My options included going or pleading a headache. My shoulders felt so tight I knew a headache couldn’t be too far off. But I dressed for church anyway, choosing a light silk sundress in a blue floral print, ballet flats, and a beaded coral necklace.
Callan and Tarissa were already up, dressed, and caffeinated by the time I made it downstairs. “How’d dinner go?” Tarissa asked when she saw me, her eyes bright.
I accepted the cup of coffee from Callan. “It went fine,” I said, busying myself with adding cream and sugar to the brew. “My pasta was good, I enjoyed the sauce.”
“Oh good,” Tarissa answered. “And his parents?”
“Tarissa,” Callan warned, “don’t pry.”
“Mr. McLaren has strong opinions. Mrs. McLaren is very nice.” I tested the coffee for sweetness. “I think they’re joining us for church this morning before driving to Nashville.”
Tarissa arched an eyebrow. “Were they rude?”
“Tarissa,” Callan repeated.
“What?” She threw up her hands. “They were rude to you, Callan. I don’t know how Neil turned out so well.”
Callan’s jaw worked as he considered his words. “Neil’s dad had difficulty accepting a black man in a professional job. He’s surely a product of his own upbringing,” he continued, his voice rising to prevent Tarissa’s interruption, “and I feel pity for him.”
Tarissa snorted.
“That’s good of you,” I said, meaning it.
He shrugged. “Getting angry about it doesn’t change anything. But they did raise Neil, and he is a fine man and a good friend.”
“Neil’s a good man,” I agreed. “Mr. McLaren…to be blunt, he doesn’t see how we can have a future.” I paused and considered my words, trying to choose what I could say and what I shouldn’t. “And Mr. McLaren wasn’t wrong, really, that’s the problem. Neil and I haven’t discussed it yet, though.”
Callan gave a decisive nod. “Then we’ll leave you to figure out your own problems.”
Tarissa gave an unhappy grunt; Callan gave her an affectionate swat in return. I smiled as I took another sip of coffee. Theirs was a true love match—they reminded me of Caterina and Damian, the way they were easy with each other.
A few minutes later, Neil knocked on the door and let himself in. He greeted all of us, me with a brief kiss, before we separated to go to our cars. Unsurprisingly, Neil, Callan, and Tarissa attended the same church in Collierville.
The McLarens waited in the backseat of Neil’s BMW, parked in the driveway with the engine and A/C running. Neil opened the front passenger seat for me and I slid in, saying my hellos at the same time.
With his parents present, Neil and I made small talk, but otherwise the church drive remained as quiet as our drive the night before—at least between us. The McLarens commented on the houses we drove past, reflections on their food the night before, and the fact that Neil’s church met in a gym.
“It echoes,” Vivianne noted, “but the chairs are comfortable enough. They have the good folding chairs—not those terrible metal ones. The plastic ones are more ergonomic.”
“That’s good,” I said, nearly counting down the minutes until we arrived. If only Neil and I were alone, we could talk. As much as I wasn’t looking forward to the conversation we needed to have.
Callan and Tarissa parked next to Neil’s car; once we all climbed out, Tarissa kindly stuck near me, acting as a buffer.
I followed everybody inside, waiting when any of the three regulars paused to shake a hand or exchange hugs.
Inside the gym, we found seats and sat down. I guessed there were about three hundred people milling around before the music started and things began to settle. We’d cut it close enough that the beginning of the music stalled anyone curious enough to find out who I was—at least, before the meet and greet.
Neil reached for my hand and held it tightly within his own. I looked up at him but his gaze remained fixed on the stage.
I restrained a sigh. If we were in Portland, I would have suggested leaving church to go and work out our problems over strong coffee.
But I wasn’t ignorant; I knew Tennessee culture meant you went to church on Sunday morning, and if you didn’t you were probably a godless heathen. So Neil and I sat next to each other, miserable. At least I was miserable—and from Neil’s expression he didn’t look like he was about to launch into a Snoopy dance.
I did my best to focus on the music, and shook plenty of hands and smiled brightly when everyone followed instructions to greet their neighbors, even though I seemed in particular to be everybody’s neighbor. Everyone was friendly and kind, and soon enough we settled into the three-point sermon, followed by closing worship.
Afterward Bill and Vivianne told us that they needed to get on the road to Nashville, and if Neil could kindly drive them back to their car at his home, that would be perfect. I wondered to myself why they hadn’t simply driven their rental car to church, but mine was not to know.
So we said our good-byes to Callan and Tarissa, walked back to the car, and piled in. Neil said little, but Bill and Vivianne parsed the sermon and discussed the fact that the pastor had been casually dressed in chinos and a polo shirt.
Coming from Portland, land of plaid and flip-flops, I didn’t feel any contribution to the conversation would be appreciated.
At Neil’s house the McLarens took a moment to retrieve their luggage, which was otherwise packed and ready to go. They said their good-byes, with hugs and pats on the cheek. Neil and I stood in the driveway, watched, and waved as they drove away.
Neil’s gaze remained fixed on the road, even after they’d gone. “I’m sorry about dinner last night.”
