by Jane Green
Lila, crying and laughing at the same time, overcome with relief, happiness and sadness, reached over and clutched Callie’s hand. “Will you help me?”
“I will. And I’ll even help you return that God-awful vase from your great-aunt Sadie. What were you even thinking, putting that on your wedding list?”
“I didn’t.” Lila started blubbering with laughter. “Steve insisted on putting it on the list. His mother has the same vase.”
“Jesus. Does it look as ugly in her house?”
“Yes! God, I hate her house. Oh God, I can’t believe I’m going to admit this, but I can’t stand them! Any of them. I can’t stand his family. And I can’t stand his friends. Oh God, Callie. What the hell have I been doing?”
Callie leaned back in her chair and threw her hands to the ceiling. “Praise the Lord!” she shouted, giggling as diners around them turned to stare.
As Lila progressed through her thirties, she often wondered if she’d made the right decision, but she knew she was indeed better off alone than married to a man she didn’t love.
(For the record, Steve got married six months later to a girl he had known forever, the daughter of his parents’ best friends. She gave up her job immediately and they moved to Englewood, New Jersey, where she is president of the local Hadassah chapter and mother to their three adorable children. Lila still feels lucky to have escaped.)
Two years ago Lila’s company moved to Norwalk, Connecticut, and although she tried the reverse commute for a while she found herself sitting on the train and fantasizing about a little house, a garden of her own, sitting on a porch and sunning herself with a glass of wine and a cat curled up on her lap.
She was tired of New York, she realized. She had heard it said that once you were tired of New York, you were tired of life, but she knew that wasn’t true. She just wanted a different kind of life, a move away from the rat race, from the dating scene that had gotten so much harder as she’d grown older.
JDate or match.com, it didn’t much matter, it was always awful. Nobody ever looked like his picture, and actual romances were few and far between. It was time for a fresh start, somewhere she could be happy, just Lila and her cat.
She found a little Victorian cottage in Rowayton, almost on the water, in need of serious renovation, and while it took a good year to feel settled, to find her feet, to find her friends—a hard task when surrounded by married couples and children—she also found a peace that had been missing from her life in the city.
And then, last year, she met Ed. She heard him first, on his mobile phone in the Starbucks at the bottom of Greenwich Avenue, and it irritated her beyond belief, because she was firmly of the opinion that you need to take your phone calls outside so as not to disturb other people.
She tried to ignore it, but he was having an argument with his wife—although as the conversation escalated it became clear she was an ex—and she was accusing him of not returning her son’s clothes, and he was attempting to tell her he had bought the child’s clothes himself and always made a point of returning hers.
It could have been interesting, if it hadn’t become quite so loud.
“Excuse me?” She turned around, frowning, now hugely irritated. “As interesting as it is to hear about the three Ralph Lauren polo shirts you swear aren’t at your house, and the Merrell sandals, I’d much rather read my New York Times in peace. Would you mind taking the conversation outside?”
To be honest, Lila was gearing up for a fight. She quite wanted him to be rude back because she needed to let off some steam and found a good fight was sometimes all it took to put her in a really good mood.
The man’s face fell. “I’m so sorry,” he said, looking distraught and immediately standing up and heading outside. “I’m just . . . mortified. I’m so sorry to have disturbed you.”
“It’s okay.” Now it was her turn to be embarrassed. “Don’t worry about it. Just keep it down.”
She buried herself in her paper, and looked up ten minutes later to find the same man standing in front of her, clearing his throat.
“Again, I apologize,” he said, the apology sounding far more sincere given that it was delivered in a crisp English accent. “May I buy you a coffee, something to eat, perhaps?”
“Sure.” Lila grinned, folding her paper and putting it down. “Apology accepted, and I’d love a grande skim latte and a slice of low-fat cherry berry cake. So where’d you get that accent? Brooklyn?”
And now, at forty-two, Lila knows what it means to fall in love. She understands that it isn’t fantasizing about men who are unavailable or unattainable, who will only ever look at her as a friend. It isn’t about playing games—not returning his call, pretending to be busy when you are not—in a bid to try to keep him interested, or perhaps get him interested in the first place.
It is about peace. And joy. And happiness. It is about the way her heart starts to smile when she hears Ed’s car pull up in the driveway. It is about feeling safe: sure that there are no games, that he will call when he says he will; knowing that when he gazes at her as they sit on the porch, he does not see her as she sees herself: a five-foot-one, dumpy, frizzy-haired Jewish girl with a long nose and double chin. He sees her as Audrey Hepburn.
And when she looks at him, this six-foot-three, sandy-haired, slightly shy, impeccably mannered, self-deprecating English journalist, she feels her heart quite literally burst open with love.
It may have taken forty-two years, but it was worth the wait.
Fish Balls
Ingredients
1½ pounds haddock fillet, skinned
1½ pounds cod fillet, skinned
1½ medium-size onions
3 eggs
3 teaspoons salt
Pinch white pepper
3 teaspoons sugar (I actually ended up adding much more—am guessing it was around 5-6, but you want it to taste slightly sweet and salty)
1 tablespoon oil
½ to ¾ cup bread crumbs or matzo meal
Method
Wash the haddock and cod and leave them to drain.
