Early Saturday evening, a few hours before Tyler was due to arrive, I took stock of my appearance in the downstairs bathroom. I’d rested all Thursday and Friday, and now I regretted not tackling my appearance sooner. I hadn’t bothered to put effort into my upkeep for so long that I worried it was beyond me. Damage had been done. Unbuffed skin cells had formed weather-beaten layers on my face. My pigmentation was uneven, my pores inflamed. Rough patches of keratosis pilaris covered my thighs, where I hadn’t bothered to shave or exfoliate. My hair was the thinnest it had ever been. Seeing Tyler again felt fraught. I shuffled to the kitchen, where Andrea was beginning meal prep.
My cousin looked up as I entered and clapped her hands. “I’m making some paella and a simple galette for dessert. We have tons of canned pears I’ve been meaning to put to use.”
“What can I do to help?” I asked, resigned.
“Oh, just go and get yourself ready,” Andrea said, looking pointedly at my pajama bottoms and sweatshirt. “Then maybe you can help set the table.” I went back upstairs and turned on the shower in the guest bathroom. I stripped off my clothes, accidentally catching sight of myself in the mirror, and saw a false promise of what it meant to be a woman. I thought back to Andrea’s request, trying to entertain the idea of changing my mind, but I couldn’t. My cousin had forgiven me for ruining her life when we were children, and for refusing to mend it now, and still she offered me the only thing I’d ever wanted: a family, a home. It struck me that I was someone who would forever take from the world without giving. I hated myself then more than I ever had, even on the worst days after the raid on the Mother Collective. I felt hollow inside and refused to be filled.
How had I let myself sink so low? I’d been submerged since Ryan died; everything had been thick and muted. But I didn’t want to feel that way anymore. I filled the water glass by the sink. I gulped it down, realizing I’d only ever used that cup when swallowing pills. No more drugs, no more alcohol, no more numbing of emotions with hazy nights and underwater days. I hadn’t seen Ryan for who he was until it was too late; I wasn’t about to make that same mistake with Andrea. I would start doing more for my family.
I stepped into the scalding water, letting it stream over my shoulders and chest. It was so hot I could hardly stand it; I had to will myself to stay. I wanted it all gone—not just the events of the past month but also the baggage I’d carried with me all my life. I wanted it burned off me until all that was left was a new, shiny layer of personhood. I no longer wanted to fight. I wanted a rebirth.
I leaned back in my chair, cradling my water glass to my chest. Tyler was weaving elaborate patterns in the air with both hands to illustrate his story. I couldn’t have said what the story was about, only that he’d been surprising me over and over with his quick-witted commentary on books, politics, and pop culture.
He’d worn a black T-shirt and black skinny jeans to the house, and his lean, muscled arms were on full display as he tapped the table and jabbed the air. Andrea and Rob were listening attentively.
“We were all so mad at him then, but to tell you the truth, it was a relief not to have to sleep in a filthy bus anymore, stealing sponge baths in gas station bathrooms. We were just privileged NYU kids at heart.” Tyler caught me staring and winked. He’d been telling us about the band he’d been in in college, and how it had opened for Ben Folds once. Then the lead singer had knocked up his girlfriend and quit, leaving them all in the dust for a suit job at a wealth management firm. “There I go rambling again,” he said. “Like any of this is interesting to anyone but me.” He laughed at himself and took a long sip from his wineglass. Andrea leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table, chin propped on her clasped hands.
“No, no. Tell us more. You’ve lived such a bohemian life,” she said, causing me to snort with suppressed laughter. “You know, Maeve works in publishing,” she went on, cuing me. “There’s probably some overlap there with the music industry, don’t you think? The hustle, the way authors get pitched, the whole restructuring that happened with the digital boom.” For a second I felt a flash of panic. I didn’t want to get into my floundering career.
“Book publishing, right?” Tyler looked at me admiringly. “I remember you said you’re an editor. There’s tons of overlap. What house are you with?”
“Former,” I corrected, spearing a bite of chicken. “I was formerly in publishing. I got fired recently.”
