Chapter 3

THREE

MAY 2019

Tuesday

Back home, Tori surveyed the options in her closet and chose her new favorite piece, a short-sleeve, swingy black dress with decorative side pleats and a slim silver zipper running down the back. She had ordered it from the website of a young Philadelphia designer—the kind whose pieces she'd carry in her own shop if she ever had the chance. Looking at the dress now, she tried to imagine what the designer must have been feeling as she envisioned the dress—that playful urge to shape fabrics and trims in a way that produced a garment full of personality, conveying elegance, whimsy, professionalism, or unadulterated drama. Designing was about giving free rein to your intuition, so you could turn raw materials into a coherent piece that told a story. Tori loved to scrutinize all the components of an appealing garment in her head: Were the fabrics silky or stiff, flimsy or thick, smooth or textured? Were the buttons chunky or flat, shiny or muted? Did the zipper stay hidden and discreet, or was it visible and impactful? And how about the belt—slim and subtle or shiny and loud? To her, garments were a window into a person's heart, a visual representation of the unique individual who'd conceived it and brought it to life.

She slipped into the dress and then gathered her shoulder-length brown hair into a low bun. She stepped into a pair of cute and surprisingly comfortable low-heeled black sandals, which she'd found online from an up-and-coming footwear company that crafted all its styles from recycled plastic.

Then she turned to Albie, her three-year-old white mini schnauzer, who was stretched out on his belly on the rug, his head on his front paws. She and Molly had seen a picture of him in the local paper, in an article about rescue organizations. It described how white mini schnauzers were historically considered less desirable than gray or black ones, and in the past were often euthanized. They'd called the organization right away, and Molly had been close to tears as they'd brought Albie home, horrified that some breeder probably had sold Albie's brothers and sisters for a lot of money but then abandoned Albie to a kill shelter. Tori, too, felt sad at the thought that this little guy had been unwanted. As far as she and Molly were concerned, they'd ended up with the best dog ever.

"How do I look?" Tori asked him.

He wagged his tail, then jumped onto her bed and rolled to his back, and she tickled his belly. He was the sweetest little boy, and totally irresistible when looking for a good scratch. "Okay, you, that's all for now," she said. "Come on, Jeremy will be here any minute."

Downstairs, she sat with Albie on one of the bottom steps of the hardwood staircase, waiting for the sound of Jeremy's car. Yes, Chez Pierre was a fancy place, but Brianna and Marilene were wrong—there wasn't anything so special about tonight's dinner. She was willing to admit that five years was a long time to be dating, and perhaps for many couples, marriage would be a reasonable next step. In fact, many couples their age—she was thirty-six, he was thirty-eight—might have become engaged long before now. And, as Marilene often reminded her, Jeremy would make a great husband and stepdad. He was wonderful with Molly and very aware that she was Tori's top priority. Always patient and understanding when Tori had to cancel plans at the last minute because Molly needed help with a book report or had come down with a bad cold and wanted her mom around.

And he never seemed uncomfortable or overly concerned about Molly's father. Although, truth be told, what had happened was not particularly interesting. Tori and Molly's dad were two people who'd realized that they didn't belong together after Tori learned she was pregnant. He now was living in California and sent Molly a birthday present every year.

But still… the whole situation had left her firmly resolved to stay single.

The wheels of Jeremy's car crunched on the gravel driveway, and Tori opened the door just as he appeared on the front porch, looking so handsome in a tailored gray blazer over a black pullover and gray pants. She realized anew, as she always did when she saw him, that he had the best smile on the planet: it spread across his face, accentuating his square chin and producing a subtle series of smile lines on either side of his eyes, which made him look both slightly vulnerable and totally charming. He was holding a bouquet of wildflowers in shades of yellow, lavender, and white. He'd learned what she liked long ago.

Stepping inside, he handed her the flowers, then leaned down and grazed her cheek with a kiss. She loved how he smelled—a little woodsy with hints of leather and a tinge of citrus. So inviting.

"You look beautiful," he murmured. "Happy anniversary."

She kept her cheek pressed against his, enjoying the feel of his body, his breath, so close. "Thank you," she said. "You look beautiful, too. But come on. It's not really an anniversary."

"Of course it is," he said, pulling away to look into her eyes. "It's the anniversary of your singing debut."

