This Summer Will Be Different(72)

“I don’t hate it,” he says. “I want you to show me your apartment. I want to know where you keep the seeds I sent.”

“They’re in a glass box on my desk in your sister’s old room.”

“I want to see the box on your desk. I want to watch you arrange flowers and then go to the wine bar. Instead of saying goodbye at the end of the night, we’ll go back to your place and wake up together in the morning. I want to see what type of coffee maker you have.”

“My coffee maker?” I’m laughing now.

“Yes. I want to be able to picture exactly where you are when we’re not together.”

“I’ll show you my sketchbook. The one with all my ideas for the farm.”

“That’s the first thing I want to see.”

“I like this plan.”

“Good. So I’ll come to Toronto for the wedding, and then we’ll save so we can go back and forth. You’ll come here in September. I’ll go there in October.”

“But I love the island in October. I want another Clark family Thanksgiving feast.”

The dimple surfaces. “So I’ll come to Toronto in September. And you’ll come here in October. My parents would love to have you.”

It could work. We’ll text, we’ll talk, we’ll send tasteful nudes. We’ll send distasteful nudes. “We’ll see each other once a month?”

“If we can afford it. If not, as often as we can. It’s a short flight. You’ll bring me a book. And I’ll bring you a packet of seeds. We spend a few days together. We don’t see other people.”

“What will you tell your parents?”

“What should I tell them?”

I push a lock of hair off his forehead. “I think you should tell them we’re dating.”

He smiles. “Dating.”

I smile back. “Dating.”

“I think you should be there when I do. I want you to see my mother’s face.”

“Why’s that?”

He looks surprised. “Don’t you know? Christine Clark is the president of your fan club.”

I kiss his ear. “Mmm. I think maybe I did know that. She sent me a knife once.” It arrived after my first visit. An enormous Henckel. Use it, her card read. I found it odd since Bridget already owned one, but I guess Christine knew we wouldn’t be roommates forever.

“I know,” he says. “Have you ever taken it out of its case?”

“Never.”

He laughs. “I think she decorated that guest room especially for you.”

“No.”

“Just a hunch.”

“My parents aren’t like yours. They might not be so excited.” Bridget’s brother, long distance . . . “They’ll have doubts.”

“I’ll comb my hair when I meet them.”

“Ha.”

“Would that bother you, if they had doubts?”

“Is it terrible if I say yes? I’d want them to see how great you are. But they’re not the most encouraging people. They’re very safe, and I think this would seem risky.”

His eyes move between mine. “They don’t want you to get hurt.”

“No, never. But they overcorrect.”

“Because you’re the baby.”

It took my parents years to stay pregnant after Lyle was born. It was my aunt who told me there was more than one miscarriage, and that when my brother took to skating at three, they poured their grief and love into his hockey. I was a complete surprise, one they treated like blown glass.

“Always and forever. They still call me Goose.” When I was a toddler, I was always falling, always getting into mischief, breaking things. I became Lucy Goose. “Unlike you, I don’t appreciate my nickname.”

His fingers sweep to my shoulder, then back to my wrist. “Have you ever thought about telling them that?”

“My aunt said I should. I just don’t want to offend them, you know? My mom is sensitive, and she shuts down when she’s upset. She can be a bit icy.”

Felix took this in. “What’s your brother like? He’s older, right? Lyle?”

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure he didn’t know I existed when we were kids. But we’re okay now. I did the flowers for his wedding.” He and Nathan got married two years ago. “He lives in St. Catharines, but we have dinner when he’s in the city. I think you’d get along. He’ll talk your ear off about hockey, and Nathan’s sweet.”

“I’m glad I got to meet your aunt,” he says after a moment. “Even if it was just for a few minutes.”

“Me too.”

“She was your mom’s sister?”

“Mm.”

“Are they similar?”

“Oh god no. I thought they hated each other until my aunt got sick.”

Felix is silent for a moment. His fingers, which had been traversing up and down my arm, rest on my elbow. He’s waiting for me to continue.

“Stacy and my mom were never friends the way some sisters are, and I never understood why. But when my aunt was sick, I heard them talking, and . . .” I take a breath, remembering what Stacy told me in the hospital after my mom left that day. “My aunt wasn’t a fan of my dad when my parents started dating. She didn’t think they had chemistry, and she kept hoping my mom would realize that they weren’t a good fit. She thought my dad was more boring than dry toast, that he didn’t make her laugh. But she didn’t say anything, and then the day before the wedding, she just unloaded it all on my mom.”