TWELVE

CLAIRE

“Uncle Jesse!”

Nolan runs past me and up the stairs of Jesse’s front porch. The door is open and strangers are already inside milling around. “Slow down!” I call, balancing a box of a dozen doughnuts and a tray with two coffees and a chocolate milk. Jesse meets us at the door.

“Hey, little man,” he says, giving Nolan a high-five before taking the box and tray, freeing up my hands.

“Thank you.”

“You have no idea how glad I am to see you,” he says.

An uneasy current travels along my spine, the part of me wanting to give in to the compliment overshadowed by the part reminding me that this is Jesse, and even if we did share a moment at the top of the stairs, even if it was a moment I hadn’t stopped thinking about since—how perfectly we fit together, like our bodies were made for one another—it wasn’t like that between us. It couldn’t be. He was Sean’s brother, for God’s sake, and he would be leaving soon. Whatever I thought I felt as he pulled me close and tightened his arms around me had to be brushed aside or yes, my mother would be right and this would end badly.

But it isn’t only about me. Nolan needs Jesse. I can’t screw this up with weird feelings I can barely describe, much less define. I missed Sean. That was all. It was overwhelming for both of us working in that room yesterday. I was more than relieved when we finished. The hug was . . . nothing.

And then I can’t help but think he wouldn’t have hugged me at all if he knew the truth.

“You’re glad to see me or me with coffee and doughnuts?” I joke.

“You. And the coffee and doughnuts. Do you know that someone actually knocked on my door at five-thirty looking for an end table?”

“I forgot to warn you. Yard sales are serious business. Early bird gets the worm and all that. So how’s it going?” I follow Jesse inside. The sofa is gone and an older couple wanders through the front living room, checking prices.

“The books and frames are pretty popular,” he says. “And I sold a rug and a dresser.”

“But no end table?”

“Wouldn’t you know, it wasn’t what she was looking for.”

“That sucks. Well, go drink your caffeine and get your sugar high. I’ll make a pass around the house to see if anyone has questions or needs help.”

“I am glad to see you, though,” he says, nudging me with his elbow. “With or without caffeine. Last night was—”

“Hard,” I finish.

I’m not sure if this is the word he was aiming for. I’m not even sure I want to know the word he was aiming for, but he agrees with me, anyway. “Hey, if you and Nolan are still hanging around and free for lunch, let’s go out,” he suggests.

“We can play it by ear. Now go eat your doughnuts. I’m serious.”

“Hey, Nolan,” he says, heading into the dining room. “You ready for breakfast?”

“He gets one doughnut and the chocolate milk,” I say.

“Only one?” Jesse says, feigning shock. “You’re huge, dude. I thought you might be able to eat the whole box!”

“Only one, Jesse,” I warn. “I’m not kidding.”

“All right, your mom says one, and she’s the boss.” I watch Jesse set Nolan up at the table with a doughnut and his milk, then circle the first floor, taking stock of the furniture still left.

“Are you guys finding everything okay?” I ask two older women who might be sisters.

“I’m interested in the lamps,” one says. “Will you take twenty for both?”

“Well, they’re not mine, but I can ask the owner.”

When I return to the dining room Jesse and Nolan are side by side at the table, giggling over something on Jesse’s phone. The doughnut box is open and four of the dozen are missing. Three of those better have been Jesse’s.

“What are you watching?” I ask.

“Tee-Rex videos,” Jesse replies.

“The dinosaur is ice skating!” Nolan says, the corners of his mouth sticky with chocolate glaze.

“That sounds hilarious. In the meantime, some ladies in the den want to know if you’ll sell the pair of table lamps for twenty.”

“Whoa! Did you see that?” Jesse asks Nolan, who laughs so hard I can’t help but smile myself.

“Jesse?” I ask.

“Twenty’s fine,” he says. “I’ll take whatever as long as the stuff is moving. Do what you do.”

“So you’re saying you trust my judgment,” I confirm.

“I trust everything about you, Claire-bear,” he says, using a nickname I hadn’t heard since Sean died. “And that’s me and not the sugar talking.”

“Okay.”