"Something I'd prefer not to be reminded of," she teased, remembering the evening they'd met. He'd been performing with his band on the rooftop patio at Danny's, and she and Marilene had been there celebrating Marilene's recent birthday. He'd pointed to her and invited her to come up and sing a chorus with the band—he'd told her later he'd done it because she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, and he needed to find a way to meet her. She'd been taken with him, too, which is why she'd agreed to go up, although she couldn't carry a tune, and her amplified voice made his bandmates wince.

"You were cute," he said.

"It was embarrassing. I was terrible. I can't believe I let you do that to me."

"We wouldn't have met if I hadn't brought you up on stage."

"Still." She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him, feeling good as she always did when she could follow her heart, do what felt right, and know it would be welcomed and appreciated. She loved that Jeremy let her be her. She squeezed his hand, then went into the kitchen to put the flowers in a vase, as he kneeled to give Albie a good scratch behind the ears.

"Quiet house," he said, standing back up.

She nodded as she placed the vase on the console table near the front door. "Marilene took Molly out for pizza," she said. Then she paused, remembering how pale Marilene had looked in the shop. The postcard and Marilene's face were still on her mind.

"Something wrong?" Jeremy said.

"Um… I don't think so. I hope not. A client of mine sent me a postcard from some island in Italy with a picture of a wedding dress made there in the 1940s. And Marilene saw it, and… well, I know it's a cliché, but she literally looked like she'd seen a ghos t. She just stood there. I tried to talk to her, and it was as though she didn't even hear me at first."

"Did she tell you why?"

"No, in fact she yelled at me for saying she looked pale."

"Well, she did grow up in Italy during that time. The war. Maybe it reminded her of something. Do you want to stop by the pizza place and check on her?"

Tori shook her head. "She'd kill me if I did that. You know she hates being fussed over or questioned. And besides, if anything was wrong, they'd have called me or come home by now."

She reached for her phone by the wildflowers, and when she saw no messages, she shrugged. "I guess everything's fine," she said, as she patted Albie's head and then led Jeremy outside.

The fresh spring air lightened her mood as she made her way to his car, a gray BMW sedan he'd bought from his brother a few years ago, wanting something nice to drive in addition to the van that he used when heading to a gig. As they started for the highway, he mentioned that he'd received a phone call that afternoon from a Broadway producer he knew, and the guy had offered him the job of musical director for a new show opening next year.

"Jeremy… wow!" Tori said. It took her a moment to realize how big this news was, as he always tended to be matter-of-fact, even low-key, when talking about himself. "That's amazing. I'm so excited for you."

He nodded as he turned onto the exit ramp. "I'm pretty pleased," he said, and she knew that for him, such a comment meant he was ecstatic.

He glanced at her, his smile a mix of gratitude, humility, and elation. "I've spent so many years trying to break into this world," he said. "And it's finally paying off. Things are coming together. Really coming together."

She touched his arm, happy that he recognized how much this offer said about his talent and reputation. While he enjoyed being a professor of music and orchestra conductor at nearby Hofstra University, a job he'd held for several years now, his true passion was musical theater. No wonder this offer had made him so happy.

And yet, she felt a bit uneasy with the way he'd described this position. The idea that his life was coming together—he'd never talked about himself that way before. As though he was starting a new chapter and seeing himself in a new way.

They reached the restaurant, and the valet opened her door. Jeremy came around to take her hand, and they made their way up the steps to the entrance. Tori had read about this place in local magazines but she'd never been here before, and she was excited that Jeremy had picked it. The night was breathtaking, with a full moon and a star-filled sky. The host led them to the patio and over to what had to be one of the best tables in the restaurant, with an expansive view of the ocean.

Jeremy ordered champagne and Tori caught her breath, hoping this wasn't his way of working up to a proposal. It seemed like hours, weeks even, before the server returned, and she shook her foot nervously. But when the champagne was poured, Jeremy simply lifted his glass to clink it with hers. She sipped, glad she could relax, confident that if the champagne hadn't signaled a proposal, then she was in the clear. She realized she shouldn't have worried. He knew how she felt, and he cared about her too much to go against her wishes. She was sure he agreed that their relationship, their life, was fine as it was.

They chose a burrata appetizer, followed by a pasta dish with spring peas and pecorino cheese, and a branzino entrée prepared with broccoli rabe, tomatoes and capers. They finished their first course and watched the server expertly split the portions of hot food in half and set a beautifully arranged plate in front of each of them. In between bites, Tori caught Jeremy up on her clients, adding that it would still take several more months, if not a whole year, for her to have enough saved to lease the shop across the street.

