The Perfect Couple(56)

But no! It can’t be! Celeste loves Benji. They have just started saying it. The first time was five days earlier, Sunday evening, as they drove back to the city from a visit with Celeste’s parents in Easton. Benji had met Bruce and Karen and seen the modest house on Derhammer Street where Celeste grew up. Celeste had shown Benji her elementary school, her high school, the Palmer pool, downtown Easton, the Peace candle, the Free Bridge, and the Crayola factory. They had supper with Karen and Bruce at Diner 248. Celeste had thought about making a reservation somewhere more refined—Easton had a crop of new restaurants; Masa for Mexican, Third and Ferry for seafood—but Celeste and her parents had always celebrated family milestones at the diner, and to go anywhere else would feel phony. They all ate vegetable barley soup and turkey clubs, and Karen, Bruce, and Celeste split the Fudgy Wudgy for dessert as usual and Benji gamely tried a bite. After supper, they drove back to the house and said their good-byes at the curb. Bruce and Karen waved until Celeste and Benji turned the corner and Celeste shed a few tears as she always did when she left her parents. Benji said, “Well, now I’ve seen Easton. Thank you.”

Celeste had laughed and wiped tears from the bottom of her eyes. “You’re very welcome. It’s not Park Avenue or London, of course…”

“It’s a sweet little town,” Benji said. “It must have been a nice place to grow up.”

Celeste flinched at this assessment; something about his tone sounded patronizing. “It was,” she said defensively.

Benji reached over to squeeze her knee. “Hey, I’m sorry. That came out wrong. I liked Easton, and your parents are true gems. Real salt of the earth.”

They’re people, Celeste had thought. Good, honest, hardworking people. She had never understood the phrase salt of the earth, but it sounded like something you said about someone you knew was beneath you. To make the moment even more humiliating, Celeste started to cry again and Benji said, “Wow, I’m making things worse. Please don’t cry, Celeste. I love you.”

Celeste shook her head. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not,” Benji said. “I’ve been wanting to say it for weeks, months even, but I’ve been afraid because I wasn’t sure you felt the same way. But believe me, please, when I say I love you. I love you, Celeste Otis.”

She had felt emotionally goosed. He loved her. He loved her. Celeste didn’t know what to say, and yet it was clear Benji was waiting for a response. “I love you too,” she said.

“You do?” he asked.

Did she? Celeste thought back to the first time she met Benji, how wonderful he had been with Miranda, how exasperated with glamorous Jules. She thought of the flowers and the books and the restaurants and his mind-boggling apartment and the homeless shelter. She thought about the ease she felt in his presence, as though the world had only good things to offer. She thought about how much his opinion mattered to her. She wanted to be good enough for him.

“Yes,” she said. “I do.”


If Celeste loves Benji, then what is happening now, with Shooter? Celeste knows her parents’ story by heart: Karen came marching up the pool steps and introduced herself to Bruce, who was sweating off water weight and staring at his orange. Karen had stuck out her hand and said, I admire a man with willpower. And those, apparently, were the magic words, because they both knew instantly that they would get married and stay together forever.

I wasn’t even hungry after that, Bruce said. I threw my orange away, I made weight, I won my match, but it barely mattered. All I wanted was a date with your mother.

That’s how love works, Karen said.


Does love work only one way? Celeste wonders. She has spent the past nine months carefully, cautiously getting to know Benjamin Winbury and has just decided to call that experience love. But only five days later, she’s pretty sure she has made a mistake. Because in meeting Shooter, Celeste has been swallowed whole by the world. Goner, she thinks. I’m a goner.

No. She is a scientist. She believes in reason. What she’s feeling now is as ephemeral as a shooting star. Soon enough, it will fade away.

“The old boy isn’t going to make this flight,” Shooter says. “He gave me very strict orders to take care of you.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Celeste says. “I can take care of myself.”

“Can you?” Shooter says. His eyes flash with blue sparks. Celeste can’t look directly at him, then she decides that she’s being silly, of course she can look at him, and she does. The bottom drops out of her stomach, whoosh! He is so painfully attractive. Maybe she just needs to build up a tolerance. Even the best-looking men in the world—George Clooney, Jon Hamm—might seem run-of-the-mill if you looked at them long enough. “What seat are you in?”

“One-D,” she says.

“I’m in twelve-A,” Shooter says. “I’m going to ask them to give me Benji’s seat.”

“I’m not a senior vice president from Prague,” Celeste says. “You don’t have to babysit me.”

“You’ve been dating my best friend for nine months,” Shooter says. “I want to get to know you. Hard to do from eleven rows away, don’t you agree?”

“Agreed,” Celeste concedes.

They sit side by side in the front row of the plane. Shooter lifts Celeste’s carry-on into the overhead compartment, then asks if she would prefer the window or the aisle. She says aisle. She realizes most people who have never flown before might want to sit at the window but Celeste is terrified. Shooter waits for her to sit down and then he sits. He’s a gentleman, but then so is Benji. Benji is the ultimate gentleman. Benji stands whenever Celeste leaves the table to go to the ladies’ room and he stands when she gets back. He holds doors, he carries a handkerchief, he never interrupts.