Falling (29 page)

Emma pauses. Should she share her concerns with him, or is that unfair? How can she tell him that meeting his parents has brought her own parents' words, their worries, flooding back? She can't help but wonder if they are right. Is it too much to expect them to find the middle ground for the rest of their lives?

Jesse appears suddenly in the doorway, now in his pajamas. “Emma?”

“Yes, sweetie?” She is grateful for the interruption.

“Will you put me to bed?”

Tears well up in her eyes. She turns to hide her reaction, but
Dominic can see how affected she is by the power of those six words:
Will you put me to bed?

“Of course.” She blinks hard and gets up from the table, heading to the kitchen sink so she can pretend to get busy washing up. “Just give me a couple of minutes, okay?”

Jesse heads back upstairs as Dominic slides an arm around Emma's waist.

“Wow,” he says. “I told you he'd come around eventually.”

“You did.” Emma nods. For now, her other concerns have retreated into the background.

This is more important.

•   •   •

“What do you want me to read tonight?” Emma walks over to the bookshelf as Jesse climbs into bed.

“The book you bought me,” he says. “The one about the anteater who eats the aunt.”

Emma is surprised. When she bought him Roald Dahl's
Revolting Rhymes
earlier that summer, he had expressed no interest in it whatsoever. She told him this was her favorite writer when she was a child, and offered to read him a couple of the stories, but Jesse had said no, throwing the book on a chair and going straight back to his Minecraft game on Dominic's computer.

As far as she was aware, he hadn't even looked at the book, but now it seems she was wrong. She opens it to “The Ant Eater,” and starts reading, complete with exaggerated accents, both English and American, much to Jesse's delight.

As she reaches the middle of the story, she feels a small hand slip into hers, and she stops, just for a second, to enjoy the spontaneous affection.

Dominic walks past the bedroom door and hesitates, leaning against the door frame for a few seconds to watch them, his eyes alight with love. Emma pauses, thinking that Jesse will ask his dad to take over, but he doesn't. He lets her continue.

As she finishes the story, Jesse wriggles down, into the curve of her body, the perfect fit. He rolls onto his side, as she spoons him, tucking his small frame into her own. He takes her arm and pulls it over him, never letting go of her hand.

They lie there for a few minutes, before Emma gently pulls her hand away.

“Good night, Jesse,” she whispers. She stays where she is for a few seconds more, listening to him breathe.

“I love you,” she whispers, because that is what his father says to him every night, the last thing Jesse hears before he goes to sleep.

But he doesn't say anything back. Jesse is already fast asleep.

Not an hour later, Emma crawls into Dominic's bed, snuggling into his outstretched arm as Jesse had snuggled into hers.

This is what it's all about,
she thinks.

Love. Commitment. Family. The superficial stuff is irrelevant. Stacy is irrelevant. His family background is irrelevant. Cuddling with Jesse tonight was transcendent.
I am going to make this work,
she thinks.
No matter what.

E
mma walks around Terrain, wanting to buy something, unsure exactly what that something might be, or indeed, if there is anything here that she really needs. The retail space is gorgeous; she could move a bed into a corner of the store and live here happily for the rest of her life. She wanders around slowly, trying to decide whether to purchase a marble cloche, a gorgeous cheeseboard, the distressed wood tray.

There are plants everywhere. Emma has never been good with indoor plants, invariably killing them within a month. She sees dozens of terrariums on display, but she's pretty sure she would kill whatever plants are kept inside those, too.

She is meeting Sophie and Teddy for tea in the café, but Sophie just texted her to say that she's still waiting for her mother, who is stuck behind a school bus, hence Emma's impromptu shopping interlude.

She pauses by a row of cool rubber rain boots, tries on a French quilted jacket that she probably wouldn't ever wear. She fingers scarves, moves slowly along the glass jewelry cabinet, walks to the front of the store and picks up every candle, smelling it, until she hears her name.

“Emma!” Sophie is bustling through the store's displays, her hair loosely pulled back in a messy bun, immaculate in tight jeans, a white T-shirt, ballet flats. She is wearing no makeup but looks stunning. Behind her is her mother, Teddy, elegant in similar clothes, a cashmere cardigan, the same huge smile as Sophie.

“You both look so gorgeous,” says Emma, hugging them.

“I'm so sorry we're late,” says Sophie, as the three of them walk to the café counter to order tea.

“My fault, I'm afraid,” says Teddy. “We timed it horribly. I always forget about the school buses. I don't know why they don't pull over. They used to, when I first moved here. When Sophie was in school, the drivers always let you pass.”

“The driver on
my
route always lets me pass,” says Sophie.

