“Hey,” I said. “What’s up?”
“Can you go grab the recycling bin off the porch and put it out front?” he asked.
“Sure thing,” I said, hopping back up. I walked through the kitchen, tossing my gloves in the sink, and opened the door, stepping out into the sunporch they’d added on after I left for college. There, on my mom’s wicker couch, sat Lola and Cleo.
“Oh my god!” I screamed as they rushed toward me, looping me into their arms for a hug. “Am I hallucinating?”
“You wish,” Lola said, laughing into my hair. “But we are very real.”
“How did you get here?” I asked, pulling back to marvel at them.
“It’s bizarre,” said Cleo, sliding out of her leather jacket with a smile, “but there are these things called trains.”
I snorted. “Oh my god, how is it possible that you’ve gotten snarkier.”
“We have some important things to tell you,” said Lola. “And, honestly, we’re both sick of texting you. We missed your face.”
“Okay.” I sat down on the love seat that was positioned across from the couch. I was so excited to see them that I couldn’t stop my body from bouncing up and down ever so slightly. “What is it?”
“You first,” Cleo said to Lola, whose face broke out into a wide grin. Cleo clutched her hands in front of her face, giddy.
“Cleo already knows,” she said.
“What’s going on?” I asked, nervous. Was she somehow pregnant? I glanced at the Van Halen T-shirt she was wearing and tried to see if there was any sort of outline of a bump.
She held out her left hand, which had been tucked in her lap, and waved it at me. Just below a dark-blue manicure sat a gold ring with a giant black diamond at the center, flanked by smaller, white diamonds.
“Holy shit,” I said, trying to process what I was seeing.
“I’m engaged!” she squealed, in an excited octave her voice rarely hit.
“To”—I was still trying to wrap my head around it—“Perrine?”
She nodded, beaming. “I proposed.”
“Oh my god, Lola!” I stood up and moved toward her, and she rose to meet me for a hug. “I am so happy for you.”
I let her go and grabbed her hand. “Also, holy shit, that rock is big.”
“It was her grandmother’s,” she said. “She said she’d been waiting for the right time to ask me, but I beat her to it.”
“Holy crap. It’s so beautiful.” My eyes immediately overflowed with tears, for what felt like the fiftieth time today. “Oh my god, of course I’m crying again.” I reached over to the side table for a tissue. “It’s been a long day,” I explained.
“Okay, well, hopefully this won’t make you cry,” said Cleo as she leaned forward, grabbing something out of her purse. “It just came out.”
She passed a copy of Architectural Digest across the table. On the cover was a photo of Eleanor, in a long black tank dress and bright-red flats, perched on her desk. Hayes stood, arms crossed, next to her. Even this tiny version of him, so stoic and serious, shot a pang of longing through my heart.
“I’ve been dying to see this,” I said reverently. The magazine piece, yes. But also, Hayes’s face. I’d missed it.
“You need to read the article inside,” Cleo said, grabbing the magazine and flipping through the pages before sliding it back to me. “Specifically…” She tapped to a paragraph on the page, toward the end.
I scanned the beginning, which was mostly a recap of Hayes and Eleanor’s business, and the history of the office space, which was originally an old tannery. And then I followed Cleo’s finger to this:
Franny Doyle’s use of organic elements to highlight the former industrial space relied on repurposed materials, natural light, and colors that calm anyone who enters, providing a respite not just from the city but from the often dull or overdone design of today’s modern financial centers. “Her vision and execution were integral to creating a workspace that represents the essence and soul of Arbor,” Montgomery told AD. “She represents the future of sustainable design.”
“Wow.” I looked back up at my friends, attempting a calm and collected face. “That’s really nice.”
But inside, my thoughts were bouncing around at warp speed. God, I missed Hayes, and that formal side of him that said stuffy things like “vision and execution.” But I missed the other side of him more: the patient listener, the thoughtful date, the painfully funny dork.