I’m not quite sure how I feel about Jesse using Sean’s old nickname for me. It’s not like he’s never used it before, it’s just. . . . It’s been years. The truth is I don’t know Claire-bear anymore. Claire-bear was the girl standing in those photos next to Sean. Claire-bear belonged to Sean and the name doesn’t seem right coming from Jesse’s lips. And while part of it does feel familiar and good, it mostly feels . . . wrong.

I return to the women in the den and make the lamp sale. For the next hour, a steady stream of people moves in and out of the house and pieces are picked off one and two at a time, including Sean’s desk and dresser, which I watch Jesse help carry downstairs as a pang of sadness bites at my chest.

Soon the formal living room is empty and the bedroom furniture is gone and the dining room table is spoken for—purchased by a newly married couple who are returning with a trailer to pick it up. Nolan has to use the restroom, so I take him upstairs, pausing on the way to look at Sean’s near-empty room and trying not to think of all the times he led me up these same steps, my hand tight in his, and locked the door behind us.

When we return, Jesse is in the foyer talking to his Realtor.

“It sounds like they’re very serious,” she says. “This is a good thing, Jesse. The house is barely on the market. If we can sell before the end of summer you won’t have to worry about carrying costs on a house and an apartment.”

She’s holding a stack of fliers and must have dropped by to fill the box out front.

“Claire, what day are we meeting with the Porters?” Jesse asks when he sees me.

“Thursday,” I confirm.

“Shit. And I’ll be out of town Friday,” he mutters. “Is there any way they can do Saturday or Sunday?”

“They were adamant. Thursday is their only day.”

“Is everything okay?” I ask, pointing Nolan to the dining room and joining their conversation.

“The couple who looked at the house last week wants a second walk-through,” he says.

“That’s good news,” I say.

“On Thursday. With their decorator.”

“What time?” I ask the agent.

“Around lunchtime.”

“Call me crazy, but I don’t think they should be here when Mia and her mom are finalizing reception plans,” Jesse says.

“Call me crazy,” I begin, “but I don’t see why we can’t make it work. We’ll do our best to stay out of their way, and I doubt they’ll bother us.”

Jesse hesitates. I can see he doesn’t want to agree—that something is holding him back, but I’m not sure what. He finally acquiesces. “All right. If that’s the only day they can come, it’s fine. Just let them know they won’t be the only ones here.”

“I’m sure it won’t be a problem,” the Realtor says, “but I will certainly tell them. So I’m going to go stick these out front. Good luck with the sale, and let me know if you have any questions or need anything, okay, Jesse? I want to make this as smooth for you as possible.”

“Okay.”

“Thank you, Cathy,” I say.

“Uncle Jesse! Come watch videos with me,” Nolan calls.

“I can’t right now,” he says. “I have to go help some people. You keep watching, though, and tell me what happens.”

I remove my phone from my purse.

“Trade,” I tell Nolan. He swaps with me, and I return Jesse’s phone to him. An eyebrow lifts.

“Mine has parental controls,” I explain.

“Ah. The dangers of the open web,” he says, shutting his off. “Looks like I have a lot to learn.”

“You’re getting there, though,” I say. “And don’t worry. I’ll teach you everything you need to—”

“Claire?” A deep voice interrupts us and Jesse and I turn in tandem toward the front door.

Though I’ve never met David in person, I recognize him immediately from the pictures my mother showed me, even as I work through the utter shock of seeing him standing tall at the threshold, dressed for a casual Saturday in khaki shorts and a blue polo shirt, his head half-covered with a visor, like he is either on his way to the golf course or just returning from it, even though the sky has threatened rain all morning. The fact that he’s holding a bouquet of purple and white calla lilies—obviously meant for me—registers moments too late.

“David?” I ask.

“Guilty. And I’m so sorry to barge in on you like this. I know you’re busy.”

“So, what? He’s stalking you now?” Jesse mutters under his breath. “That’s brilliant.”

I shush him, but it’s obvious David hears because he clears his throat and quickly adds: “Your mom told me you would be here, actually. I hope it’s okay that I stopped by.”

“Of course,” I assure him. “We’re just having a little estate sale. It’s, um, good to finally meet you in person.”

“You, too. May I?” he asks, motioning toward us.