“It must be because you're young and beautiful. I sat behind him almost the entire way to your house to pick you up, with a huge line of cars behind me. I only minded because I knew I was going to be late, but there was nothing I could do. I turned on NPR and listened to a fascinating interview with Terry Gross. The woman behind me was not happy, though. She honked a number of times.”

Sophie rolls her eyes. “That's probably why he didn't let any of you pass. Frankly, if I were a bus driver and had a woman behind me, honking, in a Range Rover, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't let her pass, either.”

Startled, Teddy looks at her daughter. “How did you know it was a Range Rover?”

Sophie just shakes her head and laughs, turning to Emma. “Have
you
noticed the daily uniform in town?”

“Lululemon, straightened hair, and a Range Rover? That uniform?”

“That would be the one.”

“No,” says Emma, shaking her head. “I can't say I've noticed.” And all three laugh.

They take their teas to a table and sit down, shrugging off jackets and slipping them onto the backs of their chairs.

“It's so chilly now,” says Teddy, rubbing her arms and warming her hands around her mug of tea. “I'm always surprised when the temperatures start falling again every September.”

“We're practically in October,” says Sophie. “I saw Christmas decorations in a store the other day, which made me feel ill. Much too early.”

“I completely agree.” Teddy rolls her eyes. “They put them out earlier every year. Soon we'll be looking at garlands and tinsel in July.” She turns to Emma. “Sophie mentioned you just got back from England with Dominic. How did that go?”

“It was . . .” Emma pauses. She can't lie. She can't say it was wonderful. She can't not say that they cut their trip short because of the way her mother treated Dominic, because of the things her mother said. She sighs. “It was interesting,” she says eventually. “And kind of awful, if I'm honest.”

“What happened?” asks Sophie in alarm.

Emma tells them the whole story. She tells them about England, about her parents, about her decision to ignore them and her belief that they didn't know what they were talking about until she met Dominic's parents. She tells them how she's realized that he
does
come from a very different world, and that while she knows what she has
found with Dominic and Jesse is very special and worth fighting for, she cannot get rid of the sinking feeling that her parents may be right.

It is a relief to talk about this. It has been pent up inside her for days, and it has started to put a wedge between them.

When Jesse asked her to read to him, requested that she perform the nightly routine that by rights used to belong to his father, she thought she could push her fears aside about there being too many differences between them for it to work.

Her doubts are not so easily dismissed.

It isn't that she wants a big life, or more money, or—heaven forbid—the trappings of the life she left behind in New York; it's that she was raised with museums, and art galleries, and theater; she was raised with horseback riding, and ballet, and hunts. It isn't that she wants any of that today, but that she has spent her life thinking that she was supposed to want those things, supposed to end up in much the same life as the one in which she was raised.

“What do you think?” she asks finally, her worried eyes moving from Sophie to Teddy, and back again. “What do you think I should do?”

“Do?”
Teddy frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Should we carry on, or should I leave now before anyone gets too hurt? It worries me that we're so different. I don't care that he's a bartender and a carpenter. I've never cared about that stuff, but”—she pauses, embarrassed to admit this, but seeking advice from people she trusts—“is it okay that he doesn't have any ambition? It's not like he's dreaming of one day opening his own bar, or becoming a master carpenter and founding the number-one cabinetry installation company in Fairfield County, with a team of fabulously talented men working for him. Is that okay? He's really happy exactly where he is,
and although part of me loves that about him, I don't quite understand it.” She sighs and buries her head in her hands. “God! I can't even believe I'm saying this. I never thought any of this would matter. One of the things I love about him is that he's not competitive with anyone. He's more comfortable in his skin than any man I have ever met.”

“Why do you think that is?” asks Teddy.

Emma pauses to think. “He says he wasn't always like this. I think it's because he made a deliberate choice not to be like his parents. I think part of making any choice as deliberate as that must give you a sense of peace.”

Teddy peers at her, mystified. “And isn't that the same as the deliberate choice you have made to leave your old life behind and follow your heart? I don't see what the problem is.”

“That's all true.” Emma nods. “I have made a deliberate choice and in so many ways I am happier than I ever thought I could be, or would be. But what if all that isn't enough?” She muses out loud. “Even though he is making a deliberate choice to be something other than his destiny now, don't we all turn into our parents over time? How can we avoid following that pattern as we age? We make choices about how we want to be seen in the world, but as we grow older don't we all forget to hold those constructs up, don't we all start falling into the patterns of our youth? Doesn't our essence always win out? And if so, what's Dominic's essence?” She pauses for breath, unaware of the tinge of hysteria in her voice. “And that's not the only thing. We're so different. He likes sports, and beer, and bars. I like books, and theater, and good wine.”

“No, you don't,” says Sophie, laughing.

Emma stares at her. “What do you mean? Of course I do.”

