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WHEN SHE FALLS
Just one month from med school graduation, Ethan Chase is about to start the life of his dreams, with a promising career and supermodel-with-a-Harvard-degree fiancée. Problem is, he might want something more, and he might have just found her
Prologue
Sunday morning, December 21, Chatham, MA
Ethan Chase slumps into the rocking chair, gaze lost in the wild murals spilling across the nursery wall. Her murals. All kinetic energy and color, the visual equivalent of being caught up in a wave and swept under. Equal parts exhilarating and terrifying.
Closing his eyes, he returns to the grounding warmth of Abby, to the throb of her newborn heart against his chest. She’s making little sucking sounds against his shirt, dozing and content after her early morning feeding.
“Let me take her, honey,” his mother offers. “You look exhausted.”
Too numb to resist, he hands off his daughter. Her delicate cupid’s bow twitches, rooting against her grandmother’s sweater, and he wonders yet again how this small, perfect creature could be his, how she could have been brought into the universe just two short months ago.
Two months. Another life.
The radiator creaks and ticks, sending off a fresh burst of heat, but the room is still too cold. She’d wanted their first home to have character and had fallen in love with the most impractical of choices: a drafty, salt-box colonial that predated the Revolutionary War. He’d been hoping for new construction, but how could he have said no? He closed his eyes and winced, picturing the way her face lit up the first time they pulled into the gravel driveway. That expression had said it all.
We’re home.
“Maybe you should try to get some sleep?”
He snaps open his eyes, forcing his mind back to the moment. “Can’t. The cab will be here in a few minutes.”
“Already?” Mom checks her Movado, brow furrowing. “It feels like I just got here.”
“Yeah, I know. Time’s been doing weird things lately.”
He pulls his lips into an anemic smile, wanting more than anything to show her he’s okay, but when their eyes meet, it’s clear she sees through the façade.
“Are you –?” He clears his throat. “Are you sure you’ll be okay here with Abby?”
“Oh, we’ll be just fine. She’s such an angel.”
“And Dad’s on his way? He promised he’d be here to help out.”
Mom nods briskly, her petite frame bobbing like that of a frightened bird. “Of course, he will. His flight’s due into Logan at nine. He’ll probably be landing a few minutes after you take off.”
“Ships passing in the night, right? I guess some things never change.”
He says these words without bitterness, even though he knows he should feel something approaching resentment. That would be an emotion though, and right now, who gives a shit whether or not dad is rushing to be by his side?
“I wish…” Mom’s voice quivers, blue eyes glossy. “I just wish you didn’t have to go alone. Can’t you wait just one more hour? Your father really wants to go with you.”
“If I wait any longer, it might be too late.”
“I know, honey, but you also need to take care of yourself. Don’t do this alone. Please let us help you.”
She reaches out to take his hand and he accepts, squeezing with what feels like the right amount of pressure. It’s all acting though, because he can’t even look her in the eyes now. Can’t stand to see the sympathy there. To read her thoughts, the words she’s too gracious to say. How she knew it would come to this. How this outcome had been inevitable from the start. How she and dad had tried to save him from the heartache they could all see coming, like funnel clouds massing on the horizon.
He doesn’t want to see these things, because he doesn’t want to hate her.
Instead, he jumps up at the sound of tires crunching on gravel. Seconds later, the cab honks its arrival. “Gotta run.” He swings the duffel over his shoulder. “Thanks again, Mom. Thanks for coming.”
“Ethan, sweetheart,” she calls after him. “You’re going to make it through this.”
The words come out as more of a question, but he has nothing left in him to offer any reassurance. Instead, he promises to call as soon as he lands.
Fifteen minutes later, Ethan Chase curls into the back seat of a taxicab, body hurtling down the Mid-Cape highway, mind already three thousand miles away. Across a continent of space and time.
Both dreading and craving the answers that await him there.
*
2.
Five years earlier
Friday, March 11th, 4 a.m., Back Bay, Boston
Callie
At first, she had no idea where she was. Blackness. Cotton mouth and throbbing head. Cool linen against her skin. Naked. Not in her dorm room. Not alone.
Who the hell’s sleeping next to me?