Peel and chop the onions into 1-inch chunks. Put into a food processor with the eggs, salt, pepper, sugar and oil. Process until the mixture is a smooth paste.
Pour into a large bowl, add the bread crumbs, stir and leave to swell.
Cut the fish into 1-inch chunks and put them into the food processor, half at a time. Process for 5 seconds until the fish is finely chopped.
Add to the onion puree and blend by hand.
The mixture should be firm enough to shape into balls about the size of large meatballs. If it is not firm enough, add a little more of the bread crumbs; if it is too firm, add a little water.
Add enough oil (about 1 inch deep) to a frying pan and heat. Carefully lower the fish balls into the oil and fry, turning often over a moderate heat until they are an even brown. Remove when cooked and drain on a paper towel.
They can be served hot or left to cool.
Chapter Eight
Callie exhales a long slow breath and smiles to herself as the masseuse deftly rubs out the tension in her shoulders.
And she thought Reece had forgotten her birthday!
This morning, there was nothing from Reece. He had gone by the time she woke up, and Callie assumed he had forgotten, sighing sadly as she hit the snooze button on the alarm clock.
But then Eliza ran in, closely followed by Jack, carrying a tray on which were some scrambled eggs, some leftover chicken from last night’s dinner, two pieces of burned toast, and a cup of tea that was a rather suspicious shade of gray.
“Is that for me?” Callie asked in delight.
“We made you breakfast in bed,” Jack announced proudly, climbing into bed next to her and snuggling up. “Happy birthday, Mom.”
They wriggled with excitement as she ate her breakfast—good Lord, did she really have to eat that black toast?—before handing over their “surprise,” which was wrapped loosely in construction paper Callie rec
ognized from the craft cupboard downstairs.
Callie welled up as she opened it to find a photograph of herself and Jack when Jack was a baby, in a large brown-paper frame that had clearly been made by Eliza. There were tiny delicate shells stuck all over it in swirling patterns, and Callie immediately pictured Eliza, shut in her room, head bent low as she concentrated on sticking the shells just right.
“I love this picture!” She threw her arms around both her children in a group hug. “It’s always been my favorite of the two of us, Jack. And this frame is gorgeous! Where did you find something so beautiful?”
“I made it!” Eliza said proudly. “All by myself! That’s why I couldn’t let you into my bedroom last week.”
“And I wondered what you were doing in there so long! Oh Liza, it’s just beautiful.”
“Do you like the circles?”
“I do!” Callie nodded enthusiastically. “Those are my favorite parts. And I particularly love this bit here—it kind of reminds me of a wave.”
“That’s what I wanted!” Eliza beamed, before jumping off the bed and running downstairs to the TV room to watch Camp Rock. Again.
“Love you, Mom!” Jack shouted, running out of the room after Eliza, the temptation of television, as always, being too strong to resist.
Callie allowed herself a minute to feel sorry for herself. Last night she had reminded Reece, just before going to sleep, that it was her birthday the next day and that the very best present he could give her would be to take the day off work today and spend it with her. Even as she said it, she predicted his answer.
He laughed and kissed her, and said he had another surprise up his sleeve, and not to worry.
“No, but seriously,” she said, “I don’t want a present. I know it’s a Friday but I want you at home.”
“You know I have to be in early,” he said. “But I’m going to try to come home by six, okay?”
She still hoped that she might wake up in the morning and find him there.
He had surprised her, though. At two p.m. a huge bouquet of flowers was delivered with a note attached, telling her she would be picked up at three p.m., and a babysitter had already been organized for the kids.
She tried to call Reece to find out if she needed anything, but he was in meetings all day and couldn’t speak, so she changed out of the ubiquitous FitFlops and into ballet flats and black pants, with a pretty tunic—the sort of outfit that would easily take her through dinner at a decent restaurant, if that was what he had in mind—and waited for the car.
Something was clearly afoot, because the kids jumped off the school bus just before three, and while Jack disappeared inside to flick on the TV, Eliza could barely contain her excitement.
“You don’t need anything, right, Mom?”
“Apparently not.”
“But you don’t know where you’re going?”
“No, but I have a feeling that you do.” Callie leaned forward conspiratorially. “Can you tell me? Pinky swear I won’t tell anyone.”
“Mom!” Eliza said in disgust. “I’m too old to pinky swear.”
“Cross my heart and hope to die?”
“No! I’m not allowed to tell you. You’re gonna be happy, though.” And she skipped up the stairs to phone her friend.
At three p.m. precisely a limo cruised down the driveway, crunching the gravel as it pulled to a gracious halt outside the door of their antique farmhouse.
The door opened and out jumped their babysitter with a huge grin on her face.
“Jenn? Is there any reason why you’re turning up at our house in a huge limo?” Callie asked, trying not to laugh. Oh the lengths Reece has gone to.
