Chapter 33
I love New York in early September. Everyone is running around in back-to-school mode while ignoring the fact that it’s still hot and summery outside. The college students are back and wandering around the neighborhood, overtaking the streets around Washington Square Park by walking in nervous packs, afraid to strike out on their own yet.
Mostly I love that the farmers’ market is still in a full vibrant color explosion. The line for tomatoes at the Eckerton Hill stand snakes around as people choose between the peak heirlooms and Sungolds. You can smell the peaches as you walk by the northwest corner of the market. And the late-August lull of having everyone away is replaced by dogs circling children, even as a musician still sings about summer loftily at the entrance.
And on this late afternoon, everyone is lingering, as though they know the good times aren’t going to last and we need to soak it up while we can. It’s even making Kwan seem to walk more slowly. But it’s been a lovely afternoon meandering together, and we’re both enjoying stopping at every stall and observing and chatting. Lucy is sniffing every dog she can find. George, of course, hates it. He hates the conflation of heat and crowds, so this particular moment is his actual worst combination. He gives everyone a side eye as he trots past, as though he’s personally offended by their reappearance back after their beach trips and summer sojourns.
“Did you know that Gladys actually knows quite a bit about plants?” Kwan is saying, and I snap back to attention.
“Gladys in our building?”
“Yeah, I mentioned I was keeping up Eli’s planters, and she gave me some pointers. Honestly, I could’ve used her advice a few weeks ago in the heat wave, but I’m definitely in the learning curve! Dane may have gotten me started, but I’m doing pretty well now.”
“That’s really great,” I reply, happy to know that Eli’s original project is still proving me wrong so many months later.
“I think next spring I might put a few planters up there for myself. I may actually set some up in the next couple of weeks, because Gladys says this is really the time to plant bulbs. I know we did Eli’s bulbs for next summer, but I hadn’t really considered it for myself.”
I don’t have to respond, because he’s delightedly distracted by some buffalo mozzarella from Riverine Ranch, even though it’s the same mozzarella he’s purchased every week for the better part of a decade.
The truth is, every mention of Eli feels like another poke in the ribs, and it’s all making me sore. I miss him. We’ve chatted every day, but it feels like we’re living in some suspended animation, waiting for our life to begin. We had New York as friends, and we’ve had writing from a distance, but we’ve yet to get the whole package in one place—save for our dreamy weekend in London. I want it.
But I can’t say that I want it, because I already know we both do. He has to figure his family things out in his own time. And I know he’s made leeway. His mom has come home, and his dad has started to soften ever so slightly. He keeps saying the right opportunity for a real conversation about the future hasn’t come yet, and I’m definitely not going to push him. Aging parents aren’t something we can handle like bulldozers, and I’m glad Eli, of all people, sees that.
So we catch up on FaceTime and send each other notes throughout the days. We compare what we’re baking and watch movies at the same time. Slowly but surely, I think Eli’s starting to settle in to the idea that I’m not going anywhere.
And I’ve leaned on my expanded friend group to keep me sane while I wait for his return. Case in point, before coming to the market, Kwan wandered with me down to Librae Bakery to get scones before we swung back up here, because I wanted to do some research on flavors so I can work on my own recipe. He might’ve ribbed me for shifting my carb allegiance to a British baked good, but I enjoy the teasing. And he’s not wrong—the scones are for Eli. It gives me something to work toward for when he comes back.
I finally drag Kwan away from the cheese, and we make our way home.
“Can I come upstairs with you and have a coffee?” Kwan asks.
I’m tired, and my introvert social meter might be ready for a break even if I don’t want to disappoint him. But on the other hand, a coffee does sound good. I start to say “Sure,” but he cuts me off.
“Don’t tell me to come up if you don’t want me to,” Kwan chides. “I’m a big boy; I can make my own coffee.”
I laugh but shake my head. “I appreciate it, but now you’ve sold me on the idea. Come up for a few minutes, and then I’m going to kick you out when I want to curl up and read alone.”
“Sold,” he says with a grin.
But when I open my door, I’m stopped in my tracks. The whole apartment smells like something delectable is baking, and Dane and Tom are sitting at my kitchen table, already drinking cups of coffee.
And Eli is here.
Eli’s adorably, haphazardly wearing one of my aprons, folded so it’s just around his waist, and he’s cleaning up what looks like the remnants of a dough. A rack with scones is sitting to the side, cooling.
He barely has time for his crooked smile to form before I’m barreling into him, flinging myself fully around him, arms around his neck and legs around his waist, and he quickly grabs hold tight, not giving any signs of letting go.
I kiss him like he’s a mirage in a desert. He tastes like coffee and scones and smells like my shampoo.
“How are you here ?” I say, burying my face in his neck.
He carries me over to the counter and sets me down, stepping back to look me up and down. “So, incredibly, there are these things called ‘airplanes,’ and they carry you across an ocean.”
I swat at him, but I’m so distracted I pull him back into a hug. “You’re hilarious. Seriously, why didn’t you tell me you were coming back?”
