When we were on our dessert course, your grandfather said, “I think the two of you need a first dance.”
We had some music piped in from the house, a playlist Ezra had made on his computer that we connected to the sound system.
“We didn’t choose a song for that,” I told him.
“I have an idea for one,” your grandfather answered. Ari pointed the remote control toward the house and turned off the jazz. And then your grandfather started singing about the night coming and the land being dark and the moon being the only light we could see.
I hadn’t heard him sing for a long time. Not since the day before I fell, when he sang with me and your dad in the living room. And I forgot how effortless his voice sounded, how calming. I stood up and reached for Ezra’s hand. He stood, too, and we danced in our bare feet on the beach in the moonlight to your grandpa’s song.
Ezra laid his cheek against my head as we danced.
“Emily,” he whispered, while your grandpa sang, “I just feel so grateful right now. So grateful that you married me, that our families are here, that we have so much ahead of us.”
“I’m grateful for you,” I whispered back. “For everything you’ve given me. I love you so much.”
“You too,” he replied. “There haven’t been words invented yet for how much I love you.”
And because there really weren’t words, I kissed him.
Maybe one day soon we’ll make a little brother or sister for you. I hope it happens soon.
42
When they finished their pizza, Emily and Rob started walking east, in the direction of his hotel and, beyond that, her Kips Bay neighborhood. Even though he had an early-morning flight, neither one of them seemed in a hurry. They stopped to look at the moon, perfectly framed by two skyscrapers.
“Manhattan really is something else,” Rob said.
“Do you miss it?” Emily asked, as they kept walking, acutely aware of his hand dangling next to hers, not holding it, but so close.
“Some of it,” he said, “I miss who I was when I was here, the strength of my convictions back then. Manhattan is so tied up in us, though, for me. The mind-blowing amazing parts—”
“And the shitty parts, too,” Emily said.
“They were pretty shitty,” Rob said. “I don’t think I handled things the way I should have. The way I would, if it were now, if I’d been older, more mature. I’m sorry I didn’t try to understand more of how you felt.”
A taxi stopped next to them, the driver asking if they needed a ride. Emily shook her head, and the driver sped off.
“I’m sorry, too,” Emily said. “For not giving it more time, for breaking up everything, for taking my grief out on you. I was such a mess. I made everything a mess.”
Rob reached for her hand and squeezed it.
“I was angry with you for a while,” he said. He didn’t let go of her hand.
“I was angry with myself,” Emily said. “All I kept thinking about was what I lost and how it was all my fault—you, music, the . . . the baby we made together.”
Rob stopped walking and looked at her. He grabbed her other hand, so their bodies were connected in a circle, nothing beginning, nothing ending. “I’m sorry I was such an asshole about that. I’m sorry I said it wasn’t real. I thought about it when Corinne was pregnant with the girls. I thought about what a jerky thing it was for me to say. To believe. It was easier, I guess. But it made everything worse. I should’ve been better. I should’ve been there with you, you know? We could’ve felt it together.” He took a deep breath and shook his head. “That would’ve been one awesome kid.”
Emily couldn’t speak, because she knew if she tried, no words would come out. Just sobs.
Rob could tell and let go of her hands so he could wrap his arms around her. She laid her head against his chest. “It’s okay,” he said, like he used to, when she would tumble into grief about her mom. “I got you.”
His touch was so calming, so soothing. She took a deep breath. Tears had made it to her eyelashes but didn’t travel any farther. “I’m okay,” she said softly. “I’m okay now.”
He pulled back to look her in the eye. “Yeah?” he said, his breath soft.
“Yeah,” she answered, looking back at him, seeing the depth of his concern in his eyes. “I really am.”
“Emily,” he whispered.
She felt it. The smoldering ember had become a flame. Heat crackled and popped. It danced inside them, between them, around them.