“Isn’t it awesome? It picked me up and I made sure all the kids on the street saw me! Now it’s your turn. I’m going to look after the kids and you have a great time. There’s champagne in there and everything!”
“I hope you didn’t drink any?” Callie teased her. “You may be in college but you’re still underage.”
“No! Of course not!”
With a hug for Jack and Eliza, and a wave for Jenn, Callie climbed in the car.
And it was only when the car finally pulled out of the driveway that Jenn took out her mobile phone and hit redial.
“It’s Jenn, the babysitter,” she said. “She just left. Coast is all clear.”
The limo dropped Callie off at a luxury hotel and spa, one she had been longing to see, and she was led to a light, bright suite, where there were more flowers and a box of her favorite chocolates.
Hanging in the wardrobe was a dress she had bought last year but never actually worn, because she’d caught the flu and they hadn’t gone to the party. She was still waiting for an occasion to wear the dress, but nobody seemed to have parties anymore and it had been hanging, miserably, in her wardrobe ever since.
Her strappy sandals were there, and her makeup bag. Even her hairdryer and brushes. Bless her husband. He had truly thought of everything.
First a facial, and then the most blissful massage she has ever had.
She wraps herself up in her robe and staggers back to the bedroom, fumbling with the key card until the door opens and Reece is standing there, a huge grin on his face.
“Baby!” Callie squeals, flinging her arms around him.
“Happy birthday, baby!” He squeezes her, nuzzling her neck, then draws back to drop a small box in her hands.
Callie grins. “I love surprises. But it’d better be jewelry.”
“I know, I know,” Reece mutters. “All girls should get jewelry on their birthdays.”
Like a little girl, Callie rips off the paper and opens the box, gasping when she sees the earrings. Huge delicate gold hoops, speckled with tiny sparkling diamonds.
“You spoke to Lila!” she says, her eyes wide with delight.
“Of course! You think I wouldn’t seek expert advice?”
She and Lila had been shopping in the city when they passed a jewelry store.
“Let’s just go in and have a look,” Lila said. “Maybe I can try on engagement rings.”
“Engagement rings? Really?” Callie’s face lit up. “Is there something you need to tell me?”
“Not yet,” Lila said happily. “But I’m pretty sure this is it.”
Once in the shop, while Lila was happily lining up enormous diamonds on the third finger on her left hand, Callie stopped short when she saw these earrings; she had fallen in love.
“Maybe Reece would get them for you for your birthday?” Lila barely looked up from the enormous pear sparkling away.
“He’d never spend this sort of money,” Callie grumbled, reluctantly handing them back.
“Couldn’t you have bought them for yourself?” Lila asked after they had left and Callie was continuing to talk about them. “I thought you were doing really well with the photography.”
“I am,” Callie said sadly. “But that’s college money for the kids. Not my frivolous jewelry money.”
“There was nothing frivolous about those earrings,” Lila said.
“How would you know? You barely took your eyes off the engagement rings to notice.”
“You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry. But I did see them, and now we both have something to aspire to.”
“I love you.” Callie’s eyes fill with tears as she puts the earrings on, admires them in the mirror—they are just as beautiful as they were the first time she saw them—and walks over to the bed, where Reece is now lying. She leans over to kiss him.
“I love you,” he says, drawing back to look her in the eyes, to make sure she knows just how much, and he kisses her again, pulling her on top of him and slipping the robe gently, but firmly, off her shoulders.
Callie finishes her makeup with a dash of clear gloss, smacks her lips together, then twists her hair up behind her head, securing it with a large, glittery clip.
“You look beautiful.” Reece comes up behind her and kisses her neck, and she smiles at him in the mirror.
Eleven years, she thinks, and she loves him as much today as the day she married him. No, not as much. More. Her love for him has deepened and strengthened, and there has never been a moment when she has doubted him, or their relationship, or thought that the grass may be greener somewhere else.
Their relationship is, in many ways, an anomaly. None of her friends fully understand it. With him away so much, there must be problems, they figure. She must be so lonely. Poor Callie, having to do so much on her own.
The distance, she thinks, is precisely what makes it work. The fact that they are two independent, self-sufficient people who love each other, but do not spend their lives thinking they desperately need each other, is what makes their partnership stronger.
Callie is the love of Reece’s life, and he of hers. When he is traveling she is thrilled. She gets to organize Girls’ Nights Out with her closest friends, or crawl into bed at eight p.m. with Eliza—shh, don’t tell anyone—and watch silly movies and eat popcorn and chocolate for dinner.
And when he comes home she is thrilled to see him, marveling at how handsome she still finds him. She looks at him across a room and feels her heart flutter, filled with a sweet smugness that he is hers.
She loves his smell, his touch, his taste. Often, during the night, when he is fast asleep and she is restless, tossing and turning, she will lean over and kiss his shoulder or his arm. He will not wake up, but even in his sleep he will reach for her and stroke her hand, before falling deeper into sleep.