“God. Yes. Please come in,” I say, trying not to think about my warm face and the fact that my cheeks are likely burning pink or that suddenly it feels like the foyer is thirty degrees warmer than it had been only two minutes earlier, and, at the same time, trying to ignore the scowl painted so clearly on Jesse’s face.

“These are for you,” he says, handing me the lilies wrapped in green paper.

“Thank you,” I say. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

I breathe them in. “They smell wonderful, and the color is gorgeous. Are they Nico’s?” Nico is one of our best floral suppliers. He has a shop in midtown and a farm outside the city where he grows most of his flowers in greenhouses.

“Yes, they are, actually,” David says, seeming surprised. “How can you tell?”

“The plum center. Nico is the only guy in the city with lilies like this. Everyone else would’ve had to put in an order, and you don’t order plum and white for no reason. Plus these don’t look shipped. They were cut recently. Probably this morning.”

“Wow,” David says, his eyes widening. “I’m impressed.”

“She does this for a living,” Jessie reminds him.

“True,” I say, laughing nervously. “It’s scary some of the information you pick up. Who has the quickest turnaround. Who’s local and who imports. Who’s most willing to work within a budget. Who caters to the brides and who demands artistic license. Who carries the best roses. Who has the best tropical stems. Which flowers are in season and which are out. You know, I was actually able to get sunflowers for a January bride once.” I talk quickly, barely a breath between sentences, my palms beginning to sweat around the stems I’m holding.

“That sounds like quite the accomplishment. So Nico has the best calla lilies, I hope?” David asks.

“Nico has the best lilies, period.”

He smiles. It’s wide and bright, showcasing his perfect teeth. “I guess that’s a win for me, then. I’ll have to remember that the next time I want to get you flowers.”

The heat rises further into my cheeks—this implication that there will be a next time.

Beside me Jessie scoffs, and even though I can’t see his face I feel like he might be rolling his eyes.

“I was actually heading to the club. I was hoping to meet some of the guys for a quick round of golf before the rain sets in,” he says. “But I was wondering if you were doing anything later—if I could take you to dinner.”

“Oh, um, we’re still kind of busy here, actually. It’s going to be a long day, I think, and I have a ceremony tonight and, God, I am so rude. David, this is Jesse, Nolan’s uncle and a friend of mine from high school.” I’m not sure why I’m so flustered over what should be a simple introduction except that it’s strange, David being in this house—Jesse and Sean’s house—standing in front of Jesse who, at the same time, seems none too pleased to see him.

“It’s nice to meet you,” David says, shaking his hand. “I’m David. Our moms are. . . .” He stops here, seeming unsure of what to say.

“Our moms are great friends,” I offer.

David laughs. “Yes, they are.”

In the next moment, Nolan is by my side, tugging at my shirt. “Mommy, the screen froze,” he says, handing me my phone.

“Okay. Let’s see if we can restart it and find a new video.” I press the power button until the screen goes black.

“Hi! You must be Nolan,” David says, crouching to his level. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” He extends his hand to shake it, but Nolan, who shies up against me, isn’t interested.

“This is Mr. David,” I say.

“My GiGi talks about you,” Nolan says.

My heart fumbles a beat, remembering conversations had about David around the dinner table, and I hope to God Nolan has the sense not to repeat anything he’s heard—especially from my end.

“Only good things, I hope,” David says, standing back up to his full height.

“I’m pretty sure you can do no wrong in her eyes,” I say.

David’s face lights, seeming pleased. “That’s good to know. I was hoping you might eventually feel the same way, but you are surprisingly difficult to get a hold of.”

“Oh my God,” Jesse mutters as the screen returns to life. “Hand me the phone. I’ll help him.”

“Password is Nolan’s birthday,” I say.

“Which is?”

“September nineteenth, right?” David offers.

I can’t hide my surprise, and when I steal a glance at Jesse, the expression on his face. . . . It’s like he’s been gutted, that this guy shows up out of nowhere—with flowers—knowing Nolan’s birthday and everything about us.

“Your mom told my mom,” David explains with a nervous laugh. “I’m sorry. I’m definitely not a stalker, I just—I feel like I know you already.”

