The Futures(60)

“Julia?” he said. The dark wavy hair; the aquiline nose. His voice.

“Rob,” I said. “Wow. Hi.”

“It’s been a while, huh?”

“Wow. What, like, four years or something?” But, really, I knew: it had been almost four years to the day since we’d broken up at Thanksgiving, freshman year of college. We hadn’t seen each other since.

“You look great.”

“So do you.” He did. Energized, happy. Rob at his best. “I was just about to get another drink. Do you want to…?”

After we got our drinks, he pointed at an empty booth. “You want to catch up for a minute?” he said.

In the booth, our knees touched for a brief moment. “Wow. It’s so strange. You look the same,” I said.

He laughed. “In a good way, I hope.”

“Where are you living?”

“Here, in Cambridge. I’m applying to med school. Working in one of my professor’s labs for the year.”

“Med school! Right. I’d forgotten about that.”

“You thought I’d changed my mind?” He smiled.

Later, a waitress came by and brought us another round. Rob could still make me laugh. He was still that boy he’d been in high school, the one who made the younger girls blush when he talked to them in the cafeteria. Whose confidence and affability extended to everyone. He would make a great doctor. For the first time in four years, I found myself thinking about him as a real person. Not as a footnote to my history, a static piece of the past. As a living possibility, right in front of me.

“Are you still with that guy?” he asked. “What was his name again?”

“Evan,” I said. I could feel the effects of my two and a half drinks. A looseness in my limbs, a narrowing of my mind. “Evan Peck. Yeah. I mean, sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“Things aren’t great. I’m not sure how much longer it’s going to last.”

“Really.” His leg brushed against mine. “That’s too bad.”

“What about you? Girlfriend?”

“There was this girl, but we broke up at graduation. It wasn’t going anywhere. Honestly, of all the girls in college, I’m not sure any of them really came close to you.”

He moved nearer, resting his hand on my knee. I was almost overwhelmed by nostalgia, by the rush of memories: fall afternoons on the sidelines of the soccer field, cheering for Rob after he scored a goal. Study hall, kissing in the dusty back corner of the library. The way he would sometimes catch my eye in the middle of class, backlit by the morning sun, and wink as our teacher droned on about mitochondria. Life opening up before us. That moment bursting with possibility—a feeling that now seemed light-years away. I never thought things could get so complicated. I didn’t think I was capable of feeling so uncertain, so confused. Rob leaned closer, and so did I.

“Julia!” Camilla was yelling from the bar. “Get your ass over here!”

The spell broke. We took a group picture. The band, back together again. Camilla ordered a round of tequila shots, but I demurred. I had to drive home. On my way out, I waved good-bye to Rob. He mouthed, I’ll call you.

The next morning, I went downstairs and found my mother in the kitchen, hands on her hips, staring at a casserole dish. The turkey was already in the oven. The pies were lined up neatly on the counter. Jasmine, our housekeeper, had made everything days in advance.

“Well, there you are. Happy Thanksgiving, sweetheart.” She kissed me on the cheek, then resumed staring at the casserole. She poked it and frowned. “I can’t for the life of me understand what Jasmine did to these potatoes.”

“The same thing she does every year?”

“She’s trying something new. That’s what she said. It smells”—she leaned forward, sniffing—“I don’t know. It smells off.”

“I think that’s just garlic.”

“Garlic.” She sighed. “Why does everything need to have garlic in it?”

She came and sat next to me at the kitchen table. She was wearing what she called her “work clothes”—faded jeans, an old cardigan—what a normal person might wear to the grocery store but what my mother only wore within the confines of the house. She wouldn’t be caught dead looking like this in front of her friends. She was sipping her coffee and watching me while I peeled a banana.

“Mom. What?”

“Your hair is getting so long.”

“I haven’t found a place in New York yet.”

“Why don’t you just get it done while you’re here? I can call. I’m supposed to go in tomorrow.”

“How was the party last night?”

“Oh, it was nice. The Fletchers are doing some landscaping, so their yard is a complete mess. Your father is actually on the phone with Henry right now.”

“Is something going on?”

“Everything’s fine.” She set her coffee down and rubbed at an invisible scuff on the table. “Did I tell you? I’ve been asked to join the board of that new women’s clinic. You remember, the one Mrs. Baldwin is involved in?”

“Is that why we had to invite the Baldwins to Thanksgiving this year?”

She pursed her lips. “We invited them because they’re our friends. You’ve known them a long time. Don’t you remember how much you loved it when Diana used to babysit for you? Anyway, it’s a wonderful organization.”