each other. They’re inaccessible.”
Candice thought that was really poetic, even if it didn’t make total sense to her.
When they reached the Harbor Estate, Ben and Stella greeted them outside. Ben clapped Nathan on the shoulder, beaming. “Welcome to the Vineyard!” Candice and her mother shared a somber hug, and then Candice shook Nathan’s hand and invited him inside.
“We have a lot planned for the weekend!” Ben said as they walked to the veranda, where they’d share wine and cheese and fresh bread from the Oak Bluffs bakery. “We’re going to take you two sailing tomorrow. Nathan, have you ever been sailing?”
“Never,” Nathan affirmed. “I’ve always wanted to learn.”
Ben beamed. He was in his element.
Nathan was the first “official” romantic partner one of the Vanberg siblings had brought home to meet the parents.Candice knew that her father longed for grandchildren, for the family to all live here on the Vineyard and go sailing and eat dinner together. He longed for a wonderful friendship with his son-in-law. He guessed that Lindsey wouldn’t find a nice man easily, which was probably true.
It wasn’t clear what Stella thought of Nathan, not at first. She asked him pointed questions, to which Nathan responded with boisterous and creative energy. Candice couldn’t stop smiling.
During their sailing expedition around the island the following afternoon, Nathan did his best to help with the ropes and sails before resigning himself to helping Stella with the wine, food, and snacks. When they dropped anchor to eat, Nathan raised his glass of champagne to toast the Vineyard, as well as Stella and Ben.
“The past eight months with your daughter have been the happiest of my life,” Nathan said. “So much so that I’m embarrassed to say, I wrote a poem about her. I thought I’d share.”
Ben smiled wider. “We’d love to hear it.”
Stella didn’t say anything.
Together, they sat as Nathan recited an artistic and strangely syncopated poem meant to illustrate his love for Candice. Every word of it shimmered with love, and Candice felt dizzy. When he finished, Ben clapped, saying, “That’s the kind of thing every father wants to hear.”