The sensations rushed in, followed by fragmented memories of last night. Boston. Newbury Street. She’d been at the gallery, showing off her latest collection. Turn-out had been high, the crowds overwhelming. Patrons eager to shake her hand. Buzzing agents welcoming her back to the scene. Admirers and ‘close friends’ she couldn’t remember meeting. Paparazzi jockeying outside to get their shots, shouting how much they loved her new “Goth” look. Everyone wanting a piece of her.
Yeah… now she remembered why she’d run.
She lifted her head from a plush pillow, eyes adjusting to the darkness. The stranger in bed next to her was still asleep, softly snoring. Now more memories drifted to the surface. They’d met at the Gypsy Bar, sometime after midnight. He’d cozied up to her, paying for her drink without even asking. Smooth and sophisticated. Oozing confidence from every pore. Old enough to be her father.
Closing her eyes, she tried to picture this stranger’s face, but the features remained elusively generic. Tall and trim. Handsome, chiseled features. Full head of salt-and-pepper hair with matching stubble. Armani suit. Unbuttoned crisp white shirt without a tie. Lime-scented cologne. Rolex. Firm but gentle hands.
Now she remembered the short limo ride to his Copley Plaza suite. The throbbing pulse of Ecstasy, pot and alcohol as they mingled in her brain, stripping time of meaning, bending the world around her in impossible arcs of color. Man she’d been fucked up.
Had he slipped something into her drink?
No. She was pretty sure she’d done this to herself.
Slowly, achingly, the larger picture came into focus. The weeks of sleepless nights, starting with work on her thesis at Brown, then spilling over into frenetic, all-night fits of productivity at the studio. The wild partying, first on campus and then, when that became too lame, at the hottest night spots in New York and Boston. The old ‘friends’ who had popped up, as they always did, to reintroduce her to the life she’d sworn she’d leave behind for good this time.
Learn to identify the destructive patterns of behavior.
Okay, right. Five different shrinks in as many years had taught her how to do this so well that she knew exactly what was coming next. This time, the crash would be worse than ever. But how the hell did that insight help? So you knew the tsunami was coming when it was still just a swell crossing the ocean. Meanwhile, life broke your back and left you paralyzed on the shore, waiting to be crushed. Was there any other choice but to give in?
She spotted her Kate Spade bag on the floor and slipped out of bed to retrieve it. It took a few minutes of rummaging to find what she was looking for: a couple of Vicodin to dull the throbbing pain behind her eyes. She washed the chalky pills down with lukewarm, flat champagne, then padded across the carpet toward the bathroom.
At first, the thought was a simple one: I want to take a bath. The Plaza had luxurious, deep bathtubs and right now, sinking into one of them seemed like the only appealing thought in the world. She opened the faucets, fanning her fingers through tepid water before returning to the main room.
The hook-up guy was still asleep. With any luck, he wouldn’t wake up before she was long gone.
Returning to her bag, she found the items she needed: her sketch pad, iPod and an amber bottle of pills. She spent the next ten minutes furiously scratching the image in her mind onto paper – no charcoals so lipstick and eyeliner would have to do. Then, setting the sketch aside, she turned her attention to the iPod play list, obsessively checking and then re-checking the selections and order. Another wonderful trait inherited from Dad, no doubt.
When she was done, though, she knew it had been worth the effort. The choices were perfect. Nothing loud. Nothing sappy. No clichés. Just the right blend of mellow and deep, seamlessly fitting together.
It had to be a sign, right? Sure, the sheep would make a huge deal about the sketch, but the true work of art was in this iPod mix. Too bad no one else would ever get that.
She popped in the ear buds and slipped into the tub, welcoming the warmth and music that washed over her.
One pill on her tongue. Without thinking, she swallowed.
The second pill… still meant nothing. But five pills. Ten.
That would be something new.
She glanced down at her wrists, at the faint crisscross of scars. Laser treatments had faded them over the years, and in retrospect, the thought of ending things that way now seemed so juvenile, almost comical. Even the sight of blood made her dizzy.
But this way. It felt so natural. So clean and easy.
She stared at the cluster of small white pills, as innocuous-looking as breath mints in her palm, and amazingly, this time, she didn’t even hesitate.
*
3.
Sunday, March 18th, Radius, Boston
Ethan
“Congratulations on two amazing matches: plastics residency at NYU and my little girl in the same week! I hope you realize how lucky you are, kid.”