My breath hitched. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“They’re my parents,” he maintained, turning toward me. “I agreed they could come. Made the reservations.” He shook his head, turned. “It’s too hot to stand around outside. Want to go for a drive?”
“Sure,” I said. “Let’s drive.”
I followed Neil to the car, already toasty though the A/C had only been off five minutes.
“They were blunt,” I allowed, as Neil pulled out of the driveway, “but your parents weren’t wrong.” All of the words I’d kept locked away for so long came tumbling out. “I want us to be together. I do. And I wish I knew how it could happen. But…your life is here, and my life? I can’t leave right now. My mom, the restaurant—”
“I know. And I wouldn’t want you to leave, not now. In a year or two, though, who knows?”
My eyebrows flew upward. “A year or two? I feel…I feel like we’re in limbo. And limbo was never my party game—I’ve always been too all-or-nothing for my own good. The idea of us stuck in a long-distance limbo, I hate it, I really hate it.”
Neil turned onto a wooded lane and pulled the car over. “I don’t like it either. We just started, though. Don’t you think we can take a little time?”
“When we started this thing—even before—I told you I was a mess. My career, my living situation, even my mom’s health,” I said, my voice catching. “It’s all in a weird stage of transition, everything changing all of the time.”
“I know. I’m saying we can take things slow.”
“But why? Why can’t something, just one thing, be easy and decided? No more limbo, no more in-between places. If we know we want to be with each other, that we’re good together, then let’s choose each other. Let’s work through life’s problems together. And if we can’t work through things together, then…” I took a deep breath and barreled through the end of my thought. “Then maybe we need to move on.”
Neil’s voice quavered with emotion as he spoke. “Is that an ultimatum? Now or never?”
“No, Neil,” I said, even as I knew that it really was something of an ultimatum. What was I doing? What was wrong with me? I searched for words. “I’m afraid of living in limbo too long. I’m afraid that maybe, maybe we don’t want the same things.”
“H
ow long have you felt like this?”
“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “Probably a while but I didn’t want to admit it to myself. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Me either,” Neil said softly. His hand closed around mine.
“I sound like a crazy person.”
“No, you don’t.”
“That’s being generous.”
“Okay, maybe a little.” His mouth quirked into a small smile. “But I get it. And I don’t disagree with you. Having you here—I don’t know what I’ll do when you’re not upstairs at Callan and Tarissa’s, when you’re not next to me. After Europe I just wanted to be with you all the time. I still want that. But both of our lives are complicated, and I don’t see any easy fixes for that.”
Selfish me wanted him to say he’d move to Portland, that he’d leave without a second thought. Instead, he pulled back onto the road and we drove around in the quiet; no music, only the sound of the car on the road.
After a while the fields turned back into housing developments, and we paused at a traffic light. “Where do we go from here?” Neil asked.
My stomach rumbled loud enough to be heard over the street noise. “How do you feel about lunch?”
Neil chuckled, a low, soft sound that made my heart squeeze. “Sure.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Not really.”
I studied his face and read between the lines. “Sorry. I eat when I’m stressed. It’s probably genetic.”
A wry smile. “Don’t worry about it.”
We drove to Panera, where I ordered a sandwich, salad, and cookie.
Neil drank a cup of coffee while I ate.
Once I’d finished eating a somewhat embarrassing amount of food, I set my fork down and looked up at Neil. “You asked a good question earlier. About where we go from here.”
“I say we take time to think,” Neil said. “Your opening is next week?”
“Yes.”
He set his coffee mug down. “I’d already hoped to fly out for it. We’ll think for a week, talk about it in Portland.”
“Are you sure? Do you have the time, with your job, to fly out so soon?”
“Your restaurant is a priority for you,” Neil answered firmly. “That makes it a priority for me.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but decided against it. “If that’s what you’d like to do, I’d love to see you there, show you the restaurant. It’s beautiful.”
“Of course it is.”
“So we’ll give it a week and then talk?” I repeated, wanting to make sure I had my relationship facts straight. This was the sort of conversation that took on a life of its own once it began to replay in my head.
“A week,” he echoed.
I wrestled with the idea in my head. On one hand, I knew that my situation wouldn’t change over the course of the week, a month—any foreseeable length of time. I wasn’t going to wake up and suddenly be ready to move to Tennessee, or be fine with the fact that my loved one and I lived largely separate lives.
Instead, everything depended on Neil. Either he followed the call westward or the two of us would move on to different relationships, different people, different lives.
The thought depressed me, but I saw no help for it. We were so good together, but it required actually being together. Others might be talented at being apart, but I knew in my heart it wasn’t for me.
I wished I could handle the distance, be the kind of low-maintenance girlfriend who could be content with texting and e-mails, but I had as much power over those feelings as I did my dislike of licorice. As much as I wanted to remain open-minded to all foods, I couldn’t help but spit out anything that tasted of licorice.
We spent the rest of the afternoon at the zoo. At some point when I wasn’t looking, he must have checked in with Callan.
“We’re invited to join them for dinner tonight,” he said. “And they’re planning on watching a movie afterward. Not sure what, but I know Callan’s been angling for a rewatch of The Avengers.”
