Beth wiped her hands on her apron. It was new, a gift to herself. A token to remind herself that she had been good at something once.
The kitchen counter was covered with packages and jars and containers: confectioners’ sugar, vanilla extract, milk, eggs, salt, vegetable oil, and shortening. The kitchen island held two other gifts to herself: a brand-new deep fryer and a stand mixer. For the first time in years—certainly since the girls had grown up and left the house—she was making doughnuts.
She didn’t know how to do leisure. After thirty years of spending nearly every day at the clothing store, the sudden stretch of endless free time was more than unwelcome. It felt hostile, as if the universe were telling her in no uncertain terms that she was obsolete. Even work for the Polaris Foundation quieted during the month of August.
The past week, with Howard in Florida, Stephanie and Ethan back in Philly, and Lauren at the café every day, she had no idea what to do with herself. She could spend only so many hours clearing out the attic before becoming overwhelmed with a crushing sense of failure. The end of Adelman’s, losing the house the girls had grown up in, and now facing the sale of her parents’ house.
And Howard was clearly running away from it all.
The doorbell rang. Beth had forgotten the sound of the Green Gable doorbell, the gentle melodic pinging of a chime that her mother had custom-ordered. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had used it.
“Damn it,” she muttered, the sugary glaze not budging from her hands as she rubbed them against the apron. She ran them under the faucet.
The doorbell pinged again.
Well, the yeast, milk, and flour paste had to rest for a half an hour anyway. She covered the bowl with plastic wrap, walked to the front door, and peeked out the window, fortifying herself to make excuses to get rid of the real estate agent. She found herself smiling instead.
“Neil! How are you? Come on in.”
He was a good-looking young man. Not devastatingly handsome like her son-in-law had been, but Rory’s type of charisma was always a double-edged sword. Neil Hanes was the kind of man she had imagined one of her daughters ending up with, ambitious but grounded, from a good family. And, well, yes, Jewish. Not that she minded that Rory had been Catholic. The truth was, she had adored Rory. They had all fallen in love with him.
“This really is a nice surprise,” Beth said, steering Neil into the living room. They sat on the couch and he eyed her mother’s vintage suitcases with obvious appreciation.
“I’m sorry to come by without calling but I was just a few doors away, at the Kleins. They built where the red-brick house used to be up the block?”
“Yes, yes—it’s amazing, what they’ve done. I mean, that modern architecture isn’t for me but I can understand the appeal.”
“Well, this place is a classic. They don’t make them like this anymore.”
Beth looked around with a sigh. “It was my parents’ house, you know. I grew up coming here for the summers.”
“My father mentioned that you’re selling,” Neil said.
Beth looked at him, surprised. Well, she supposed people did talk.
“Yes.”
“Are you waiting until after the summer?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. It’s a fairly recent decision.”
“Well, I’d be interested.”
“You want to buy this house? You’re able to buy this house? How old are you, Neil? Thirty?”
He laughed. “Sad to say, I’m turning thirty-one in the fall. But I’m about to sell a big script, and aside from that, my father would always float me.”
“Well, let’s put this conversation on hold for the moment. I’m not in a rush, though my husband feels differently on the matter. He’s in Florida right now.”
“My parents love it there. They haven’t seen an East Coast winter in ten years.”
Neil walked to the mantel and looked at photos of Lauren and Stephanie.
“These are great,” he said, turning to her. “Is Lauren around?”
Beth smiled. “She’s at work. But why don’t you come by later? Have dinner with us. I’m sure she’d love to see you.”
“I feel ambushed,” Lauren whispered to her mother, though Neil Hanes couldn’t possibly overhear their conversation. They were in the kitchen and he sat outside at the table set for the dinner.
“That’s a bit dramatic,” Beth said, opening the bottle of wine. “And there’s plenty of time before the food is ready. Maybe go change out of your shorts and sneakers?”
Lauren glanced uneasily at the deck. What could she do? Flee and hide from visitors in her own home? She was exhausted after a nonstop day at the restaurant.
The front door opened and closed.
“Who else did you invite?” Lauren said. “Is this dinner going to be like an episode of The Bachelorette?”
Beth looked in the direction of the hallway. “I didn’t invite anyone else.”
Stephanie, with Ethan in tow, walked into the kitchen dragging a large suitcase.
“What are you doing back?” Beth said. “I thought you were in Philly until the middle of next week.”
“Yeah, well, plans changed,” Stephanie said. Ethan ran over to Beth and hugged her, then made his way to Lauren.
“Hey, cutie,” she said.
“E., run upstairs and put your stuff in your room. I need to talk to Gran for a sec.” Ethan dutifully scooted off. Stephanie pulled a bottle of wine from the refrigerator.
“Doesn’t he still have school?” Beth said.
“So he’ll miss the last few days. He’s six. I think Harvard will overlook it.”
“I don’t appreciate the sarcasm,” Beth said.
“Brett reneged on letting me stay at the house for the rest of the month, okay? I just had to get out of there.”
“Nice guy,” Lauren muttered.
“This is just so unfair to Ethan,” said Beth.
“He’ll be fine. Kids are resilient,” Stephanie said. She peeked into the pot on the stove. “Smells good, Mom.”
Beth glanced nervously outside. Stephanie, following her gaze, realized they had company.
“Who’s here?”
“No one,” said Beth.
“Neil Hanes,” said Lauren.
“Oh, shit. Did I just walk in on a date?” Stephanie laughed.