“Come on,” Jesse tells Nolan. “Let’s get you set back up.” They head for the dining room right as a woman enters the foyer asking if I’ll take fifteen dollars for the coffee table. I agree, and she wanders back into the living room, leaving David and me alone.

“It’s nice of you to help out like this,” David says, moving closer. “Above and beyond.”

“Yeah, well, Jesse has his hands full, and we’ve got that wedding here in a couple of weeks. It’s kind of coming down to the wire.”

“I’m sure it’ll be great,” he says. “So if you’re not free today, what about dinner one evening? I know your Fridays and Saturdays are pretty much booked, but what about a weeknight?”

“Well, I’m actually in the middle of a big project for school, so my weeknights are pretty crazy, too. Plus there’s Nolan’s karate class and his school schedule and bedtime.”

His warm smile sends tingles up my spine, more handsome in person than his photographs, even. He has an easy way about him—so confident and self-assured. “Your mom said you might say that, and I have it on good authority that she’s willing to take care of Nolan’s bath and bedtime one night so we can go out.”

I can’t help but smile in return, and I think I might be flirting when I say: “What else did she tell you about me?”

“That you’re a workaholic and that you’re going to play hard to get, but I’m not allowed to leave until I talk you into dinner.”

I laugh. “Wow. That sounds . . . just like her.”

“Yeah. I get the feeling she doesn’t take no for an answer.”

“Never,” I say.

“So how about Wednesday?”

“I’d have to check my schedule, but I think that might work.”

“It ‘might work’ as in you’re fifty percent sure? Seventy-five?”

“I am ninety-nine percent sure I am free for dinner on Wednesday night.”

“Great! Any place in particular you want to go? A favorite food?”

“I’m pretty flexible, actually.”

“Then I will make us reservations somewhere nice and text you the details.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeats. “I’m glad I finally ran into you.”

“Yeah. It was . . . unexpected, but a nice surprise.”

I thank him for the flowers again and watch him cross the lawn and climb into his SUV, offering a return wave as he pulls away. As he disappears, the couple who bought the dining room table and chairs arrive with their truck and trailer. They park at the street.

“The people are here for the table,” I tell Jesse, setting the bouquet on the table in the foyer. “Nolan, you’re going to have to sit somewhere else, bud. Just to warn you, they’re going to ask if they can pull their trailer onto the grass, but we can’t risk tearing up your lawn this close to the wedding.”

“It’s still my lawn,” he points out, and I wonder at the tone of his voice, the combative nature that seems to have settled around him.

“Jesse, no. We are not bringing cars onto the grass. I don’t care if the Pope wants to park there.”

Nolan moves to the corner of the room and sits down on the floor. Jesse and I start removing chairs from beneath the table and carrying them into the foyer.

“So David seems like a nice guy,” Jesse says, and though the words are friendly enough, a hard edge laces his tone, bordering on sarcastic.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Nice enough to go to dinner with.”

“Apparently,” I reply, knowing he’d heard our entire conversation.

“Look, if you don’t like the guy then say so.”

“It’s not that I don’t like him, it’s just—”

“It’s just what, Claire?” he interrupts. “Your mom sets you up with this guy, who you’ve been dodging for weeks from what I can tell. Either you want to go out with him or you don’t.”

“It’s not that simple, Jesse.”

“Sure it is. If you’re not interested then just say so.”

“It’s not that I’m not interested.”

“What is it, then? Because you’re confusing the hell out of me. I can only imagine the mixed signals David is getting.”

“Excuse me,” a man says. “I’m here to pick up the table. I was wondering if I could pull my trailer up to the—”

“No,” Jesse and I reply at the same time. The man takes a step back, eyes widening, likely wondering what kind of circus he’s walked into.

“I’m sorry. We’re having a wedding reception here in a couple of weeks, and the landscaper said absolutely no heavy equipment under any circumstances,” I explain.

“Oh,” he says. “I understand. Congratulations.”

I stare at him, confused, and Jesse must be doing the same because the guy splits a look between us and adds: “On your upcoming wedding.”

“Oh! Oh my God. Not us,” I say.

“No,” Jesse adds. “Definitely not us. She’s actually falling for a guy named David as we speak.”

