Always the Last to Know(99)

Maybe it was the champagne. But I didn’t think so. I think it was relief, and a little exhaustion, and most of all, love.





CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO





Juliet


Sadie knew a thing or two. The two nights in Boston had been heaven.

Juliet hadn’t cried so much . . . well, ever. But they were the good kind of tears, the kind that washed away the dirt from your soul. Mom was magical. She could make every situation better just by her pragmatism, her dry sense of humor, her conviction. If the woman Juliet most admired in the world thought Juliet was the bomb, who was Juliet to disagree?

Even so, she felt nervous when she got home. Oliver could well be furious with her. When she texted to say she was going away for a couple of nights with her mom, his response had been, “Have fun.”

That was it.

He was home when she got back . . . His car was in the garage, at least. Sloane swarmed her at the door, full of questions, wondering what presents she was about to receive. Juliet gathered her up and smooched her cheeks before doling out the gifts—a fake Boston Police Department badge, since Sloane wanted to be a cop, and a T-shirt that said Chowdahead. For Brianna, she’d bought a replica of the statue that showed Mrs. Mallard leading her ducklings through Boston Common.

“I loved this book when I was little,” Brianna said.

“I know.”

Brianna looked at her. “I’m not little anymore. Here, Sloane. You can have it.”

“Yay!” Sloane said.

“I got you a T-shirt, too,” Juliet said, holding it up. Wicked Smaaht.

“Thanks anyway.”

Okeydokey, then. “Where’s Daddy?”

“Daddy!” Sloane bellowed. “Mommy’s back! She brought presents!”

He came up the stairs. “Hello, darling.”

“Hi.”

“Did you have a good time?”

“Yes. Definitely.”

“Brilliant.” His voice was tight. “Girls, would you mind going to your rooms?”

“Are you fighting?” Brianna asked.

“Not at all,” Oliver said. But his eyes were not happy. “Darling, shall we go up to the deck?”

“Sure!” Too enthusiastic. Shit.

It was a gorgeous day, full-on May glory, the lilacs blooming below, their scent heavy in the air, the wind gentle off the water. She still felt like throwing up.

“Right. Well. You said some things the other night,” Oliver began.

“Listen, I—”

“No, no. My turn. It’s only fair, isn’t it?”

She nodded. Sat down on the sofa and tried not to cry.

Oliver took out a piece of paper.

“Do you want to sit down?” she asked.

“No. Please. Just let me read this.” He cleared his throat. “Dear Juliet, you told me you were tired of trying to be perfect and that you were afraid I would cheat on you if you were anything less than one hundred percent. Please allow me to share the following with you.” He glanced at her, frowning, and her toes curled in her shoes.

“The first time I saw you at Yale, you were standing in the rain at the corner of York and Elm, and I stopped in my tracks because I knew the world had just changed. Then, rather unfortunately, a cabbie blew past you, soaking you, and I felt it would be ungentlemanly to approach you.”

Oh, God. She remembered that. She’d been drenched to the skin with filthy gray water, and the driver hadn’t so much as tapped his brakes.

“The second time I saw you, you were buying tampons at the CVS just off the green, and again, the time didn’t seem right to engage in witty conversation with you, because, knowing me, I’d have said something less than clever, such as ‘Oh! I see you’re menstruating! How wonderful!’ and you rightly would’ve dismissed me as a wanker.”

She felt a smile start in her heart.

“The third time I saw you, you were going into a party in Saybrook, and I begged my former flat mate to get me in so I could be in the same room as you, and when I saw you, my heart was pounding so hard, I thought I might vomit, and I was terrified you’d turn away and talk to your extremely good-looking and fit boyfriend, who would no doubt go on to become president of the United States or cure cancer. But you didn’t turn away, and you didn’t have a boyfriend, and you graciously said yes when I asked you out after forty-five agonizing minutes of mindless chatter, the subject of which I still have no recollection.”

His eyes were tearing up. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, never more so than after you had our daughters, or when you’re folding laundry, or in the car, or at your desk. You never have to eat salmon again. I will henceforth take on all the baking of the fucking gluten-free vegan cupcakes, and I can assure you that our firstborn doesn’t hate you at all, she is merely blinded by the horrors of adolescence and will once again become your darling girl.”

He folded the paper and put it in his back pocket. “I love you. It’s pathetic, really. I worship you. You at twenty percent is more than every other woman in the world at one hundred, and you at one hundred is nothing short of a magnificent tornado, but if you need help, darling, please, ask for it. That’s my job. To take care of you.”

She was crying again, but the tears felt wonderful this time. “Why haven’t you told me this before? I always . . . I never . . . I never knew you watched me buy tampons.”