What was I thinking? FoodiExpo is massive. A row of life-sized carbon-fiber cows flank a green-carpet entrance to the hall, followed by a massive wheel of cheese for picture-taking. But I haven’t even got my ticket yet. The lineup is at least fifty people long and out of the corner of my eye I can see the media booth with not a single person in front. The old me would’ve walked over to that booth even if I hadn’t registered for the event, shown my Instagram account and told the PR rep I must’ve forgotten to RSVP, but that I’d definitely share the experience with my followers, and then bypassed the line and the ticket price and been inside by now. The new me, however, has to fork over a credit card after a twenty-minute wait.
Once inside, I’m completely overwhelmed. There have to be at least fifty rows of booths and as I make my way down the first aisle, thinking I’ll be methodical about this whole thing, I realize I’m an idiot. What did I think would happen? I’d just waltz down an aisle, see Will walking toward me, the lights would dim, blocking everyone else out, spotlights would shine down on us as we locked eyes and fireworks would explode as we rushed toward each other? In reality, the aisles are slammed with people trying to make their way closer to each booth, to see how sharp the samurai knives are, how fast a new quick-dry towel dries dishes, and get a sample of spicy hummus on a broken cracker.
I can barely see two feet in front of me. And even if I saw Will, there would be no way to get to him. Still, I push on. He has to be here. I sample wines and spirits, buy a chopping block I am told I can’t live without, and take a break by watching a live demo on how to organize your kitchen cupboards, which I tell myself will be useful now that I’ve got my books out of them. I try to keep my spirits up—telling myself this is fun. I’m not here for Will, I’m just a gal filling her day at a food expo. But I don’t believe my pep talk. I walk some more, doing a double-take every single time I see a tall guy with swoopy brown hair, and whipping around every time I think I hear someone call my name. Turns out a lot of people say “kitchen” at one of these things, which sounds a lot like “Kit.”
And then, around eight o’clock, somewhere between my second full glass of wine and watching a sheep-cheese taste-test competition for the second time today, it hits me. He isn’t here. He obviously didn’t come, or if he did, it wasn’t meant for us to find each other. My head is pounding, my shoulder is aching from carrying my butcher’s block. I feel discouraged and disappointed in myself for even coming. I look up, searching for the large EXIT sign that leads out of the massive room, when I hear my name. For real this time. Overhead, through the speakers. At first I don’t trust myself that the voice was really for me, but then I hear it again: Kit Kidding. I freeze, craning to hear more, deciphering that I’ve won a door prize. A set of non-stick pans that I can pick up at Booth 281.
It almost feels laughable at this point. What am I going to do with six pans? It’s as though a higher being is looking down at me, laughing, rubbing pink Himalayan salt in my wounds. You can’t have Will, but you can reflect on what an idiot you were to think this plan would work every time you fry an egg in one of these pans. Well, forget it. I don’t need a box of pans. Except, as I walk toward the exit, I realize I have to pass right by the 200s to get out of the hall. And so I make my way, through the crowds, down the 200s aisle, the numbers getting higher and higher. Then I see it: 281. There’s a crowd in front of the booth, watching the demo—how easy it is to make omelets without them sticking in these non-stick pans. I wait until the crowd disperses and then make my way to the front.
“I…heard my name called. That I won?” I say unsurely, feeling shy. But the guy at the booth, with his goatee, red bandana on his head, fingerless gloves and apron, looks positively delighted. “You are going to absolutely love these.” He comes around the side of the booth, handing me a massive box. “There are actually seven different pans in here. And if you go to our website you can get tons of recipes to make anything from breakfast burritos to steak. Feel free to give us a shoutout on social media!” I can barely hold the box and it immediately drops to the ground. I bend down, struggling to pick it up again.
“Seriously? You don’t even like cooking,” a voice behind me says. I turn around and look up. It’s him, and his green eyes are on me. My heart’s beating so loudly I can barely hear myself speak, my hands are trembling and I’m starting to sweat.
