Always the Last to Know(54)

I made good use of the city, believe me . . . I went to author readings at the 92nd Street Y and student recitals at Juilliard. My father came to visit, the only other person in our family who loved New York—not even Juliet, the architect, enjoyed being here. But Dad loved it. He thought my apartment was perfect, and loved walking as much as I did. We went out for dinner to my favorite little Italian place in the Village, and then meandered through Washington Square Park, where some kid from NYU was doing ballet while her friend played the violin. Sometimes, Dad would even stay over, insisting on sleeping on the pullout couch rather than taking my bed. “It’s fun, sugarplum,” he said, and we talked and talked.

He understood my ambition. “I wanted to be a writer,” he told me once. “Law school was supposed to be temporary. But then, you know . . . we moved to Stoningham, and your mom loved it so much, and then Juliet came along. It never seemed like the right time to quit my job and try to write a novel.”

“You could still do it, Dad!” I said. “There’s no age limit. You’re retired now! You should start tomorrow!”

“Well . . . I don’t know about that. I think the urge is gone now. Besides, your mother thinks I’m enough of an annoyance without me talking about a crime novel.”

“She’d probably love for you to have a hobby.” And get out of her space, I thought. But she wasn’t exactly the encouraging type (unless your name was Juliet Elizabeth Frost).

“Well. I’m very proud of you, Sadie. Not everyone is brave enough to go for it, and here you are. My fierce little girl, making it in the Big Apple.”

No one else felt that way. No one had said they were proud of me in a long, long time. Noah used to, but not anymore, not if it meant me staying here. Our love for each other was becoming a clenched fist of frustration and uncertainty.

Love is not all you need. Don’t believe that lie.

On my twenty-fifth birthday, Noah called. “I need to see you,” he said, and it didn’t sound promising. We weren’t a couple, not really, not in his eyes, and yet we weren’t not a couple. I gathered we were about to come to a conclusion.

When I saw him in Grand Central Station, my old love for him hit me like a wave, tumbling me in its force. I still loved him. I’d always love him. And when he saw me, his face softened just a little, an almost smile there on his lips. He never could grow a proper beard, but he looked sixteen if he shaved, and it was so . . . so endearing. My heart glowed that scarlet color that only Noah could bring.

“Hey, stranger,” I said, and gave him a big hug. We hadn’t seen each other in months, and he seemed bigger—broader shoulders, more muscle, and there was a sudden lump in my throat at the idea that my wild boy was now a man.

He wanted to go to a nearby restaurant and “get this out of the way.”

“Sure thing,” I said, nervousness and irritability fluttering in my stomach. I took him to a tourist-trap Irish pub just across the street, and we ordered beers and burgers. He could barely look at me.

So there was someone else, I guessed, and for a minute, I had to bend my head so I wouldn’t cry.

“How’ve you been?” I asked, my voice a little rough.

“I want you to marry me,” he said.

My head jerked back up. Not what I expected.

He was scowling.

“I want you to marry me and come home. I love you. I’ve never loved anyone but you, Sadie. But I’m not waiting anymore.”

“This sounds vaguely like a threat, not a proposal,” I said.

He didn’t answer. The waitress brought us our beers and wisely slipped away.

“Sadie . . .” He looked away. “Do you still want to get married?”

I sat back in the red booth, choosing my words carefully. “I don’t want to be with anyone but you, Noah. I love you. But I’m not sure I want the same life you do. You always had our future mapped out, and there doesn’t seem to be any room for compromise.”

“I did compromise! I lived here for four months.”

“And you hated it, just like you promised you would.”

“I can’t help that. You’re the one who sent me away.” He glowered.

“I didn’t send you away, Noah. I put you out of your misery.”

The waitress brought us our burgers. “Enjoy,” she said. We ignored her.

“Stoningham sucks the life out of some people,” I said. “I know you’re not one of them, but I am.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Thank you for being so understanding.”

He scowled.

I rolled my eyes.

“Are you happy, Sadie?” he asked.

“Yes. Mostly.” Content, maybe. Climbing my way to happiness.

“Because from here, it looks like you’re killing time. Being a teacher, doing those paintings you hate, listening to sirens and car horns all day, taking your life into your hands every time you cross the street. You gave it a shot. It didn’t work. Come home and be with me.”

My jaw clenched. “Wow. So now that I’ve failed—at least the way you define it—I should come home and marry you and get pregnant.”

He leaned forward. “I love you. Doesn’t that matter at all? Because to me, that’s everything.”