The Husband Hour(51)
She opened the book, her mind many miles and many years away.
Senior year, the only upside to the breakup with Rory was that she didn’t have to worry about getting into a school in Boston to be closer to him. She was free to make Georgetown her top choice, as it had been since the beginning of junior year when she’d won a journalism competition and a trip to DC.
Accepted to Georgetown, she replaced Rory’s old Lower Merion ice hockey T-shirt that she’d slept in for almost a year with a new gray and blue Hoyas shirt.
Still, she wasn’t happy. Not truly happy, not the way she’d felt when they were together. Once you’d known the complete, deep-seated joy of being in love, nothing else compared. Not even personal accomplishment. She tried not to think about him, but every corner of the school, of her house, of the neighborhood streets triggered memories of their relationship. How cruel, how unfair that he should be the one to end it and also be the one to start in a new place free and clear. It was this sense of injustice that had helped turn her heartbreak to anger, and it was this anger, festering for five months, that had steeled her to ignore his texts when they finally appeared.
He was in town for Christmas break. He missed her; they needed to talk. He was sorry. He’d meet her anywhere. Didn’t they owe it to their time together to at least talk?
Delete, delete, delete.
And then, the Thursday before Christmas break. In the Merionite classroom, a makeshift holiday party of Dunkin’ Donuts and Wawa coffee.
“You have a visitor,” the sports editor said.
Rory, standing in the doorway.
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.”