He was here.
He’d come after all.
“Are you crying?” he asked, and his voice was so gentle.
I nodded, speechless, tears slipping down my face. His shirt was stuck to him with sweat.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
I nodded again.
“Who is this person?” my father asked.
“Pretty sure it’s the boyfriend,” Dante said.
“Huh. He’s pretty cute,” Eva said.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Will said, ignoring everyone else. “It . . . I had a little . . . trouble on the way, but I’m here now.” His soft blue eyes were intent on me. “Am I too late?”
“Of course not! There’s still cake,” my mother said.
“I don’t think he’s talking about that,” Louis whispered.
“It’s not too late,” I managed. “Are you okay?” Even his hair was sweaty, like he’d run down from Cambry-on-Hudson, and his hands were shaking.
“I’m horrible. Never better. Can I kiss you?” he asked.
“Oh, boy. Who needs more wine?” Eva said, ever the romantic.
I didn’t answer. Instead, I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him. Kissed him with a full heart, an overflowing heart, because he’d come, and God only knew what that had taken, given his current state. But he was here, because he’d decided in the end that I was worth it.
“What’s in the bag?” my mother asked.
“Oh, right,” he said. “Um, a clean shirt, for one.” My family, my wonderful, warm, welcoming family, laughed. “And this.”
He put a little blue box into my hand. Tiffany blue. My mouth opened a little, and a strangled noise came out. “You went to Tiffany?” I asked.
“Their website, to be honest. They overnighted it.” He shrugged. “Coming here was hard enough.”
“Wait a second, young man,” said my father. “If you’re proposing, it’s tradition that you ask the father first. Or at least tell him your name.”
“Will Harding,” he said, not looking away from me.
He was smiling.
This wasn’t the most romantic place—my parents’ empty living room, me in a plastic chair holding Ebbers, my family waiting.
Frankie looked on from her pictures. And, I thought, looked on from my heart. Smiling, I imagined.
“Marley . . . when I first hired you,” Will began, “I hated having you come in, I admit that. You were so—big. Not that way,” he amended hastily. “Not size. Your smile, your laugh, the way you talked about food, the way you were so full of life. I couldn’t wait to get rid of you.”
I laughed a little at the honesty. My eyes were still leaking. Louis smiled into his cup.
“Then,” Will said, “I started trying to get you to stay a little longer. I’d make you wait for your check so you’d stay a few more minutes. Then I’d find myself looking at the clock all day, waiting for you to come. You’ve been the bright spot in my day. In the entire past year, you’ve been . . . everything.”
“That’s beautiful,” my mom said, sniffling.
It was. My heart felt too big for my chest, too full and so happy.
“I know I’ve asked a lot of you, and I’m sorry. And I’ll make it up to you if you let me. I love you. Marry me.”
I sucked in a shaky breath. “You sure it’s not just about the food?”
“Marley,” he said, a smile starting in the corner of his mouth, “it was never about the food.”
“Then I guess I have to say yes,” I said, and my family burst into tears once more, and Will kissed me.
“Thank you,” he whispered against my mouth. “Thank you.”
CHAPTER 37
Georgia
Tell off the person who judged me when I was fat.
(It’s not who you think.)
My best friend was engaged. Engaged, I tell you! I mean, what the even heck?
I was summoned down to Marley’s the day after her birthday, where Will and she stood in her kitchen. “You remember Will,” she said, then held up her left hand.
“Oh, my God! My God! Marley!” I immediately burst into tears, hugged her, hugged Will, hugged Marley again. “Hold on, I have champagne.” I ran up to grab some—I just happened to have some Bollinger’s lying around, thankyouveddymuch; my dear old dad had pressed it on me the other night when I’d had dinner with him, Cherish and the girls. Came back down, Admiral beating me, and uncorked the bottle, pouring the golden liquid into Marley’s adorable, pink-tinged champagne glasses. “To the happy couple,” I said, my voice husky.
She looked so happy. Every clichéd word you could think of for a happy bride applied—beautiful, radiant, glowing, blissful, blushing.
The ring was frickin’ gorgeous, too.
And the groom . . . well, I’d only met Will the one time, but his eyes followed her with a gentle, rather smitten expression. I liked that in a man.
We went into her sweet little living room, and Admiral curled into his yogic ball at my feet, wagging his tail occasionally. “Tell me the story.”
They did, taking turns, passing the story between them. Will seemed a little shy, but it was endearing.
He was holding Marley’s hand. Hold hands with a guy in public. Well, we weren’t in public, but this was an excellent start.
“When I first came in, I was slightly concerned her brother and his husband would beat me up,” Will was saying.
“Wait,” I said. “You proposed in front of her entire family? Everyone was there?”
“Yes.” He raised an eyebrow, and I liked him even more.
“I think I’m crushing on you myself, Will.”
“Go right ahead,” Marley said. “I’m extremely secure.”
“What did they say? Did her father take out his gun? Did her mother hit you with a lasagna pan?”
“Luckily, their stuff was all packed,” Will said. He looked at Marley. “They were pretty incredible, actually.”