“I—I won them,” I say nervously to Will. I wait with anticipation for him to speak.
At first, his expression is blank, and I feel discouraged, and consider that me coming here was a huge mistake. That just because I’ve changed my mind about him doesn’t mean he’s changed his mind about me.
But then, Will raises an eyebrow, looking amused. My heartbeat slows, my chest swelling. All those feelings I’ve had for him? Still there, but if they were nicely contained to a pot, the pot would now be overflowing.
“I heard,” he says. “Never in a million years did I think I’d find you here. So who’s the client?” His tone is cynical. He doesn’t think I’ve changed.
I shake my head. “There’s no client.” He studies me, his eyes intense on mine.
“Actually, there are no more clients.”
“What do you mean?” I can’t read his tone. Is it hopeful? Does he get it? Or is it too late—does he not care?
“It’s done,” I tell him. “My Instagram account. Influencing. The sponsored content. All of it. I actually had to buy my ticket to this thing,” I laugh, shaking my head. “First time for everything.”
“You bought a ticket?” he says slowly, his brow furrowing.
I look up at him and take a deep breath. “I came to see you.” My voice is barely a whisper.
“See me?” He’s curious.
I find my voice.
“Will, I wanted to see you,” I say assertively. “You said you never miss this event. So I figured I would find you here.” I pause and then add, “To convince you why you should give us another chance.”
And then everything stops, including my breathing, maybe even my heart. This is it, my last chance. I know it. I’ve done everything to be true to myself, and I’m taking a chance on an unknown, to make my own way against all the odds. But I’m only half of the equation. What happens next depends on Will’s reaction. Seconds feel like an eternity.
And then Will moves. He comes in a bit closer and I hold my breath. Then he bends down to pick up the box. My stomach drops. He doesn’t feel the same way. He stands and cocks his head. But I’m not giving up. I came here to talk, and I need him to listen. “Will, I know that—”
He holds the box up, giving a small smile. “Looks like you could use some help carrying this home. Maybe we could chat along the way.”
My body feels like it’s on fire, but I try to keep my cool.
“Sure. That’d be great.”
Side by side, Will and I walk out of the convention hall and onto the street. The cold night air hits my cheeks and I inhale deeply.
“So what happened?” he asks, shifting the box in his arms. “Last thing I knew was I was texting you and then you just disappeared.”
I tell him about going to Dad’s, about seeing the picture of him and Gillian, about shutting my phone off. “I just couldn’t do it anymore. Everything was just so confusing. I needed to turn off the noise. I was so tired of constantly worrying about every little thing I was doing and if it was fitting into this ‘brand’ I had created. It’s like I didn’t even know who I was anymore.”
A couple holding hands walks toward us. I wait until they’ve passed before I continue.
“I thought I’d miss it, you know? That I’d feel irrelevant without posting what I was up to—or what I wanted people to think I was up to. But it was the opposite. I felt so free. It really was a digital detox. I had all this time to think about what I wanted to do—what I wanted my life to look like.” I turn to look at him, that thoughtful look on his face as he looks out onto the street. “Will?”
He turns to look at me.
“What I want is you,” I say softly.
He looks away, nodding his head slowly.
“I’ve really missed you, Kit,” he says looking off into the distance. “I mean, you have no idea. I know I didn’t respond to your texts. I didn’t even thank you for what you did for Addie that night. She told me, you know,” he says, turning to look at me again, “about your mom, how you were there for her. And I didn’t even have the balls to tell you how much that meant to me. I didn’t think I could handle texting you and hearing from you, wanting you, and then not having you. So I did what every good coward does—I shipped your boxes.” He shakes his head. “What a coward move, I guess.”
“Yeah, it was,” I say. “But I get it.” I reach over to push the pedestrian crossing button and Will slides his fingers through mine with his free hand. Tingles run through my body.