“You don't. I mean, who am I to tell you what you like and don't
like, but I've known you for quite a long time, and I've only seen you drink pinot noir and Whispering Angel, which is good but not that good, and vodka. Secondly, when was the last time you went to the theater?”

Emma sits back. “I am
desperate
to see
Hamilton
.”

“But when was the last time you went?”

“A while ago,” says Emma sheepishly.

“A year? Two years? More?”

“Maybe a couple of years.” Emma attempts to brush over it. “The point is, I want to see
Hamilton
and I can't bring Dominic with me because he hates the theater.”

“First of all, isn't
Hamilton
mostly rap?” says Sophie. “It's not exactly Arthur Miller. I'm pretty sure he'll love it. Everybody loves it. Secondly, if you really think he'd hate it, take someone else. Take me! Take my mom!” Teddy nods her head enthusiastically. “So what if he doesn't like theater?”

“I really like theater,” says Teddy. “I'd love to see
Hamilton
.”

“You're missing the point,” says Emma, as Teddy beams a benevolent smile upon her.

“I don't think so, my dear,” she says gently. “I think we very much get the point. The point is that you're terrified that Dominic is not who he appears to be, even though all the evidence suggests he is
exactly
as he appears. And, you want him to be just like you, to want the same things you want, to like doing the same things you like doing, to fulfill all your wants and needs.”

Emma looks at her. “When you put it like that, it sounds completely crazy.”

Teddy nods. “It does, doesn't it?”

“But it isn't unreasonable to want to have the same aspirations.
The same likes and dislikes. Isn't that what good relationships are based on?”

“In my experience,” says Teddy, “good relationships are based on kindness. On putting the person you love before yourself. On thinking of what you can do to make that person happy. Good relationships require kindness, commitment, and appreciation. I think you have all of those, do you not? Despite what you just said about being frightened of him becoming like his parents, you're not really worried about that, are you?”

Emma hesitates, thinking. “Maybe not,” she says eventually. “But if your lifestyle choices are different?”

“They aren't so different, though, are they?” says Sophie. “You both love your homes, the beach, leading a pretty quiet life. It's not like one of you wants to be out at fancy restaurants every night while the other is a hermit. You care about your friends, and Jesse. Isn't that the stuff that matters?”

“You don't think the other things get in the way? You don't think my parents are right? That we are from such different worlds, that relationships are hard enough, that throwing two people together who come from such different places means their union is destined for disaster?”

“I don't think that.” Sophie looks at her mother. “Do you?”

Teddy shakes her head. “That's what friends are for,” she says. “You don't have to watch football games with Dominic. I'm sure he's got lots of friends who can hang out with him for that. Just as you have people who can come to the theater with you.”

“Not that you actually go to the theater,” mutters Sophie, shrugging as Emma shoots her a look.

“He is a wonderful man.” Sophie leans forward. “You cannot
throw this away because of some ridiculous, superficial reason. You're more worried about being judged by other people; that somehow they will think Dominic isn't good enough for you, which means that you're worried you're not good enough.”

Teddy looks at her daughter approvingly.

“She's right,” she says to Emma. “Even though it may be difficult to hear. The Emma who is worrying about what people think, or how you might be judged, isn't the Emma I've come to know this summer. I've known you awhile, and the Emma you have become, the Emma I have gotten to know since you met Dominic, is my favorite Emma of all.”

“
She's
right,” says Sophie. “The two of you are great together. And think about Jesse. He's attached now. There is more at stake than just the two of you.”

Emma nods. There is a long pause before she asks, “You really don't think we're going to turn into his parents?”

Teddy lets out a bark of laughter. “I hardly think so, Emma. It is true that we often re-create our childhoods. However dysfunctional they may have been, we experience those feelings as ‘home,' and re-create them in some form in our adult lives. But it is also true that we have a choice, and if we are lucky, and aware, we seek out the very opposite, which is exactly what Dominic has done, and what you are doing now.”

As Emma listens, she feels the weight of anxiety lift for the first time since she and Dominic left England. “I do love him,” she says, and she smiles her first genuine smile in days.

“I know,” says Sophie. “This is all about your parents. You moved across the Atlantic to get away from them. You moved because you didn't have anything in common with them. You didn't want the life they had, and you didn't want the life they wanted for you. That you
are only now paying attention to what they think is craziness. From what you've always told me, your mother doesn't want what's best for you, she wants what's best for
her
, right? Doesn't she want whatever will somehow elevate her status in the world?”

“Thank you for the reminder. You are absolutely right.”

“I know. So can we just forget about your parents and move on?”

“Okay,” Emma says carefully. Then, “Yes!” Her friends have told her it's okay to trust her instincts; they've confirmed for her that her choices are good.

“Shall we ask if they have champagne?” Sophie laughs. “I think it would be entirely appropriate at this point to celebrate the first day of the rest of your life.”