A week later, Noah calls and asks if he can come over. They haven’t talked much. She’s been busying herself with work and the boys. He says he has something important to discuss.
“Why can’t you just tell me over the phone?” she demands. She cradles the receiver against her ear as she shuffles through DVDs in the living room.
“I want to do it in person.”
Luca begs to watch Harry Potter in the background, and Mason says he will watch too. She has to be selective about what movies she chooses. Luca has already mourned the loss of the silly, loud, over-the-top movies they used to watch together. Now, they have Mason’s requests to consider, and they come with a slew of prerequisites: no egregious violence, no slapstick comedy, no romance, no superheroes.
Grace tells Noah to hold on while she loads the DVD and walks to the mailbox once the boys are situated on the couch. She gathers her mail and waves to Nancy, her neighbor, who is wrangling her Lab, Bailey, for an afternoon walk. “Then that’s fine, I guess.” She’s trying to be nicer to him, but it feels like a betrayal. There’s been so much deceit, so many lies, so many convoluted versions of the truth.
She looks up at the trees whose leaves stutter and tilt. A breeze tickles her neck and shoulders. Months from now, the leaves will detach from their stems, gathering in colorful clumps at the edge of everyone’s yards. Once fall is in full effect—her favorite season—she will let the boys rake for allowance and then separate the piles into color values. Mason will get a kick out of that. She flips through the mail and tosses a few catalogues and credit card offers into the recycling bin at the side of the house. “I’m assuming you’re on your way?”
“Yes.”
She sorts through a few pieces of Lee’s mail that have been forwarded. Should she just trash them? Save them? She lifts her head as a FedEx truck screeches by, and Nancy yells at him to slow down.
“It’s a neighborhood. There are kids here. Am I right?” Nancy shakes her head, yanks Bailey to the edge of her driveway, and lifts her hand as they set off in the opposite direction. Grace waves back and returns her attention to the phone call.
“Pulling up now,” Noah says.
On cue, he revs into the driveway, comes to an abrupt stop, and hops out of the car. His hand is wrapped around something small. What is that? Grace’s heart begins to pound.
“Hi.” He looks as nervous as she feels.
“Hi,” she says back. They haven’t seen each other all week, and the shock of him, standing in her driveway, takes her off guard.
“What’s in your hand?” she asks.
He looks down and hesitates.
“Noah? What is it?”
He finally looks up. “I had this whole idea planned. I was going to take you out somewhere romantic, or maybe get the boys to help. But I couldn’t wait. I couldn’t wait another second.”
The words register, but don’t click. “For what?”
Suddenly, Noah is down on one knee with a blue velvet box. “Grace Vanessa Childress, love of my life. I never knew what that word meant before I met you. I never knew what family or sacrifice was. I have never been more certain of where I want my life to go or who I want to spend it with. Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Grace presses a hand to her chest and tries to concentrate on the words as the beautiful diamond winks at her beneath the sun. The timeline of their relationship unfurls. It hasn’t been long enough yet, has it? She looks at him, uncertain. “Are you doing this just because of the baby?”
He falters, still on one knee. “Of course not. I love you, Grace. Will you marry me?”
Visions of Chad’s proposal float back to her mind. How in love she felt. How romantic his proposal was. How she thought everything would work out. No, she’s not ready for that again. She’s no longer an impressionable twentysomething. She’s almost forty-three years old. Life is not a fairy tale.
She pulls him up off his knee and stares into his hopeful face. “Noah, this is so thoughtful, and I appreciate it, but no.” She shakes her head. “I’m not ready for marriage. Not yet.” Maybe not ever.
His face crumples, and he closes the box. He clenches it in his palm and shakes his head. “Oh.” He pockets the ring and finally looks at her. Tears brim, and he embarrassingly presses both palms to soak up the impending tears. He paces away a few steps, turns, paces back. “Is this about Shirley? Do you still not believe me?”
“I’m still working through it.”
He sighs, and she sense his frustration. “Regardless of what happened in the past, we’ve got our own family to worry about, right? Can we please just find a way to move forward? We don’t have to get married. I’m fine with that.”
The desperation clings to every syllable, but she ignores it. She already told him she needs time. Why is he pushing? She’s got so many other things to think about than his wounded ego. “I don’t know. I really don’t.” She turns and leaves the door open for him to follow. Luca says something in the living room. Mason responds, and both boys laugh. Despite the situation, the confusion, the trauma, and the shock, Grace smiles at their easy banter.
No one will ever know the entire truth. She knows that now. About the party. About what Lee said versus what Noah said. But Mason is the important one in all of this. He’s safe. He’s thriving. He is adjusting to a life without his mother and without a father. He’s let go of his old house—after a torturous process—and is forming friendships slowly but authentically.
She washes her hands and then dumps popcorn into two mixing bowls and sprinkles them with sea salt and Parmesan. Noah stands at the edge of her kitchen and waits. She hands the boys their snacks, and they mumble their thanks. She kisses Luca on the head and wrinkles her nose at the slightly sour smell of his unwashed hair. Definitely a shower tonight.
“Can I get you boys anything else?”
“I would like some water with three ice cubes, please, madam,” Mason says.
“Right away, sir.” She bows in his direction. She loves their playful exchanges. In the kitchen, she presses his favorite glass against the ice dispenser and waits for three cubes to tumble out. She brings Mason his water and then reenters the kitchen. She opens the refrigerator, pulls out a bottle of white wine, and deliberately pours herself a glass.
“What are you doing?” Noah’s tone is sharp as she takes a sip.
“I’m having a drink.” She lifts the glass in an invisible toast. “Women in Europe drink while they’re pregnant. One glass of wine isn’t going to hurt.”
Before he can protest, she joins the boys and settles into the armchair. The chilled wine slips down her throat.
She thinks of Lee, as she does at least a few times a day. Her friend has literally taken her secrets to the grave. She can’t torture herself with one more puzzle she can’t solve. She has to focus on what is here, on moving forward, on her role as a parent.
She watches the boys, coexisting on her couch. Luca has become more compassionate, and Mason has become more social. It is all working out in its weird little way, despite what has happened. Despite losing Lee. Despite the secrets. They are all doing the best they can, given the hand they’ve been dealt and the partial truths she clings to.
After a few minutes, the side door opens and shuts. His engine revs as he backs swiftly out of her drive. At first, she’s offended. He doesn’t even want to say good-bye to the boys? But then she realizes she doesn’t want him here, that this is better. He needs time to come to terms with where they are. And so does she.
She does not miss him when he goes.