“Don’t be an ass,” Lauren said. “In fact, I’m leaving.”
She brushed past Stephanie, ignoring her mother’s protests.
Outside, the sun was not close to setting. Lauren wished for a blanket of darkness for her run to the boardwalk. She didn’t know what was worse: her mother’s not-so-subtle attempt to fix her up or the fact that it was understandable. She was twenty-nine years old, a widow for four years. She was the one who was abnormal, not the people who expected her to someday have a life again.
The problem was, from the time she was fifteen, she’d known she was meant to be with Rory, and only Rory. Even while they were broken up, she knew it. During their first split, when he was a freshman at Harvard and she still had a year left in high school, everyone told her to hook up with other guys, that it was the only way to get over him. But Lauren knew better; she knew that to spend time with any other boy would make the loss of Rory Kincaid only that much more unbearable. No one could compare.
The boardwalk was too crowded for a good run. She stopped and rested on the rail facing the beach. She leaned over, and the heart pendant of her necklace clanged against the metal. Lauren wrapped it in her hand, closing her eyes.
She could see the Kincaid family living room, the house on Conway crowded with guests, a towering Christmas tree in the center of it all.
“Come with me for a sec,” Rory said, taking her by the hand.
“Where are we going?” she asked after he pulled their coats from the closet.
“I want to give you your gift in private,” he said.
“Oh. Well, should I get yours? It’s under the tree.” She tried not to think about the card. She’d agonized about how to sign it. Love, Lauren seemed to say too much. But she felt that and more and so she wrote it.
“You can give it to me after,” he said, leading her to the garage.
“Did you get me a car?” she joked.
“This is the only place without a million people. I didn’t want my family to see us going upstairs. They’d get the wrong idea.”
The cold garage smelled of rubber and gasoline. She stumbled over a rake, and he caught her. “Careful,” he said. “Here—sit on this.” He opened two lawn chairs and brushed off the dried leaves. They sat hidden behind his mother’s Buick, the single lightbulb in the ceiling bathing everything in yellow.
Rory pulled a small box out of his coat pocket. It was robin’s-egg blue and tied with a white ribbon.
“Oh my God,” she said. “What did you do?” He handed it to her with the shyest smile she’d ever seen on his face. Hands shaking, she untied the ribbon and lifted the lid to find the iconic silver Tiffany Open Heart necklace.
She’d signed her card exactly right after all.
Now, as much as Lauren longed for the pure happiness she’d had as a teenager, she also felt sorry for that clueless fifteen-year-old self. It was human nature to open yourself up to love, to seek it and give it. But losing it was so painful. She’d read once that the opposite of love wasn’t hate, it was indifference. She’d told that to Rory, and he’d said that love, like energy, “can neither be created nor destroyed.” It was a conversation under the stars, sitting on a metal bench in Narberth Park.
Another lesson about love happened in that park, a lesson about its flip side.
It was August, the summer before her senior year. He would be leaving soon for Boston. Every minute felt delicate and precious. They planned to drive to the shore for a night at the Green Gable. She picked him up that morning, car windows down, sunroof open, “Hollaback Girl” playing on the radio.
It was only after she parked the car that she noticed his text. Today’s not going to work.
She hurried up the sidewalk to his house. Rory was standing out front watering the lawn with Emerson, who was visiting for two weeks.
“Oh—hey,” he said when he spotted her. “Didn’t you get my text?”
She looked at her phone. “Yeah. Like, two seconds ago. Hi, Emerson.” Emerson gave her a distracted wave.
“What’s going on?” she said.
Rory seemed stressed. She touched his arm. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes,” he said, annoyed.
“What is it, then?”
He glanced back at the house. “Let’s go for a walk.”
Her stomach knotted, but she followed him to the park. They found a shady spot on the bleachers near the basketball court. Even under the trees, the metal was hot, and she slid forward so her bare legs weren’t touching it. Rory stared into the distance, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees.
“Rory, you’re scaring me,” she said.
He looked at her as if he’d forgotten she was there. “Sorry. I don’t mean to upset you. But I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. I’m leaving in a week, and you know I won’t be back until Thanksgiving.”
Lauren clutched the edge of the bench. “I know. But I’ll come see you. We’ve talked through all of this.”
Rory shook his head. “I feel like we’re not being realistic about this whole thing.”
What? “Is this coming from you? Or from Emerson?”
He finally turned to her. “Come on, Lauren. I mean, yes, Emerson went to West Point. He knows what it’s like to be in an environment where you’re challenged every day, where you have to keep your self-motivation sharp. I can’t have distractions right now. Between hockey and academics, I won’t have time for a long-distance relationship.”
She felt like she’d been slapped. “Wow. How convenient. I bet you’ll find time for a short-distance relationship, though, won’t you.”
“That’s not what this is about.”
He reached for her hand, but she snatched it away. “Don’t touch me.” She stood up, the sunlight blindingly bright against the metal as she climbed down the bleachers. She broke into a run as she headed back to her car, and it wasn’t lost on her that their relationship had begun with her running through that very park.
At the time, Lauren had thought that it was the worst pain she would ever feel. Her young self could never have imagined that one day she would be standing alone at the beach, alone in the world, looking back on that argument with nostalgia.
Her mother assumed that the key to her happiness would be finding love again.
Lauren never wanted to feel that way again. Alone, she was safe. Alone, she was in control.
She wouldn’t let anything get in the way of that.