This Summer Will Be Different(85)
My apartment is, too. My office looks like a vision board sprung to life. There are books about perennials, a brass watering can, and a potting table stocked with gloves and terra-cotta planters. I’ve got everything I need for a garden of my own, but nowhere to grow. I search for a new apartment—maybe the main floor of a renovated Victorian, one with a flower bed the owner might let me tend. I even go see a few. But then I realize: I want to put roots into my own soil.
“You’re thirty,” Felix says when we speak next. It’s Tara’s Bee-Stung Fried Chicken night—I’ve been working up to this. I covered my chicken pieces in the dry rub yesterday and took them out of the fridge an hour ago. I’m determined to get it right.
“I am,” I agree.
“How’s it going so far?”
“On this, the third day of my thirtieth year?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Tell me how you’re doing, Lucy.”
I pause, my fingers covered in a buttermilk cornstarch paste. I hold up my hands to the screen. “Right now I’m a mess. But otherwise, I’m sort of great.”
I miss you, though. I miss you so, so much.
“I miss the island,” I tell him. Because that’s true, too.
He smiles softly. “The island misses you back.”
Felix and I fry the chicken pieces at the same time. We’ve become experts at cooking in tandem. The dish is a masterpiece. Crunchy and juicy. The hot honey butter a revelation.
“I can’t believe how good this is,” I say, licking my fingers. I don’t think before I say it. “I wish you were here so we could enjoy it together.”
I glance up at my screen, worried I’ve ruined whatever this new thing between us is, and find Felix smiling. “I wish that, too. But we’re enjoying it together now.”
“You’re right,” I tell him.
But it’s not enough.
* * *
? ? ?
The next week, I meet my mother for lunch at a café in the department store where she’s shopping for her vacation to Mexico. She’s cranky, bemoaning the death of customer service, so I wait until the cappuccinos are delivered following our meal, then ask, “Can I talk to you about something?”
“This sounds serious.”
“It is,” I tell her. “I think I’m falling in love.”
My feelings for Felix have been growing for years now, and I know there’s no stopping them. I can’t dream about my farm anymore without seeing Felix there with me.
My mother straightens her shirt collar. “What’s his name?”
“Felix,” I say. “Felix Clark.”
She blinks at least ten times. “Bridget’s brother?”
“Yes.”
“How long have you two been together?” She sounds hurt. She thinks I’ve been keeping this from her.
“We’re not. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
I give my mother an abridged version of our history, and when I’m done, she lets out a long sigh.
“Oh, Goose. I don’t know what to say. I’ve only ever wanted you to be happy and comfortable, and it doesn’t sound like you’re either of those things.”
“I’m getting there,” I tell her. “I feel better than I have in a long time. I know what I want.” I clasp my hands together under the table. “One of those things involves you.”
She looks surprised. “Oh. And what’s that?”
“I’d like you to stop calling me Goose.”
* * *
? ? ?
I make a call after lunch.
“You don’t want to see it?” Zach says.
“I trust you,” I tell him. “I’m doing it.”
39
Now
March
The cow is gone but Felix is here, waiting for me in the terminal. I spot him just before he sees me. He’s reading, of course. When he glances up and finds me, his eyes spark, but his feet stay planted as I make my way to him.
I’ve arrived with a book in my bag and my heart in my hand, and I have no idea how he’ll react to everything I’m planning to share with him, but I hug him close to me and breathe him in. Wind. Ocean. Trees.
“You have a problem,” he says. He’s wearing a heavy coat, but I can feel his laughter rumbling through his chest. I’ve heard it so often over the last five months that we’ve been talking and cooking together and learning each other, but there’s nothing like feeling it in my body.
“I know,” I say. “I’ve been in withdrawal.”
“Hi,” he says when I loosen my grip.
“Hi,” I say back, getting lost in his face. His beard is back. His eyes are as bright as I’ve ever seen them.
“You’re here.”
“I’m here.”
I told Felix I wanted to visit so I could cook with him in real life. It’s not a lie, but it’s not the complete truth, either. He’s booked me in one of the cottages for the week. I hope that’s because he’s being chivalrous, not because he doesn’t want me at his house. It’s better this way. If things don’t go how I want them to, I couldn’t manage staying with him.