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“What do you want me to say, Norah?” Nick’s tone isn’t cruel, but it’s firm enough that I know if I leave this roof in resignation, I will never get the chance to tell Henry how I feel.

I sniffle, trying to get it together. Let him in. “He held on to a love letter he wrote me for nine years, but when I need a couple of months to try to get my head on straight, that’s where he draws the line? What does he think I’ve been doing these last few months? Prancing around the city like that wasn’t the most devastating thing I’ve ever done? I wasn’t okay, Nick. I know you don’t know me, not really, but I hadn’t been okay for a long time. And I couldn’t figure out how to get on track if I was with him. That was something I had to do by myself. For me. Mostly for me. But also for him. So I could be ready for him, for real this time.”

Nick stares at me for a while, interrogating me with his dark eyes. He doesn’t say anything, but he’s not telling me to leave, so I take one final swing.

“I’m going to come back tomorrow,” I say slowly, trying to gauge his face.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Please, Nick,” I continue, not loving the desperation I hear in my voice. “This is my last chance with him. I’m aware of that. I know I need to fight for him. But I’m prepared to do that. Because it would be worth it. I just need a day. I was planning to do this at my Airbnb, but I’m guessing it’s pretty unlikely that I can get him to come all the way to Santa Monica with me. Or that you’d let him.”

“Wait, you’re staying in Santa Monica?”

“Yeah?”

Nick drops his head to his hands. “Henry really didn’t tell you anything about LA geography, huh?”

I shake my head, and Nick laughs a little. I feel him softening.

“If you come back tomorrow, I can’t promise he’ll talk to you. But I won’t run interference.”

I feel a sudden rush of hope. “Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Nick just nods, and we sit there a little while longer in silence, finishing the beers.

“There’s one more thing,” I say, fiddling with the label I’ve completely picked off at this point.

His eyebrows narrow.

“Is there any chance I could get access to this roof again? Before I see him? I kinda have a whole thing planned.”

Chapter 31

When I finally get back to Santa Monica, my stomach reminds me that I’ve barely eaten all day. I don’t know if the beer on an empty stomach went right to my head, or if I’m just running on pure adrenaline at this point, but I feel unlike myself in a wonderful way. I get a sandwich to go from some shop that has good Yelp reviews, and walk down along Ocean Avenue until I see an empty bench overlooking the beach below. As I eat, I watch the waves crash gently, blurring the reflection of the moon above. It feels peaceful, somehow, even in this state of total upheaval in my brain.

I know there’s little chance of me sleeping tonight, and I pace around the bungalow I’m staying in for hours, thankful that I was able to rent out the entire (albeit tiny) studio. I repeat everything I want to say to him over and over in my head, and maybe sometimes out loud, until I feel like it’s right. I read his letter again, even though at this point I practically have it memorized. It feels like a pep talk coming from Henry himself, in lieu of any real contact these last few months. I can hear his voice at seventeen, and I hear his voice now.

I wake up the next morning, rolling over onto the letter beside me in the Aerobed. I stop at a coffee shop, then walk down to the water. I sit in the cold sand, letting the waves lull me into an almost meditative state. And then, once I realize that the Target I’d passed is finally open, I stop in to grab several picnic blankets, a new addition to the plan given the change in location. Then I walk back to my Airbnb, nearly getting hit by several vehicles. I guess people don’t jaywalk in LA? It’s contradicting every instinct I have developed over the last eight years as a New Yorker.

Back at the Airbnb, I shower, trying not to psych myself out. Because whatever happens today, this won’t be the last time I see Henry. Whatever happens, he’ll be at the wedding, at holidays. But this might be the last chance I have for him to really see me. I have to make it count.

The hard California water confuses my curls, and I spend longer than I wanted to trying to make them bounce playfully. Now is not the time for my curls to go stringy on me. As I carefully wind strands around my fingers, defining individual ringlets, I think about Henry taking my hair down while he was inside me, and a shiver runs across my spine.

I apply a little makeup, just to try to look alive, and swipe a balm over my lips. I debate what to wear for a long time. It’s cooler here, by the water, than it is where Henry’s staying, but my plan does now hinge on significant outdoor time. I slip into my favorite jeans, sliding them up my hips like a wearable security blanket. I know I can sit in these, and that’s very important, both for the long ride and for the plan. I ultimately choose a soft pink V-neck T-shirt, not wanting to look like I’m trying as hard as I actually am.

I shove the rest of my things into my suitcase since I was only able to book this Airbnb for one night. I have no return flight, but if I have to stay longer here, I will find somewhere closer to Henry. Or if this all goes to shit, I’ll look into that other airport that Nick mentioned.

I text Nick, who reluctantly gave me his number after agreeing to grant me access to the roof again yesterday, and tell him I’m on my way. He says he’ll meet me at the front when I get there.

I fidget the entire drive. I feel too hot, too clammy, too much. The driver is a chatty woman in her forties, and I let her tell me all about her kids since I can’t get her to be quiet, but also can’t bring myself to engage. Once we pull off the freeway and turn down the palm-tree-lined street that is quickly becoming familiar, I feel instantly relieved.

Nick is sitting on the steps outside the building. He greets me with a head nod when the car pulls up, his eyes narrowing when he sees me go around to the trunk and yank out my purple suitcase.

“I told you, I have a whole thing planned,” I say quickly, not wanting him to get the idea that I’m planning to stay, whether the fact that I hadn’t yet secured lodging for tonight is true or not.

“Does he know I’m back?” I ask Nick as we ride that death trap of an elevator up to the third floor again.

He shakes his head. “Not yet. But I assume he’s expecting it.”