by Erin McRae
“I’m pretty sure dating is whatever the people doing it says it is,” Eliza replied lazily. “But I really don’t give a shit about lying to them. Do you?”
“Not in the least.”
HIS RELATIONSHIP WITH Eliza quickly became the kind of easy domestic relationship he had never been interested in before. They slept in each other’s beds – usually Harry’s. Eliza’s apartment, not to mention her bed, simply wasn’t big enough for two people at a time, especially not when one of those people was as tall as Harry. As they discovered after a night of blanket-stealing and not particularly conscious turf battles over pillows.
They spent a long weekend together at the beach, Eliza reveling in the water and Harry reveling in watching her. Storms rolled in, but the lightning only came after dark. They went to brunch together on Sundays and cooked dinner for each other at Harry’s house or in the office’s test kitchen during the week. At least, Harry cooked for Eliza.
It was all so intimate and comfortable, in a way that Harry had only felt trapped by before. But when it was Eliza sitting across from him at his kitchen table, or lying in bed beside him, he only felt liberated.
Eliza wasn’t the only one who needed her freedom to be able to love someone. She’d just been so much more self-aware about it.
“Everyone is more self-aware than you,” Meryl said when Harry tried to articulate the entire situation to her one evening over drinks at what was rapidly becoming their regular bar.
“At least I’m working on it?” Harry asked with his most winsome smile.
Meryl rolled her eyes and took a sip of her drink. “If you say so.”
Harry fidgeted with his napkin. “I wonder what it would be like,” he said, “If I weren’t counting down the days before she leaves for Berlin.”
“Everyone’s counting down the days to something,” Meryl said. “Be grateful that, for now at least, you know how many days you have left.”
AS MUCH AS ELIZA’S impending departure for Berlin loomed over both of them, they didn’t talk about it much. Probably because they knew there was nothing to be done. Eliza was going to be gone for a year and no amount of planning could determine how their relationship would develop or survive over the course of that year; they could only try. There would be the bright spot of October, when Harry would be in Germany for the Frankfurt book fair, but other than that...neither of them were certain.
At least, Harry imagined, it would finally stop raining. New York would be glad for the reprieve.
THE LAST WEEK OF AUGUST, a stack of mail landed on Harry’s desk. He looked up, ready to chide whichever intern thought that an appropriate place to put it, but it was Eliza standing over him. She held a small white envelope and looked somewhere between distraught and amused.
“This isn’t the mail room,” Harry admonished. They were still cranky with each other. It wasn’t real upset, just a way to amuse themselves and channel the sexual tension between them into something marginally appropriate for the workplace.
“I know that. Look at this.” She shook the envelope. “What do you think this is?”
Harry squinted at it and wondered why he was supposed to be psychic about anything that didn’t relate to water, Ys, or Eliza. “I don’t know?”
“It’s addressed to me. From Gina and Philippe.”
“Philippe and who?”
“Gina. His fiancée. Wait. You knew he was engaged, right?”
Harry’s face must have betrayed his confusion on several fronts.
“I’ll take that as a no.” Eliza’s smile was smug. “Which reminds me, next time you need to hear how horrible you are, there’s an entire episode of the debacle around your book I still haven’t told you.”
“Joy,” Harry said glumly, despite genuine amusement.
“Anyway, they’ve mailed it to me here, because Philippe doesn’t have my home address, thank goodness.”
“Maybe it’s a note of appreciation for all your hard work?”
She flipped the envelope over and showed him the back flap. “There are doves. Embossed. In gold. Holding food trucks aloft.”
Harry started laughing. Eliza grabbed the letter opener off Harry’s desk, slit the envelope, and shook out the contents: A card, embossed in more golden doves – also holding food trucks – and a reply card with same. Eliza picked up the larger of the two with the tips of her fingertips. “As I thought. Wedding invitation.”
“Maybe you’ll be in Berlin by then?” He was trying to normalize it by mentioning it as often as possible. Sometimes it worked.
Eliza shook her head. “It’s next month. No dice.”
Harry started laughing and couldn’t stop.
Eliza joined him. “I’ve done something to deserve this punishment, Harry, and it wasn’t you.”
Harry tried not to react further, but he couldn’t help it. Eliza was living their collective worst nightmare and her predicament was, for the moment, hilarious to him.
Then she said, “There’s a plus one and you’re coming with me.”
Harry’s heart sank as the situation became abruptly less hilarious. “No. Oh no. Absolutely not,” he protested.
“You assigned him to me,” Eliza said, all outrage.
“Because you asked for an author to be a test case!” Oh, how Harry loved bickering with her.
“And you gave me him because you were annoyed at me, and because you are a perpetually difficult person!”
Harry could not, in all fairness, deny that accusation. “It’s part of my charm.”
“It’s really not. At all.” Eliza smiled at Harry, and he returned it. “But now, Harry, I am asking you on a date. To Gina and Philippe’s absurdly expensive and ridiculous wedding. Which is coming from me and you know what my and Cody’s wedding was supposed to be like.”
“You are cruel. And manipulative. And I despise you right now.” Harry gave a sigh of long suffering. “Of course I’ll go with you.”
