The Williamsburg bar, with its wall-mounted bicycle, exposed brick, and painted tin ceilings, was too cute for Matt’s tastes. The craft-beer list was so rarefied Matt didn’t recognize a single brand. Basically, it was as far from Robert’s Place as you could get. He missed the shore. No, he missed Lauren.
It was still early—day-drinking early—so he and Craig got a seat at the bar. Craig ordered the beer for them both, something from the Netherlands. Matt checked his phone, a chronic and worsening compulsion as his texts to Lauren continued to go unanswered. He knew the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result, but he was too far gone. It was impossible to forget about someone when you saw her face on the screen every day, when you listened to audio of her voice dozens and dozens of times, until you heard her words in your dreams. Until her words and your own thoughts were intertwined.
“You ready for the meeting tomorrow?” Craig asked.
They were having breakfast with their sales agent. A major step toward distribution.
“I’m ready,” Matt said.
“To American Son,” Craig said. “Sure to be the most-talked-about doc of next year.”
Matt halfheartedly raised his bottle.
“Aren’t you happy with the cut?”
Matt nodded. “Of course I am.”
“So, then, relax. All the years you put into this are going to pay off.”
“Let me ask you something,” Matt said, sipping the beer and finding it bitter. “Would you feel this way about the film if it was just the footage I showed you a few weeks ago?”
“The CTE angle is strong—important. But the reveal about the kid takes this thing to another level. It makes it more dramatic and personal. I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that.”
“No,” Matt said. “I don’t.”
“So what are you worried about? Sundance?”
“No. We’ll get into Sundance.”
“Distribution?”
Matt shook his head. How could he admit that in getting the one thing he’d always dreamed of, he would lose something he now wanted more?
For the first time in four years, Lauren walked into Nora’s Café as a guest. She’d offered to work the night of the opening party, but Nora insisted that the regular waitstaff experience and enjoy the new menu along with the other guests—the restaurant regulars, local press, and a posse of shoobies Lauren didn’t recognize but who somehow had the connections to wrangle invites.
Nighttime had a way of transforming a space, and the restaurant felt larger but at the same time more intimate. Nora had rearranged the tables to create more room for people to mingle and for the hors d’oeuvres to be passed. She’d hired waiters from a local catering company to serve samples of the appetizer menu, and the dinner menu would be set out as a buffet. Her mother was in the kitchen prepping fresh doughnuts for dessert. The one speed bump was Nora’s lack of a liquor license; guests had been invited to bring their own wine.
Nora had a ’70s satellite-radio station playing over the sound system, and it filled the room with an eclectic mix of singers ranging from Carly Simon to Donna Summer. Lauren made sure her father and Ethan got pieces of the white pizza before it disappeared and then poured herself a glass of wine from Henny’s bottle of Oyster Bay sauvignon blanc.
“She shouldn’t even bother applying for the liquor license,” Henny said. “I’d rather bring my own than get fleeced for twelve dollars a glass.”
“I agree,” Lauren said, accepting a goat-cheese slider from a server. She hummed along to “You’re So Vain.” And then she saw Emerson walk in.
She had invited him during her phone call to tell him that he had a nephew. It wasn’t something she’d planned.
“I need to see him,” Emerson had said, the break in his voice moving her.
“Of course. At some point,” she said. “My sister hasn’t told him yet about his father. This is going to take some time.”
“Lauren, I know I don’t have a right to ask you for anything. But I can’t wait. He’s all I have left of my brother. I need to come now.”
She couldn’t invite him to the house. It would be too much for all of them: herself, Stephanie, and Ethan. But she couldn’t refuse him outright. As tempting as it was to hold on to her anger and resentment toward him, now they shared a nephew. And so she thought of a compromise.
“We’re all going to a party next Saturday night at the restaurant where I work,” she told him. “It will be crowded and maybe not your ideal place to meet Rory’s son, but it’s best for him that way. He’ll be around so many new people that night, you won’t raise any red flags.”
Emerson didn’t like the idea, but she stood firm and said it was either that or wait until Stephanie decided to tell her son the truth. Until he actually walked into Nora’s, Lauren hadn’t known what option he would choose.
Across the room, Stephanie stood near the kitchen talking to their father. Lauren walked over to let her know Emerson was there.
“I thought your mother would be done by now,” her father said. “Do you think Nora would mind if I took a peek in the kitchen?”
“As long as those doughnuts get on the buffet table for dessert, you can jump in and bake for all Nora would care,” Lauren said. She had suggested that her mother prepare a few batches ahead of time, but Beth was intent on them being as fresh as possible. “You’d be surprised how many people have never eaten a warm doughnut,” her mother said.
Howard left for the kitchen, and Stephanie grabbed Lauren’s arm.
“Guess who’s here?”
Lauren, surprised, said, “You saw him?”
“Saw him? He had the nerve to come over and say hi to me.”