“They are. They’re like that,” I said. “So . . . have you thought about when? I mean, it’s been twenty-four hours. I’m assuming I beat Eva out for maid of honor.” They laughed, and Marley assured me I had.
“It won’t be too soon,” Marley said. “We’ve only been dating a little while. We have some things to work on.”
“I’m pretty badly agoraphobic and have PTSD,” he said.
“Oh! Well! That’s very . . . forthright of you, Will.”
“I thought Marley would’ve told you.”
“She didn’t. She’s very loyal with people’s secrets.” I took a sip of champagne. “You seeing a therapist? I know a good one.”
“Way ahead of you,” he said.
“Good. Well. Maybe you can make a list of goals,” I said, and Marley and I started giggling.
“That’s a good idea,” he said, and we laughed harder.
“To Emerson,” Marley said. “I wish she could be here.” Her beautiful brown eyes filled with tears.
“Me too,” I said. “She’d be so happy. She’d love you, Will,” I added, to be generous. But I thought it was true. Emerson had been the least judgmental person I’d ever met. If Will loved Marley, and she loved him back, that was all the criteria a person would need.
“Speaking of Emerson, when will the paperwork be done on her house?” Marley said.
“I have to go down and file for transfer of ownership.”
“I’ll come, too. I can’t wait to kick out that horrible cousin. And give the house to that family.” We were planning to furnish the house for them, all new stuff for a fresh start. It was going to be a huge surprise.
“Won’t the cousin have squatter’s rights?” Will asked.
“Georgia graduated from Yale Law, babe. She loves nothing more than a good fight.”
“Hear, hear,” I
said. “But we can talk about that later. Will, did you love Marley from the very second you laid eyes on her?” I asked, settling back against the throw pillows.
“I did,” he said.
“You did not!” she exclaimed. “You said I made you nervous.”
“You did. You got under my skin—”
“Like one of those spiders that lays its eggs,” I said, making Marley snort her champagne.
“Exactly,” he agreed, smiling at me. “And you know how it is. Once you meet her . . .”
“You just can’t give her up,” I said, laughing. “Will, you and I have a lot in common.”
I pictured us from the outside, from the courtyard, three people and a dog, all of us laughing, love shimmering around us, the love of this new couple, the love of old friends. The pretty little town house on the pretty little street, a hint of winter in the air, the warm lights of Marley’s apartment glowing.
In that moment, there was no place I’d rather be, no one I’d rather be, and no friend I’d rather have in the entire world.
I left about an hour later, buoyed by their happiness. Gave Admiral his bedtime snack, affirmed that he was the best dog in the entire world, changed into my jammies and brushed my teeth.
The house felt a little empty after the festivities below. A little quiet.
My reflection in the mirror showed a person looking a little rabid from toothpaste foam. But her eyes were bright and happy, and while her hair could use a trim, she looked . . .
She looked . . .
Fuck it. Who cared how she looked?
Before I knew what I was doing, I grabbed my keys. “See you later, Ad!” I said. I got into my car and headed south. To the city.
To Tribeca.
I wasn’t going to stop and think and rehearse. I knew where I had to be, and that was enough.
The traffic gods were with me, because I made it in less than an hour. (Also, I may have been speeding just a little.)
I double-parked in front of Pamplona, and it was only as I walked through the doors that I realized I was wearing my sock monkey pajamas.
Welp, it didn’t matter. I was here.
“Can I . . . um, can I help you?” asked a very beautiful young woman at the front desk.
“I’d like to see Rafael Santiago,” I said. My voice was calm. I was calm, freakishly. Then again, this had been a long time coming.
“He’s really busy,” she said, eyeing my pj’s.
“I’m his ex-wife.”
Her eyes widened. “I’ll be right back.”
She went to alert him (or security), and I stood there. God, the restaurant was beautiful. It made my entire soul happy to see it. Every table seemed to be filled, and Spanish guitar music played softly over the sound system. Candles flickered, and the food smelled divine.
Oh, and everyone was looking at me. I gave a little wave.
I wasn’t drunk. I wasn’t even tipsy. I’d had half a glass of champagne at Marley’s. No, I was just here, in the moment, as they said at yoga class. I was finally here.
Rafe and the beautiful maître d’ came up to the front. “Georgia,” he said, and then my whole heart rolled over in my chest. He took me by the arms. “Is everything all right? Your family? Mason?”
God, those eyes. Those beautiful, honest eyes.
“Everyone is fine,” I told him, my voice husky.
So yes, it was getting quiet in here. I had mentioned the sock monkey pj’s, right?
“Are you all right, Georgia?” he asked. “You are wearing your . . . ah . . .”
“Right. I kind of rushed over.” I smiled a little. “I needed to tell you something.” I glanced around. This was his restaurant, his work of art, and I had already made a scene. “Um . . . do you have an office?”
“No.” He glanced at his patrons, gave them a nod. “Come with me.”
He murmured something to the maître d’ and led me down the hall, past the restrooms, to the coatroom. Not the most scenic of places. In the movies, it would be in front of the whole restaurant. In real life, this would have to do.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked. “This is very unexpected. You could have called.”