“I’m just…I’m worried,” he says. I look into his eyes. I know what’s coming. It’s what I need to hear, but still, I dread it. He lets go of my hand as the light changes and we cross the street. “I can’t be with someone who just runs away when things get hard. And it’s not just me, Kit. Addie, too. She needs stability to feel safe, secure and sure of what’s going on. You mean so much to her, I can tell, and it’s just so confusing when you’re in and out. Of course we’re going to disagree, we’re going to fight, but we need to be able to resolve things like grown-ups. By talking.”
His words sting, because I haven’t been much of a grown-up. I know that now.
“Addie needs to see how good relationships work,” Will continues. “I’m only going to expose her to a relationship if it’s real, and if it’s honest and sets the example I want for her.”
“Which is…?” I challenge him. “You have to admit, the way we went about things wasn’t exactly conventional. You didn’t want Addie to know we were dating. How is that honest?” I move away from him as a cyclist zips between us on the sidewalk.
“You’re right. But you didn’t want to be serious with someone who didn’t want kids,” Will says.
“And you knew you couldn’t be with me unless I changed my mind, so you’re at fault too.”
Will stops walking. “Basically, I let my overwhelming urge to get you into bed with me overshadow all rational thought.” His green eyes meet mine and the corner of his mouth turns up.
“Strange, since you made me sleep in the guest room.” My voice is teasing, but my heart is pounding.
“I can see why you’d feel like you were just crashing with us, rather than being in a relationship with me,” he says. “That wasn’t fair. Sometimes despite wanting to think things through, I don’t.” We pass a bench and he stops, putting the box down.
I look up at the nearly full moon, then turn back to him. “You were right, I am terrified of commitment. I thought being committed meant I was trapped, that I couldn’t live the life I wanted. That I would have to change who I was to fit a mold. And I didn’t want that.” The wind picks up and blows my hair across my face. I push it away, tucking a strand behind my ear. “But I also didn’t like being alone again as much as I thought I would. And it wasn’t about being with someone or being alone. It was about missing you two.”
Will nods, and I continue. “But it’s still scary. I’ve never wanted kids in my life.” I know this is the kind of stuff Will doesn’t want to hear, but I need to be able to be true to myself, and tell him where I’m coming from. To be clear about what’s changed, and what hasn’t.
Will’s brow furrows. “Well that’s a problem, and one I think you really need to think about. Because you can’t flit in and out.”
“I know that.”
Will looks away, not saying anything for a moment.
“And you know you can’t say certain things then, right?” His eyes meet mine. “You can’t be with us and then say you don’t like kids—”
“I’ve never said I don’t like them,” I correct him. “Just that I never saw a life where I had my own.”
He crosses his arms over his chest and nods. “OK. It’s just—hard to know the difference.”
I take a deep breath. “I know. And me saying that I don’t see a life with them doesn’t help our situation. That’s why I gave it all up. I can’t be that role model to child-free women and also have a life where I live with a child. It feels hypocritical.” I reach for his hands, untangling them from his crossed arms. He lets me, and that fills me with the courage to continue.
“But having you in my life, having Addie in my life—that’s more important to me. You’re real, and you make me feel alive, and happy and loved and a part of something that’s bigger than just me.”
I bite my lip.
“And it doesn’t change how I feel about motherhood—I still don’t think motherhood should be a woman’s obligation and I still feel so strongly that every woman should be able to choose what’s right for her, without others having any say in her decision. Which, I guess, is the right that I’m allowing myself.”
Will studies me.
“But you have to think about the kid thing, too,” I say. “How you really feel about your own future. Like, do you really want to be with someone and not have more kids…”
“No.”
I freeze. Why let me go on this way if there’s no chance for us?
“No, I don’t want to be with just someone,” Will says, taking a step closer to me. He pushes a strand of hair off my face, his fingers lingering behind my ear.