“Oh, fired is such a harsh term,” Rob interjected. “They were doing some restructuring,” he told Tyler, by way of explanation. “And Maeve’s been inundated with freelance work since then. You ask me, these jokers didn’t want to pay for benefits and all that. They clearly still need her but are cutting back on costs.”
I hadn’t told Rob any of this, and it meant a lot that Andrea had.
“You don’t want to be there anyway,” Andrea said, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You’re better than whatever TikTok star is the next big thing. Fiction is your thing, Maeve. You’ve always had such a wild imagination.”
I stiffened. TikTok star? I definitely hadn’t told Andrea about Mallory’s latest acquisition—the one that made her indispensable.
“How did you—”
“Relax, Maeve.” Andrea fiddled on her phone for a second, then showed me her screen. EW had announced Quokka’s deal with Mallory’s newest author, who had more than 70 million followers on all his platforms combined. “It’s all over the news,” Andrea informed me. “But really. Better that you didn’t get trapped into doing stuff you weren’t passionate about. Money doesn’t have to be the bottom line.”
“Especially when it doesn’t translate to a raise,” I agreed, sighing. “You’re right.”
“Wow,” Tyler said, peering at Andrea’s phone before turning his full attention back to me. “So what types of books did you edit, then?”
“Fiction, mostly,” I told him. “I’m still doing it, just as a freelancer.” I felt my shoulders relaxing, my spine straightening. Talking about work, for whatever reason, had always made me feel calmer—more confident—than I typically was in social situations. I genuinely enjoyed work, for one. And for two, I felt a sense of ease at my job that I lacked in my personal life. They were inversely proportional.
“So what, you fix commas and stuff?” Tyler went on. I felt myself bristle in annoyance, then he gave me a wink. “I’m kidding! I know that’s not all an editor does. I love reading. I read Dear Scott / Dear Max in my twenties. Max Perkins,” he clarified, when I looked at him quizzically. “F. Scott Fitzgerald’s editor.”
“I know Fitzgerald’s editor. I know who he was, I mean. I was just surprised—” I shook my head. “What I mean is … you’re a Fitzgerald fan? I was obsessed in high school,” I confided, leaning close. I’d known Tyler was well-read from our initial conversation at the bar, but I was excited to find we had even more in common than I had realized. We were seated on the same side of the table and it was only then that I noticed Rob and Andrea stealthily clearing away our dessert plates. I refocused on Tyler, trying not to blush.
“Big-time,” he told me, angling his knees toward mine until we may as well have been patrons of a bar, seated at adjacent stools. “We had to read Gatsby for an English class in high school. I credit that melancholic midday party scene with turning me on to books.”
“Okay,” I said, delighted, “but can we agree that Gatsby is basically the worst of his books? This Side of Paradise was the best.”
“I don’t know if Gatsby was the worst.” Tyler’s tone was thoughtful. “I liked it better than The Last Tycoon, for sure. But I agree that Paradise was the best. With The Beautiful and the Damned in close second.”
“Totally. Anything about debauched drinking and tortured love, basically.”
He laughed. “Man. I wish I’d had you around to nerd out with on this stuff in high school. I couldn’t talk to anyone about it.”
“Did you grow up around here?” I asked, just as Andrea reentered the room. There was so much I hadn’t bothered to ask him before, and suddenly I was full of questions.
“Sorry to interrupt! We’re obscenely tired,” she admitted. “It’s been a really long day. Do you two mind if we head up to bed?”
“Oh—” Tyler said, rising from his seat. “I can get out of here. Thank you so much for the amazing meal.”
Rob materialized behind Andrea. “No, no. You two hang out,” he said. “Really. We’re being so rude. It’s only ten; you should absolutely stay.” His tone was firm.
“I don’t think so,” Tyler said, examining the tablecloth. Why was he demurring?
“We insist,” Andrea said firmly. “You’re our guest, remember? Good night, you two. See you in the morning, Mae. Rob and I are going antiquing in Hudson around noon and would love it if you came.”
“Sure,” I told her. “Of course.” Tyler was still standing, awkwardly hovering between staying and leaving.
