He went back to his desk, opened his email, typed in Claire’s name and wrote the message, fast. Dear Claire, I’ve thought about it, it’s fine, go ahead, make it happen, I’ll sign all the forms you need. Love, Troy.
He pressed send. He looked at his hands still resting on the keyboard. What had he just done? Those words were now on a computer screen in Texas. It felt inappropriately futuristic. A message of that significance should have been sent in a handwritten letter that took months to cross the ocean. But everything about this moral dilemma had once been impossibly, laughably futuristic. Frozen microscopic babies waiting to be brought to life.
She could be reading it right now. He tried to imagine his ex-wife’s face. What would she think of the word ‘love’？
He would never have said yes if he didn’t still love her.
The thought hit him like a punch in the nose. It wasn’t just about redemption, it was about love. Was the email he just sent his first ever act of unconditional love? The most unselfish act of his life? To zero out the most selfish one?
His apartment buzzer rang. He walked to the security monitor in a daze.
‘Hello?’ he said roughly.
A face loomed in the screen. He took an instant step back, appalled.
It was Savannah. What did she want? Something must have happened to his parents. Was his mother back in the hospital? Had his father hurt his knee again?
‘Oh, hi, Troy, it’s . . . ah, Savannah here.’ She leaned in even closer to the camera. ‘Your . . . mother’s friend?’ Her voice crackled through the speaker.
Your mother’s friend. That was a strange way to put it. He waited.
He pressed the speaker and said, ‘Are my parents okay?’
‘They’re fine. Can I come in?’
He looked around his apartment. He felt an overwhelming, irrational sense of resistance to the idea of Savannah being here, her rabbit-like eyes darting back and forth, evaluating and judging. He had no idea if that judgement would be negative or positive. All he knew was that she would be far too interested in everything she saw.
But he could hardly say no, not when she’d been taking care of his parents, preparing their meals, even doing their laundry, apparently. She’d cooked that extraordinary Father’s Day lunch: the best food Troy had ever eaten in his family home. She’d been the one to grab hold of Troy’s mother, supporting her safely to the floor when she’d fainted. She’d said, ‘Call an ambulance,’ while Troy’s family all froze, their minds still trying to catch up. Instead of Savannah feeling indebted to them, the family was increasingly feeling indebted to her, and that was making everyone feel off-balance. Amy, Logan and Brooke had all recently left messages for Troy saying to call them urgently regarding ‘the Savannah issue’ and he hadn’t yet called back.
But now Savannah was here. At his place. Why not his brother’s or sisters’？ He wanted to say, You’ve got the wrong guy. I’m busy. I’ve got other things going on.
‘Come on up. It’s the top floor.’ He pressed the buzzer.
He looked around, trying to see his home through her eyes. Troy’s apartment was meant to be minimalist yet glamorous, luxurious yet understated, but was it possibly . . . pretentious?
For one terrifying moment a seismic tremor of doubt shook his entire belief system. His heart raced. Jesus. Pull it together. He was turning into his sister. Next thing he’d be in therapy.
He opened the door to his apartment, his most devastating smile locked and loaded.
‘Hi,’ said Savannah as she emerged from the lift. ‘Wow! Have you got this whole floor to yourself?’
‘Not quite.’ His devastating smile faltered. There were two apartments on the top floor of the building, although his faced north so it was the better one. Was she somehow making him feel bad about his multi-million-dollar north-facing harbour view apartment with a rooftop infinity-edged pool?
‘Come in,’ he said. ‘This is a nice surprise.’
‘Is it?’ said Savannah. She looked different. She had a kind of stylish bohemian look going on: yoga teacher with money.
‘You look great,’ said Troy. He felt an unexpected surge of attraction. She wore a long pendant with a greenish-coloured stone. It somehow complemented the trashy key necklace she always wore. Her hair was tied up in a half-up, half-down way that no longer reminded him so strongly of his mother’s style: not quite as voluminous.
‘Your mother bought me all this.’ Savannah gestured at her outfit. ‘Your mother has been very good to me.’