For two decades, this woman had been better than a mother. She’d been so woven into my life I used to pray that she’d live to be a hundred and ten.
Now, she was a stranger. She had loved me, I did know that. But she had abandoned me, too. I didn’t hate her, of course. But I had already mourned her, and I wasn’t going to do it again.
“Take care of yourself, Vanessa,” I said gently. “Take good care.”
Then I turned my cart and headed for the checkout.
Ben was sitting on the steps when I got home, waiting for me, Zeus at his side. His face lit up—well, both their faces lit up.
“Hi, boys,” I said as Ben relieved me of the groceries.
“How was your day?” he asked.
“Pretty great,” I said. “And yours?”
“Pretty great, too. Especially now.” He gave me his bad-boy look, full of promises and fun, and opened the front door. Just then, a bird swooped over our heads, right into the nest behind the light fixture.
“The swallows!” I said. “They’re back! Hi, Mama Swallow!” She looked at me with her bright black eyes, then fluttered away to get more mud for her nest.
God, it was good to see her. My eyes were wet with happy tears.
Ben and I carried the groceries down to the kitchen, Zeus sniffing helpfully.
“Put me to work, Chef,” Ben said.
Ben and I were a thing. We hadn’t slept together yet, though dang, I was looking forward to that day. “When you get your shit together,” he’d said fondly, after we’d made out at his place for an hour and a half and I was so weak with lust I could barely stand. “When your head is clear.”
My head was feeling very clear these days.
I gave Ben three onions to chop and got to work on the garlic, clams and butter. God, I loved cooking for my family. Dylan, Mom and Dad, Hannah and Ben. Our little circle. Once, I’d dreaded my family getting together. I’d thrown myself into being as much a Fairchild as I’d ever been a Silva. And in this past year, I’d found that the Fairchilds were not what I’d thought they were.
My parents and Hannah came in, Mom and Dad arguing about something. Hannah went straight to the fridge and poured a big glass of wine. “Hey, Ben, hey, Lils,” she said. “Remind me never to drive Mom anywhere ever again.”
“So reminded,” I said. “Want to help? You can slice this eggplant.”
“Where’s Dylan?” she asked.
“I think he’s out in the kayak,” I said, jerking my chin in the direction of the pond.
“Good. Ben, could you run interference with our parents for a few?” Hannah asked. “I need to talk to Lillie.”
“You got it, gorgeous,” he said, giving her that look.
“He’s so hot,” Hannah said as he walked up the stairs.
“She’s got a point,” he called, and I laughed as I nudged minced garlic in the frying pan.
“So I have some news,” Hannah said. “I hope it won’t upset you, Lils.”
“What? Are you sick?” I blurted.
“No, no. I’m perfectly healthy,” she said. “But . . . I’m . . .” She half grimaced, half smiled. “Well, things are . . . It’s just . . .”
“Hannah! Just rip the Band-Aid off,” I said, putting down my spatula.
She looked at me. “I’m moving to France, Lillie. I miss Beatrice so much, and this wedding business is getting . . . exhausting. She has a contact in event planning for Chanel, and . . . well, I guess I want more in my life. More adventure, you know?” She looked out over the pond, her eyes filled with tears. “I think it’s time to try something else.”
I closed my mouth, wanting to protest. We’d just started getting closer after all these years. Why would she want to leave now? It wasn’t fair.
No. It was. It was perfect for her. “The Cape was never big enough for you, Hannah,” I said. “You belong in Paris.” I hugged her, my eyes filling. “As long as you come back to visit at least twice a year.”
“And as long as you promise to visit me twice a year, too,” she said. “The worst part of this is leaving you.”
“But the best part is, you don’t have to see Mom and Dad playing footsie with each other.”
She wiped her eyes. “Tell me about it. Jeez Louise, you just can’t predict anything.”
“We can still talk all the time,” I said. “We’re both having new adventures, all that good stuff. Oh, my God, I can’t wait to meet your much younger French lover,” I added. “Jean-Paul, you think? Or Claude-Philippe?”