Eliza clapped her hands together before snatching up the invitation and reply card. “Excellent!”
The event was going to be absolutely dreadful. But Eliza was so damn delightful Harry could hardly care.
HARRY WAS AT HIS DESK trying to get his unread email count down to zero for once. There were several messages from Anika, updating him on the edits and publishing schedule for his revised Vienna book. Finally, that albatross of a book was going to be out in the world, and Harry couldn’t wait. Then, in a burst of organizational energy, he started an email to Dennis and Meryl about this year’s Christmas trip with the Miscreants.
As he typed in their email addresses, his email client asked if he wanted to include Steven’s address as well.
Oh, do I. Do I, Harry thought. Grief was never easy, but modern life made it a particularly peculiar experience. He had to take a moment to stare out the window and collect himself before he could continue with the message. The sky was a bright, clear blue, and the few trees visible down the avenue below were just starting to turn color with the longer nights.
Finally, Harry turned back to his email.
Since our fearless organizational leader has left us, he typed, I guess it’s up to us to make this year’s holiday go. Burning issues, not necessarily in order of importance: 1) Do we invite Mallory? 2) I want to invite Eliza. How bad of an idea is that? 3) Meryl, are you bringing anyone?
The resulting thread thoroughly distracted him from his initial task of clearing his inbox. Dennis and Meryl were both cautiously enthusiastic about the idea of inviting Eliza. Dennis offered to take the lead in finding the house. Meryl did indeed want to bring her girlfriend.
But if we don’t get a place with enough bedrooms this year, she wrote, I AM NOT GOING ANYWHERE AT ALL.
Define ‘enough’ Dennis wrote back.
YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHAT I MEAN, Meryl immediately replied.
Harry was chuckling over that – and nodding along with her sentiment – when there was a tap on his open door.
He looked up from his d
esk to where Jonathan stood, shifting his weight slightly from side to side, in his doorway.
“Hey, boss,” Jonathan said. “Do you have a moment?”
The term of address was as atypical as the nervousness, and while Harry hoped nothing was truly awry, he did in some way relish a chance to help. He was terribly fond of Jonathan. The idea that he could, for a change, be the competent one in their professional dyad was wildly appealing.
“For you? Always,” Harry said. “What is it?”
Jonathan shut the office door and took a seat in the chair across from Harry’s desk. “I’ve worked here for a few years now, and I’ve loved every moment of it.”
“Liar,” Harry said, even as his heart sank. This was a leaving speech, there was no doubt about it.
“Okay, well, almost every minute. Which is what makes this so hard. But – I’ve accepted an offer elsewhere in our company.”
“That’s wonderful,” Harry said and meant it. Jonathan had long outgrown his own position here. Harry would miss him desperately, but he deserved a step up in the world. Several of them. “Who do I have to be jealous of?”
“Not a who,” Jonathan said, now looking shifty. “A where. London.”
“You’re moving to the UK!” Harry’s heart plummeted.
Jonathan nodded.
“Tell me you’ll be more than some other poor disorganized slob’s assistant?” Harry didn’t think he’d be able to bear parting with Jonathan otherwise.
“I’ll be getting into the editorial chain properly, yes.”
“This is something you richly deserve. Well done. But I have to ask, even if it’s none of my business, does your move across the pond by chance have anything to do with Malik?”
Jonathan looked down at his hands, a small, awkward smile playing on his lips. “We’re moving in together. Or, well, I’m moving in with him. But. Yeah.”
Harry stood up, walked around his desk, and held out a hand to Jonathan, who, still sitting down, took it uncertainly.
Harry pulled him to his feet and into a hug. Everything happening for Jonathan was good and as it should be and yet Harry, fond fool that he was, felt like part of his heart was breaking. This was nearly as bad as Eliza moving to Berlin. Jonathan had been at his side every day for years, Harry adored him, and they would probably never work or have daily contact with each other ever again.
He had to clear his throat before he could speak again. “Congratulations. On everything. And certainly for having your life together more than I ever have.”
Jonathan laughed. The sound was a little wet.
“This place is going to fall apart without you,” Harry opined, pulling back again. “You and Eliza leaving. We’ll be plunged back into the stone age.”
“Well, in about a year, I think Eliza is going to need another job. She might come back.”
“Can you imagine HR’s reaction? No, I’ll worry about that later. For now,” Harry said, settling back behind his desk. “Tell me all about your plans for this next great adventure of yours.”
HARRY’S OWN NEXT GREAT adventure, that of Philippe’s wedding, was far less interesting, but at least he had Eliza by his side, as they schlepped up to Port Authority and then out to the far reaches of Long Island via ancient commuter rail.
They were wearing their summer best for the occasion and trying not to wilt. Though surely Eliza was cooler in her floral A-line dress than Harry was in his wool suit.
“Maybe we should have rented a car,” Harry suggested, as the delay for their train ticked over from ten minutes to twenty.
Eliza didn’t respond except to link her arm with Harry’s.
“You’re being placating,” he accused fondly.
“No,” she said. “I’m silently enjoying that you care about our getting there in a timely and appropriate fashion despite your horror at the invitation.”