“I am not falling for David,” I hiss. “I barely know him.” I turn back to the guy standing in the foyer. “I’m so sorry. We’ll help you carry this stuff out.”

I grab one chair and Jesse and the man each grab two and we all head across the lawn, moving toward his truck.

“It’s not that simple, Jesse, because I have Nolan to think about,” I say, keeping my voice low.

“That’s just an excuse.”

We pile the chairs into the trailer and head back to the house.

“It’s not an excuse,” I say. “I have to be careful about who I bring around, especially if there’s a chance they’re not actually going to stay around.”

“It’s that some kind of dig on me because I’m leaving?” he asks, eyes narrowing.

“No. It’s not. But I’ve had too many disappointments in my life. I’m not going to knowingly add another one.”

I check on Nolan, still sitting in the corner playing a game, and we grab the remaining chairs.

“So what you’re saying is that you’re scared,” he says.

“No. I’m not scared.”

“Then you don’t want to get attached to someone when there’s no guarantee it’s going to work out. But there’s no way you can possibly know what’s going to work out and what isn’t, so it just goes back to you being scared.”

Beads of sweat trickle at my hairline as we cross the lawn. “I’ve had enough relationship drama to last a lifetime, Jesse. I lost my only serious boyfriend in the worst possible way, so forgive me if I’m a little hesitant to dive back into the dating pool right now.”

“It’s been four years,” he says. “I’m pretty sure Sean would be okay with you moving on with your life.”

“It still feels like yesterday.”

“Then tell David you’re not interested in going to dinner.”

“I can’t! My mom will freak if I cancel on this guy again.”

“Yeah, she might. So what? She’ll freak out and get over it and find something new to freak out about. I mean, Jesus, Claire. You’re a grown woman. And you’re so great at organizing weddings and telling everyone else what to do. Stand up for yourself. Either you want to go out with this guy or you don’t. If you’re not ready, then don’t. But make a decision, then own it.”

“Why are you so interested in my love life all of a sudden?”

He scoffs. “I couldn’t care less about your love life, Claire. Your love life stopped mattering to me the second Sean asked you out.”

This, I know, is a lie because old crushes die hard, and Sean asking me out only made things worse for Jessie. Not only was I “taken,” but I was taken by his brother, giving him a front-row seat to my new relationship. Cruel and unusual punishment.

“Um, sorry to interrupt. Again,” the guy says, peeking around the front door, “but I could use some help with the table.”

“Of course,” I say.

“Sorry,” Jesse adds.

“No problem,” the guy disappears as the two of us head inside.

Jesse removes the leaves from the table to make it smaller, and the man’s new wife joins us and somehow, with two of us on either side, we manage to carry the table out the door, down the steps, across the lawn, and get it into the back of the trailer.

I’m sweating by the time we’re done. The humidity has taken its toll, the coffee and sugar highs have worn off, and I’m not really interested in selling any more tables or rugs or hanging around at all.

“I should head on out,” I tell Jesse.

“I thought we were going to lunch.”

“You’re still getting some traffic and I feel like it might start raining soon. Plus I have to be at St. Anthony’s at four.”

“You’re not making an excuse to leave because you’re pissed about what I said, are you?”

I think about this for a moment, my first instinct to assure him that no, I’m not angry. But the truth is, I am pissed. He has no right to butt into my dating life—to be rude to me when I’m only trying to help him.

“Yeah. I kind of am, actually.”

“Fair enough,” he says. “At least I know you can be completely honest with me. I’ll take that over lunch any day of the week.”

“Come on, Nolan, we have to go check on Papa and GiGi,” I say, gathering my purse and putting away my phone.

“Don’t forget your flowers,” he says, nodding toward the foyer table.

“I would never.”

“Can I come over and watch dinosaur videos with you again?” Nolan asks.

“Absolutely.”

“Tomorrow?”

“It’s up to your mom.” Then, still speaking to Nolan but looking at me: “My door is always open. Any time. Day or night. For anyone. For any reason.”

And, with this, I know we’ve officially moved into the realm of “it’s complicated.”

“Bye, Uncle Jesse!” Nolan says.

“Catch you later, little man,” Jesse replies, high-fiving him on our way out.