Page 39 of A Hate Like This

“What’s your favorite?” he asks.

“Thanksgiving.”

“What do you love about it?”

“It’s not about presents. It’s about being with the people you love.” I yawn, then say, “At the end of the day, isn’t that what life is about?”

Ethan’s voice is low and comforting. “My mom said something very similar to me this evening. She said life is about who we love and how we love them.”

“She’s right. I don’t think anyone ever gets to the end of their lives wishing they’d worked more.”

“We’re getting pretty deep tonight,” Ethan says, his tone light.

“Okay, change of topic,” I tell him. “What’s your favorite time of day and why?”

“Early morning.” Before I can ask why, he says. “Everything is quiet and the world is full of possibilities. You?”

“Same. I like to get up before the boys every day and have a few minutes to sip my coffee and stare out the kitchen window at the creek and the woods. It’s so peaceful.” I trace my fingertip around my phone, wishing he really was lying next to me.

“Favorite season,” he says.

“Autumn.”

“Because pumpkin spice everything?” he asks.

I laugh. “Obviously. But also because of the colors and the crisp air. Fall is short here but absolutely breathtaking.”

“I can’t wait to see it for myself. Fall in L.A. looks a lot like the other seasons, to be honest.”

“What’s your favorite then?”

“Winter somewhere other than SoCal. I love the snow. I try to head up to Aspen every year to ski.”

“If you love snow and skiing, you’re in the right place. There are some terrific hills near here,” I tell him, imagining us out on the slopes together on a sunny afternoon.

“Do you ski?” he asks.

“I used to, but I haven’t had much of a chance since I had the boys,” I say. “I want them to learn though.”

“Maybe I could teach them while I’m here.”

“That sounds wonderful.” My eyelids grow heavy, but I’m not ready to say goodnight yet. “Describe your perfect day.”

“Workday or weekend?”

“Workday.”

“Hmm…okay. I’d get up early and sit outside while I have a coffee. Then go for a run, have a quick shower, then sit down and work on my novel. After work, I’d want to eat supper with someone I care about.”

“Restaurant or cooking it yourself?”

“Cooking together,” he says.

Best. Answer. Ever. “That sounds nice. What happens next?”

“After supper, we go outside to watch the sunset and sip some wine, then curl up on the couch to watch a movie.”

“That does sound like a perfect day,” I say, realizing how much I want the life he’s talking about. “I have to say I’m surprised someone like you would consider that a perfect day.”