The Starfish Sisters: A Novel(50)

“Any particular reason?”

“Not really. When I first married, I was pregnant, and then we had Stephanie so fast, and both of us were artists, so we weren’t exactly rolling in money. Then I was a single mother and working freelance as an illustrator. Haven’t had a lot of space.”

“When Stephanie left home?”

I poke a crab cake with my fork, mulling that over. With anyone else, I would make some excuse, blow it off, but with Ben I feel the yearning to be real. My actual self, not some vague, idealized version of me. “I came back to Blue Cove to help my grandmother. Maybe I was afraid of going out on my own. I was comfortable here. Then she got sick and I took care of her.”

His expression is kind. “It’s not too late, you know.”

I lift a shoulder. “I guess.”

“Where would you go? If you could go anywhere.”

I taste the crab cake, and it’s so good I close my eyes—salt and seasoning and a perfect amount of breading all arranged to showcase the tender, sweet crab. “Oh my God, this is good.” I point with my fork and he obliges. Nods his approval. Waits for my answer.

“I know I should say someplace far away and very different, but I’d really love to go to England and see castles. Is that embarrassingly twee?”

“Not at all. The UK is beautiful.” He eats with gusto for a few minutes. I find myself watching him tear a roll with strong, tanned fingers. Everything about him is sure, clear, easy, and I wonder what that would be like—to be at home in yourself so completely. I don’t think I ever have been.

But in that moment, I want to try. I sink into my body, wearing a dress that makes me feel pretty, and the delight of the food, and the pleasure of the falling light on the ocean. Even more, the deliciousness of Ben—Ben—sitting here with me. How did I bury my desire for him all this time?

Moments flash through me. The day in my studio when he ran his fingers over the old windows and suggested they should be replaced before winter. The light haloed his thick hair and the shape of his shoulders and I’d felt a quick, hot awakening. One that I quashed as fast as it came, fearful of looking foolish, or maybe of claiming my own longing.

He looks up and catches me studying him. His expression softens. “Thank you for coming tonight. I’ve been trying to ask you out for about a month.”

“What? Why didn’t you?”

“You’re a little intimidating. A successful artist. So competent.”

“Is that how you see me?”

“Some of it.” Against my knee, I feel his thigh, and the air between us is charged, electric, as if we are magnets pulling together and pushing apart. I want very badly to kiss him. The waiter appears, and we both look up.

“Ready for salads?”

We nod.

Ben says, “You’ll get a chance to travel to England now, won’t you? With Stephanie moving to London?”

I nod, but my stomach flips. “It makes me nervous.”

“What parts?”

“The plane. Getting off in a different country.”

He nods, listening without judgment, which feels surprisingly good. “I get that. Not dismissing your fears, but England is not a big jump.”

“I keep telling Jasmine that.”

“Is she still worried about it?”

“Yes.” I pause, and pieces fall into place. “Maybe I’m not really making it much better. If I’m conflicted or afraid, she probably picks up on that.”

“Good insight.” He swirls a shrimp in cocktail sauce, squeezes lemon over it. “Have you heard from Steph?”

“Not a lot, but she seems to be getting her bearings. She emails, and I know she’s had a FaceTime with Jasmine.” The waiter collects our plates. “I was thinking the other day about how much she adored me when she was little. It’s nice to get some of that back with Jasmine, but it also kills me to know she’ll grow out of it.”

“All the more reason to have things in your life that matter to you. Like your art.” He touches his lips with a napkin. “You’ll tell me if I drop something in my beard, won’t you?”

I grin. “Of course.”

“Are you going to write another book, do you think?”

“That’s a question I’ve been getting a lot, actually. My publisher would like me to, but I really wrote that one because I wanted to have something appropriate for Jasmine.”

“Ah, that’s nice. But isn’t it you and Suze?”

I take a breath. “It is. I’d been working on a comic book about us for years, and it just emerged like this.”

“Well, I think it’s quite a beautiful book. I’d love to see you do more.”

“Thank you. It has been remarkably lucrative, actually.”

“I’d think so.”

“When I was in art school, I thought I had to do everything the way the other artists were doing it, but I love illustration.”

“Isn’t illustration art?” He shifts, and I feel his warm body along the side of my hip. I want to press closer, but allow it to just be for now.

“Technically, yes, but in the kind of art school I attended, there’s a lot of emphasis on fine art, and the only true mark of success is showing in big galleries, becoming an artist people want to collect.”