Page 96 of Woman on the Verge

“A creative soul,” he says. “I’m not surprised.”

“You’re not?”

“Of course not. You have that energy.”

“That energy?”

“Like, a zest. An appetite for life. A desire to look beneath the surface.”

How does he see this?

“I’d love to see some of your work,” he says.

I wave him off. “It’s literally been years. I don’t even have anything on my phone or—”

He holds up both hands in submission. “Hey now, no pressure. You don’t have to show me a thing. I’m just saying I’d love to see it. I’d love to see what your eye captures, what your mind thinks should be in a shot. I’d love to hear you talk about what was just outside the frame. That’s all.”

I try to picture Kyle asking about the intricacies of my photography. The most commentary he ever gave me was to say “That’s a nice one.” He was never curious about the process. I think he would have rolled his eyes at the idea that therewasa process.

“You sound like you know a bit about photography yourself,” I say.

He smiles. “I dabble.”

“Quite the dabbler.”

“There are so many interesting things. Can’t help but dabble.”

We eat in silence for a few minutes, taking the last few bites of our food. Then I work up the nerve to admit something, a confession that’s lodged itself in my throat.

“I’m afraid I’m falling for you,” I say.

“What’s so scary about that?”

He reaches across the table, takes my hands in his.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’m falling for you too.”

Because I am a terrible person, I don’t even think about Merry or the girls until Elijah falls asleep next to me in bed, his beautiful mouth partly open, emitting the softest of snores. Would this adorable snore bother me at some point? What kind of alternate dimension am I in now, exactly?

I reach into my purse for my phone to see two missed calls from Merry and three texts. I break out into a sweat as I unlock my phone and read the texts.

Sorry to bother you. Do the girls have toothbrushes? I know you’ve mentioned how they need to brush their teeth well.

Then:

I will probably just use one of my extra adult toothbrushes. Okay?

Then:

Never mind, I found theirs! Sorry!

I will my heart to slow as I realize everything is fine. There’s nothing wrong. It could have been something, though—a visit to the ER for a broken bone, a child wandering out the front door, now missing. My face hot with shame, my hands shaking, I text Merry:

Weird. I just got your texts and missed calls now. EverythingOk?

It’s just after nine. She should still be up. The girls should be asleep.

Thankfully, she responds right away.