Chapter 6: Real Life

The large bedroom would be wonderful if I were sharing it with anyone else.

The children's room is near the front of Tideglass House, in the original building. Doors stick there. Windows need a book beneath them to stay open, and the old boards creak even when everyone is sitting still. Our new room occupies the enormous addition at the back. Nothing sticks or rattles. Everything works exactly as an expensive renovation should.

The king-size bed has exceptionally soft sheets. Beyond the double doors, a balcony overlooks the saltwater pool, with the bluffs farther out. There's a deep stone bathtub and a glass shower big enough for two people, lined with dark slate.

There is no door between either of those things and the bed.

Someone decided the toilet needed an enclosure but apparently saw no reason for the rest of us to have privacy. If I want to get dressed this week, I can do it in front of Rhys, balance inside the very small toilet compartment, or try to reach the outdoor shower by the guesthouse without anyone asking why.

For now, at least, he's gone. I use the fifteen minutes we're supposed to spend resting to take a shower alone. Then I put on jeans and a fresh white T-shirt.

Neither of us has ever been interested in fashionable clothes. Rhys needs things he can work in. They get worn out or damaged quickly enough that buying something expensive would be pointless. I have a less practical reason: I don't want another decision to make. Finding jeans and shirts I felt comfortable in took years. I see no reason to repeat the process.

I remember lying beside him with the bedside light on. His hair was untidy, the bit at the front refusing to lie down. He kissed the lower curve of my stomach, then the place where my thigh met my hip. With his mouth against my skin, he told me there wasn't a thing he'd change.

I shiver despite the warm room. I am not going to spend my whole week remembering that.

I gather my hair into a knot and head downstairs.

Lunch is on the wooden patio table. A long board of cured meat, cheese and other small things to eat takes up most of the space. Livia has assigned our seats with little cards. Bianca and Jules have the vegan food directly in front of them. My place is opposite an enormous round of Brie. She knows us very well.

Rhys glances up from his phone when I come outside. For an instant I think he looks worried. Perhaps I only want him to. Before I can be certain, he puts the phone away and smiles. His hand closes around my waist, drawing me against his side.

I sit stiffly in the iron chair next to him. His arm shifts to rest across my shoulders.

At the head of the table, Livia stands. "I don't know whether anybody has read the schedules yet."

"You mean the thing holding my door open?" Bianca asks.

Jules has tucked two little pickles under her upper lip. She takes them out to say, "I thought you sent us classified evidence. Half the interesting parts are blacked out."

"Some things are supposed to be surprises. Most of it is what we always do."

Beside me, Rhys bites into a carrot. I feel the movement through the places we're touching. Breathing normally would press more of my ribs and chest against him. I sit very still and take small breaths instead.

"We're playing Cart Dash, though?" Jules asks eagerly.

Bianca speaks at the same time. "And going to Second Shelf?"

"Obviously. Both are on there."

The bookstore and the grocery contest are about as different as our coastal traditions get. Bianca and I could spend all afternoon choosing books. Dane and Jules have spent three years defending their record at competitive grocery shopping. I still don't entirely understand what makes a victory official.

Rhys and I used to wonder whether Livia invented Cart Dash because she couldn't bear another ordinary shopping trip with us. The market has a bakery we all love and an aisle devoted to local snacks. Getting six people through it takes forever. Just when five of us are ready to leave, somebody has found something else to taste. We have expensive tastes and very little discipline, particularly after a drink.

"Tonight doesn't need much organizing," Livia continues. "We can swim, cook outside. I want us all to have some time together."

Dane raises his glass. "Then here's to having everyone here."

It's our fifth toast today. Rhys lifts his arm off my shoulders to join in. I reach for the open prosecco and move my chair several inches away, pretending I need the room to pour.

"And to another Cart Dash victory," Jules adds.

I'd like to propose enough wine that I can sleep until this stops being real.

Bianca is studying me from across the table. Her eyebrows draw together slightly. I smile harder and raise my glass toward her.

"And the man at Second Shelf who apparently thinks we're still entitled to student prices."

