I thanked her for the advice and the job offer, and we moved on to other topics. At three-thirty, I stayed with the little ones while she ran to pick up Gianni from school and a little later, I helped her get dinner together for the three of them. Nick had texted that there was no baby yet, but Coco was definitely in labor and he’d let us know as soon as he had news.
I got home around six and contemplated meditation or some yoga in the interest of being more mindful, but decided to put on my pajamas, do some laundry, and catch up on This Is Us instead (going through half a box of tissues because I cannot watch that show without crying). For dinner, I warmed up leftover spaghetti and wondered if Nate was doing the same. I was almost tempted to text him and see if he wanted help or company, but decided not to. He’d really been kind of an ass this morning.
And I’d gone to him last night. It was his turn. Even he should be able to figure that out.
While I was getting ready for bed, Nick texted that Coco had delivered a baby girl they’d named Francis, after Nick’s great-grandmother, and would call Frannie. Baby was fine, Coco was fine, and everyone was enjoying some champagne. It made me smile—they had every reason to celebrate. A once-in-a-lifetime love, four beautiful children, nothing but happily ever after ahead of them.
How did some people get so lucky? I wondered as I lay awake in the dark. In this massive world full of billions of people, how did some manage to find that one person they were meant to be with? How did they get all the pieces to fall so perfectly into place? Was it a matter of geography? Because Coco and Nick had gone to the same college. He saw her walk by on campus one day and knew she was the one. So there was timing involved, too. What if she’d been late for class that day? What if he’d been looking in the other direction?
I thought about Mia and Lucas. They had met in Paris when Mia happened to go into a bar where he was working one night. What if she had chosen a different bar? What if he hadn’t been working that night? What if it hadn’t been raining and she hadn’t gone into a bar at all? What if she’d kept walking? If any one of the circumstances had been altered the slightest bit, one of the pieces might not have fit, and their paths would never have crossed. Their story would have gone untold.
I considered Stella’s decision to be with a man whose company she enjoyed, even though there didn’t seem to be a physical spark between them. Was she settling because she’d gotten tired of waiting around, or was she making the best of it? Logically, I could see where having a companion like Walter would be better than spending night after night alone. But it just seemed so unfair.
Why did lightning strike for some people, and not for others? Why did some of us pick the wrong people over and over again, and others got it right the first time? Why were we told as kids to listen to our hearts when things like geography or timing or luck seemed to matter so much more?
What did our hearts know, anyway?
Twelve
Nate
Emme didn’t call, text, or stop by again on Monday.
I didn’t hear from her all day Tuesday, either.
Or Wednesday.
At first, I felt guilty because I figured it was my fault for acting like nothing was different between us on Monday morning after everything that had happened Sunday night. Her feelings were probably hurt. Or maybe she was confused. I knew I should reach out, apologize, explain myself, but for some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to pick up the phone or go across the hall and knock on her door. And maybe I was wrong, anyway. Maybe she was totally fine and simply busy at work. After all, she had told me she would be really busy this week.
But I missed her. Not just her help with Paisley, but her company. Her face. Her laugh. The way she made me feel. We’d spent so much time together over the last several days, it was hard to believe that before Paisley arrived, we might have gone a week or so without even seeing each other in the hall. There were probably entire days that passed where I didn’t think about her once. Now that seemed impossible. I couldn’t get her out of my head.
After a while, I started to get angry with her. Was she punishing me? Was she purposely ignoring me in order to make a point? Was she sending some sort of message that said I don’t want anything if I can’t have it all? Was this some passive-aggressive way to let me know I had already succeeded in disappointing her in less than twenty-four hours?
Wasn’t she the one who had said she wanted to be open and honest? This seemed like a juvenile game to me, and I wouldn’t play it. If she was upset about something, she should tell me, not expect me to read her mind, goddammit! This was exactly why I hadn’t wanted to get involved with her in the first place. She was too emotional. She didn’t understand me. And clearly she’d lied about having no expectations. In the meantime, I was tired, crabby, and lonely, trapped in my apartment with no one but a baby for company and hardly getting any sleep.
By Wednesday night, I couldn’t take it anymore. When I heard her voice in the hallway around 10 PM, I raced over to my door and put my ear against it.
“Absolutely, it went great,” she was saying. “Don’t worry about anything, just get some rest. Are you glad to be home?” A pause. Keys jingling. “Good. And how’s Frannie doing? I saw the picture, she’s so cute! All that hair!”
Coco must have had the baby, I thought. Sounds like it was a girl. I heard her key turn in the lock.
