It’s around eight o’clock on Sunday night and Will and I are in his kitchen. I’m unpacking the latest Fresh Food Fast box and he’s pouring us both a glass of wine, which I’m hoping will quell my jitters before he notices. He fed Addie before I arrived and she’s upstairs watching a movie on her iPad. The house is quiet except for the soft music playing in the background, and the whole vibe feels absolutely nothing like it did when I was last here with Margot and Ari and their kids at that disastrous dinner.
As he passes me a glass of red, I can’t help thinking that if I were to witness this scene through a window, I’d think I was watching a couple on a date. And yet, I can’t let myself think like that. Because Addie exists. And so does Will’s desire to have many more children. Which is why we’ve got to stick to the agreement to keep this thing casual. Nothing more. Though I wish we’d met at my place, just so that our “casual” time together could be a bit more fun.
“Addie told me you used to sell couches,” I say as I open drawers, looking for scissors.
“Yeah, with my dad. MacGregor Home Furnishings. We’ll help you sit in style,” he adds in a radio announcer voice. “It was OK. I mean—I liked the idea of carrying on the business my dad had with his dad. I didn’t love it—but I never really thought about it too much, if that makes sense.”
“So what made you leave then?” I ask, cutting through a plastic package of rice.
“For a while after Sophie died, I held it together because I had a toddler to take care of. But then one day it just all became too much. I guess you could say I had a bit of a breakdown.”
I stop opening packages and lean against the counter. “I’m sorry. I can’t even imagine.”
He nods, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, well, the tough side of me hates to admit that,” he says wryly. “But it’s the truth and I’m OK with admitting it now. Anyway, I took some time off from the shop and started cooking for something to do. It helped a lot. The grief process, but also my role as a parent. No three-year-old should be eating takeout every single night for dinner.” He points his spatula at me. “No grown woman should be eating takeout every night either, for the record.”
“We weren’t talking about me,” I smile. “Get back to your story.”
“Right. Well, I started cooking, and it turned out I was a pretty good cook. I guess you could kind of say it saved me—in a whole lot of unexpected ways.” He sprinkles freshly ground salt and pepper over the chicken.
“I didn’t expect that answer,” I say softly. “But I’m glad you told me.”
The left corner of his mouth turns up slightly. “Thanks for asking. I don’t like to get into it with everyone, but…” He reaches up and removes a frying pan that’s hanging from a wire rack above the counter, then hands it to me. “You aren’t just anyone.”
My heart pounds, and I try to focus on snipping the ends off the green beans.
Will tells me to put a pat of butter in the frying pan and I scan the counter, distracted. I fiddle with the handle of the pan as I debate how to keep this conversation going before I lose my opportunity, and my nerve.
“When we were going to the island, Addie mentioned her mom had died—I had just assumed…”
“That I was a player?” He winks. I find the butter and cut off a chunk, putting it in the pan and then adding the green beans.
“I was going to say divorced.” I know he’s trying to make light of the situation, but I want to know more about him, and his past.
He puts the chicken in the oven. “Most people think that. It’s only natural. There aren’t a lot of thirtysomething widowers, I suppose.”
“I can’t imagine what you must have gone through. You guys must have been so young, and with Addie…” I pause. “Was Sophie sick for a long time?”
“About a year, I guess. It felt long, but also so short. What’s that saying about parenthood—‘The days are long but the years are short’? It felt like that. Like every day I just had to get up and do it all: go to work, be there for Sophie, take care of Addie. I was so in the moment, and then, just like that, it was over. Everything. The whole life plan.”
I realize I’ve been holding my breath and now I let it out. “I can’t imagine,” I say again. I thought I had my life planned out with Eric, and of course it stung when things ended, but comparatively, my life went on, for the most part, just as planned. But Will—he didn’t get to just move on, solo. “It must have been so hard, to suddenly find yourself parenting without a partner, and not by choice.”
Will pops a cherry tomato in his mouth. “Yeah, for sure. And every day, seeing Sophie in Addie. Not physically, but little things she’d say or do. And knowing that she was going to outgrow those things eventually. And then, Sophie’d be gone.” Will exhales. “Wow. What a downer I am, huh? You might get a kick out of this, actually.” He laughs. “We were going to have five kids.”
“Five?” I shake my head, my eyes wide. I feel like someone just punched me in the gut. I knew he wanted kids, but five feels entirely next-level.
He laughs. “You look shell-shocked.”
I am shell-shocked. What I don’t get is, if Will knows I don’t want kids, why is he even bothering to casually date me—or whatever we’re doing? Like, why bother? And why am I bothering to get involved, either?
“We really liked the idea of having a lot of kids. I like kids. They’re fun. They make life fun. Crazy, but fun. Kind of like you.” He gives me a sly smile. I feel like I’m walking a tightrope of emotions.
“Are you implying that I’m like a child?” I say, keeping my voice light. “Or that I’m crazy?” Somehow, I’ve got to get this conversation off kids or we’re never going to make it through this meal.