“Golden doves carrying food trucks,” Harry said by way of explanation. He really didn’t want to attend this event, but he suspected he’d be dining out on the story of it for years.
Eventually their train materialized from wherever it had been dawdling and Harry did his best to usher Eliza through the throngs at the gate to the platform to board. She didn’t need him to be protective of her; she was tall and fierce and could throw an elbow in a crowd as well as any New Yorker, but if he had her by his side he was going to enjoy it.
They managed to grab a bench for two. Seated so close to Eliza, Harry desperately wanted to kiss her but didn’t know if they could manage such affection chastely enough not to mess up her makeup. He settled for briefly brushing a finger over the sparkling evil eye at her throat and was gratified when she smiled sideways at him.
“I have always enjoyed this ride,” she said, as the train trundled from Queens to beyond the city’s limits and the view changed from industrial landscapes to that of charming suburbanness, filled with water and trees.
Harry personally, found nothing remarkable about the sight and was grateful to consider himself a permanent resident of the city, but he thought he might understand.
“It’s quite the fantasy, isn’t it?” he said as they passed houses with yards that led down to boat slips.
Eliza turned her head away from the window to look at him, beaming. “Beautiful and terrible,” she said. Her voice was cheerful. She pressed closer to him, and Harry wondered why they ever had to do anything that involved other people at all.
That feeling of Harry’s only intensified when they arrived at their station near the end of the island. The wedding hall was a mere few blocks’ walk from where they disembarked, but Harry could feel the ocean calling. Maybe it was Ys, from so very far away.
“Are you sure we have to go in?” he whispered to Eliza when they arrived at their destination, which was gaudy and over-the-top with plenty of doves and not a food truck in sight.
She gave him a sidelong look of judgmentalness. “Yes.”
“Ah.” He hadn’t really expected Eliza to consider cutting out of the wedding after having come all this way, but still. It was a beautiful day. The sky was blue and the sun was bright but the breeze was pleasantly cool. This was a day for strolling with Eliza, not sitting and watching other people’s life events.
“Are you having performance anxiety?” Eliza asked as they climbed the steps, her heels clicking on the stone.
Considering he hadn’t been sure he knew how to kiss her appropriately on the train, Harry knew he really shouldn’t swat her ass. Especially not as they were walking into someone else’s wedding. But it was tempting nonetheless. He settled for giving Eliza his most charming smile and holding out his arm for her to take. “I’m only interested in performing for you.”
He had the satisfaction of seeing Eliza flush a most enchanting shade of pink. She gave him a coy, almost shy smile as a teenage boy in an ill-fitting suit directed them where to sit.
The ceremony itself was surprisingly pleasant. It wasn’t too long, and Philippe and Gina did not commit – in Harry’s eyes – the grievous sin of writing their own vows. Which meant he was subjected to neither bad writing nor the sharing of too much private emotion. As an additional bonus, no one promised to obey.
None of which meant that the service kept Harry’s attention. His eyes kept drifting to Eliza who sat next to him with her hands folded neatly in her lap. Occasionally, he would catch her looking at him too, and they would share a private smile before attending to the proceedings again.
Harry had been to weddings before, with people he’d been dating or sleeping with. It had always been rather awkward, listening to other people’s vows while wondering and worrying what the person next to him thought about marriage or wanted from him in that regard. Meryl had been an exception to that – they’d gone to Stephen and Mallory’s wedding together – and now, it seemed, Eliza was too, albeit in an entirely different way.
“In the former life you think we had,” Eliza whispered as the music struck up for the recessional. “Were we ever mar
ried?”
“Does it matter?” Harry asked even though he knew the answer was yes. But could anyone ever really marry the devil? Or a queen?
“Considering what it took for us to get here, yes.”
She didn’t mean the Long Island Railroad. She meant Cody, her broken engagement, the melted key, and the desperate need for freedom they both harbored.
“I know I’ve difficult, afraid, and strange,” Harry murmured. “But the life with you I care about is the one I’m having with you right now. I will never trap you behind a gate.”
Eliza gave him a wide-eyed look of near disbelief. But before he could wonder if he’d somehow misstepped, she leaned into his side and slid her hand into his.
Eliza
THE RECEPTION WAS AT a banquet hall within easy walking distance of the wedding venue. She and Harry were seated at a table with a collection of Gina’s more distant relatives. Eliza was prepared for a certain level of absurdity, and they did not disappoint. But they were also people who were gathered to enjoy each other. Between that and the open bar Eliza found herself, after a while, enjoying herself. That the groom was a chef also meant that the food was far better fare than most weddings, even if Philippe was the king of supermarket sauces.
She also found it lovely to watch Harry thoroughly charm the table with his attentiveness and his interest in other people’s lives. For someone who was bad at intimate relationships on his own behalf, he certainly was good at talking to other people. His fond anecdotes about working with Philippe, which Eliza suspected had been invented for the occasion, also definitely won him points.
Eliza was almost certain no one had caught on to the fact that Harry had his hand on her knee, his fingers resting right where the hem of her skirt gave way to silk stockings, the entire time.