Page 106 of Woman on the Verge

“Hey, I’m not in any rush. You know that, right? We’ve got time for all my plans. Today, I just want to be next to you and hold you.”

All my plans.

What are all his plans?

Can my life accommodate all his plans?

“I’m sure I’ll feel better in a little bit,” I say. “It’s just like ... whiplash. Going from seeing my dad like he is to seeing you ... like you are.”

“I bet.”

“I don’t want to spend our one day togethersobbing.”

“We have many more days together,” he says. “I want to be present with the real you, the full you. If that you is sobbing, so be it.”

“Why are you so nice?”

“My mama raised me right.”

“So with all the assholes I’ve encountered, I should really blame their mothers? Seems like that’s going pretty hard on the mothers.”

He laughs, having no idea how much more I could say on this topic.

“Can you tell me something happy?” I ask. “Something about you. Something that has nothing to do with anyone dying.”

“I sure can,” he says. “I found out today that I passed the bar.”

I sit bolt upright. “What? You did?”

He smiles. “I did.”

“Oh my god, that’s amazing, Elijah. Congratulations.”

I hug him, surprising myself with how overjoyed I feel for him. I have become entirely too invested in this whole thing.

“Thank you, thank you,” he says.

“We need champagne! We need to go celebrate!”

He laughs at me the way I laugh at Grace and Liv when they are going bananas about something like an Amazon shipment of new markers.

“Slow down,” he says. “This might not be the best night for celebrating.”

“No, this is the very best night for celebrating. This is the night of the day you found out you passed the bar.”

He looks at me skeptically. “You sure you’re up for it?”

“I am now.”

“It’s really fine if we postpone.”

“I said I’m up for it. Let’s go.”

My knowledge of celebration-worthy restaurants in San Francisco is limited, so I tell Elijah to pick. He picks a fish house on Pier 39, and we manage to get a table with a view of the bay and Golden Gate Bridge. We start with a bottle of champagne and baked oysters.

“This is my treat,” he says, taking his first sip of champagne. “So don’t be pulling out your wallet at the end or something crazy like that.”

“Whatever you say, Esquire.”

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