Taking his cue, Ethan grinned and raised a champagne glass to his future father-in-law. Byron Sachs, usually mannequin stiff in his gray wardrobe of Brooks Brothers suits, had been uncharacteristically outgoing tonight. He’d even told a few jokes that had approached being funny.
“Da-ad!” Jess reached across the table to take Ethan’s hand, perfectly manicured fingers (French tips this week) intertwining with his. “Don’t you know that I’m the lucky one?”
“You both are, dear.” Ethan’s mom beamed at her future daughter-in-law, then gave her a hug and peck on the cheek to complete the sweet scene.
The love fest had been going on like this for almost two hours, starting with family introductions over cocktails, and as the empty bottles of wine and champagne stacked up, all stiffness and formality had melted away. Looking around the table now, Ethan found it hard to believe the two sets of parents had just met tonight. The moms were acting more like reunited childhood friends. Tipsy, embarrassingly loud friends.
“Let’s order another bottle of champagne!” Lauren Sachs suggested.
“No, Mom.” Jess rolled her eyes as if she were the parent in this situation. “I think you’ve had enough for one night.”
“Oh lighten up, Jessie! Don’t be such a buzz kill.”
“We could head over to the Four Seasons for some coffee,” Ethan’s mom suggested diplomatically.
Jess jumped at the idea. “Kate, that’s perfect! The four of you can share a cab while Ethan walks me to South Station.”
“You’re not coming?”
“No, mom. Some of us have to work tomorrow.”
Everyone laughed at the comment, which was so classically Jess. As her mom had recounted earlier that evening, this was the little girl who, for her third grade science project, had made them trek all over New England in search of the perfect soil samples. Straight A’s since grade school. USTA nationally-ranked tennis player. Orchestral first violin. Editor-in-chief of the Daltonian. Class president her senior year. Harvard undergrad and law school. And now, on partner track at Vinesse and Cullen, the top corporate law firm in Manhattan. Just thinking about Jess’s accomplishments over the first 25 years of life was exhausting, and she showed no signs of slowing down.
Glancing at his fiancée now, Ethan wondered, for the thousandth time, how he’d been so lucky. It’s a thought that stayed with him as he walked his parents to the coat room.
“I like them,” Mom whispered into his ear, her breath fruity with Merlot. “Such a lovely family.”
“She’s definitely a keeper,” Dad agreed, glancing up from his iPhone.
“Thanks, guys. She’s pretty amazing.”
Ethan tried not to squirm as Mom pulled him into a hug. At six foot two, he always had to bend down to accept her affection. So had Dad, back in the days when his parents still put on the loving couple act.
“Well…” she gushed, “You deserve no less. Can’t you just join us for coffee? We’re having so much fun!”
“I know, but Jess is working on a big case. She needs to get back to New York tonight.”
“And you’ll be safe walking to the station?”
“We’ll take the T.”
“But can’t you just take a cab?”
“Mom… this is Boston, not Beirut. I grew up here, remember?”
“Yes, but it’s so late. I just want you to be careful.”
Five years ago, Ethan would have rolled his eyes and said something harsh about helicopter parents and getting a life. But things were different now. Mom had lost Abby and then, within a year, her marriage had fallen apart, so if she wanted to hover, then she certainly had earned that right.
“Don’t worry,” he said, helping her into her Burberry coat. “Jess takes tae kwon do. No one’ll mess with us.”
“Let me guess.” Katherine Chase looked up at her son – at the only child that she had left – and mustered a smile. “She’s a black belt.”
“Of course.”
As if, with Jess, there were any other possibility.
*
“Mmmm.” Jess lowered the Starbucks cup from her lips, the picture of contentment. “I needed this sooo badly.”
“The caffeine or the time away from our parents?”
“Both.”
Ethan gathered his coffee and sugar packets from the counter, then followed her to a nearby table. Even at this late hour, South Station was buzzing, mostly with young couples waiting for the last Acela to New York and D.C. After doing this for a year, he recognized many of the faces. The redhead with freckles who always cried on the platform, clinging to her boyfriend as if he were headed off to war. The guy who looked like a J Crew model and checked his cell phone every minute. The goth girl with way too many piercings, always chain-smoking next to the prominently displayed “No Smoking” sign.
“So,” he said, pulling up a chair. “That went pretty well.”
“You sound surprised.”
