Page 53 of Even After This
“He was surprised when I told him you were out of town—”
“Wait.” I tap my finger on my front teeth. “He called you?”
“Yeah. He sounded worried and asked why you aren’t returning his calls.”
I rest my forehead on the windowpane. “Molly, that’s weird.”
“Not with your history.” She releases a long sigh. “I don’t know, what if he’s the person you didn’t know to hope for? You lost your husband, but the best man in your wedding could be a safe place for you to land. There’s something beautiful about it.”
The person I didn’t know to hope for? As if he alone can solve my problems? Is that what she thinks?
I drift from the conversation. Stanley isn’t unattractive. He’s a little taller than I am but with a small frame. His green eyes go nicely with his brown hair. But he does nothing for me in the attraction department. To no avail, I spent years during my marriage trying to find some nice, introverted, supportive, homely woman for Stanley.
My gaze follows a black Suburban as it rounds the circle drive to the hotel. I lose track of it when it drives under the awning. “I don’t have those kinds of feelings for Stanley. He’s a friend. That’s all.”
Molly groans. “How would you know if he couldn’t be more? You don’t let yourself think about other men.”
A layer of sadness accompanies the realization that my sister isn’t always someone I can safely confide in. I clench my fist and knock on the window three times. “I think of other men, Molly. Just not Stanley.”
As a matter of fact, a certain beautiful-souled man is due to arrive in a few minutes.
“Well, I think you should reconsider. He’s loved you for years and would be a good option for you.”
Good option.
Safe.
The person Molly, if she got her way with my dating life, thinks I should hope for?
What would she do if she knew about Harlan? Definitely not the safe option she wants for me. But I’ve been living safe for quite some time, and it’s not doing anything for me anymore.
I crane my neck and catch a glimpse of the clock across the room. Shoot. “Gotta go, Mol. Will you be at the airport when I land, or should I Uber?”
“Of course I’ll be there, Meredith.” She pauses. “I’m always there.”
I wonder if she knows that’s kind of a problem. For both of us.
I turn on my heel and walk to the unmade bed. “Okay. See you later.”
As soon as she says goodbye, I toss the phone down, plop on the bed, and hold my head in my hands. What’s going on? I’m not even home yet, and the luster of this vacation is dulling. Was this trip a total waste?
Prissy won’t admit it, but I think she’s disappointed I didn’t commit to purchasing a property.
Then there’s Harlan.
Harlan, who is coming to get me any minute now even though I’m not ready. I shoot to my feet and survey the room.
All of a sudden I’m a human tornado sifting through the space for lost belongings. Brochures, receipts, and chocolate wrappers go flying while I hunt for anything I might need to take home. In spite of its lack of use, I run to check the safe in the closet. Oh no. What if I left my favorite pair of underwear in the mountain of towels on the bathroom floor?
My thoughts are broken by a robust knock on the door, followed by a gruff-sounding “Room service.”
Freezing, I contemplate an absurd escape to the balcony. It works in the movies.
“Mer?” Two more knocks.
Shoot. “Coming.”
I open the door, and the man in front of me is so ruggedly handsome, I’m embodied by a flaky teenager.