He winks at me as he starts peeling carrots. “Maybe a little of both. Most people think kids are so different from adults, but they’re really not. They just have all the energy that a lot of adults don’t—and a fresh perspective on life. At least that’s what I try to tell myself when Addie’s being a pain in the ass.” He passes me the bag of rice. “Shoot, we should’ve done this first. You’re distracting me.” He pulls a clean pot down from the hanging rack and fills it with water, then puts it on the stove, turning the burner on and covering the pot with a lid.
“You know,” he says, his tone more serious, “it was Addie who suggested I start cooking for real. Like, as a job. At first, I brushed it off. I mean, what does a five-year-old know about career choices, right?”
I nod, trying to focus on his words, rather than my own thoughts. “But I think she could see how happy it made me. Or how unhappy selling furniture made me. I love my dad and I know it meant a lot to him to have me take on the family business, but I just couldn’t do it anymore. Sophie’s death made me realize that life’s way too short to live it doing what you think you should be doing, or what other people think you should be doing, rather than just doing something you love. And I love cooking. So I decided to give it a shot.”
What other people think you should be doing. His words couldn’t ring more true. “I get that,” I say, thinking about my own plans for the book garage, how I keep pushing them off because they don’t fit in with the way I’ve carved out my career and I can’t figure out how I’ll ever be able to make time for it.
“So is the plan to open your own restaurant?” I say, to keep the focus on Will. “Be the next hot young chef?”
“Nah. I don’t even want to be tied to one restaurant. That’s why I turned the Hotel 6ix gig down. It just doesn’t work with Addie. I’m a single dad. The hours don’t line up. Catering, on the other hand—I can make my own hours, choose the jobs I want. The pay isn’t nearly as good as being the head chef at a hot new restaurant, but…we’re OK. We’ve got what we need. And I get to be there for her, whenever she needs me. Mostly. And that’s what matters.”
The water’s boiling and I pour the rice into the pot, then add a dash of salt, thinking about Dad. I want to tell Will about how my dad was a single parent, too. How he couldn’t always be there for me the way Will is for Addie, because he didn’t have a job that was flexible. His nine-to-five was often more like eight-to-seven, and he had both Izzy and me to worry about. But I never blamed him. He was doing his best—and it probably made Izzy and me closer because we spent so much time together. She was always there for me. She still is. I have a sudden urge to call my sister.
We’re plating the food when there’s a knock at the front door and then it opens, a woman with long red hair entering. “Yoo-hoo!” she calls, holding a bottle of wine in one hand. She’s wearing cropped jeans and a tight sweater. I run a hand over my own ponytail and oversized, off-the-shoulder sweatshirt, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
“Gillian?” Will wipes his hands on a tea towel and looks from her to me.
“Hello, hello, hello…” she says as she walks into the kitchen, then stops when she sees me.
“Gill, this is Kit. Kit, Gillian. Gillian is Addie’s best friend Millie’s mom.”
Gillian feigns offence. “I think I’m more than Millie’s mom.” She turns to me. “Don’t you hate it when you’re defined as someone’s mom?” She looks around the kitchen as Will pulls the roast out of the oven. Everything is nearly ready, and I should be snapping pics, so I pick up my camera.
“I wouldn’t know. I don’t have kids, actually.”
“Oh, that’s right.” She snaps her fingers as though she just remembered something. “Margot was telling me about you. The kid-hater who can’t cook. Sounds like you ended up at the wrong dinner party the other night.”
I freeze, then meet Gillian’s eye.
“Seriously? I said I don’t have kids, not that I hate kids.”
“Is there a difference, really?” Her voice is sickly sweet.
“Yeah, there’s a big difference,” I say, my hands shaking as I grip my camera. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
Her eyes are slits. “I think it is my business. Will and I have been friends forever and—” But the way she says it makes me think there’s a lot more than friendship between her and Will. Which is supposed to be fine. That’s what casual means. Will can date whoever he wants. And I have to be OK with it. Except, I’m not OK with it.
Will clears his throat. His face is pale, which just confirms my fears. “Gill, did we have plans tonight? I don’t remember…”
“We always watch The Sopranos on Sunday nights.” She flips her hair over her shoulder and turns to me. “When my ex-husband has Millie I always impose on Will. And there are a million episodes of The Sopranos. We’re so behind. But that’s what happens when you have kids. You lose a decade of TV watching. But we’re determined to catch up, aren’t we, Will?”
Will looks uncomfortable. “We’ve only watched a handful of episodes,” he says. “Don’t make it something it’s not, Gill. We’ll catch up another time, cool?”
I don’t want to stand around while they make plans. I toss the tea towel on the counter and look for my purse then remember I left it at the door. “You know what?” I say. “I’m actually feeling a bit off. I think we should just scrap this meal.”
“What? No!” Will protests, looking genuinely disappointed. “We’re all set.”
I shake my head. “We’re ahead anyway.” I make my way toward the front door. “I’m going to go home and get a good night’s sleep. I’ve got an early morning and it sounds like you two have a late night…” I’m babbling, and can’t seem to stop. I grab my purse and hurry out the front door.