“Well... I knew they’d be polite to one another, but I wasn’t sure they’d hit it off so well.”
“I was.”
“Seriously? I mean my folks – two Mayflower WASPS – and your folks – a couple of Jewish socialites from Manhattan. Not exactly an eHarmony match, don’t you think?” He laughed. “More like Christian Mingle meets J-Date.”
“Yeah, well people could say the same thing about us.”
“They probably do.” Ethan leaned across the rickety table to kiss her on the lips. “But then again, who cares? You’re happy, right?”
“Never happier.” Jess held out her hand to admire the engagement ring – a two-carat emerald-cut diamond from Shreve, Crump and Lowe that she’d picked out last month. “I can’t wait to show this thing off. Which reminds me: we’re getting together with Bethany and Jason next Saturday. You’ll be able to come down, right?”
Ethan missed a beat, inwardly cringing at the thought of spending another evening out with Jess’s socialite biffer and her aggressively perfect fiancé – an equities trader at Goldman. “Um – sure. That sounds great. I just have to check the call schedule for my next rotation.”
“But you’re doing a psych elective. I thought the whole point was that you wouldn’t have call next month.”
“And I’m pretty sure I won’t, but I still need to check. Orientation’s tomorrow.”
“Fine, but just so you know…” Jess pulled one of her faces – the playfully intimidating one that dared you to say no. “You’re coming. I’ve got way too much planned for you to bail on me.”
“Oh really? What’s on the agenda?”
“Well, since you asked…”
As Jess filled him in on their weekend plans, on the wedding registry and Greenwich Village apartment search and brunch with her sister and dinner with Bethany and Jason, Ethan realized he wasn’t the only one listening. J Crew dude was sitting a couple of tables away, nodding at the cute redhead who had just joined him. Judging from her body language – the way she leaned forward to rub his arm every few seconds – they were a couple, but J Crew’s eyes kept straying to Jess. It was the kind of surreptitious glance Ethan had gotten used to, an instinctual double take that all men did whenever Jess was around. It didn’t matter what she was wearing, whether she was dressed for a night out clubbing or draped in a pair of oversized sweats. She just had that effect. Even gay guys checked her out.
“What?” She played with her hair, twisting and pulling it into a thick chestnut ponytail in one graceful motion. “Are you tuning me out already?”
“Nope. Just thinking it would be nice if you could stay tonight. I can drive you back early in the morning.”
“But you don’t even have a car.”
“So? I’ll rent one.”
“That doesn’t make much sense, does it? We’ll only get a few extra hours.”
“Well… the Copley Plaza’s only a few blocks from here.”
“Hmm.” Jess kicked off a Tory Burch flat and traced her foot up his trousers, toes massaging when she reached mid-thigh. “So tell me, my gorgeous fiancé. What would we do there?”
Ethan answered her with a sly grin. “We’ll come up with something.”
A last-minute romp at the Copley Plaza would have been amazing, but of course that never happened. Instead, ten minutes later, Jess gave him a long, open-mouthed kiss on the platform and promised things would be continued in her apartment next weekend.
“Honey, you know I’ve gotta file that huge brief by tomorrow morning. Barry will kill me if I miss the deadline, but…” She leaned forward to whisper into his ear, “I’ll make it up to you. Promise, okay?”
Another kiss, this time a quick peck on the cheek. “Love you, baby.”
And with that, she hoisted her carry-on strap over a shoulder and disappeared into the crowd of embarking passengers. No last-second glance backward. No running back for a reassuring hug. Nope – no one would ever accuse Jess of being emotionally needy.
But that was a good thing, right? So she felt secure in their relationship. Beyond acting or playing the usual games. What was wrong with that?
Besides, Ethan reminded himself, he wasn’t just her boyfriend anymore. Five weeks ago, he’d proposed, and she’d said yes. Without hesitation. Not a hint of surprise. And the way she’d smiled at him, eyes tearing up as she gave her answer. With that one expression, she’d erased any lingering fear that he might not be worthy. That he might not be enough. Jess, the girl who a cappella groups used to serenade in the dining hall for a date, had chosen him.
Ethan lingered at the platform, body still tingling from that last full-mouthed kiss, and wished he could fast-forward the week to come.
One week, and then one final month of med school to get through.
All that stood between them and the perfect life together.