Her answering smile is small and uncertain. She touches her water glass to mine. Alcohol started upsetting her stomach years ago, and she stopped drinking it.

"I hope he never asks when we graduated."

Livia tips the bottle and looks into it. "Already? We'll need another."

I'm out of my seat before Rhys can offer. He starts to stand anyway. I press his shoulders back toward the chair.

"Don't get up, sweetheart. I'll take care of it."

I make it sound loving. I don't mean it that way.

"Thanks, Mara," Livia calls as I head for the doors. "It should be unlocked."

Her father's renovations included converting the old stone cellar into a temperature-controlled room for his wine. There's a code on the door, although Livia leaves it open when we're here so nobody has to ask before helping themselves.

I find the right label almost immediately. Presumably anything we're drinking this quickly doesn't cost a thousand dollars. Then again, Livia might have brought out something extraordinary for our last visit. None of us would know enough to appreciate the difference.

She's put so much thought into making this week good. I stand there with the bottle, miserable that I can't enjoy what she's done.

We can give her today. Tomorrow we'll explain.

When I reach the patio again, everyone is laughing. They look completely at ease. Rhys meets my eyes without losing any of his smile.

Apparently he's enjoying himself too. Being here with his ex-fiancée doesn't trouble him. Sharing a room arranged for people who intend to spend a great deal of time naked together doesn't trouble him either.

He shows no sign that seeing me costs him any effort at all.

I get angrier with every step around the table. I can't think about anything except him, and he seems fine. I don't want him to be fine. Not while this hurts so much.

Fine, Mara. You can look happy too. Your friends deserve that much.

I put down the wine and stop behind his chair. My hands move over his shoulders and down onto his chest. Leaning close, I can feel his steady heartbeat beneath my palms.

I want him to lose at least a little of that composure.

I turn my face into his neck. His skin is warm and smells faintly of pine and clove.

"Anybody ready to get in the pool?"

Gooseflesh rises beneath my cheek. At last, something I can be pleased about.

"I have a theory," Jules announces. "We've had rather a lot to dr—drin—" She tries the word again, then abandons it. "Alcohol."

"You think?" I ask.

I'm attempting to stand on a slippery floating mat. Jules is crouched on the other end. Livia's father's fifth wife bought these for exercising on the water a couple of years ago. Until this evening I'd forgotten they existed.

Jules shrieks. Dane dives sideways as the mat tips and throws us back into the pool. We've done this at least six times.

We come up spluttering. Jules throws her wet reddish-gold hair away from her face.

"Yes," she says firmly. "Every one of us."

I point toward the patio. Bianca, Livia and Rhys are playing poker at the table. "They seem to be managing."

"Livia has had plenty," Dane assures me. "She just concentrates better when there's a chance to win. She came here determined to beat Bianca at cards."

"Wasn't there something about marrying you?"

"There was also that."

He swims toward the illuminated edge of the pool. Jules makes another attempt to climb onto the mat. I follow Dane instead.

"So tell me how you got here. The proposal."

"Shouldn't Livia get to tell you?"

"She'll give me three facts and call it finished. I want to hear what actually happened."

"I'm right here!" Livia calls from the table. She puts her cards down. "Some of us know when a story is long enough. Also, straight flush."

Bianca looks almost apologetic as she shows her own cards. "Mine's a royal. Sorry."

Livia bends forward until her forehead rests on the table. Behind us, Jules hits the water again with a loud slap.

Dane lowers his voice. "I first asked her a year ago."

My hand smacks his arm before I mean to move it.

"A year? You've kept this from us for an entire year?"

"We weren't engaged. She still didn't want to get married. She wouldn't even keep the ring. Then she heard about the sale a few weeks back, and—"

He checks the table. Livia is busy shuffling.

"She asked me instead."

"She did?"

"And I turned her down."

I stare at him. He rubs the back of his neck.

"It seemed too sudden. You know what this place means to her. Before her parents separated, it was the last place where they really felt like a family. Then she started bringing you and Bianca. Eventually all of us. She thinks of this house as home. When her dad said he was selling it, I thought she wanted to get married because everything else was changing. I couldn't agree for that reason."