"You really shouldn't wait," he said, as he speared some sauce-laden pasta and then wiped his mouth with his napkin. Tori liked that he enjoyed eating good food as much as she did.

"It's a great location," he added. "And you know the landlord's going to rent it to someone else if you don't step up. I'd be happy to?—"

"No, don't say it—" she interrupted.

"But I would. I'll lend you the money. I know how much this means, and I want you to have it?—"

"But I wouldn't want it that way. I don't want to depend on you like that. I'll get the money. And if I lose out on that space, there'll be another. Let's not even talk about it," she said. "Tell me more about the Broadway show."

He went on to name the others who were signed up for the project, and to describe what the musical was about. The evening flew by, and before she knew it, the server was clearing their plates.

Jeremy nodded when the server described that evening's dessert, a flourless chocolate cake for two, with whipped cream and fresh strawberries. He returned and placed the dessert in between them, along with two forks wrapped in fresh napkins. It looked delicious. Tori loved dessert—she was like a child that way—so she snatched one of the wrapped forks and unrolled the napkin.

A little velvet box tumbled out of the napkin and onto the tablecloth.

She looked at Jeremy, feeling stunned and foolish for letting her guard down. "What are you doing?" she demanded, more forcefully than she'd planned.

"What am I doing?" he repeated, sounding confused and defensive. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know I don't want this," she said, pointing to the box, which was resting on its side near the table's edge. "Why would you set all this up?"

"Because I want to marry you," he told her.

"But why?" she asked.

"Because I love you?—"

"And I love you too?—"

"—and we've been together for five years, and it's time." He watched her, then sighed and shook his head. "I'm thirty-eight years old, Tori. My career is good, and my life is good. I want to share it with you?—"

"You already do?—"

"I want to settle down. I want to be established?—"

"You are established?—"

"Okay—stop," he said, holding up a palm. "This isn't so hard. Everyone else in the world would understand what I'm saying, you know that. I don't want to live like a kid anymore. I want a family and a home. I'm done with this life, this way of life we have. It's been great, but it's time to move on. Don't make me feel like I'm crazy. You have to understand?—"

"I love you," she repeated, taking his hand with both of hers. "Isn't that enough?"

"Not anymore," he said, pulling away. "Why are you surprised? You had to know this was coming?—"

"And you had to know what my answer would be. Why ruin everything? We're happy, aren't we?"

"I have been. I was."

She sat back in her chair. "And you're not now? But you said you love me?—"

"I do," he said. He moved his chair closer to her, then looked straight into her eyes. The votive candle on the table made his irises sparkle. "Look, you're a mom," he said. "A parent. I want to be a parent, too. I want all of it. Birthday parties, soccer games. Getting woken up early on Sunday mornings."

"Molly doesn't do that. She sleeps in on Sundays." She paused, feeling her eyes widen as she got his meaning. "Wait, you're saying you want to have kids? Not just Molly but… more?"

"I don't know… maybe…" He looked at her, then rolled his eyes and tossed the napkin from his lap onto the table. "What are you scared of anyway?" he said.

"I'm not scared?—"

"I know Molly's father left?—"

"He didn't even stick around for her birth. But that's not the point?—"

"But that's not who I am. I'm here for the duration. I want this. You don't have to worry?—"

"I'm not worried." She heard her voice become higher and louder as she protested. She didn't want to sound defensive, but she hated feeling this way, as though she were cornered. She took a deep breath and lowered the volume of her voice. "I just know who I am and how I want to live."

"Without letting anyone in, right?" Jeremy pressed his lips together and looked toward the water. Then he turned back to her, leaning forward and pressing his hands onto the table. "And how do you think that makes me feel?" he said, his voice tense. "You won't even let me lend you the money to sign a lease on the space across the street?—"

"I don't want to use you like that. I don't want you to feel obligated to help me."

"But we are obligated to each other!" He breathed out heavily and shook his head, as though she were speaking a language he found incomprehensible. "We choose to be, that's what people do. How can you say all this anyway? After what we've become to each other? I love Molly, you know that. I'll be a great dad to her."

"You're already great to her."

"Exactly."

"No, I mean, it's good the way it is. I like my life. I have control, I have order. Why make a change? Why do something so uncertain when we know what we have right now?"

He let out an exasperated laugh and looked away again, this time up at the sky. "Tori, this is ridiculous. Don't tell me you don't believe in marriage. You dress brides, for God's sake."

