I decided it was time to tell her a love story. My love story.
Val stirred in her bed. “Mummy? Is that you?”
“Yes, my darling. Mummy’s here. Don’t wake up. I’ll sit with you, while you sleep.”
“Tell me a story,” she murmured softly, “about London.”
I closed my eyes. “Yes, let’s travel back in time, to the year 1968.”
“Let’s go,” Val said, only half awake.
“That was the year I met my love.” I pause. “The year I met your father.”
Val curled tighter into her blankets, comforted.
I was emboldened to continue.
“There once was a fine place in London,” I said. “Someone like me would never have been invited. Until I was.”
I skipped over the part about my lifelong, crippling insecurity, my feeling of never belonging anywhere, except in the pages of books.
“Everyone there was dressed in fine clothing. The tables were set with real silver and china. Only the tastiest dishes were on the menu.”
“Is that a real place, Mummy?” Val asked. “It sounds too pretty to be real.”
“It did feel like a dream,” I said. “A dream come true.”
I retreated into myself then, my thoughts spiraling until I could no longer separate the stories of the two men on that fateful night. Frank and…Edward.
The night I met him…
He understood me at once.
He finished my sentences.
He was kind.
He looked at me like I was the one he’d been waiting for.
And then he was gone.
And then he took me away.
“That’s where the story ends, Val. And where you begin. He changed my life forever. He brought me to you.”
Two Days Later
At the Book Garden, Millie, Liza, and I are hard at work—and also trying to take our minds off the results of the fundraiser, which haven’t come in yet.
“Have you heard from Daniel?” Liza asks me.
While his absence at the event had been a disappointment, to be sure, he’d made up for it with his generous and unexpected donation. And yet, two days had passed and my thank-you text to him went unanswered, which I tell Liza.
“He’s probably just busy,” Millie chimes in.
Liza shakes her head. “No, I think it’s more likely that he’s playing the game.”
“The game?”
She nods. “Yeah, he doesn’t want to seem overly eager. Everyone knows that after the first date, you wait three days to call or text. After the second, you wait two, and after the third, you wait one. Those are the rules.”
I shake my head. “The…rules? So, what happens after the fourth date?”
“Oh, that’s when you can call or text freely, but not too freely until after the third month.”
I bury my face in my hands. “This is way too complicated for me. I quit.”
“Now, now,” Millie says. “It will all work itself out.”
I smirk. “That’s easy for you to say. You and Fernando call each other every five minutes! And you’re not playing by any rules.”
“Well,” counters Liza, our resident relationship expert—who, I might add, is presently single. “If you count all the flirting that led up to their first date, you could argue that the rules don’t apply to them. They’ve already surpassed all that. You, on the other hand, still have work to do.”
“This is too much for me,” I say, placing my hand on my forehead for dramatic effect as Millie answers her phone. Naturally, it’s Fernando.
“Those two,” Liza says with a sigh, “are getting a bit nauseating. But bloody hell, are they cute together.”
“They are,” I say, glancing at my phone with a sigh.
“Any word from Jan?” Liza asks.
“Still waiting.” She’d promised to call today or tomorrow with news about the total amount raised, as some credit card transactions and checks required a few days to clear. We’d need at least ￡250,000 to pull us through. I know the goal is staggering and the likelihood of succeeding small, but we made a pact to remain optimistic—it’s all we can do.
When my phone rings, I startle, but it’s neither Daniel nor Jan, just an unknown number. I decide to answer.
“Val? Oh my gosh, I’m so glad you picked up.”
It’s Nick, and I instantly regret answering. His voice sounds different—familiar but far-off, too—like someone I knew in high school—or a former life. “I’m calling from a friend’s phone, because…you haven’t been picking up. I’ve been trying to get ahold of you, and—”
“Look, Nick,” I say, with a sigh, “I’m not sure I really want to talk.”
“Listen,” he says, “I just…wanted to tell you how sorry I am. I screwed up in the most terrible way. I have so many regrets.”
“So, I take it that you and what’s-her-name broke up?”
“Yes, we did,” he replies soberly. “Val, I don’t know what I was thinking. I had the perfect thing with you and I…I threw it all away. And I just…I wanted to tell you how sorry I am, for everything.”
I don’t know what to say, so I remain silent, taking in his words, letting them marinate in my mind, and heart.
“Don’t hang up,” Nick says.
I hear a commotion in the background.
“Where are you?” I ask.
“In the kitchen. I’m cooking, at least, attempting.”
“Nick, you don’t cook.”
“I know,” he continues. “I mean, I didn’t, but I’m learning out of necessity. I…miss your cooking. I miss all your books lying around everywhere. Val, I miss…you.”
Part of me still longed to hear those words. For a long time, it was all I dreamed about—the fantasy of Nick begging my forgiveness, pleading for another start. But so much had changed since then. I’d changed. Even if he had apologized—and learned to cook—Nick was no longer my sun, moon, and stars. In fact, I’d found a whole new universe.
“Say something, Val,” he says nervously. “Talk to me. Tell me you miss me as much as I miss you. Tell me you’ll forgive me. I’ll come to London. We can have a new start. Please, babe, I’ll do anything.”
And that’s when it hits me. I don’t want him to come to London. I don’t want him to set foot in London.
I take a deep breath, pausing for a long beat before I reply. “Nick,” I finally say. “Thank you for calling, for…saying what you did. The thing is, I did miss you. For a long time, actually. But I’ve finally healed. I’ve found my way.”
Liza and Millie are listening with wide eyes.
“I tell you what I do miss, though,” I continue. “I miss…the dream of us. I miss the girl who wore a white dress and carried a bouquet of pale pink roses and looked ahead to a full life—of family, love, happiness. I miss looking into the eyes of my husband and trusting him. I miss…what might have been, but now, never will be.” I swallow hard. “But you know what I don’t miss? Feeling lonely. Because, Nick, in our marriage, I was so deeply lonely.”