Thought I Knew You(65)

We walked back to his apartment in oddly comfortable silence. I linked my arm through his and wondered how our friendship had bounced back and forth across the line, and yet, we still felt so easy. I decided the answer was because he was Drew, because I could say anything to him, and he would always be there. He had been there for me, regardless of what it cost him, all my life. Had I ever repaid him? No, not likely.

I was struck with a sudden strong urge to go home, to do something, for the first time, for my old friend. I could leave him alone and let him love another woman, a woman so fantastic that she’d left him alone with me, his unrequited love.

Surely, she knew about us. Even if he had never explicitly told her, she was too savvy not to see it, plain in front of her face. She was also too smart to want a man who wanted someone else. I realized then that her leaving us alone was a way to ferret out who he really loved, and I smiled. In another lifetime, I would have liked being friends with Olivia.

When we got back to Drew’s apartment, I kissed him on the cheek and turned to go into the guest room. He grabbed my elbow and pulled me to him, his face inches from mine. His breath, hot on my neck, sent chills down my spine.

“Drew, think about it first, okay?” I pulled away. “Don’t throw away what you have. Be sure of what you want.” Gently, I disengaged his hand from my arm and walked into the guest room. I shut the door behind me and leaned against it. I heard him go into his room and close the door.



I got into bed and slept fitfully. I waited for the creaking door, the soft pad of footsteps. I wondered if he slept any better than I did. When the first light of the morning shone in my window, a quicksilver of pink and gold, I got up and packed. I found an envelope and a pen in the kitchen and wrote a quick note:

Figure out what will make you happy and do it. For once in your life, do something for you, not me.

I slipped out the front door, into the streets of New York. Oddly for a place known as “the city that never sleeps,” the streets were deserted. I hailed a cab to Penn Station and hopped the first train to Annandale.

I cried the entire way home.





Chapter 27



That year, I cooked Thanksgiving dinner in its entirety. Mom and Dad came over, and I invited Rob and Robin Masters. Surprisingly, they didn’t have plans and happily accepted. I did not call Drew, and he did not call me. The evening felt festive, hopeful.

I thought of Greg a few times, recalling past Thanksgivings. Specifically, the year he had insisted on deep-frying a turkey. Mom was skeptical, but he swore it was the absolute juiciest turkey. He started at three in the afternoon, and at nine o’clock, we were finally sitting down to eat. He cut into the bird along the breast bone, and the inside shone white with a touch of pink. Mom looked as if she might cry. He ran to the closest grocery store and bought four leathery rotisserie chickens. He cut them up and presented them on the turkey platter, smothered in Mom’s gravy. We almost didn’t know the difference. Almost.

I recounted the story at the dinner table, and Hannah seemed to delight in the memory, although she couldn’t have been more than a year old. I have to bring him up more, I thought. Let her talk about him, let her remember him.



With Thanksgiving over, I began preparations for Christmas, our second without Greg. I didn’t count on Drew coming. I hadn’t heard from him since the gallery opening. I was sad about that, but not overly so. I didn’t doubt that we’d still be friends. We just needed time, and I had tons of that.

The first week in December, we went to the tree farm, something we used to do as a foursome. I let Leah pick the tree and told Hannah she could pick it the next year. I made Christmas lists and decorated the house. I even dug out all the Christmas CDs and sang with the girls.



Mom watched the kids while I trekked back to the mall. I was reminded of the previous year’s trip, and for the millionth time, I was content with how far I’d come in the past year. There would be no overabundance of toys and no Drew to distract us. In some ways, Christmas could very well be harder.

I pushed the cart up and down the aisles of the toy store. Hannah wanted another Barbie. She’d also asked for a Wii. Greg had always been adamantly against video games. But I had researched age-appropriate games and decided I could set limits. The Wii, at least, had active games that involved jumping around and dancing. I purchased the game console, a combined gift for both girls, and a game for each. I added a few small things for their stockings and paid just under two hundred dollars, drastically different from last year’s spending spree. We were back to normal, a new kind of normal. I drove home and stashed the gifts in my bedroom closet. I would wrap them on Christmas Eve, only a few short days away.