Page 28 of A Beginner's Guide to Forever
My stomach wholeheartedly approves of this idea. I’ve missed Italian food.
Alessia:Sure. What time?
My mom suggests seven, and I type a quick thumbs-up emoji.
I went to see my parents this morning, and my dad made us omelets. They asked me all kinds of questions about Nairobi and London, and I filled them in on everything—everything except for Hart. My parents view me as tragically single, and breathing the slightest word of an inappropriate fling would only solidify their knowing that I’m either bonkers or unmarriageable. But it’s different with Scarlet. We have very few—if any—secrets, so of course I want to share my latest news.
“Okay. I think that’s the last of them,” Scarlet says, closing the door behind the final guest. “Will’s going to put the kids down for a nap, and you and I are going to finish that conversation.”
We head to the den, where it’s blissfully quiet, and take a seat on the large sofa.
“So.” She grins. “I can’t wait to hear yoursomething interesting to report.”
“Can I edit that? It might be more crazy than interesting.” I swallow down a wave of nerves. She’s going to laugh at me and tease me endlessly, I’m sure, but part of me doesn’t want to keep Hart a secret. At least not from my best friend.
“I went on a date. I think.” My brow creases. “Maybe two dates.”
“Maybe?You think?” She laughs. “God, I really don’t miss modern dating.”
“Believe me, you don’t. We went to dinner in London and then to a museum the following day.”
“Those sound like dates to me. So who is he?”
“He lives in New York. His name is Hart. He’s ...”Just say it fast—it’s like ripping off a Band-Aid.“Twenty-five.”
“Woooo.” She makes a low whistling sound. “I don’t evenrememberbeing twenty-five.”
I laugh and pull a throw pillow into my lap, needing something to hold on to. “Believe me, I barely do either.”
“What kind of name is that ... Hart?” she asks, looking uncertain about it. “Is it short for something?”
To me it feels very complete, strong, but also soft. “It is.Hartford.” I pronounce the word slowly. “Hartford Fitzgerald Winthrop. His family ...”
“I know who the Winthrops are. Holy ... wow. That’s ... crazy.”
“That’sthe part you find crazy?” I give her a deadpan look. “Our age difference is insane, Scar.”
She shrugs. “Men do it all the time and wouldn’t think twice about it.”
Her flat-out acceptance of this surprises me. I expected questions, maybe even to be scolded for being so foolish.
“Plus, you’re hot as hell.”
Not.I scrunch my nose.
“You are,” she insists.
“But knowing that I want to get married and have babies—sooner rather than later—don’t you think it’d be irresponsible to waste my time on a fling with someone like him?”
She pauses, weighing my words. “Well, that depends. Is it a fling, or is it something more?”
With Hart, I’m sure there’s a difference. I tried to run away from him twice, tried to cancel our plans, and he insisted. He has a way of getting under my skin like no one else has before. He can be very persuasive.
“A fling, obviously.”
She smiles then, rubbing her belly. “Good. No feelings. Just fun. As the resident old, fat, married lady, I am one hundred percent in support of this fling. As long as you report back often with all the good details.”
I roll my eyes. “You got it. And you arenotfat.”
