Page 10

“That part matters,” I say.

“A lot.”

“And there’s no guarantee he’d want what I want.”

“There’s no guarantee he’d fit the life you’ve already planned for him.”

“I’m beginning to see why people prefer fantasy versions of this conversation.”

Blair smiles, but neither of us turns it back into a joke. I sit with the idea a little longer. Locke has work he likes, friends who have nothing to do with Rachel, money of his own, opinions nobody gave him permission to develop. Rachel gave him life somehow. She didn’t get ownership with it.

That distinction is the only reason I can keep considering any of this without feeling sick. I point at Blair. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You’re remarkably comfortable discussing other people bringing impossible men into the world.”

“I’m comfortable discussing many things I don’t intend to do myself.”

“When was your last relationship?”

Blair’s hand moves toward her glass.

“Not the subject.”

There’s enough finality in the answer that I leave it alone.

We stay another half hour, talking mostly about things that have nothing to do with death, dating, or impossible men. When we finally stand to leave, an image of Megan comes back to me without warning.

Not the conference room. Not the administrator’s face.

Silver hoops swinging while she complained about beige paint. My hand stays on the back of the booth. The glimpse is gone almost immediately, but I need another second before I can move.

Blair doesn’t ask. She only waits while I pick up my purse.

Megan had plans for Saturday.

Chapter Three

Laura

At home, I close the front door behind me and leave my purse on the entry table. The condo is exactly as quiet as I expected.

I don’t want another Dave. Dave wasn’t replaceable. I want what we had because it was good, and I don’t see anything disloyal in admitting that anymore. The knitting basket is still beside the sofa.

“Oh, for God’s sake.”

It’s still a basket. I go upstairs, change out of my work clothes, and wash my face. By the time I pull on soft pants and a T-shirt, the whole idea has become even more ridiculous, which should make it easier to forget.

It doesn’t. I make it all the way downstairs before I stop.

Tomorrow, I could download another dating app. The thought gives me an immediate flash of Martin across a restaurant table explaining that his preferred women are tall, thin, and blonde, as though I’d asked for specifications.

I could keep doing the sensible thing until something works. Maybe eventually it would. I’m just no longer sure the sensible choice is the one I actually want. For another minute, I argue with myself as if there’s a second person here to persuade.

I don’t have to decide tonight. The thought arrives so naturally that I almost accept it. I could sleep on this, put some distance between me and one impossible night in Rachel’s backyard, and decide tomorrow whether any sane forty-eight-year-old woman would seriously try it.

Then I see Megan’s silver hoops swinging again.