“You really can go,” I told him, after they’d headed upstairs. “Honestly. I won’t be offended.”
“I don’t want to go,” he said, seeming to choose his words carefully. “But—”
“But what? You have a girlfriend?” My tone was sharper than I’d intended. My mind flashed back to the weeks when he hadn’t texted. Already defensive, already hunting for reasons to push him away.
“No!” He met my eyes, his own looking a little panicked. “It’s not that at all. I’m … I’m afraid of getting carried away.”
“Well, I appreciate that,” I told him. “And you should go if you aren’t comfortable. I’m having fun though, and I’m a grown woman. You can’t get carried away on your own, I don’t think. Unless there’s something you’re not telling me? Do you turn into a werewolf at midnight? Possess insatiable urges for blood?”
He bit his lip and shook his head slowly, smiling. “Nah,” he said. “I’m good. Why don’t we go sit somewhere more comfortable?”
We moved into the living room, which was glass-enclosed and faced the woods of the backyard, an expanse now too dark to penetrate. We moved easily from sitting beside each other to curled into each other, my legs slung over his lap in a gesture of comfortable intimacy eons ahead of where we were. I couldn’t remember putting them there; they just were.
“I’m going to call you Brennan from now on,” Tyler said, tapping my nose. I pulled back to look at him.
“Why Brennan?” I asked, confused.
“Another hot, literary Maeve,” he said. “She worked at The New Yorker back in the day. A friend lent me her biography. It was pretty solid.”
“I’ve never heard of her.” I lifted my phone and typed the other Maeve’s name into the search bar. Her face was shrewd and beautiful. There were dozens of photos, but she wasn’t smiling in any of them. I clicked on her Wikipedia entry. “Hey! It says here Maeve Brennan went crazy,” I pointed out.
“She was unstable,” Tyler allowed. “I blame it on the patriarchy.”
“Sure you do.”
“Usually that line works pretty well,” he protested. I laughed and burrowed deeper into the crook of his arm.
“What brought you upstate?” I wondered aloud. “You’re obviously engaged in books and film and music … Are you working on any side projects? Any writing? Not that the restaurant-bar combo isn’t enough in its own right…” I trailed off, blushing. The last thing I wanted to do was make him feel like I thought what he was doing wasn’t good enough. I’d met plenty of ambitious, smart men in New York. Tyler had conveyed more passion and genuine engagement with the world in the past two hours than most of them combined.
“I always worried that monetizing my passions would take away everything I love about them,” Tyler confessed. “It sort of started to happen, that summer after college, when we were on the road with the band. We had a good thing going, you know? Then everyone got super intense about making it big. And the more successful we became, the more everyone wanted. It was this toxic cycle, and I knew at some point that nothing would ever be enough. We could have been on par with Aerosmith and it wouldn’t have made us happy. I promised myself, after that, that I wouldn’t destroy the things I loved anymore. I’d just make money however I could. And use my downtime to enjoy what I love about life.”
I nodded. His words had made my heart quicken; it was as if he was speaking directly to my own secret desires. I’d spent my life reaching for something bigger but wanting something easier. He’d somehow cracked the code. Everything I’d been doing—essentially validating my own ego with the glamor and prestige of it, all false motivators, in exchange for a life of constant scrambling—was thrown into harsh, naked relief. It was embarrassing. For the first time, I could imagine a different kind of life for myself. One with loved ones at the forefront, where ego took a backseat to the simple pleasure of reading a novel in the presence of a person you cared for. I wanted to see more of that life, to peel back the layers of it and discover what banal days looked like when you had people to call your own.
Andrea was the only person I’d ever really cared deeply about, it occurred to me then. The possibility that I could love a man—really love one, let one creep inside my heart—had never entered my mind. That kind of intimacy required truth. It would mean chipping below the veneer and airing the uglier stuff. It wasn’t something I’d ever entertained.
“Do you ever get scared, looking out at that?” Tyler pointed out the floor-to-ceiling windows we faced, breaking my reverie.
