“Perfect timing,” she said. “I just checked on Bodhi and he’s sound asleep.”
“London, too.”
“I got started without you,” she said, raising her own glass. “Help yourself.”
I poured and sat next to her. “Thanks for having me over.”
“When a friend says he has to hide, my door is open. How is it really, though?”
I considered the question before answering. “We haven’t fought, but we haven’t seen much of each other, either. It’s strange, though. It feels like there’s this awkward heaviness in the house.”
“Emotions are heavy things,” she said. “And it’s still early for both of you. How was London when you read to her?”
“She was fine. They had a good day.”
“Do you think she knows what’s going on yet?”
“I think she knows there’s something different, but that’s it.”
“That’s probably a good thing for now. It’s hard enough to get through this stage without worrying about your child as well.”
I nodded, knowing she was right.
“Do you sit out here a lot?”
“Less than I should – sometimes I forget how pretty it is. I love seeing the stars between all the trees, and the sound of crickets.” She shook her head. “I don’t know… I guess I just get stuck in my routines. Which is why I still haven’t gotten around to listing the house yet. I get lazy.”
“I don’t think you’re lazy. We’re just creatures of habit.” I took a sip of wine, letting a comfortable silence settle between us. Finally, I said, “I feel like I should thank you.”
“Why?” I felt her turn toward me, her eyes seeking me out in the darkness.
“For letting me come over. For talking to me on the phone. For the advice you give. For putting up with my confusion and whining. Everything.”
“That’s what friends are for.”
“Emily, we’re old friends,” I said. “But it’s been a long time and it’s not like we’ve been close these past fifteen years. Somehow, though, in just a short time, you’ve become one of my best friends – again.”
I could see the starlight flickering in her eyes. “I read something about friendship once and it stuck with me. It goes like this: Friendship isn’t about how long you know someone. It’s about who walks into your life, says ‘I’m here for you,’ and then proves it.”
I smiled. “I like that.”
“Russ, you sound like you think you’re a burden to me. But you’re not. Believe it or not, I like talking to you. And I like that we’ve rekindled our friendship. Aside from Grace and Marguerite, it’s just Bodhi and me. And, I don’t know… there’s something so comforting about our shorthand. Not having to explain everything about who we are and where we come from. We know all that stuff already.”
“Guess I’m like an old shoe, huh?”
She laughed. “A favorite shoe… maybe. One that always fit just right and you were never able to replace.”
I felt a genuine warmth flowing from her then, and it was such a reassuring sensation – one that I had missed, I realized, in all these uncertain years with Vivian.
“I feel the same, way, Em.” I stared at her. “I really do.”
She was quiet for a moment, rotating the glass of wine in her hands. “Do you remember than night when we got stuck on the Ferris wheel? The night of the fireworks?”
“I remember,” I said.
“I thought you were going to propose to me that night,” she said softly. “And when you didn’t, I was so… disappointed.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, meaning it.
“Don’t be – it’s silly.” She waved my apology away. “The point I’m trying to make is that I would have said yes and maybe we would have gotten married. But that also means I wouldn’t have Bodhi and you wouldn’t have London, and then who would we be? Maybe we would have ended up getting divorced. Or hate each other now.”
“I think we could have made it.”
Her smile seemed to hold a trace of melancholy. “Maybe. There’s no way of knowing. We’ve both been knocked around enough by life to understand how unpredictable life can be.”
I stared at her. “You do know that you continually say things that surprise me and make me think.”
“That’s because I majored in the humanities, not business.”
I laughed, suddenly flooded with gratitude that she’d come back into my life, just when I needed her most.
It wasn’t until well past midnight that I finally made it home.
“You were out late last night,” Vivian remarked as we crossed paths in the kitchen the next morning. “I thought you said you’d be home by eleven.”
Despite the late night, I’d risen early and was ready to start my day by the time Vivian made it downstairs.
“Time got away from me,” I offered. I could tell she was curious about where I’d been and what I’d been doing, but it wasn’t her business. Not anymore. Changing the subject, I asked, “What time do you think you’ll be leaving? Since you have to drive?”
“Six, six thirty? I don’t know for sure yet.”
“Do you want to have a family dinner before you go?”
“I was going to take London out for an early dinner.”
“All right,” I said. “I’ll be here at six, then.”