Page 113 of A Novel Love Story

The woman grabbed something off-screen—it was a huge margarita pitcher with an umbrella at the top and a swirly straw. She took a long sip and said, “Drinking? Absolutely. I’ve got three foster kittens and two of them had explosive diarrhea today.”

“No, I mean—” Benji started, but his fiancée elbowed him in the side. “Good choice, Liv.”

In reply, the woman saluted him and sank down a little lower in her bath. Matt clapped his hands together, and looked down at his notes. “So, who wants to start …”

Aditi rolled their eyes. “Who put Matt in charge this time?”

“Well, doyouwant to lead the discussion?”

“Fuck no.”

Prudence leaned forward. “Okay, okay, before we start, can I ask you guys something?”

Everyone looked at her expectantly. Benji even lowered his glasses to look more attentive.

Pru scooted to the edge of the couch and asked, “What do you guys think if we opened up a bookstore?”

Benji blinked. “How did this come about?”

“We were just talking,” I began, but Prudence interrupted me.

“The guy Elsy fell for in the Hudson Valley was a bookstore owner and it got us thinking—”

Matt held up his hand. “Hold on. The guy Elsy …”

“Fell for?” Olivia finished, sitting up a little taller in the bath, making sure to bring the bubbles with her. “Like,fellfell?”

“Oh yeah,” Prudence, the traitor, confirmed.

The gasp that tore through the speakers was so loud, it crackled the mics.I slid a glare to my best friend, and she gave me theif you won’t care, we willlook, and unscrewed the wine she brought, and took a swig right out of the bottle. And so the questions began, and no one discussed the book that evening, instead asking the important questions like—

“Can he cook?”

(No, but he did eat my horrible spaghetti.)

“Was he cute?”

(What kind of question was that?)

“Did he have ascaranywhere … ?”

(He did. And I’d traced it with my tongue a few times.)

“How was the sex?”

(Perfect, under the waterfall.)

“Wait, you had sex under awaterfall?”

(It’s a long story.)

“And you let him go?”

Of course I did. What other choice did I have, hold on to him until my hands turned white, until I choked the love out of him? No, love wasn’t a trap, something you had to crawl out of later. If you loved something—someone—sometimes you had to let them go. And if they loved you, too, they’d come back.

Love—true love—always came back.

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