“Not really,” I said, shrugging off my ripple of unease. The fact was, it was nearly impossible not to be a little frightened in our big home in the middle of nowhere.
“It’s so dark out there. Someone could be looking in now and we’d never even know,” he said, pulling me close. “Many someones.”
“You creep.” I laughed, tickled his ribs. “Why would anyone do that?”
“Because they can. Because it’s easy.”
“You underestimate Andrea and Rob. I’m sure this place is rigged with a cutting-edge security system. The best of the best.”
Tyler’s eyes clouded, and he stared into the void of the backyard.
“Hey.” I tugged at his T-shirt. “I’m right here. You seem a little … unsettled.”
“I’m fine,” he said, turning back to me, cupping my cheek in his hand. “What were we talking about before? Fitzgerald? Have we talked about the beguiling love of his life yet?” He traced my jawline with his index finger and thumb. “Because I think she’s fascinating.” He leaned in then and we were kissing roughly, my hand pressing against the back of his neck, willing him closer. He slipped his arm behind me, moving his palm to my lower back, his fingers creeping gently below the waistband of my jeans. He guided me down slowly, carefully, until I was lying on the sofa and his body hovered above mine. He moved from my mouth to my neck to my collarbone, teasing me with his tongue until I let out an involuntary gasp. Catching myself, I placed a palm against his chest.
“No?” he said.
“No.” I laughed. “I feel like I’m in my parents’ basement.”
“Okay, okay.” He pulled himself away, seeming almost relieved. “I guess there’s no rush.” He ran a hand through his hair and took a heavy breath. “I like you, you know?”
“I hope so,” I said. “Isn’t that the idea? I’m pretty sure it was Andrea’s intention in orchestrating this whole thing.”
“I just wasn’t expecting it.” He looked back outside. “Forget feeling like we’re in your parents’ basement.” He laughed. “I feel like I’m cavorting in front of a chorus of deer.”
“I hear deer are really good at keeping secrets.” I curled back into him. He looped his arm around my shoulders and drew me against him. Our legs were propped on the coffee table, both sets intertwined. Maybe I could be close to someone. Maybe I could date someone, I thought. Maybe there was someone who wouldn’t be afraid of my past, a person I could trust and respect. Maybe that was what all of this was about—the reason Andrea and I got back in touch, the meaning of my lost job, the purpose I so badly wanted to believe existed behind these random sequences of events. All culminating in one thing: me learning how to let people into my life for real, not in the superficial way I’d collected Ryan and my coworkers.
“Andrea and Rob have taken such good care of me,” I murmured, running a lazy palm over his chest.
“She’s your cousin?”
“Yes.” I was feeling relaxed, sleepy. “We were best friends as kids.”
“As kids? And then what?” Tyler wanted to know.
“And then we lost each other,” I said simply. “And found each other again.”
Lying there with him, I thought about why I’d refused her. Why hadn’t I wanted to give her something of myself that could make her as happy as she’d made me? My reasoning seemed nebulous, flimsy, and I wondered if it was yet another deeply ingrained response to intimacy. Maybe I was afraid to give of myself that way, to link myself to Andrea forever. Maybe I’d been horrified at the idea of bringing someone into the world who would perpetuate our bond. Of contributing to something meaningful and lasting.
I didn’t want to be afraid anymore. I wanted deep ties. Commitments. I wanted to know I’d contributed to something bigger than I was. I resolved to talk it over with Andrea and Rob soon. To ask all the questions they surely had answers for. I’d even sit in on some of Andrea’s NewLife retreat if she wanted. The only obstacle all along was me, I realized. There was no reason not to go all in. To finally, after all these years, give of myself.
Tyler and I fell asleep like that, intertwined on the couch. I awoke with a start around five a.m., my back screaming. When I straightened, he stretched sleepily, extending his arms over his head and revealing a sliver of his abdomen. Then he kissed me on the crown of my head. “I’m going to take off,” he said, smiling down at me. “Can I see you again soon?”
I nodded. “How’s tomorrow?” I asked. “And by that, I mean tonight?”