“I’m still going. I’ll be thinking about you. About us.”
She exits, closing the door quietly behind her.
* * *
The restaurant, Mon Ami Gabi, is a perfect mix of lively and romantic with its dark wood paneling, charming bar, and white-clothed tables. Marissa, seated toward the back, is surrounded by couples, most chatting comfortably but a few sitting in silence and barely looking at each other, as if they’d exhausted all their conversational topics long ago.
During the early years of their relationship, she and Matthew were in the first group—leaning in, laughing. When did they begin the slide toward the second one? There isn’t a demarcation line she can point to; no triggering event that created the environment that made her susceptible to a one-night affair. She’d like to blame their marital drift on the busyness of everyday life, the demands of their jobs and schedules, the toll two miscarriages and her subsequent fertility treatments had taken on them. But the truth is, she knows couples with far more responsibilities and pressures who seem to have maintained strong emotional links.
She squeezes a wedge of lime into her Perrier, noticing a guy a few tables away reaching across the table to hold his date’s hand. They’re young and fresh-faced, and something about them—the creases in his shirt that suggest he tried to iron it himself, and the way the girl’s hair has been styled to drape over one shoulder—tugs at Marissa’s heart.
She looks at the empty chair across from hers and wonders what the other patrons think of her. All dressed up, alone, at a table for two.
The waiter delivers her appetizer—a steamed artichoke—and she thanks him. She plucks off one of the petals, dips the base into the butter sauce, and pulls the pulpy part through her teeth, grateful to have something to do.
Marissa knows how to expertly extract the tender, delicious heart of the vegetable; one of the signature dishes at her parents’ store, Conner’s, was a homemade artichoke dip. Growing up, she spent many afternoons at the big butcher-block table behind the counter, spreading open the petals of artichokes and twisting away the small, interior leaves to expose the fuzzy chokes. She’d blend them with spinach and cream cheese and garlic and pepper before sprinkling freshly grated Parmesan over the top and roasting it until the dish turned golden and bubbly.
The summer she turned fifteen was the first year Marissa had been allowed to work alone at the store during the slow periods, which came twice a day, as reliably as the tide, at midmorning and after dinnertime.
It was also the summer someone she loved died.
Not just someone: Tina, who for many years had been like a sister to Marissa. Tina had been killed by one of their high school teachers, an event so shocking and upsetting Marissa could barely eat or sleep for months afterward.
Marissa’s throat tightens. Tonight was supposed to be about her and Matthew; why is she thinking so much about Tina?
She pushes away her plate and signals the waiter, asking for a glass of wine.
She reminds herself it was also the summer she fell in love, with Matthew. And it had been Matthew who had pulled her out of the darkness after Tina died.
Even though this evening isn’t unfolding the way it was supposed to, Marissa intends to try her best to follow Avery’s instructions. Otherwise, she’ll feel as if she’ll be giving up on her marriage.
Reminisce about how you met, and what made you fall in love. Go back to those early days and try to relive them.
At five minutes before the eight o’clock closing time of Conner’s, on the tail end of a searing-hot August day, she stood alone by the cash register, listlessly flipping through a copy of People magazine. The bell over the door jingled and she looked up to see Matthew—a summer boy, and arguably the cutest one of all—walk in.
“Hey, Marissa.”
She experienced a little jolt of surprise that he recalled her name so easily. His family had purchased a waterfront house just two years earlier, and Matthew, his mother, and his sister lived there during the summer months, with his father driving in from D.C. for the weekends.
“Hi,” she replied.
He rocked back and forth on his heels, and she noticed that along with his collared shirt and khaki shorts, he wore a pair of blue-checkered Vans. “Do you have any ground coffee?”
“Sure. Right down that aisle.” Marissa pointed, even though Conner’s only had two aisles. “The beans are whole, but there’s a little machine to grind them.”
“Thanks. I don’t want to face my mom in the morning if she’s not caffeinated.”
His nose was sunburned and beginning to peel, Marissa noticed, and his hair was so blond it almost looked white.
“My dad’s the same.” Marissa smiled, even though her affable father and Matthew’s mother were nothing alike. Mrs. Bishop shopped at the store occasionally, always with special requests: She wanted Marissa to go to the back to get the freshest strawberries, even though the ones on the shelves had been picked just the previous morning. Or Mrs. Bishop would tell the butcher to reweigh the fresh turkey to make sure it was precisely two pounds, not one ounce under. She was the type of customer who never said “Please” or “Thank you.” Marissa couldn’t imagine what Mrs. Bishop would be like first thing in the morning, without coffee.
Matthew had inherited his mother’s fair coloring and high cheekbones, but his manner was nothing like hers. Marissa stole another look at him as he walked over to grab a package of coffee.
“Uh, hey … this might sound a little stupid, but I’ve actually never used one of these.”
“Oh, no problem!” Marissa hurried around the counter and went to stand beside him. “You just open up the top here and pour in the beans, put the bag underneath, then flip that red switch.”
Matthew grinned. “Seriously? It’s that simple?”
“You wouldn’t believe how many people ask for help,” Marissa fibbed. The directions for the machine were written out on a little sign right by it.
Matthew opened the silver bag of coffee and poured in the beans. When one fell out and skittered across the floor, he quickly bent down to scoop it up and tuck it in his pocket even though Marissa said, “Oh, don’t worry about it.” He pressed the red switch and the grinding noise erupted so loudly it made conversation impossible.
Marissa couldn’t decide if she should stay there or walk back to the counter, and her indecision made the choice for her.
The machine cut off and Matthew sealed up the bag. The smell of the medium-roast grounds was strong, but not unpleasantly so.
“Need anything else? Cream, maybe?”
“Nah, thanks, that’s it.”
She walked back to the register, stopping at the door to flip the OPEN sign to CLOSED, and he followed.
While she rang him up, he looked around. “You work here alone?”
“Yeah.” She felt a swell of pride. “I’m just about to close up.”
For a moment she worried he might misconstrue her words and think she was trying to get rid of him, but he only appeared impressed.
He pulled a crumpled $10 bill out of his pocket to pay for the coffee, and when she gave him his change, their hands brushed together.
He looked down at his shoes, then directly up at her. Their eyes locked as Marissa, who’d felt limp and gray for most of the summer, as if she were the one who’d turned into a ghost when Tina was killed, experienced an awakening.