Page 69 of Seven Summer Weekends

“Preposterous,” he agreed.

They were both lying.

Addison woke up the next morning, still in Ben’s arms, and the fact that they had fallen asleep like that—without having sex, just holding each other for the entire night—felt like the most intimate act they had experienced together.

They were both surprised to see that it was still raining. Well, Addison was surprised. Ben insisted it was a sign.

“It’s Gicky crying because you are going to sell her house.”

“I’m not going to sell the house,” Addison insisted, and then waffled. “I don’t think so, at least. Maybe I should make a pro and con list.”

“That’s smart,” Ben said before diving under the covers and nibbling on the inside of her thigh. He peeked out his head for a second, announcing, “First pro. Where else are you going to find a neighbor who does this?”

She had no qualms about kicking Ben out, even after his delicious performance. The prospective buyers were due to arrive around eleven o’clock, and Addie needed to straighten the place up. She traded in her new beachy look for a more city-like outfit. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she saw Addison staring back at her in the heels she had arrived in. After being barefoot for over six weeks, she couldn’t wait to take her shoes off again. She kicked them aside and went out back to meditate. For the first time in weeks, she found it impossible to wrangle her thoughts, so she lit a couple of candles in the living room and waited for the prospective buyer’s arrival.

It turned out that there had been no reason for her to dressup. The first words out of Nan’s mouth were a whispered, “Make yourself scarce. People don’t like to talk in front of owners.”

She left and walked barefoot down to the beach, where Ben was sitting on a blanket reading theTimeswith Sally. He nudged her off to make room for Addison, and they sat there in silence, neither wanting to address the big elephant on the beach. Addison grabbed the Science section and fell into an article about butterfly migration, but found it hard to concentrate. A strange tension filled her chest. She tried to breathe through it, but it felt impenetrable. Her phone vibrated, and she took a second to think of what she hoped it would say. The wordssorry, they didn’t care for it, popped into her head first, and she got that unsure feeling, like you might have when expecting the results of a pregnancy test.

It read,They’re gone. Let’s talk.

“Gotta go,” Addison said before planting a quick kiss on Ben’s cheek. His hand went right to the spot where she kissed him, and it melted her. He was so soft inside for someone so hardened.

“Should I come by later?” she asked.

She said it deliberately that way, since it bothered her a little that she hadn’t been inside his house yet. It was feeling purposeful, though of what purpose, she wasn’t sure. His response soothed her.

“Yes. I have to work today, but how about dinner? I make a mean lasagna.”

“Great. Sevenish?”

“Perfect.”

She spoke to Nan briefly. The people were very interested, and she was confident they would come back with an offer.

That night, Addie collected her extra packing supplies, some made-up boxes, and a couple of rolls of tape and headed next door. Sally and Ben greeted her on the porch. Neither hid their excitement upon seeing her. She felt…loved.

“Boxes for the white elephant sale,” she said, laying them in the corner of the porch.

“Thanks,” Ben said, unceremoniously lifting the sun hat belonging to his wife off the hook it had probably been sitting on since she passed and tossing it in the box. A casual toss, but a monumental step.

The house was cozy and simple, and permeated by the delicious smell of warm lasagna and garlic bread. Addison’s stomach rumbled loudly, and she put her hand to it, embarrassed.

“Hungry?” Ben asked.

“I guess so,” she replied, and blushed.

“Let’s eat!”

The table was already set with a big salad, the bread, and a bottle of wine. It was very sweet that he had made such an effort. She had a feeling he had not done this for his other female guests. He seemed nervous as he transferred a hearty portion of lasagna from the baking dish to her plate and watched as she took her first bite.

“It’s delicious,” she said with a smile. He poured two glasses of wine and held his up to toast.

“To my first lasagna—and yes, I lied before, to impress you.”

“Wow. I am impressed.”

“Don’t be. I just followed the recipe on the box. The hardest part was separating the noodles.”

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