“I wanted to surprise you,” he said. “And I settled everything yesterday and couldn’t wait another minute.”
“So how did you ...” I trail off, remembering that we aren’t exactly alone. I turn to look at Dane, Tom, and Kwan, all watching delightedly. Dane’s smirking a little more than Tom and Kwan, but even she doesn’t seem to be immune to this sappy gushing session they’ve just witnessed.
“The man wanted you to come home to scones, and who am I to stop him?” Dane shrugs.
“I promised her I’d give her a scone if she let me in,” Eli whispers in my ear, and I snort.
“And I was the distracter!” Kwan says proudly. “I don’t know if you noticed how slowly we walked to Librae—”
“Oh, I noticed.”
“Well, it was a great suggestion because it took a lot of time. Although I almost ruined the surprise when you said you wanted to buy scones, because that just felt too kismet.”
Eli turns back to me. “You bought scones?”
I grab the filled bag and hold it up. “They have feta dill, and fig and fennel. I’ve been practicing making them, and no one ever said research hurt.”
“You’ve been practicing?” he singsongs, knowing it’s clearly for him.
“I thought maybe you’d miss them whenever you got back,” I admit.
He scoops me up again and kisses me, tilting me back. I hear Tom say, “Ahem,” and Dane gives a low wolf whistle.
We begrudgingly break apart to the good-natured teasing of our friends, and Eli sets me down in a chair at the kitchen table. He darts over to grab the scones, and then we all settle down at the table.
Everyone catches up with Eli for a bit while I just sit back, happily munching on a scone and watching the whole scene unfold.
Eli is here . He’s here, making scones, in my apartment, enveloped by my friends. Friends that I’ve let into my life. Friends that conspire with my boyfriend to surprise me. With my beloved carbs.
I’m not sure life could get any better.
After half an hour, Tom nudges Dane and Kwan to leave, and they all grab some scones to go and make their exit.
When the door closes behind them, I take Eli’s hand, still beaming from his unexpected immediacy.
“I previously would’ve said we’ve had enough surprises for a lifetime, but I think this one was pretty great.”
He kisses my hand and holds on to it. “I can’t help wanting to get a reaction out of you.” He pulls my chair closer and lifts my knees up so he can drape my legs over his lap. “I’m really, really happy to be back.”
“Are you here just for a visit?” I ask, not wanting to get too excited too fast.
He grins and shakes his head. “I had a long conversation with my dad last night, and I’ve got to say, you might be onto something with that communication and listening stuff you’re always talking about.”
I roll my eyes, and he cackles, enjoying goading me as always. But then his expression softens a bit. “No, actually, before you nudged me, I’d never really considered just ... asking him? Just saying ‘Why is this what you want’ and being willing to listen. I never quite realized how scared he was. Scared of aging; scared of not being able to keep up; scared of failing and not having anyone to ask for help. I think he thought if he was responsible for my mother at home and he got frustrated or tired and needed help, he’d be stuck. And that fed into everything else that’s looming for him about not wanting to retire and feeling like he isn’t sure what to do in the next stage of his life.”
“That’s ... wow, I’m so glad you talked to him about it,” I say, wanting to just wrap him up in a hug but trying to take my own advice about listening first.
“I also don’t think he quite realized that we could have those kinds of conversations. That combativeness is a well-honed skill, you know?” he laughs, an edge to the thought. “We’ve always communicated like that, and so we each gave it back to the other. Telling him I wanted to listen I think shocked him, actually.”
I smile. “I can only imagine.”
“But it shocked me too. It was ... it was really good. And we cleared the air, and he agreed to keep up the system I’ve put in place with the home nurses and the check-ins. And my sister says she’s going to come down more often. I’m going to go back every four or six weeks or so over the coming year so she has support and he has some downtime. But yeah. It’s all worked out. I’m home.”
“‘Home,’” I repeat—a word so joyous I can feel the stretch in my cheeks.
“ You feel like home,” he says quietly, running his fingers along my smile, tracing the happiness he’s unleashed. “These last few weeks away ... I thought writing to you or calling you would be enough, since we’d done it for so long with so much less. But that wasn’t enough anymore; I want it all now. I meant what I said before—I love London, but this is where I belong. I love you, Nora.”
“I love you too,” I whisper.
He gives me a quick kiss and then pulls back to look at me, his fingers tangling further into mine as though he needs to keep some physical tether.
“What happens now? Now that you’re home?”
“Yeah, I’m thinking we start a new construction project,” he says. “What do you think? Duplex? I’ll just bang a hole between our apartments and build a staircase?”
I snort a laugh, because the mischief in his eyes tells me everything I need to know. “Didn’t this all start with you getting a little overzealous with construction tools?”
“I think you know we started well before I moved into the building.”
“Fair enough.” I squeeze his hand back. “For now, though, I think I’m just going to relish having you one floor away instead of across an ocean.”
“On that we can definitely agree,” he says, pulling me to him and wrapping his arms around me.
“Welcome home, neighbor,” I whisper, and then there are no words left to say for tonight.