“Noble goal. That sounds fine,” I said, my heart breaking just a little. Using his friends for a buffer wasn’t how I’d pictured our last night together in Memphis.
But what had I pictured? After all, I’d flown out unsure about where we’d stood. In my head, though, I thought it would go well or go badly—I hadn’t considered that there might be a middle ground.
Neil and I picked up a bottle of wine to take to dinner before returning to Callan and Tarissa’s.
The evening passed pleasantly enough, with Tarissa’s running commentary on how to fry chicken, the finer points of SEC football loyalties, and her ranking of Marvel’s franchises, from The Avengers to Thor. I wanted to stay in touch with her, but if Neil and I broke up, I didn’t want her to feel conflicted—Neil needed all of the loved ones around that he could get.
When the movie ended, I walked with Neil out to his car. “I need to get upstairs and pack,” I said. “Are you sure you want to drive me to the airport in the morning? I can take a cab.”
“Of course I’ll take you,” Neil said. “I’ll be here at five thirty.”
“Okay.” I hugged my arms to myself.
He stepped closer. I could see the emotions behind his eyes, his thoughts.
And then he reached for me, pulling the two of us together. One hand held me close at the waist, the other around the back of my head, fingers entwined in my hair.
My arms wrapped around him, and I accepted his kiss.
He tasted of cayenne pepper and buckwheat honey.
We’d shared so many kisses—but this kiss? Desperation, sorrow, and something else combined into a potent cocktail of nonverbal communication. His hand left my hair and cupped my check, my chin. My hand toyed with his stubbly ginger beard.
The desperation faded slowly, and his caress became wistful. We parted a moment later, both of us breathless.
“This…this thing we’re doing? You and me. This is real, Juliette,” he said, his voice hoarse and uneven. “No matter what happens to us in the future. I want you to remember.”
My heart twisted. “I love you, Neil.”
“And I love you,” he answered, breathing a final kiss onto my lips.
I kissed him back, wondering if my heart could be patient, if our love would truly be enough.
If Tarissa noticed my mussed hair and clearly kissed lips, she graciously chose not to mention them. Since I was leaving so early in the morning, I said my good-byes that night, thanking them earnestly for their hospitality and kindness during my visit.
“I’m not supposed to say this,” Tarissa said, ignoring Callan’s snort, “but I hope you two work it out. Next time you come out, we’re going shopping, hear?”
“Of course,” I promised. “And if you make it west to Portland, let me know—I’ll give you the insider’s tour.”
“Travel safe,” Callan said. “Come back and see us if you can.”
After the hugs and well-wishes, I retreated to my room to pack.
Once again I had no expectations of sleep. Instead, after I tucked away my belongings, I opened up my laptop to read about Mireille and Gabriel.
August 15, 1939
Dearest Mireille—
Thank you again for the lovely visit. I had such a wonderful time seeing you and Tante Joséphine (and sweet Anouk, of course), but most of all I adored getting to meet your Gabriel.
He was sweet and kind and funny, and simply by seeing him look at you, I know he loves you very much.
These are difficult times, and I know they worry you. Your feelings are rational. But you’ve managed to find someone extraordinary to love, and I believe that to be very special.
Go with God, dearest.
Cécile
Oh, Anouk—reading about her made me miss Gigi more than ever. I loved Cécile’s words—you’ve managed to find someone extraordinary to love, and I believe that to be very special.
The next letter I had to enlarge in order to be able t
o read. The text slanted into itself, the letters elegant but shaky.
September 2, 1939
Dear Antoinette,
You should know that Mireille has eloped with her young man. I did not stand up at the wedding, but neither did I stand in her way.
Before you tell me that I should have tried to separate them, I’m going to ask you to sit down and light a cigarette.
They’re young. They’re in love. The harder you might have tried to keep them apart, the harder they would have worked to stay together. This way, we know where they are, that they are safe, and heaven help us all—that they’re happy.
And no, I couldn’t send her to a convent. They don’t run like they used to.
Cheer up. You’ll have grandchildren soon, unless I miss my guess. I would expect some joyful news in ten months or so.
And I’ve seen the apartment. It’s small, and it’s shabby, but it’s in an excellent neighborhood. I’ve told Mireille that I’m redecorating, and I’ve sent her a good selection of furniture.
Be happy for her, or at least give a show of joy. She’s too precious for us to lose over an imprudent marriage.
Joséphine
I read the letter twice to be sure I’d interpreted it correctly. They eloped! And Tante Joséphine approved, even if she tried to cover it in her letter.
If Gabriel and Mireille could overcome such circumstances, surely Neil and I could overcome ours as well?
With a full heart, I closed the laptop and decided to try to sleep for a few hours after all.
Anybody can make you enjoy the first bite of a dish, but only a real chef can make you enjoy the last.
—FRANÇOIS MINOT
Neil picked me up the next morning, before daybreak, and drove me to the airport.
We said little. I’d dreamed about our kiss the night before, though in my dream we stood on the steps of Tara at the time. There might have been superheroes fighting over our heads as well.
Neil pulled up to my airline’s departures gate and stepped out of the car, leaving the engine running. He pulled my suitcase from the trunk and handed it to me, our fingers meeting at the handle.
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