“Well, I can’t wait to come see you both. You let me know when you’re ready for visitors.” Another pause, followed by laughter. “I bet they are. Sounds good. Okay, take care of yourself. Bye.”
After that, I heard the door to her apartment open and close. I straightened up, trying to think of some reason to go over there and see her. A concrete reason, not an emotional one. My eyes scanned the room, but nothing jumped out at me. A moment later, Paisley, who had been napping in the swing, woke up and started to cry. It was while I was in the kitchen making her bottle that it hit me—her plastic containers, the ones she had brought the spaghetti and meatballs in. I’d eaten all the leftovers from them yesterday and washed them out. I could return them. That was a good reason, wasn’t it?
After feeding Paisley, I put her in the sling, gathered up the containers, and went across the hall. I knocked on the door, my stomach jittering like I was a teenager picking up his first date. Quickly, I ran a hand through my hair and checked my breath. I was fairly certain I’d showered and brushed my teeth sometime today, but I definitely hadn’t done anything extra. Did my clothes match? Were there stains on my shirt? Had I put shoes on? Yes, no, yes. Fuck. I was nervous. I heard footsteps inside her apartment, and my chest tightened up. But when she opened the door, I played it cool.
Well, as cool as a guy could wearing a baby on his chest and carrying a bunch of GladWare.
“Hey,” I said casually. “I brought your containers back.”
“Oh. Thanks.” Her expression was blank, at least while she was looking at me. When her eyes dropped to Paisley, she smiled. “Hi there, peanut. You doing okay?”
I couldn’t see Paisley’s face, but she wasn’t crying, and she kicked her feet and wiggled her arms like she was happy to see Emme. I was too, but I didn’t let on. “We’re fine,” I answered, as if she’d asked how both of us were doing. “How are you?”
She straightened up and gave me the blank expression again. “Fine. I just got home from work.”
I nodded, taking in her black blouse, pencil skirt and heels. Her curves looked delectable—breasts, hips, calves. “You look nice.”
“Thank you. Want me to take those?” She reached for the containers in my hands, but I didn’t want to give them to her, because then she could turn around and go inside with them and I would be forced to go home and spend another evening all by myself.
“I’ll bring them in,” I offered, and without being invited, sort of side-stepped past her into her apartment. “Should I put them in the kitchen?”
She sighed heavily and shut the door. “Okay.”
I set them on the counter and noticed she had just opened a bottle of Abelard Pinot Noir. One empty glass stood next to the bottle. “Your cousin’s winery, right? They make some great wines. Have you ever tried their Riesling?”
I got home around six and contemplated meditation or some yoga in the interest of being more mindful, but decided to put on my pajamas, do some laundry, and catch up on This Is Us instead (going through half a box of tissues because I cannot watch that show without crying). For dinner, I warmed up leftover spaghetti and wondered if Nate was doing the same. I was almost tempted to text him and see if he wanted help or company, but decided not to. He’d really been kind of an ass this morning.
And I’d gone to him last night. It was his turn. Even he should be able to figure that out.
While I was getting ready for bed, Nick texted that Coco had delivered a baby girl they’d named Francis, after Nick’s great-grandmother, and would call Frannie. Baby was fine, Coco was fine, and everyone was enjoying some champagne. It made me smile—they had every reason to celebrate. A once-in-a-lifetime love, four beautiful children, nothing but happily ever after ahead of them.
How did some people get so lucky? I wondered as I lay awake in the dark. In this massive world full of billions of people, how did some manage to find that one person they were meant to be with? How did they get all the pieces to fall so perfectly into place? Was it a matter of geography? Because Coco and Nick had gone to the same college. He saw her walk by on campus one day and knew she was the one. So there was timing involved, too. What if she’d been late for class that day? What if he’d been looking in the other direction?
I thought about Mia and Lucas. They had met in Paris when Mia happened to go into a bar where he was working one night. What if she had chosen a different bar? What if he hadn’t been working that night? What if it hadn’t been raining and she hadn’t gone into a bar at all? What if she’d kept walking? If any one of the circumstances had been altered the slightest bit, one of the pieces might not have fit, and their paths would never have crossed. Their story would have gone untold.
I considered Stella’s decision to be with a man whose company she enjoyed, even though there didn’t seem to be a physical spark between them. Was she settling because she’d gotten tired of waiting around, or was she making the best of it? Logically, I could see where having a companion like Walter would be better than spending night after night alone. But it just seemed so unfair.
Why did lightning strike for some people, and not for others? Why did some of us pick the wrong people over and over again, and others got it right the first time? Why were we told as kids to listen to our hearts when things like geography or timing or luck seemed to matter so much more?
What did our hearts know, anyway?