"It's fabric. That's what I work with. And art. Design. I'm not the one who connects the dress with happily ever after. That's on them."

"That doesn't make sense. You have to believe that people are doing something positive when they come to you. You have to believe that marriage is a good thing. You couldn't do that kind of work unless you did. How could you take their money if you thought it was all a big mistake…"

He leaned his elbow on the table and rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand. Seeing him so defeated, she looked away. To her right, she noticed an older couple at the next table glancing at them, the woman pouting sympathetically, and by the wall, two servers were eyeing them and smirking at one another. Tori felt horrible. Jeremy had engineered this whole surprise. He had even evidently included the host and the servers in his set-up. And she had ruined it. She knew how embarrassed he must feel. She had emasculated him, right here in public. And she never intended to. Why hadn't she listened to Marilene? And to Brianna, too? Why hadn't she admitted what was obvious to them—that he was planning a proposal for tonight, the fifth anniversary of the day they met? She could have declined the dinner invitation. She could have told him that she knew what was on his mind, and she didn't want to let him go through with the whole rigmarole here at the restaurant. She could have done a lot of things to avoid this moment.

Although this was also his fault, she reminded herself. He knew how she felt about marriage. She'd never made it a secret. Had he been so caught up in his wants and plans that he didn't even contemplate what he should have known—that she'd turn him down? She'd set him up for this sad outcome, but he'd set himself up for it, too. For two people who had gotten along so well for five years, how had they gotten tonight so wrong?

She reached out and touched his arm. "Let's go home," she said. "We'll figure this out tomorrow."

He stood and she watched him put the velvet box in his pocket.

They reached her driveway and Jeremy got out of the car to walk Tori to the door. As he always did. He was too much of a gentleman, too nice a guy, to have her walk to the door alone. She was glad to be home, as the quiet ride from the restaurant had given her too much time to think. About why she was being so stubborn. About how she didn't want to put her trust in anyone but herself. About how unfair she was being to Jeremy.

At the front step, she looked up at him. "Talk to you tomorrow?" she asked.

"Sure," he said. Although she wasn't sure he meant it. Probably he'd answered that way because all he wanted to do was go home. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. She wanted nothing more than to kiss him, a long, deep kiss, smooth as honey. But she knew that would give him the wrong message.

"Actually," he said as he took a step away. "I think it might be better if we kept our distance for a little while. Let us both deal with what happened tonight. I could use some time to clear my head. I'll call you when I can. In a few weeks, maybe."

Before she could even answer, he'd turned and walked back to the car. She understood now that his last kiss had been a goodbye kiss.

She watched the taillights of his car grow smaller until she couldn't see them anymore, then fished her keys out of her bag and unlocked the front door. Her chest felt tight, and she knew she was on the verge of falling apart, of crying harder than she ever had before. She loved Jeremy so much. Was he going to stick around in the end? Was she going to lose him? How could she go on without him? But how could she give in to him? How could she do something that felt so very wrong?

She went inside and saw the glow of a table lamp shining in the living room. It was puzzling, as she'd expected Marilene to be upstairs asleep and the lights in the living room to be off. But there Marilene was, on the sofa, leaning over with her elbows on her knees and her fingertips pressed to her mouth. She was wearing her glasses and staring at her laptop computer on the coffee table. Next to her was a half-empty teacup on a saucer.

"Mar?" Tori said. "Are you okay? Molly okay?"

Marilene kept her eyes fixed on the computer screen. "Yes, she's fine. Did her homework and went to sleep."

Tori let out a long sigh. "I'm glad you're up," she said as she dragged herself across the room and sat down next to her on the sofa. The bottom of the dress she had chosen so carefully earlier tonight draped over her knees. It didn't look nearly as pretty to her now as it had when she'd first put it on.

She put her head on Marilene's shoulder. "Oh, Mar," she said. "What am I going to do? I think I just ruined everything…" She paused, waiting for Marilene to stroke her cheek or pat her knee. But there was no such response. It was as though Marilene hadn't even heard her.

She lifted her head to see what was so captivating on the computer screen. It seemed to be the website for the museum in Italy that Kelly, the indecisive bride, had visited. On the screen was the same picture, the same wedding gown, that had been on Kelly's postcard.

Tori looked at Marilene, who was now shaking her head. "This dress again? This is what made you go pale at the store. Mar, what is it? Why has this dress made you so upset?"

Marilene turned to Tori. "Sweetheart, we have to talk," she said. "Oh, my goodness… Where do I begin?"