***
Just one month from med school graduation, Ethan Chase is about to start the life of his dreams, with a promising career and supermodel-with-a-Harvard-degree fiancée. Problem is, he might want something more, and he might have just found her
Prologue
Sunday morning, December 21, Chatham, MA
Ethan Chase slumps into the rocking chair, gaze lost in the wild murals spilling across the nursery wall. Her murals. All kinetic energy and color, the visual equivalent of being caught up in a wave and swept under. Equal parts exhilarating and terrifying.
Closing his eyes, he returns to the grounding warmth of Abby, to the throb of her newborn heart against his chest. She’s making little sucking sounds against his shirt, dozing and content after her early morning feeding.
“Let me take her, honey,” his mother offers. “You look exhausted.”
Too numb to resist, he hands off his daughter. Her delicate cupid’s bow twitches, rooting against her grandmother’s sweater, and he wonders yet again how this small, perfect creature could be his, how she could have been brought into the universe just two short months ago.
Two months. Another life.
The radiator creaks and ticks, sending off a fresh burst of heat, but the room is still too cold. She’d wanted their first home to have character and had fallen in love with the most impractical of choices: a drafty, salt-box colonial that predated the Revolutionary War. He’d been hoping for new construction, but how could he have said no? He closed his eyes and winced, picturing the way her face lit up the first time they pulled into the gravel driveway. That expression had said it all.
We’re home.
“Maybe you should try to get some sleep?”
He snaps open his eyes, forcing his mind back to the moment. “Can’t. The cab will be here in a few minutes.”
“Already?” Mom checks her Movado, brow furrowing. “It feels like I just got here.”
“Yeah, I know. Time’s been doing weird things lately.”
He pulls his lips into an anemic smile, wanting more than anything to show her he’s okay, but when their eyes meet, it’s clear she sees through the façade.
“Are you –?” He clears his throat. “Are you sure you’ll be okay here with Abby?”
“Oh, we’ll be just fine. She’s such an angel.”
“And Dad’s on his way? He promised he’d be here to help out.”
Mom nods briskly, her petite frame bobbing like that of a frightened bird. “Of course, he will. His flight’s due into Logan at nine. He’ll probably be landing a few minutes after you take off.”
“Ships passing in the night, right? I guess some things never change.”
He says these words without bitterness, even though he knows he should feel something approaching resentment. That would be an emotion though, and right now, who gives a shit whether or not dad is rushing to be by his side?
“I wish…” Mom’s voice quivers, blue eyes glossy. “I just wish you didn’t have to go alone. Can’t you wait just one more hour? Your father really wants to go with you.”
“If I wait any longer, it might be too late.”
“I know, honey, but you also need to take care of yourself. Don’t do this alone. Please let us help you.”
She reaches out to take his hand and he accepts, squeezing with what feels like the right amount of pressure. It’s all acting though, because he can’t even look her in the eyes now. Can’t stand to see the sympathy there. To read her thoughts, the words she’s too gracious to say. How she knew it would come to this. How this outcome had been inevitable from the start. How she and dad had tried to save him from the heartache they could all see coming, like funnel clouds massing on the horizon.
He doesn’t want to see these things, because he doesn’t want to hate her.
Instead, he jumps up at the sound of tires crunching on gravel. Seconds later, the cab honks its arrival. “Gotta run.” He swings the duffel over his shoulder. “Thanks again, Mom. Thanks for coming.”
“Ethan, sweetheart,” she calls after him. “You’re going to make it through this.”
The words come out as more of a question, but he has nothing left in him to offer any reassurance. Instead, he promises to call as soon as he lands.
Fifteen minutes later, Ethan Chase curls into the back seat of a taxicab, body hurtling down the Mid-Cape highway, mind already three thousand miles away. Across a continent of space and time.
Both dreading and craving the answers that await him there.
*
2.
Five years earlier
Friday, March 11th, 4 a.m., Back Bay, Boston
Callie
At first, she had no idea where she was. Blackness. Cotton mouth and throbbing head. Cool linen against her skin. Naked. Not in her dorm room. Not alone.
Who the hell’s sleeping next to me?
