Page 9 of Meet Me in Montreal

Nadine had had “complicated feelings” about Santino. When she’d heard they’d met in an elevator rescue, she’d pronounced, “Those firemen are such flirts. You know whatyour grandmother said. How you meet a man is how you lose him.” Then, the first time she’d met him, Nadine had declared afterward, “Yup. He looks like a cheater.”

But over time, she’d come to like him. He’d charmed her, like he’d charmed everybody else, and she lamented when they broke up, seeming to vaguely infer that it was Vanessa’s fault in some way. Not patient enough. Not willing to compromise like a good marriage required.

As usual, Vanessa tried the well-worn tactic of redirection. “Well, maybe soon I’ll have good news of my own on that front. You know I’ve been dating someone. His name is Scott. He’s coming up with me to Montreal for the Jazz Festival.”

Silence. Her mother’s mouth turned down slightly at the corners. She brushed her short, relaxed brown hair behind her ear with her fingertips.

“Bobby mentioned that. Do you really think it’s appropriate to bring him up there? Bobby’s job is so stressful, and he works so hard. He should be able to relax without having to entertain some stranger. Do you feel you know him well enough?”

Everyone had conveniently forgotten that Vanessa’s original plan had been to go to the festival solo. Her favorite artist, Panthro, was headlining, along with several other great artists and bands. A few days away and a concert seemed like a fun thing she could do on her own. Then Bobby had invited himself to make it a “sibling trip” because he was a big fan of the same artist. Then, of course, Zoe had to invite herself because she couldn’t seem to detach herself from Bobby’s side for a second when he wasn’t at work.

“We’ve been dating for four months. I think I know him well enough. Anyway, four of us will be a better number than an odd three.”

“Where did you meet him again?” Nadine asked, her brows drawing together.

“On an app. Things went so well, that one date led to another. He’s really nice. I think you’d like him.”

When she’d told Scott she was somehow suddenly playing third wheel on her own trip to the Jazz Festival, his ears practically perked up with enthusiasm. He was a serious jazz head and revealed he went up to Montreal for it every year. The fun coincidence had compelled him to suggest they go together. She’d agreed, excited to no longer play lonesome tag-along, plus it would be nice to show up on the arm of a polished man. Someone who wouldn’t scream “New York, motherfuckers!” to let everyone know where he was from as though the Bronx accent and the Yankees ballcap wasn’t enough of a clue.

Santino would probably hate the festival. He liked hip hop but, shocker, his real love was 80s pop, having listened to Lina’s treasure trove of old albums, CDs, and mix tapes since he was a baby.

She snapped back from memories of laughing at Santino belting out Phil Collins’ “In the Air Tonight” and miming the crazy drum intro when Nadine responded, “Mm hm,” with warning painted all over her smooth mahogany face. “Staying in his own room, I hope?”

Oh, right, Scott.

Vanessa flushed, turning to look at the baby in her bassinette rather than meet Nadine’s searching gaze. Scott had told her to cancel her tiny room and her plane ticket; he put himself in charge of showing her a good time, first class all the way, and booked them a room at the Four Seasons where Bobby and Zoe were staying. Vanessa had been slightly alarmed at the suggestion. They were still casually dating, not having gone further than kissing on the doorstep.

She hadn’t waited longer than a month to jump into bed and exchange “I love yous” with Santino and look what had come of it. She waited with Scott to be sure it was right. This trip wasgoing to be a test, the “will we or won’t we?” of what could be a promising relationship.

As if listening to her thoughts, Nadine heaved an even longer sigh. “Vanessa. You know what your grandmother would have said. ‘Marry in haste, repent at leisure.’ Once wasn’t enough?”

“It’s a festival, not a wedding, Mom,” Vanessa said with her own sigh as she squeezed that moonstone a little harder.

“What does this mystery man do for a living? Not another fireman, I hope. They are shameless flirts, as you found out the hard way.”

Another Santino jab wrapped up in a stereotype. “No. He’s the co-founder and the CFO of his own technology firm.”

“Hm.” The sound was barely a sentence, yet it relayed an entire chapter of Nadine’s thoughts about a new man. “Anyway, you –"

“I’m sorry, Mom, it’s getting late. I need to get home and get dinner started,” Vanessa mumbled.

“But I thought you were staying over. Zoe is making shrimp and yellow rice, Spanish style,” Nadine huffed softly, now looking wounded. “You should at least wait till Bobby gets home so you can congratulate him.”

Vanessa stood and pressed her fingers to her lips, then to Everly’s blanket. Then she kissed Nadine before heading for the door, almost forgetting to put her shoes on in her haste to escape.

“I’ll be seeing him in Montreal. I’ve gotta go. I’ll stay over when I get back from the trip.”

“Okay. In the meantime, things are going to be okay at work. Just push, push, push. You’ll make it through.”

Vanessa dredged up a grin as her mother smiled at her from the couch. “Okay, Mom. I’ll try.”

It was with a profound sigh of relief when Vanessa made it back to her own house in Bronxville. She toed off her shoes in theentryway and carried them to the bedroom, where she put them on the shoe rack built into the walk-in closet.

Back in the living room, she sat on the couch and sighed, rubbing her feet as her eyes ran across the big space. A tasteful couch, chairs, tables, pillows, and rugs. At one time, she’d loved all the furnishings that she’d so carefully chosen to make the plain, white rooms feel like a home.

If she had an impulse-buy weakness that was more fun and meaningful, it was books and stones. There were bowls of rocks, shelves full of books, and more collections of each randomly strewn around. Santino used to tease her about that whenever she brought more home.

“I don’t think you have enough,” he’d say with a laugh. “Yo, let’s squeeze in some more. I think there’s a clear spot on that shelf.”

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