Gorman had shrugged, twirling a fallen bloom between his fingers. “Do I need a reason to have dinner with the love of my life?”
And just like that, Henry decided.
He was going to ask Gorman to marry him.
Why wait? They were not bound by archaic gender norms. And ever since Henry had decided not to pursue Gilbert, things had changed between the couple. Become more forgiving. More loving. They bickered less. A certain selflessness set into the bones of their relationship. Henry realized he was so caught up in the timeline and to-do list that he’d lost sight of Gorman. Someone he didn’t just love, but enjoyed. Admired. Now, Henry was reveling in their relationship anew, feeling his commitment returned in equal measure. He wasn’t letting go of his ideal future; rather, he was letting himself enjoy how beautiful it felt to commit to the potential of it.
It was time. And Henry was certain—98 percent certain—that Gorman would say yes.
Still, the past few weeks of ever-present nerves had made him a bit scattered, now misplacing his keys, which he never did. Henry searched through his bags, and the entry table bowl, and in the couch cushions. He tried all his coat pockets, and then on a whim, Gorman’s coat, hanging on a hook by the front door.
His fingers brushed something hard and soft. A small box, covered in velvet.
A disbelieving smile spread over Henry’s face.
The gold ring glinted back at him.
Not exactly the same as the one in his own pocket at this very moment. But similar in the ways that mattered.
“Find them?” Gorman called.
Henry put the box back. He felt like laughing and crying, euphoric and silly. Then he pulled himself together and called back, “No. We’ll just take yours.”
Gorman came into the living room. Henry’s breath hitched at the sight of him. Tall and distinguished. His man. His great love. And soon, his husband. Gorman reached for his jacket. “Ready?”
Henry pulled Gorman close and planted a long, loving kiss on his mouth. “Looks like we both are.”
80
They met in neutral territory—an organic café near Prospect Park. Late on a rainy Sunday, Savannah and Honey were the only ones sitting by a window that looked out onto a waterlogged backyard. Their cute waitress—muscle tee and a crunchy thicket of dirty-blond hair—was definitely checking out Honey as she delivered two ginger teas and left them to it.
Savannah wasn’t sure if this technically constituted a breakup. But it sure felt like one. As heartbreaking as it felt, she knew she wasn’t ready to give Honey what she needed. “I don’t want to ruin the chance of having you in my life,” Savannah told her. “You’ve helped me realize so many things I want to be thinking about.” She reached across the table to tentatively touch Honey’s hand. “I wish I was in a different place; your clarity about who you are and what you need is something I aspire to. Your courage gives me courage.”
Honey nodded, looking away. “I’m not going to pretend like I’m not disappointed. I really like you, Savannah. A lot. But I’m also ready for a girlfriend. Like, so ready. So, so, so ready.”
They both laughed. Honey dabbed at her eyes with a paper napkin.
“You’ll meet someone,” Savannah said. “Someone who can see just how wonderful you are.”
The waitress stopped by to refresh their cups. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything else?” She ran her fingers through her mop of hair, her eyes lingering on Honey. “Anything at all?”
Savannah twirled a lock of her own hair. Maybe she should try something shorter. She’d had the same haircut for a very long time. “Oh, you’ll be more than okay,” Savannah said to Honey, after the waitress left. “She was totally into you!”
“Was she?” Honey craned her neck, staring after her with a bashful smile. “I should get dumped more often.”
Savannah forced a chuckle, titillated, even relieved—but mostly sad. It was too soon to be talking about Honey’s love life in a way that didn’t involve her. But that was what happened after you let someone go.
They hugged under the café awning, and Honey told Savannah to come by the restaurant; a whiskey for old time’s sake. Savannah said that she would. But she suspected this was the end of something. Honey dashed up the street, jumping puddles in a bright yellow raincoat. And then, she was gone.
Savannah pulled out her phone. It was time her parents knew two things. First, she wasn’t moving back home. She was staying in New York. She had to live her life, even if that meant disappointing people. And second, Terry and Sherry needed to stop assuming that she was only looking to date a guy. Because the more she thought about it, the more it felt like that was not a possibility. She knew they’d worry about her. They just wanted her to be happy. So, she’d have to tell them that she was happy. Breakups notwithstanding, she was.
Terry answered on the first ring. “Hi, Pookie! Great timing, I’m making turkey burgers.”
“Dad, can you grab Mom?”
“Sure, honey. Is something wrong?”
The rain started to relent. It was always so nice out after a deluge. The streets were washed clean and everything smelled earthy, like fresh shoots. Like new life. Savannah switched her phone to her other ear. “No. Nothing’s wrong at all.”
81
Liv went through the motions of her life. Fall was busy in a different way from summer. In Love in New York focused on meeting with prospective clients, doing early-stage planning for couples who were wedding next year, and finalizing the books. But Liv’s mind was never far from Eliot.
Eliot had been ill.
The thing that drove him to Savannah was fear of death. The terrifying realization that all the eternal-seeming roles humans create to order our experience—becoming a spouse or a parent or a business owner—were just ways to forget about our mortality. The temporariness and seeming insignificance of anything done on earth. Confronted with that, the man she’d married couldn’t inhabit his life anymore.
And he hadn’t confided in her about any of it. His wife.
In retrospect (the place Liv was almost exclusively spending her time), there was one moment where maybe, he was considering it. Around this time last year, when the temperature had just started to drop. He’d come home late, puffing as he hung up his coat. (Out of breath from the five-minute walk from the subway. She hadn’t noticed.)
“Hey.” He greeted her with a paper-thin kiss.
“Where were you?” Her greeting. As cold as his lips.
He hadn’t replied, chatting instead with Ben about homework until Liv sent their son upstairs for a shower. Eliot opened a bottle of red and poured himself a glass. The house was cold, and quiet. “Liv.” He spoke the word in a way that was sort of… raw.
She was scrolling through her email, distracted. “Mm?”
“Do you ever think about your legacy?” He drew out a chair at the dining room table, sitting in Ben’s spot. “What you’ll be remembered for?”
Liv didn’t look up from her phone. “No.”
He was silent for a few minutes. “I don’t quite know how to say this—”
“Oh, shit. The Robinsons want to switch their hotel block from the Marriott to the Hyatt! Jesus.”