Twelve
Nate
Emme didn’t call, text, or stop by again on Monday.
I didn’t hear from her all day Tuesday, either.
Or Wednesday.
At first, I felt guilty because I figured it was my fault for acting like nothing was different between us on Monday morning after everything that had happened Sunday night. Her feelings were probably hurt. Or maybe she was confused. I knew I should reach out, apologize, explain myself, but for some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to pick up the phone or go across the hall and knock on her door. And maybe I was wrong, anyway. Maybe she was totally fine and simply busy at work. After all, she had told me she would be really busy this week.
But I missed her. Not just her help with Paisley, but her company. Her face. Her laugh. The way she made me feel. We’d spent so much time together over the last several days, it was hard to believe that before Paisley arrived, we might have gone a week or so without even seeing each other in the hall. There were probably entire days that passed where I didn’t think about her once. Now that seemed impossible. I couldn’t get her out of my head.
After a while, I started to get angry with her. Was she punishing me? Was she purposely ignoring me in order to make a point? Was she sending some sort of message that said I don’t want anything if I can’t have it all? Was this some passive-aggressive way to let me know I had already succeeded in disappointing her in less than twenty-four hours?
Wasn’t she the one who had said she wanted to be open and honest? This seemed like a juvenile game to me, and I wouldn’t play it. If she was upset about something, she should tell me, not expect me to read her mind, goddammit! This was exactly why I hadn’t wanted to get involved with her in the first place. She was too emotional. She didn’t understand me. And clearly she’d lied about having no expectations. In the meantime, I was tired, crabby, and lonely, trapped in my apartment with no one but a baby for company and hardly getting any sleep.
By Wednesday night, I couldn’t take it anymore. When I heard her voice in the hallway around 10 PM, I raced over to my door and put my ear against it.
“Absolutely, it went great,” she was saying. “Don’t worry about anything, just get some rest. Are you glad to be home?” A pause. Keys jingling. “Good. And how’s Frannie doing? I saw the picture, she’s so cute! All that hair!”
Coco must have had the baby, I thought. Sounds like it was a girl. I heard her key turn in the lock.
“Well, I can’t wait to come see you both. You let me know when you’re ready for visitors.” Another pause, followed by laughter. “I bet they are. Sounds good. Okay, take care of yourself. Bye.”
After that, I heard the door to her apartment open and close. I straightened up, trying to think of some reason to go over there and see her. A concrete reason, not an emotional one. My eyes scanned the room, but nothing jumped out at me. A moment later, Paisley, who had been napping in the swing, woke up and started to cry. It was while I was in the kitchen making her bottle that it hit me—her plastic containers, the ones she had brought the spaghetti and meatballs in. I’d eaten all the leftovers from them yesterday and washed them out. I could return them. That was a good reason, wasn’t it?
After feeding Paisley, I put her in the sling, gathered up the containers, and went across the hall. I knocked on the door, my stomach jittering like I was a teenager picking up his first date. Quickly, I ran a hand through my hair and checked my breath. I was fairly certain I’d showered and brushed my teeth sometime today, but I definitely hadn’t done anything extra. Did my clothes match? Were there stains on my shirt? Had I put shoes on? Yes, no, yes. Fuck. I was nervous. I heard footsteps inside her apartment, and my chest tightened up. But when she opened the door, I played it cool.
Well, as cool as a guy could wearing a baby on his chest and carrying a bunch of GladWare.
“Hey,” I said casually. “I brought your containers back.”
“Oh. Thanks.” Her expression was blank, at least while she was looking at me. When her eyes dropped to Paisley, she smiled. “Hi there, peanut. You doing okay?”
I couldn’t see Paisley’s face, but she wasn’t crying, and she kicked her feet and wiggled her arms like she was happy to see Emme. I was too, but I didn’t let on. “We’re fine,” I answered, as if she’d asked how both of us were doing. “How are you?”
She straightened up and gave me the blank expression again. “Fine. I just got home from work.”
I nodded, taking in her black blouse, pencil skirt and heels. Her curves looked delectable—breasts, hips, calves. “You look nice.”
“Thank you. Want me to take those?” She reached for the containers in my hands, but I didn’t want to give them to her, because then she could turn around and go inside with them and I would be forced to go home and spend another evening all by myself.
“I’ll bring them in,” I offered, and without being invited, sort of side-stepped past her into her apartment. “Should I put them in the kitchen?”
She sighed heavily and shut the door. “Okay.”
I set them on the counter and noticed she had just opened a bottle of Abelard Pinot Noir. One empty glass stood next to the bottle. “Your cousin’s winery, right? They make some great wines. Have you ever tried their Riesling?”
