She looks at the empty chair across from hers and wonders what the other patrons think of her. All dressed up, alone, at a table for two.
The waiter delivers her appetizer—a steamed artichoke—and she thanks him. She plucks off one of the petals, dips the base into the butter sauce, and pulls the pulpy part through her teeth, grateful to have something to do.
Marissa knows how to expertly extract the tender, delicious heart of the vegetable; one of the signature dishes at her parents’ store, Conner’s, was a homemade artichoke dip. Growing up, she spent many afternoons at the big butcher-block table behind the counter, spreading open the petals of artichokes and twisting away the small, interior leaves to expose the fuzzy chokes. She’d blend them with spinach and cream cheese and garlic and pepper before sprinkling freshly grated Parmesan over the top and roasting it until the dish turned golden and bubbly.
The summer she turned fifteen was the first year Marissa had been allowed to work alone at the store during the slow periods, which came twice a day, as reliably as the tide, at midmorning and after dinnertime.
It was also the summer someone she loved died.
Not just someone: Tina, who for many years had been like a sister to Marissa. Tina had been killed by one of their high school teachers, an event so shocking and upsetting Marissa could barely eat or sleep for months afterward.
Marissa’s throat tightens. Tonight was supposed to be about her and Matthew; why is she thinking so much about Tina?
She pushes away her plate and signals the waiter, asking for a glass of wine.
She reminds herself it was also the summer she fell in love, with Matthew. And it had been Matthew who had pulled her out of the darkness after Tina died.
Even though this evening isn’t unfolding the way it was supposed to, Marissa intends to try her best to follow Avery’s instructions. Otherwise, she’ll feel as if she’ll be giving up on her marriage.
Reminisce about how you met, and what made you fall in love. Go back to those early days and try to relive them.
At five minutes before the eight o’clock closing time of Conner’s, on the tail end of a searing-hot August day, she stood alone by the cash register, listlessly flipping through a copy of People magazine. The bell over the door jingled and she looked up to see Matthew—a summer boy, and arguably the cutest one of all—walk in.
“Hey, Marissa.”
She experienced a little jolt of surprise that he recalled her name so easily. His family had purchased a waterfront house just two years earlier, and Matthew, his mother, and his sister lived there during the summer months, with his father driving in from D.C. for the weekends.
“Hi,” she replied.
He rocked back and forth on his heels, and she noticed that along with his collared shirt and khaki shorts, he wore a pair of blue-checkered Vans. “Do you have any ground coffee?”
“Sure. Right down that aisle.” Marissa pointed, even though Conner’s only had two aisles. “The beans are whole, but there’s a little machine to grind them.”
“Thanks. I don’t want to face my mom in the morning if she’s not caffeinated.”
His nose was sunburned and beginning to peel, Marissa noticed, and his hair was so blond it almost looked white.
“My dad’s the same.” Marissa smiled, even though her affable father and Matthew’s mother were nothing alike. Mrs. Bishop shopped at the store occasionally, always with special requests: She wanted Marissa to go to the back to get the freshest strawberries, even though the ones on the shelves had been picked just the previous morning. Or Mrs. Bishop would tell the butcher to reweigh the fresh turkey to make sure it was precisely two pounds, not one ounce under. She was the type of customer who never said “Please” or “Thank you.” Marissa couldn’t imagine what Mrs. Bishop would be like first thing in the morning, without coffee.
Matthew had inherited his mother’s fair coloring and high cheekbones, but his manner was nothing like hers. Marissa stole another look at him as he walked over to grab a package of coffee.
“Uh, hey … this might sound a little stupid, but I’ve actually never used one of these.”
“Oh, no problem!” Marissa hurried around the counter and went to stand beside him. “You just open up the top here and pour in the beans, put the bag underneath, then flip that red switch.”
Matthew grinned. “Seriously? It’s that simple?”
“You wouldn’t believe how many people ask for help,” Marissa fibbed. The directions for the machine were written out on a little sign right by it.