"You asked. She refused. She asked. You refused. Have I got that right?"

He nods. "That was about six weeks ago. I thought she was still angry with me. Then a couple of weeks ago, she asked again. This time she'd planned everything. An entire scavenger hunt."

"She did your sort of proposal."

"Exactly."

He smiles before continuing.

"At the end we were in a city park. She actually knelt down. She told me she'd always wanted us to stay together. She'd been too scared to believe forever was possible, so she'd never let herself say that was what she wanted. After her parents, you understand. And Bianca's."

He hesitates, looking sorry. "And yours."

Livia and I understood that about each other early on. Her father kept getting married and divorced. My parents stayed married but rarely seemed glad about it. She was afraid of a bitter separation. I was afraid of a husband who stayed after he'd stopped loving me, who couldn't quite make himself go.

When Rhys ended things, I didn't cry in front of him. I didn't ask him to explain or beg him to reconsider. Being without him hurt. Being with him while knowing he no longer wanted me would have been worse.

Dane, Rhys and Jules grew up with parents who loved each other and stayed together. Bianca's separated when she was young, but they still liked one another. In Santa Fe they lived a block apart and regularly ate dinner together with their new spouses. Divorce hadn't meant losing their family.

"She told me she didn't want her dad deciding things for her anymore," Dane says. "Including by making her do the opposite of whatever he'd do. I said yes. Then I started working on a proposal of my own."

"Of course you did. Nobody on Orchard Avenue ever accused you of underplanning a party."

He laughs and pushes his wet hair back.

"I wanted her to be sure I wanted it too. Maybe getting married during the trip where we say goodbye to this place is a strange idea. I don't know. I just want her to have a perfect week."

My chest hurts, and my palms itch.

"I'm so happy for you. Both of you."

He gives me an uneven grin and kisses the top of my head, loudly.

"Thanks, Mara. We needed you and Rhys to show us how. You do know that, right?"

"We didn't do anything."

"You did. You were friends first, and then you took the chance. Livia was frightened that asking for more would spoil what all six of us had. She tells me that all the time. Seeing you two still so in love after all these years helped her believe we could make it work."

I have to swallow before I can breathe comfortably. I look toward the table. Rhys is occupied with his phone, not watching us. My face and neck feel hot anyway.

"Look!" Jules shouts behind us. "I've finally mastered—"

Another splash ends the announcement.

"I need the bathroom," I tell Dane, pulling myself out of the pool. "Or a glass of water. Something."

"If you don't know which, you should probably consult a doctor!"

I turn in the doorway. "Dane. I am a doctor."

"I'd ask for an independent opinion."

He pushes off backward and swims toward Jules.

I dry myself as I walk through the quiet, cool house. Nobody has cleaned the kitchen. I wipe the worktops and put the empty bottles in the recycling before going to the little powder room beside the laundry.

This part of the house has been here since the early twentieth century. The bathroom is so narrow that most people don't bother with it.

I grip the sink with both hands and try to slow my breathing. In the mirror my face is sunburned. My hair has escaped its knot and dried into salty tangles. So much for showering. Perhaps I can rinse off again while everyone stays outside.

Or I could pack everything and leave. Then I wouldn't have to spend their wedding listening to them thank us for a relationship we no longer have.

I can't see how to get through this without hurting them.

I use the toilet, then wash with the grapefruit soap Livia's father supplies throughout his properties. After one more careful breath, I open the door.

Rhys is waiting in the narrow passage. I want to close it again immediately. For one useless instant I imagine reopening it and finding him gone.

Voices overlap in the kitchen down the hall. Before I can decide what to do, he moves forward, backing me into the bathroom, and closes the door behind him.

My heart is beating too fast. My arms and legs feel hot and unreliable. I switched the light off before opening the door, and he doesn't turn it on. The motion-sensor night-light beside the mirror is the only illumination. I can just make out his face.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Try to calm down."