At home, I order a pizza and then head straight for the bathroom, stripping down and leaving my clothes in a pile on the floor, before climbing into the shower and letting the steady stream hit my face, mixing with tears that have me wondering if I’m PMSing. But no—my hurt feelings are completely legitimate. Not one, but two of the women in Will’s life that I’ve met—in fact the only two women I’ve met—have both been unnecessarily mean to me. I’m so used to being around women who want to boost each other up, it’s disturbing to be around women who don’t. And yet, these women could be around for…well, for a long time if I want Will in my life. So then why did I rush off? Why didn’t I stand my ground and make Gillian leave? I was there first. I was the one who’d made plans with Will. I was the one he wanted to be with. Or, more my style: why didn’t I try to include Gillian in our plans?
As I wash my hair, I consider what would’ve happened if I’d stayed and Gillian had left. Would I have snuggled up to him on the couch while we watched a movie, or pretended to until we couldn’t keep our hands off each other any longer? No, of course not—there’s no way that Will does anything above a PG rating with Addie upstairs. And would he have really sent Gillian home so that I could stay with him instead?
I let the water run over my hair, squeezing my eyes shut as the suds run down my face. That fear, that Will would choose the sure thing—the woman who’s so clearly interested in him—over me, is what sent me home. I’d always rather remove myself than be rejected. Who wouldn’t?
It’s better this way, I convince myself. And the sooner I can finish this contract and be done with Will MacGregor, the better.
I add conditioner to my hair and then stand under the hot water until it runs cold, then shut it off. As I wrap a towel around me, there’s a knock on the door. Shivering and still damp, I shuffle over to the door, holding my towel tight, and peep through the tiny hole, expecting to see the pizza guy with the pizza I just ordered.
It’s not the pizza guy. A warm rush washes over my body. Even though I just finished telling myself I want nothing to do with Will, it’s like my heart has put my mind on mute and is going rogue.
“Are you gonna open the door?” he asks. I take a deep breath. I open the door. Will gives me a sly grin and holds out an orange cactus. “I felt like this situation deserved flowers, but there don’t seem to be any florists open on Sunday nights,” he says. “The convenience store on the corner only had carnations and aren’t they supposed to symbolize death? So, cactus it is.” He pushes the cactus toward me and I take it with one hand, holding my towel firm with the other. I focus on the prickly plant and remind myself why I left. This will never work.
“It sort of looks like a penis,” he laughs. I can’t help laughing, too. “That’s not why I bought it. I just felt like I needed to bring you something. The dinner we just finished making probably would’ve been the better choice. I’m starving, are you starving?”
It’s no use. I want to be mad at him, but there’s something about him that makes me feel like the sun is shining down on me, my entire body filled with dopamine. Pull it together, Kit.
“What happened to The Sopranos and…Gillian?” I struggle to keep my voice flat.
He shrugs. “It didn’t happen.”
“So, what, you left Gillian at your place?”
“Yeah. I got Addie to bed and then asked Gill to make herself useful. The corners of his mouth turn up slightly, and I try to picture Gillian sitting alone, on the couch, playing the role of babysitter. I can’t help smiling. That was definitely not Gillian’s plan.
He smiles too. “Yep. I had more important things to worry about.” His green eyes meet mine, but I look away. I can’t get hurt. So I can’t get sucked back in.
“Listen, you don’t owe me anything,” I say, trying to sound detached, like I just don’t care about Will as anything more than a co-worker. “You can watch TV with whomever you want.”
“I want to watch TV with you,” he says simply, and my heart pounds. He clears his throat. “Really. I want to watch TV with you. And make dinner with you. And eat it with you, rather than you running away. I took a few more pics, by the way,” he says. “You forgot this.” He hands me my camera. “But I didn’t come here to talk about work. I want to talk about other things.”
I swallow a lump in my throat. “Like…what?”
Will takes a step forward, so he’s standing in the doorway. “Like walking. I want to walk with you. Grocery shop with you. Meet your friends. Meet your family. I know we said we’d just be casual, but this”—he waves a hand between us—“doesn’t feel casual. Not to me.” A door closes behind Will, down the hall, and I look past him to see a guy walking toward the elevator. Will turns too, and all three of us are looking at each other. Will turns back to me. “Can I come in? This is getting awkward.”
I push the door open wider with my hip and Will steps inside. I follow him in, and then put the phallic cactus on the counter as Will sits on the couch.
“Hang on,” I say. “I just want to put something on.” But when I look back, Will’s right behind me. He takes a step closer. His hands are on my hips. Mine are still holding my towel in place.
“We don’t want the same things,” I say sadly. “We can never be more than just casual, and casual is feeling like it’s a really bad idea…” But his lips are on mine, and I’m kissing him back. And it’s soft and tender and…somehow very different from before. When we pull apart, he looks into my eyes.
“We’re smart people. And I think it’s pretty clear we both want each other. We can figure it out.” He takes my towel and drops it to the floor, then leads me through my apartment, into the bedroom.