“I want to be with you.”
I close my eyes as a warm feeling fills my entire body.
“But you want five kids.” I open my eyes and study his face. He rubs the stubble on his chin.
“I wanted five kids with Sophie. Sophie wanted five kids with me. You’re not Sophie. And if I wanted Addie to have siblings, then I’d date someone who wants a lot of kids too,” Will says. “I’m a big boy. I can make my own decisions. And I’ll be honest with you. I’ve thought about it. A lot. But I keep coming back to one thing.” He looks deep into my eyes and this time, I don’t close my eyes, because I want to remember every moment of this conversation. “No one else is you, Kit. No one, unfortunately.”
I press my lips together, but I can’t stop smiling. “Unfortunately.”
“Listen, if we can go through everything we’ve been through these last few weeks and I can still feel this way about you—I just think that’s something special. You don’t get that every day. And that’s life—you never know how it’s going to play out. Or with whom.” The corners of his mouth turn up.
I reach for his hand, intertwining my fingers with his. “I know I don’t always say the right things or do the right things. But neither do you, I just have to say that,” I tease him.
Will’s mouth hangs open. “Me?”
“Come on,” I say laughing. I hit him lightly on the chest. “You’re not the most flexible guy.” But then I get serious. “I might run when things get tough, but you stiffen. You have a hard time seeing things from other people’s perspectives. You didn’t agree with my life—my previous life—but instead of trying to understand it better, you just instantly dismissed it, made fun of me, reduced me. You weren’t willing to come to me and try to fix this. I had to come to you.” I grab his hands in mine. “I know for Addie you have to be this solid guy, but it feels a little like it’s your way or no way at all.” My heart is pounding in my chest. What if I’ve just blown it? But I remind myself that if I’m going to be open to change, he has to be, too. And I have to be able to say what I’m thinking, even if it’s not what he wants to hear.
“Wow,” he says exhaling. My entire body tenses. “That’s what I mean,” he says. “This. This is good. I need you to be able to talk about things. Hard things. And you need to challenge me back.” He squeezes my hands. “And you know what? You’re right. I can be pretty rigid and that can be a bit…unfair.”
I pull a hand away and brush an unexpected tear from my cheek. “I want this,” I tell him. “The two of us. We’re good together. You challenge me, you make me want to grow. And I want to be there for Addie. I want her to know that she can always count on me.”
He nods, taking my free hand back and looking deep into my eyes. “I want that, too,” he says huskily.
Another tear escapes. “You know it was really hard for me to go to Gillian’s that night. Wow, that woman hates me. But I knew it wasn’t about me. I had to put aside my own petty feelings so I could just be there for Addie. And you know what? I’d do it again. And again and again and again. Every time she calls, I will be there for her. Because I love her.” And it’s out there. I look back into Will’s green eyes, the anticipation thick in the air between us.
I unlace my fingers from his so that I can reach up and touch his face. His cheeks are smooth and warm against my palms. I take a deep breath, feeling nervous and happy all at once.
“And I love you, too,” I whisper softly, then wait for his reaction.
“What did you say?” His voice is teasing, his eyes are twinkling and his lips slowly curl up into a grin. And I know, in that moment, that he feels the same way about me.
I laugh and punch him lightly in the stomach but he puts his arms around my waist and pulls me closer. “Come on, Kit Kidding,” he says, his voice low and gravelly. “I’m not sure I heard you correctly.”
I hate how much he’s enjoying this and yet, I’m happy to say it, again and again and again. “I said I love you, Will MacGregor.”
“That’s what I thought you said.” And he looks so happy I could cry. That my words, my feelings could make him feel that way. He pulls me toward him.
“I don’t think I need to tell you that the feeling is mutual,” he says, his breath hot on my face, his nose practically touching mine.
“Oh, but you do,” I whisper, my lips brushing his.