The sensations rushed in, followed by fragmented memories of last night. Boston. Newbury Street. She’d been at the gallery, showing off her latest collection. Turn-out had been high, the crowds overwhelming. Patrons eager to shake her hand. Buzzing agents welcoming her back to the scene. Admirers and ‘close friends’ she couldn’t remember meeting. Paparazzi jockeying outside to get their shots, shouting how much they loved her new “Goth” look. Everyone wanting a piece of her.
Yeah… now she remembered why she’d run.
She lifted her head from a plush pillow, eyes adjusting to the darkness. The stranger in bed next to her was still asleep, softly snoring. Now more memories drifted to the surface. They’d met at the Gypsy Bar, sometime after midnight. He’d cozied up to her, paying for her drink without even asking. Smooth and sophisticated. Oozing confidence from every pore. Old enough to be her father.
Closing her eyes, she tried to picture this stranger’s face, but the features remained elusively generic. Tall and trim. Handsome, chiseled features. Full head of salt-and-pepper hair with matching stubble. Armani suit. Unbuttoned crisp white shirt without a tie. Lime-scented cologne. Rolex. Firm but gentle hands.
Now she remembered the short limo ride to his Copley Plaza suite. The throbbing pulse of Ecstasy, pot and alcohol as they mingled in her brain, stripping time of meaning, bending the world around her in impossible arcs of color. Man she’d been fucked up.
Had he slipped something into her drink?
No. She was pretty sure she’d done this to herself.
Slowly, achingly, the larger picture came into focus. The weeks of sleepless nights, starting with work on her thesis at Brown, then spilling over into frenetic, all-night fits of productivity at the studio. The wild partying, first on campus and then, when that became too lame, at the hottest night spots in New York and Boston. The old ‘friends’ who had popped up, as they always did, to reintroduce her to the life she’d sworn she’d leave behind for good this time.
Learn to identify the destructive patterns of behavior.
Okay, right. Five different shrinks in as many years had taught her how to do this so well that she knew exactly what was coming next. This time, the crash would be worse than ever. But how the hell did that insight help? So you knew the tsunami was coming when it was still just a swell crossing the ocean. Meanwhile, life broke your back and left you paralyzed on the shore, waiting to be crushed. Was there any other choice but to give in?
She spotted her Kate Spade bag on the floor and slipped out of bed to retrieve it. It took a few minutes of rummaging to find what she was looking for: a couple of Vicodin to dull the throbbing pain behind her eyes. She washed the chalky pills down with lukewarm, flat champagne, then padded across the carpet toward the bathroom.
At first, the thought was a simple one: I want to take a bath. The Plaza had luxurious, deep bathtubs and right now, sinking into one of them seemed like the only appealing thought in the world. She opened the faucets, fanning her fingers through tepid water before returning to the main room.
The hook-up guy was still asleep. With any luck, he wouldn’t wake up before she was long gone.
Returning to her bag, she found the items she needed: her sketch pad, iPod and an amber bottle of pills. She spent the next ten minutes furiously scratching the image in her mind onto paper – no charcoals so lipstick and eyeliner would have to do. Then, setting the sketch aside, she turned her attention to the iPod play list, obsessively checking and then re-checking the selections and order. Another wonderful trait inherited from Dad, no doubt.
When she was done, though, she knew it had been worth the effort. The choices were perfect. Nothing loud. Nothing sappy. No clichés. Just the right blend of mellow and deep, seamlessly fitting together.
It had to be a sign, right? Sure, the sheep would make a huge deal about the sketch, but the true work of art was in this iPod mix. Too bad no one else would ever get that.
She popped in the ear buds and slipped into the tub, welcoming the warmth and music that washed over her.
One pill on her tongue. Without thinking, she swallowed.
The second pill… still meant nothing. But five pills. Ten.
That would be something new.
She glanced down at her wrists, at the faint crisscross of scars. Laser treatments had faded them over the years, and in retrospect, the thought of ending things that way now seemed so juvenile, almost comical. Even the sight of blood made her dizzy.
But this way. It felt so natural. So clean and easy.
She stared at the cluster of small white pills, as innocuous-looking as breath mints in her palm, and amazingly, this time, she didn’t even hesitate.
*
3.
Sunday, March 18th, Radius, Boston
Ethan
“Congratulations on two amazing matches: plastics residency at NYU and my little girl in the same week! I hope you realize how lucky you are, kid.”
