Page 5 of The River Is Waiting

“Yeah? What’s your favorite book?”

“Oh goodness, I have so many. I’ve been rereadingJane Eyre. That’s one of my favorites.Masterpiece Theatrehas been running a marvelous series based on the book. I don’t suppose you’ve seen it.”

“No, but my mother’s been watching it,” I told her. Which was a lie. For Mom, must-see TV on Sunday nights wasDesperate Housewives.

“So tell me,” she said. “Is art something you’re hoping to make your living doing?”

“Maybe,” I said. “I’m not really into planning my future at this point. I guess I’m more of a live-for-today kind of person.”

“Aha. Then you’re the grasshopper, not the ant.” When I shrugged, she said, “Aesop’s Fables. You’re very young, aren’t you?”

As in immature and stupid, I figured. I poured myself more wine. A thirty-buck bottle of cabernet?Someone had better drink it. I felt likeletting her know that my high school girlfriend’s parents had beencrazyabout me; her dad had even taken me fishing. Where the hell was Emily?

Reaching for my glass, I knocked it over, spilling wine on their white tablecloth. Ignoring my apology, Betsy jumped up, rushed to the kitchen, and came back armed with paper towels, a dishcloth, and a bottle of club soda. Blotting, pouring, and scrubbing, she let me know that the tablecloth, a gift from her favorite aunt, would be ruined if the stain was allowed to set. “Again, I’m very, very sorry,” I said. Instead of acknowledging my apology, she continued to scrub aggressively.

When Emily returned with the pie, she apologized that it was so juicy. She’d forgotten the cornstarch. Aware that blueberries stained, I ate my piece super carefully. As soon as I had my last bite, I stood and said I had to go. “Already?” Emily said. I made up a bullshit excuse about having to feed a neighbor’s dog.

At the front door, I whispered to Emily that I was pretty sure I’d flunked the audition. “Good thing you’re not dating her then,” she quipped. “And don’t worry about the stupid tablecloth. Big deal.” When I kissed her, she kissed me back.

It was pouring by then and the ground was saturated. Backing up, I accidentally veered off their driveway and onto the lawn. Made a little bit of a rut, which by morning might not even be noticeable. And if it was, Betsy would have to just fucking get over it.You’re very young, aren’t you?What a bitch.

At the end of August, Emily and I promised each other we’d call and write as often as our upcoming semesters allowed. I’d fly out there for the four-day Thanksgiving break and she’d spend the month between semesters back at her mother’s. So at the end of our Mistick Village summer, we returned to our schools on opposite coasts.

CHAPTER THREE

2006–2013

We talked to each other four or five times a week, ending calls with “I love you” and “I love you more.” Thanksgiving out in California went well; Emily’s dad, Pat, and his girlfriend, Ana, were cool and a lot friendlier than her mom. Emily flew back to Connecticut for Christmas at the end of the fall semester and I picked her up at the airport. When she came around the corner and saw me in the crowd, she made a mad dash, leapt into my arms, and bracketed her legs around my hips. A few of the people around us hooted and applauded.

We spent most of our three-week break together. Took the train into New York for the day to see the tree at Rockefeller Center and the holiday windows. Home again, we went tobogganing over at the golf course. We met my mother for lunch at Village Pizza because she wanted to meet Emily. She had invited us over to her place, but Mom’s trailer was as messy as Betsy’s place was neat and it sometimes smelled of cat pee, so I lied. Told her Emily was allergic to cats and that Ajax and Trixie might give her a sneezing attack. When we went Christmas shopping at the mall, Emily and I were looking in one of the jewelry store windows when a saleswoman came out to the entrance and said she could show us a much bigger selection of engagement rings inside. Emily blushed and shook her head. “Not quite there yet? Well, we have some lovely preengagement pieces and friendship rings. Come in and have a look.” I told her no thanks and wewalked away hand in hand. The next day I went back there and bought Emily a bracelet, fourteen-karat gold with a diamond chip.

We exchanged our gifts out in my car on Christmas Eve. “You sure you don’t want to come in?” Emily asked. I didn’t. I was going over to her mom’s for Christmas dinner the next day and there was only so much Betsy I could take. Emily said she loved her bracelet and put it right on. She didn’t say anything about the diamond chip and neither did I, but I hoped she’d gotten my intended message: a preview of coming attractions. For my present, Emily had reserved us a room at the Three Rivers Inn for New Year’s Eve.

I had never stayed in a hotel room that fancy before. We made love in the warm, bubbling water of the hot tub and, later, in the plush bed. Emily had gone on the pill by then, so there was no fumbling with condoms. When she came, she burst out crying. “What?” I asked. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing’s the matter. It’s just… I don’t know. I’ve never felt like this before.”

“What do you mean—like this?”

“Like… feeling a little drunk when I haven’t had anything to drink. I’m just so happy, Corby. It’s a little overwhelming, in a good way.”

Cuddling, we watched a show about the major events of the year just ending—Katrina, Iraq, the death of Pope John Paul, the birth of YouTube. Then the ball dropped in Times Square, we kissed the New Year hello, and fell asleep in each other’s arms. Two days later, we were back at the airport, and I watched her plane take off and rise, flying her back to California.

While I was packing to go back to school, Mom came in with a tin of brownies. She told me how much she liked Emily. “But long-distance relationships can be pretty hard to sustain,” she said.

“Yeah? I thought absence was supposed to make the heart grow fonder.” I was being a wise guy, which Mom sometimes liked and sometimes didn’t. And sometimes ignored if she was trying to make a point.

“I’m not trying to be a wet blanket, Corby,” she said. “I just don’t want you to get ahead of yourself with this girl. You’re both very young and—”

“You know something, Mom? You worry too much. Maybe long-distance relationships get tricky for some couples, but that won’t happen with us.”

“Okay then. I just don’t want to see you get hurt. And don’t forget to share those brownies with some of the boys in your dorm. There’s a dozen and a half.”

“Any wacky weed in there, Mrs. Feelgood?” She gave me a look. “Okay. Thanks, Mom. And stop worrying about Emily and me. We’re fine.”

And thingswerefine for the first several weeks of the semester. When Emily’s letters and callbacks began to taper off, I chalked it up to her student teaching. She had a forty-minute commute to her school, taught all day, and then drove back, prepared lessons and graded papers into the night. She and I were rock solid; she was just super busy. But then came the night when, over the phone, she said basically what my mother had said: that maybe we needed to tap the brakes on our relationship.

“I don’t get where this is coming from,” I said. “I thought being with me made you feel… intoxicated. Was that because you’d just gotten laid and were feeling the afterglow?” Instead of taking the bait, she let her silence do the talking. But I couldn’t stop. “You breaking up with me? Is that what this is?”

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