“Well, then,” he says, pulling back just enough to look into my eyes. “I love you, too, Kit Kidding.” Then our lips are together, and any trace of the cold night air is gone.
“So what’s your next move, Kit Without Kids, who’s now dating someone with a kid?” Will says lazily. It’s the next morning and I’m in Will’s arms. We only have a few minutes before he has to go get Addie from Millie’s. Dad life never stops, not even when you’re in love. But we have these moments and I don’t intend on wasting them.
“Funny you should ask,” I say, rolling onto my back and looking up at the ceiling. “Remember the Bookstagram account I was starting to tell you about, the night of the Meanderers concert?”
“Mmm. Yeah, but tell me more.”
And so I do. “I have a completely unsound business plan, but it’s getting there. All I know is that I haven’t felt this excited about something in a long, long time.”
He pushes himself up onto an elbow, facing me. “I’ve been thinking about it forever,” I say. I roll over so I’m facing him, too. “And maybe it’s nostalgia, or a sense of closure on my mom’s death, but I just feel like I’ve got to do it.” I laugh nervously because what if it is just a crazy idea? But Will nods.
“Then you’ve got to do it. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Actually,” I say, biting my lip, “I’m supposed to be looking at a laneway apartment this afternoon with Gloria. It’s not exactly what I’ve been looking for, but it’s more affordable than my original plan, which was to buy a house with a garage.”
“Right,” Will says, his face clouding. He clearly remembers our conversation, which also occurred at the scene of our awful fight.
My stomach tightens. “The thing is, now that I’m in this relationship with you for real, for the long haul, it seems sort of silly to think about buying my own house.” My voice is light, gauging his reaction.
“I like the sounds of that,” he says, his eyes meeting mine.
“And I’m not saying you’ve got to re-invite me to live with you. Because I’m kind of enjoying my place now.” I look around my room. I just bought an ornate antique dresser at a garage sale last weekend. It felt good—to spend money on something I love, something so completely opposite of the kind of modern, sleek stuff I’d been borrowing from Stay-a-While. Something that may or may not look good in photos, and it doesn’t matter, because I love using it. And I love how I’m finally putting my own touches on my own space, treating it as permanent instead of completely temporary, like I was before.
Will runs his fingers through my hair. My whole body tingles with his touch.
“Don’t love living here too much,” he says.
I run a finger down his chest. “So that’s the thing.” I feel overcome by nervousness at what I’m about to propose, the morning after getting back together with him, but at the same time, it feels so right.
“So what I’m thinking…” I say. “If I’m going to be spending a lot of time working on my new business, and a lot of time with you and Addie…” I take a deep breath. “What if you rent me your garage? If I run my business out of your garage, then I’d be at your place pretty much all day, every day.” I lean toward him, kissing his chest.
“My garage, huh? You’ve never even been in my garage. What makes you think it’s for rent?” He pulls away and I look up at him but his green eyes are shining.
“I think I can convince you.” I shimmy up so my face meets his.
“Oh yeah?” he says.
I plant my lips on his, his stubble rough on my chin, but I don’t care. Eventually we break apart, though my entire body is warm and tingly. “I wouldn’t want you to think I’m using you for your garage.”
He leans in and his mouth is on mine and my body’s on fire all over again.
“You can use me for whatever you want.”
I pull back. “Really?” I say, feeling excited at the prospect.
“Uh-huh.” He nods.
“If we do this,” I say, “I want to pay rent. Like, have a contract and everything.”
“Contract,” he mumbles in my ear. “Rent. You really know how to get me going.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. Let’s do it.”
I pull back to look at him. My body rushes with adrenaline. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.” He looks at me, and I can hardly believe it. I’m doing it. After all these years, I’m finally going to do it. I squeal, then kiss Will square on the lips, then leap up on the bed in my shorts and tank top, jumping up and down on the bed until I fall down again, and Will wraps his arms around me, pulling me close, alternately laughing with me and kissing me back.