Page 107 of Maybe in Another Life

“Why not? You just moved to Los Angeles, so you can’t tell me you’ve built a life there. And if there is no father in the picture, there is no one to hold you back.”

I think about what she’s saying.

“Hannah,” she says. “Let us help you. Let us be your parents. Move into the guest room, have the baby here. I’ve always said you should have moved to London with us a long time ago.” She has never said that. Never once said that to me.

“I’ll think about it,” I tell her.

I hear the door open. I hear her talk to my father.

“I’m telling Hannah it’s time for her to move to London.”

“Absolutely, she should,” I hear him say. Then he grabs the phone. “Who knows, Hannah Savannah, maybe you were always meant to live in London.”

Until this very moment, it never even occurred to me that I might belong in London. The city my own family lives in, and I never considered moving there.

“Maybe, Dad,” I say. “Who knows?”

By the time I get off the phone, my parents are convinced I’m moving there as soon as possible, despite the fact that I very clearly promise only that I will consider it. In order to get them off the phone, I have to promise to call them tomorrow. So I do. And then they let me go.

I lie there on my bed, staring at the ceiling for what feels like hours. I daydream about what would happen if I left Los Angeles, if I moved to London.

I consider what my life might look like if I lived in my parents’ London apartment with a new baby. I think about my child growing up with a British accent.

But mostly, I think about Gabby.

And everything I’d miss if I left here.

It’s noon before Mark shows up.

I answer the door quickly, my hands jittery and nervous. I’m not nervous because he intimidates me or I don’t know what to say to him. I’m nervous because I’m scared I might say something I’ll regret.

“Hi,” he says. He’s standing in front of me, wearing jeans and a green T-shirt. As I hoped, he’s alone. He has broken-down boxes under his arm.

“Hi,” I say. “Come on in.”

He steps into the house, lightly, as if he doesn’t belong here. “The moving van is coming in a half hour,” he says. “I got a small one. That’s sounds right, right? I don’t have a lot of stuff, I guess.”

“Right,” I tell him.

I watch as his gaze travels down to Charlemagne, the two of them foes in the most conventional sense of the word. The house isn’t big enough for the two of them.

Mark rubs his eyes and then looks at me. “Well,” he says, “I’ll get to packing, I guess. Excuse me.”

He’s more uncomfortable about this than I am. His vulnerability eases me. I’m less likely to scream at a repentant man.

I sit on the sofa. I turn on the TV. I can’t relax while he’s here, but I’m also not going to stand over him.

The movers ring the bell soon after, and he rushes to answer the door.

“If you guys are going to be in and out,” I tell him, “I’ll keep Charlemagne in the bedroom.”

“Great,” he says. “Thanks.” The movers come in, and Charlemagne and I stay in my room.

I feel like crying for some reason. Maybe it’s my hormones. Maybe it’s because I never wanted Gabby to have to go through this. I don’t know. Sometimes it’s hard to tell anymore what’s my real reason for crying, laughing, or standing still.

When he’s done, he knocks on my door. “That’s the last of it,” he says.

“Great,” I say back.

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