I don’t want to let this man out of my car.
“You know, Seth,” I say quickly, before I can lose my nerve. “You haven’t been here for very long, and it sounds like you could use a longer break from work. You don’t have to leave yet. I have a spare room… You could stay and I could show you around the Eastside. Or, ooh, even better, I could drive you out to Joshua Tree and we could go hiking and eat greasy bar food and buy expensive incense. My friend Theresa has a gorgeous place out there. It’s only two hours—”
“Molls,” he interrupts, laughing a little in a way that seems forced. “That’s super nice of you to offer, but I have to get back.”
I want to die at this very reasonable rejection, but I’ve got momentum now, and I know I’ll regret it if I don’t just fucking say it, so I gather my courage and take a deep breath and plow on. “I guess I just think it would be nice to spend some time together. You know, we had a great time at the reunion, and then things went sideways, which might be my fault because, as you pointed out, I sabotage things and get in my own way. But I guess what I’m saying is… I like you, and I miss you, and I wish you would stay.”
I can’t look at him. I’m frozen, waiting for an answer.PrayingI haven’t just embarrassed myself as much as it already feels like I have.
Seth puts a hand on my shoulder, and it sends my cortisol levels back down. His touch has always had an incredible, miraculous power to make me feel calm.
I gather the courage to glance at him, and something is flickering in his face, and I hope.
Ihope.
When he doesn’t immediately say yes, I stutter out more. “Or, I could grab a flight to Chicago. Stay with Dez. We could hang out, and maybe—”
“Molls,” he finally says, so very softly, so very kindly, “I’ve met someone.”
The breath rushes out of me.
“Oh!” I say. “Oh, okay, sorry!”
“No worries.” He takes his hand off my shoulder. “You’re sweet.”
Sweet.Kill me.
I merge into the lane for departing flights.
“What airline?” I ask. I arrange my lips into a flat line, and check in the rearview mirror to make sure that they don’t quiver.
“American,” he says.
I nod.
It takes fifteen excruciating minutes to weave through the traffic to his terminal, and neither of us says another word.
I stop the car.
“Well, this is you.”
He bends over and kisses my cheek. I close my eyes.
“Be well, Molls,” he murmurs into my ear.
I manage to wait until he grabs his bag from the back before I start to cry.
PART FOUR
February 2020
CHAPTER 18Seth
Her name is Sarah Louise Taylor, and she’s absolutely perfect for me in every way.
We met back in August, at a Legal Aid fundraiser. She’s a Cook County public defender, a stressful, low-paying job that she adores because she loves justice, fairness, and equality with her whole heart. She inspires me. With her encouragement, I’m putting the steps in motion to open the nonprofit legal clinic I’ve been toying with starting for years.
She’s a distance runner—she qualified for the Boston Marathon this year for thefourthtime—and we get up early every Saturday morning and go on long runs together. (My pace is quite leisurely by her standards, but she’s helping me improve. I now have the lung capacity of an eighteen-year-old.)