Taking his cue, Ethan grinned and raised a champagne glass to his future father-in-law. Byron Sachs, usually mannequin stiff in his gray wardrobe of Brooks Brothers suits, had been uncharacteristically outgoing tonight. He’d even told a few jokes that had approached being funny.
“Da-ad!” Jess reached across the table to take Ethan’s hand, perfectly manicured fingers (French tips this week) intertwining with his. “Don’t you know that I’m the lucky one?”
“You both are, dear.” Ethan’s mom beamed at her future daughter-in-law, then gave her a hug and peck on the cheek to complete the sweet scene.
The love fest had been going on like this for almost two hours, starting with family introductions over cocktails, and as the empty bottles of wine and champagne stacked up, all stiffness and formality had melted away. Looking around the table now, Ethan found it hard to believe the two sets of parents had just met tonight. The moms were acting more like reunited childhood friends. Tipsy, embarrassingly loud friends.
“Let’s order another bottle of champagne!” Lauren Sachs suggested.
“No, Mom.” Jess rolled her eyes as if she were the parent in this situation. “I think you’ve had enough for one night.”
“Oh lighten up, Jessie! Don’t be such a buzz kill.”
“We could head over to the Four Seasons for some coffee,” Ethan’s mom suggested diplomatically.
Jess jumped at the idea. “Kate, that’s perfect! The four of you can share a cab while Ethan walks me to South Station.”
“You’re not coming?”
“No, mom. Some of us have to work tomorrow.”
Everyone laughed at the comment, which was so classically Jess. As her mom had recounted earlier that evening, this was the little girl who, for her third grade science project, had made them trek all over New England in search of the perfect soil samples. Straight A’s since grade school. USTA nationally-ranked tennis player. Orchestral first violin. Editor-in-chief of the Daltonian. Class president her senior year. Harvard undergrad and law school. And now, on partner track at Vinesse and Cullen, the top corporate law firm in Manhattan. Just thinking about Jess’s accomplishments over the first 25 years of life was exhausting, and she showed no signs of slowing down.
Glancing at his fiancée now, Ethan wondered, for the thousandth time, how he’d been so lucky. It’s a thought that stayed with him as he walked his parents to the coat room.
“I like them,” Mom whispered into his ear, her breath fruity with Merlot. “Such a lovely family.”
“She’s definitely a keeper,” Dad agreed, glancing up from his iPhone.
“Thanks, guys. She’s pretty amazing.”
Ethan tried not to squirm as Mom pulled him into a hug. At six foot two, he always had to bend down to accept her affection. So had Dad, back in the days when his parents still put on the loving couple act.
“Well…” she gushed, “You deserve no less. Can’t you just join us for coffee? We’re having so much fun!”
“I know, but Jess is working on a big case. She needs to get back to New York tonight.”
“And you’ll be safe walking to the station?”
“We’ll take the T.”
“But can’t you just take a cab?”
“Mom… this is Boston, not Beirut. I grew up here, remember?”
“Yes, but it’s so late. I just want you to be careful.”
Five years ago, Ethan would have rolled his eyes and said something harsh about helicopter parents and getting a life. But things were different now. Mom had lost Abby and then, within a year, her marriage had fallen apart, so if she wanted to hover, then she certainly had earned that right.
“Don’t worry,” he said, helping her into her Burberry coat. “Jess takes tae kwon do. No one’ll mess with us.”
“Let me guess.” Katherine Chase looked up at her son – at the only child that she had left – and mustered a smile. “She’s a black belt.”
“Of course.”
As if, with Jess, there were any other possibility.
*
“Mmmm.” Jess lowered the Starbucks cup from her lips, the picture of contentment. “I needed this sooo badly.”
“The caffeine or the time away from our parents?”
“Both.”
Ethan gathered his coffee and sugar packets from the counter, then followed her to a nearby table. Even at this late hour, South Station was buzzing, mostly with young couples waiting for the last Acela to New York and D.C. After doing this for a year, he recognized many of the faces. The redhead with freckles who always cried on the platform, clinging to her boyfriend as if he were headed off to war. The guy who looked like a J Crew model and checked his cell phone every minute. The goth girl with way too many piercings, always chain-smoking next to the prominently displayed “No Smoking” sign.
“So,” he said, pulling up a chair. “That went pretty well.”
“You sound surprised.”
