Page 67

“Good to know. I wasn’t picturing sex, which had consumed my every thought. I speculated about Tuesday night’s dinner. And I stopped in the middle of frozen foods and began to rearrange my schedule to see if you felt that way too.”

I breathe in deeply, and my voice erupts a little too forced as my tears flip from fear to joy. “I want to buy a chicken.”

He laughs and kisses the top of my head. “Then get dressed, and let’s make our freaking flight and get some chicken.”

“And we can cook it at your house.”

“Yes, let me take you to my home.”

* * *

VII

Stretch Goals

45

Tess

We’ve had sex in every room of his little bungalow on the canals in Venice. I say little, and it is, but I know it’s worth a fortune. He has money in LA real estate. That’s smart. Besides my tiny Philly townhouse and my mom’s house in Florida, I own nothing. Nothing I love like he loves this house. It’s a lot of glass in a bungalow frame. It’s been retrofitted so all the walls pull back and can open to the canal. It’s like living in a modern and gorgeous fort.

The floors are wide pale bamboo, with a color palette of gray and muted green. There are pops of orange in pillows and a throw. The impossibly high A-frame ceilings are all exposed wood and beams. The house is so light yet grounded. Out front is his fire pit with old school Adirondacks next to it. A small hedge separates his neighbors. It’s fascinating a home worth at least three million has so little privacy. Even though we’re walking distance to the beach, I like the quiet of the canals. The Pacific Ocean seems too unmanageable to me. The Atlantic seems more intimate somehow, more mine. I invited Mikey for cocktails while Alex finishes work.

“Florida tomorrow for Thanksgiving?” Our first separation since Mexico.

“Yes, and then I have a thing.”

“Hey, vague book. Talk to me.”

I shift in my chair and stare at the fire. Led Zeppelin spilling from the Sonos. Mikey’s pick, not mine.

“I have to finish a book.”

“Does he know you’re not coming back after the holiday?”

“Yes. He knows I have to finish my book, but—”

“OH MY GOD. You’re tedious. Just fucking tell me where you’re going.”

“I go to the shore every year on the anniversary of my mother’s death. I toast her with the most expensive champagne I can afford and tell her about my life.”

“That is fucking sweet and depressing. She died how long ago?”

“I let myself get maudlin once a year. Cut me some slack.”

He nods sharply. “What are the bubbles this year?”

We chat about the ritual and the Dom I sent to my townhouse in Philly yesterday. Hopefully, I’ll see Alex before he heads to England for Christmas with his family. I’m supposed to go to Kyle’s in Seattle. Now it’s just life keeping us apart.

Alex arrives as Mikey’s called home for a Facetime session with his husband. Alex pulls me up and puts me in his lap. We kiss hello way too suggestively for his neighbors.

“You really have to go to Florida?”

“You really have to go to Boston?”

“I brought home food. I don’t want to spend any extra time doing anything but you for the next day. Sorry I was so late.”

The fire flickers, making his hazel eyes burn with a golden sandy glow. “Don’t ever apologize for working.”