I swallowed. “I know I look, um, unbalanced. But I’m not. I’m . . .”
It was suddenly important that not another minute pass before I said what I had to say.
I took his hands, his beautiful hands, in mine and looked into those dark, dark eyes. My heart was pumping so hard that I could feel the pulse in my throat, my wrists, my knees.
“Rafe,” I said, my voice shaking, “Rafael. You were the best thing that ever happened to me. When we were together, I didn’t know how to love you, or let you love me, because I hated who I was. Our divorce was completely my fault.”
“No, Georgia,” he said, “that is not the case.”
“Let me say this. I was the problem. I didn’t talk to you, I didn’t try to fix all the things that had made me miserable in the past, and I was obsessed with how much I weighed and what that said about me. Instead of paying attention to what really mattered—you, us—I just thought about myself. If someone had ever obsessed over my weight and judged me as harshly as I judged myself, I would’ve hated them. And I did. I hated myself because of one thing. It was stupid and shallow and destructive, and I ruined us.”
His eyes were growing wet. “I should have listened more. I didn’t know how . . . difficult this was for you.”
“I wouldn’t let you.” I squeezed his hands hard. “So now, I wanted to tell you—I need to tell you now, before another day passes, that I love you, Rafe. I’ve always loved you. I always will. You’re the love of my life. I know you have someone else now, but . . . well . . . I still needed to tell you. You’re the best person I’ve ever met, and for the rest of my life, I’ll be lucky because I knew you.”
“Corazón,” he said. “I—I do not . . . I cannot at this time . . .” He sighed. “You know I love you still. You know that. It has never been in question. Never.”
My heart surged, and I put my hand against his heart. No, it never was. From almost the moment we met, I knew Rafael Esteban Jesús Santiago was, first and foremost, the most honorable, decent man I’d ever met. I should’ve trusted him when he said he loved me. I should’ve heard that instead of the ugly echoes from my past.
“But you are right, Georgia,” he said softly. “There is someone else. I cannot just walk out of here with you. She does not deserve that.”
Right. That put a damper on things. I let my hand fall. “No,” I whispered. “I’m sure she doesn’t. I just needed to tell you.”
We looked at each other a long minute. My eyes were wet, too, and my heart . . . well, it was finally being sincere.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “But you should probably go home.”
I smiled, sort of, though my mouth was wobbling. Then I hugged him, hard and fast, and left, passing the diners, wishing they could’ve had some Hollywood scene where Rafe and I’d be kissing right now, where champagne would be uncorked and everyone would be smiling.
Instead, I walked outside, alone, as the first snowflakes of the season drifted down onto my sock monkey jammies.
My car had already been ticketed.
It was okay, I told myself as I took the orange paper off my windshield. I’d be okay. Even if I felt like I’d been punched in the heart, at least I’d said what needed saying.
It didn’t stop me from crying, even so.
CHAPTER 38
Dear Other Emerson,
I think this might be the last time I write to you. I’m not doing too well. My leg hurts, my chest hurts, and I’m so tired, but I had to write to you one more time. I’m sorry I said I hated you. I don’t.
I think I might be dying, OE. I think this is it. Pretty soon, I’ll ask Ruth to call an ambulance,
and make her call Georgia and Marley, because I want to see them one more time. I don’t know where Mica is. He hasn’t been coming around this past month as much. That’s maybe another sign that I’m on my way out.
I didn’t make it, Other Emerson. I never became you.
I want you to have a good life. Stop working so much, even though you have a great thing going there. Marry Idris. He loves you so. Have beautiful children with Cockney accents and love them with all your heart.
I keep thinking of Camp Copperbrook. Me and Marley and Georgia. I was looking through my old journals the other day, and I found that list we made. I’ll give it to them.
I wish I hadn’t shut them out. I wish I’d been honest with them about how lonely I was, how scared of myself. I wish I’d said yes to that weekend the last time Marley asked. I wish I hadn’t been so afraid of what people think. I wish we hadn’t thought of ourselves as ugly ducklings when we were swans all along.
I can’t waste time right now, though. I can’t think of all the things I didn’t do, or all the things I wished for. I don’t have a lot of time. It’s okay. It’s fine now.
I dozed off there for a while, Other Emerson. I feel foggy now, and weak. I think I’m letting go.
There was a day that summer, when we were all eighteen . . . the sky was so blue, and the pine needles smelled like heaven. The day we lost the oars, our last full day of camp. Our last day together, when we were just floating in the lake, and the sun was warm and strong, and we were so, so happy.
I feel that way now, Other Emerson. Isn’t that funny? I feel happy. Georgia and Marley will be here soon. I’ll get to say good-bye.
It feels like I’m back in the lake, because I’m floating, sort of. I’m so light. I remember the sound of the three of us laughing. I love them so much, and I can feel how much they love me.
I can just about hear my mother calling me. My mama! I’ve missed her so much! I can’t wait to see her.
It’ll be okay, Other Emerson. Don’t cry. I’ve been so tired for so long. I want to go home. I’ll be so happy when I finally get home.
Good Luck with That Page 41