“Well... I knew they’d be polite to one another, but I wasn’t sure they’d hit it off so well.”
“I was.”
“Seriously? I mean my folks – two Mayflower WASPS – and your folks – a couple of Jewish socialites from Manhattan. Not exactly an eHarmony match, don’t you think?” He laughed. “More like Christian Mingle meets J-Date.”
“Yeah, well people could say the same thing about us.”
“They probably do.” Ethan leaned across the rickety table to kiss her on the lips. “But then again, who cares? You’re happy, right?”
“Never happier.” Jess held out her hand to admire the engagement ring – a two-carat emerald-cut diamond from Shreve, Crump and Lowe that she’d picked out last month. “I can’t wait to show this thing off. Which reminds me: we’re getting together with Bethany and Jason next Saturday. You’ll be able to come down, right?”
Ethan missed a beat, inwardly cringing at the thought of spending another evening out with Jess’s socialite biffer and her aggressively perfect fiancé – an equities trader at Goldman. “Um – sure. That sounds great. I just have to check the call schedule for my next rotation.”
“But you’re doing a psych elective. I thought the whole point was that you wouldn’t have call next month.”
“And I’m pretty sure I won’t, but I still need to check. Orientation’s tomorrow.”
“Fine, but just so you know…” Jess pulled one of her faces – the playfully intimidating one that dared you to say no. “You’re coming. I’ve got way too much planned for you to bail on me.”
“Oh really? What’s on the agenda?”
“Well, since you asked…”
As Jess filled him in on their weekend plans, on the wedding registry and Greenwich Village apartment search and brunch with her sister and dinner with Bethany and Jason, Ethan realized he wasn’t the only one listening. J Crew dude was sitting a couple of tables away, nodding at the cute redhead who had just joined him. Judging from her body language – the way she leaned forward to rub his arm every few seconds – they were a couple, but J Crew’s eyes kept straying to Jess. It was the kind of surreptitious glance Ethan had gotten used to, an instinctual double take that all men did whenever Jess was around. It didn’t matter what she was wearing, whether she was dressed for a night out clubbing or draped in a pair of oversized sweats. She just had that effect. Even gay guys checked her out.
“What?” She played with her hair, twisting and pulling it into a thick chestnut ponytail in one graceful motion. “Are you tuning me out already?”
“Nope. Just thinking it would be nice if you could stay tonight. I can drive you back early in the morning.”
“But you don’t even have a car.”
“So? I’ll rent one.”
“That doesn’t make much sense, does it? We’ll only get a few extra hours.”
“Well… the Copley Plaza’s only a few blocks from here.”
“Hmm.” Jess kicked off a Tory Burch flat and traced her foot up his trousers, toes massaging when she reached mid-thigh. “So tell me, my gorgeous fiancé. What would we do there?”
Ethan answered her with a sly grin. “We’ll come up with something.”
A last-minute romp at the Copley Plaza would have been amazing, but of course that never happened. Instead, ten minutes later, Jess gave him a long, open-mouthed kiss on the platform and promised things would be continued in her apartment next weekend.
“Honey, you know I’ve gotta file that huge brief by tomorrow morning. Barry will kill me if I miss the deadline, but…” She leaned forward to whisper into his ear, “I’ll make it up to you. Promise, okay?”
Another kiss, this time a quick peck on the cheek. “Love you, baby.”
And with that, she hoisted her carry-on strap over a shoulder and disappeared into the crowd of embarking passengers. No last-second glance backward. No running back for a reassuring hug. Nope – no one would ever accuse Jess of being emotionally needy.
But that was a good thing, right? So she felt secure in their relationship. Beyond acting or playing the usual games. What was wrong with that?
Besides, Ethan reminded himself, he wasn’t just her boyfriend anymore. Five weeks ago, he’d proposed, and she’d said yes. Without hesitation. Not a hint of surprise. And the way she’d smiled at him, eyes tearing up as she gave her answer. With that one expression, she’d erased any lingering fear that he might not be worthy. That he might not be enough. Jess, the girl who a cappella groups used to serenade in the dining hall for a date, had chosen him.
Ethan lingered at the platform, body still tingling from that last full-mouthed kiss, and wished he could fast-forward the week to come.
One week, and then one final month of med school to get through.
All that stood between them and the perfect life together.
***