Page 64 of The Husband Hour
The past few months, she had of course imagined seeing him again. In all the scenarios she’d come up with, she hadn’t anticipated that he would be even more beautiful, his chiseled good looks sharpening and deepening, the last vestiges of boyhood gone. For the first time, she saw a preview of Rory the man, and maybe it was best that they had broken up. His perfection was maybe more than she had bargained for.
He invited her to his house for Christmas Eve. It’s over, she’d told him.
And yet, seventy-two hours later, she stood on the sidewalk outside of his house.
The ground was a sheet of ice. She took slow steps, glancing at the front yard, remembering the last time she’d seen it—late summer, verdant. Before everything changed.
She stepped carefully up his driveway, holding an apple pie from the Bakery House on Lancaster Avenue for Mrs. Kincaid and a book for Rory. He had told her she didn’t need to bring anything, but she remembered the bounty of last year, and so of course she could not show up empty-handed.
Her gift was simple, something a friend would give another friend. But it was tied to a memory she had, an afternoon of studying side by side with him in the Ludington Library. She’d barely been able to focus on her work with their feet touching under the wooden table, the occasional shared glance. When it was time to leave, he’d borrowed a big hardcover book on astronomy, Lights in the Dark: A Practical Guide to Viewing the Universe.
Two nights earlier, she’d ordered a copy of the book online. She wrapped it in green and red paper and taped a card—a painting of a snow-covered pine tree—to the top. This time, there had been no agonizing about whether or not to write Love, Lauren.
Dear Rory:
I know things are different now. You’ve moved on to Harvard and I’m leaving for DC in a few months. But I want you to know our time together meant a lot to me. I wish you the best in everything you do.
Your friend always, Lauren
He greeted her on the front patio, dressed in a Harvard windbreaker and his good pants. The sight of him made her chest feel fluttery. After so many months of trying to forget him, there she was, walking toward him.
“I want to talk to you in private,” he said, steering her to the garage. They walked in silence, their breath visible.
She thought about this time last year, how hopeful she’d been, certain it was just the first of many Christmases together. Reflexively, she touched her neck. It had been so hard to take off the necklace, to put it in its box and shove it to the back of the highest shelf of her closet. For a long time she’d felt it burning in her room, something aglow, toxic.
“It’s freezing,” she said.
“Just a minute, then we’ll go in the house,” he said, pulling the heavy door down behind them.
“You’re not going to give me another piece of heart jewelry, are you? Because I’m really not in the mood for more empty symbolism.”
“Ouch. You’ve gotten hard in our time apart.”
She wanted to make a joke—something about how she hoped he hadn’t gotten hard in their time apart. But there was nothing funny about their situation. She’d thought she was showing up for closure, but it was like the wound was ripped right open again.
Then he said suddenly, jarringly, “I love you. I’ve missed you. I’m not going to say it was a mistake to break up, because I needed a few months of focus. And I needed some distance to know if this thing was real.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. “Well, it’s not just about what you need,” she said. “It isn’t just about you all the time. Did you ever think of that?”
“Of course. And I took a big chance. I’m sorry to have hurt you. I really am. But I think if you can just forgive me, we’ll be stronger for the time apart.”
“I don’t know,” she said. Of course she knew! She was in love. “Maybe we should just be friends.”
“I don’t want to be friends. I love you. I never stopped thinking about you. I don’t have anything going on with any women in Boston. I just worked my ass off. And I’m going to continue to work my ass off because I want a lot out of life. And one of those things is you—by my side. As much as possible.”
She stepped into his arms. He kissed her face, not seeming to mind that she sobbed like a child. When she calmed down, he pulled back, tilted her face up to his with his thumb under her chin.
“Lauren,” he whispered. “I’ll never let you down again.”
I’ll never let you down again.
She reshelved the astronomy book, slipped quietly out of Ethan’s room, and closed the door behind her.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Matt paused the frame.
Lauren looked beautiful on camera, her dark eyes big and luminous. She had the type of bone structure that was slightly angular in person but flawless on film. She’d worn her hair back in a ponytail that afternoon and dressed in a plain black T-shirt and jeans. There was something steely and fragile about her at the same time. From a filmmaking perspective, he couldn’t have cast anyone better.
