He’s midsip of beer, and his eyes widen over his glass. He comes up for air with a froth mustache. “You are?”
“Yeah. I mean, we can’t keep commuting back and forth like this forever. And I know it would technically be easier for me to move to Chicago, since I can write from anywhere.”
“But you love it here. The more I see you in your zone, the more I know it wouldn’t make sense for you to leave. I want you to be somewhere you’re happy.”
“Maybe we can get Dezzie to move out here.”
His eyes are so bright and happy. It feels like we’re actually doing this.
We finish our meal and go home and make love.
Afterward, Seth lights a fire in the fire pit while I call Dezzie. She doesn’t pick up. She must be sleeping.
A very selfish part of me is glad. I want to be there for her, but I don’t want to diminish the loveliness of this night with sadness. I want to snuggle up with Seth under the stars.
And I do.
We go to bed early and sleep in ’til the luxuriant hour of 10:00 a.m. Seth’s arms are around me when I open my eyes. He didn’t get up to go running, which is unusual.
“You’re here,” I say happily.
He pulls me tight against him. “I’m here.”
We hold each other for a while, and then he goes to make breakfast. I look at my phone and see a text from Dezzie asking if I can talk.
I go outside to call her.
“Hey, love,” I say when she picks up. “How are you doing?”
Her voice is a croak as she tells me how poorly she slept, how much she misses Rob even though she hates him.
“Molls, I just want him to come back. Isn’t that sick?”
“Oh, sweets. It’s not sick. You still love him.”
“But I should despise him. I do despise him.”
“Two things can be true at once. They probably will be for a long time.”
Her mom comes and grabs her to help with cooking, and I promise to call her later.
Which is my cue to start cooking too.
I go to the kitchen, where Seth has left me coffee, a plate of bacon, and a muffin, like an angel. I munch on it and muse over what to do first. I need to pull the hens out of the brine and stuff them, shell beans, make garlic butter, braise the cranberries … I get lost for an hour in food prep, humming to myself, content.
In the living room, Seth is FaceTiming with his family, who are at Dave and Clara’s. I can hear the boys screaming through the phone all the way from the kitchen. I smile to myself as Seth giggles with them.
“Hold on,” he says. “I’m going to put Molly on.”
He walks in with his entire family peering out from his phone.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Molly!” they chorus.
“Happy Thanksgiving to you!”
“Doesn’t Molly look so cute stuffing apple slices up the butts of tiny chickens?” Seth asks.
“Molly would look gorgeous stuffing any butts,” his dad says.
I choke. “Is that a sex joke?” I mouth to Seth.
He makes a horrified face. “I think so,” he mouths back.
“Grandpa said butts!” Max screams.
“Lucky you,” Clara say dryly.
“All right, fam. I gotta help Molly with butt stuff,” Seth says, pinching my ass. “We miss you.”
“Love to you both!” Barb calls.
Seth hangs up, laughing. “Pure chaos over there.”
“Are you regretting not going?”
“Not even a little bit,” he says, wrapping his arms around me and kissing my neck. “Now, what can I do to help?”
I put him to work peeling and slicing potatoes for the gratin while I grate cheese and chop onions. Cooking elaborate meals with Seth is a joy. Maybe, I think, as I watch him squint at the potatoes to cut them as thin as possible, I really do want this.