“Wait—I don’t think we’re talking about the same person.”
“Neil Hanes. He came with his parents.”
Lauren glanced around as Stephanie said, “Don’t look!”
She spotted him. “Okay, that’s unfortunate,” Lauren said. “But it’s the least of our concerns; Emerson’s here.”
Now it was Stephanie’s turn to indiscreetly look around the room. She mouthed, Shit. “I’m really having second thoughts about this.”
Lauren knew her sister had to be wishing for a glass of wine right about then, but she’d been sober for two weeks. It was for her own health, but also a gesture to her parents that she was intent on changing—as a person and as a mother.
“It will be fine. I’ll bring Ethan over. You don’t even have to talk to him.”
“Too late for that.”
Emerson was threading his way through the crowd, heading straight for them. He was taller and broader than any other man in the place, as well as less tan and more casually dressed.
“Where’s Ethan?” Lauren said.
“I’m not sure. The last I saw, he was sitting at a table with a few other kids. Near the front window.”
“Can you find him? The sooner we get this over with, the better.”
“I don’t know why I let you talk me into this.”
Lauren was thinking the same thing. Stephanie slipped away before Emerson reached them, leaving Lauren alone with her former brother-in-law. After four years of not speaking to him at all, she had now dealt with him twice in one summer. How ironic that the last time he’d shown up, he’d warned her not to make Rory look bad. Now he was there to meet the son Rory’d had with her sister.
“I wish I could say it’s nice to see you,” she said.
“I guess that’s fair,” he replied. Then, glancing at her hand: “I see the ring is gone.”
“Yes, well, nothing like finding out your husband had a son with your sister to make a ring feel like empty symbolism.”
“That’s the most cynical thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth, Lauren.”
“It’s just the truth.”
“Look, I have no idea what happened. But I do know that my brother never meant to hurt you. He did love you.”
“Wow. That’s the most generous thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth.”
“Like you said—just the truth. Now, where’s my nephew?”
Beth zested a lime, humming along with Carly Simon.
In the end, she’d decided to go full-on summer-experimental with her doughnuts. The one hundred and twenty guests would be treated to spicy chai, salty margarita, and campfire s’mores doughnuts. She would have to fry the s’mores doughnuts just minutes before dessert was served, since they had to be eaten immediately, while the chocolate and marshmallow were still gooey. The only thing she could prep ahead of time was the crushed graham crackers, butter, and sugar mixture she would use as a topping.
“You’re still busy in here? I thought maybe you’d have time to come out and enjoy yourself for a minute or two,” Howard said from the doorway, where he stood holding two glasses of prosecco.
“I am enjoying myself,” she said.
He smiled. “I brought you a drink.”
She waved him away. “I’m on the clock.”
He put the wineglasses down on a countertop. “So, is it like riding a bike? Do you feel like you never stopped catering?”
No, I just feel like I wish I’d never stopped. “In some ways. But it feels different because I appreciate it more now,” she said, putting down the grater.
“Well,” he said, looking around the industrial kitchen. “I’m proud of you.”
“You are?”
Howard moved closer and she saw he had a manila envelope tucked under his arm. He handed it to her, and while she opened it, he said, “It’s the signed paperwork for the sublease. It came to the house today. You really saw things clearly when I was too mired in panic. I owe you an apology for not coming to you sooner.”
They were the words she’d needed to hear all summer.
She looked into his eyes, gray and steady; but for the crow’s-feet, the same eyes she’d been staring into for half her life. He leaned forward and kissed her, and she forgot everything around them: the heat of the kitchen, the clamor of the restaurant guests, even the problems with their daughters.
That’s all a husband is. Just a man. Flawed. Infinitely fallible. The only way marriage works is to forgive and move on.
“I wasn’t angry at you for losing the house,” she said. “I was hurt to be shut out of the decision-making.”
“I know.” He nodded. “Believe it or not, I was trying to spare you the worry.”
“Why didn’t you just say that in the first place?”
He shrugged. “Pride?”
“Oh, Howard.”
He kissed her again, and she threw her arms around his neck. He pulled away just long enough to get the wine and hand her a glass.
“A quick toast. To you, Beth. You were right about this summer. I’m lucky to have you as my partner. I’m lucky to have you as my wife.”
She put down the wine and kissed him again. A timer pinged.
Howard glanced at the dozens of doughnuts cooling on the counter. “Can I help you plate those?” he asked.
She looked pointedly at his sports jacket.
“What?” he said. “You think I’m afraid of rolling up my sleeves?” He pulled off his jacket and set it on a wall hook. Beth, eyebrows raised, pointed to the sink. She stood beside him as he washed his hands.
“What’s with your sudden interest in the kitchen?” she asked, passing him a clean towel.
“Beth, you weren’t right about just the summer,” he said. “You were right about something else: it is your turn.”