Page 95 of My Favorite Bad Decision
I walk through Central Park.It’s one of those early spring days that tricks you into thinking winter might be over. The trees drip; the snow is turning to slush in the grass. Rob loved days like this. Rob loved a lot of things, and that’s why being around him was such a joy: because he reminded me why I should love them too. He had so many wonderful qualities, but I think what initially drew me to him was the way he reminded me of Miller—that he had a lopsided smile and the same broad shoulders, that he was the type of guy who wouldn’t leave a friend behind or even allow a girl who was terrible to him to risk her life hiking Kilimanjaro. I loved the way he embraced the world and tried new things and wasn’t scared to walk away from all the privilege he was raised with.
But I loved Miller first. I know that now. I loved him from the moment he entered my mother’s dining room, and it never fully went away. I just pushed it down, as far as it could go.
I think maybe all my grief these past few years was less about Rob than it was what he represented. He was the last time I felt hopeful about the future, the last time I truly felt happy, and I didn’t want to let myself forget that had existed.
But I remember it now.
I cut across to the Central Park boathouse. Maybe it’s not the perfect place to say goodbye and maybe Uhuru Peak would have been better, but he’d have liked it, I think. He’d have liked to leave a small imprint in the place where he took my hand and said I was the person he wanted to end up with.
I’m not entirely sure about the legality of spreading these ashes here, but if I’m going to return to being someone who takes risks, I guess this is a good place to start.
I clutch the cup to my heart and I hold it there, tight.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry I fucked it up. I wish you’d gotten to live every last day between then and now, and I know you’d have made the most of them. I can’t take it back, but I can’t keep being broken by it either. I love you, Rob. I hope you knew that. I hope you still know it. I love you, but I really want to live again.”
I’m crying as I empty the cup over the lake’s melting ice.
When my eyes open, the ashes are mostly gone, and that makes me cry harder, but Rob’s the last person who’d want me standing here, wondering if I’d made a mistake. Just like Miller, he’d want me to go ahead and live a big life for us both.
I plan to try.
When the last of the ashes is gone, I pull out my phone to embark on the next step of that big life I really want.
“Hey, Mare?” I ask when she picks up. “Can I come over?”
28
KIT
Maren’s condo on 57th Street is a thing of beauty. It’s been featured in magazines. A very famous Oscar nominee once made a ridiculous offer to buy it on the spot. Sure, she hired decorators, but the riotous vision was hers. The bold palm wallpaper on one wall, paired with hot pink velvet chairs. Another wall painted glossy charcoal gray, with pale gray hardwood. Of course, the floor is covered in dog toys and what appears to be excrement, which detracts a little from the chic vibe.
“Sorry,” Maren says, picking up dog poop off the floor, walking toward the kitchen. “Echo was a bad little girl today.”
I take a seat on the couch while she washes her hands, not quite ready to say the things I need to. “What have you been up to today?” I ask, stalling, when she returns.
She gives me a confused smile, as if she’s not sure of the answer. “Harvey wants to buy a beach place,” she says, kneeling on the floor to start collecting dog toys. “I was thinking about how I’d decorate it.”
I arch a brow, glancing around me. I’m not going to discuss the divorce here. I’ve seen too many movies where someone learns something they shouldn’t from a hidden camera. “So things are good?”
Her smile fades. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t say they’re good, but I guess they could be worse.”
I really wish she’d provided a happier answer, but I’m not sure, ultimately, that it would make the discussion we’re about to have any easier.
“I lied to you,” I blurt out. “When I went away? I wasn’t in Mexico with Mallory. I was in Turks and Caicos. With Miller.”
Maren carefully places the dog toys she’s collected on the table beside her. Her eyes are wide and confused. “Miller? Miller West?”
We don’t know any other guys named Miller. It’s just a reflection of her disbelief. It’s a reflection of the fact that she can’t imagine I, of all people, would stab her in the back like this. My stomach knots so tight that it hurts.
I nod. “He knew I was going to end things with Blake, and then Dad told him about the proposal and he flew back to…to sort of rescue me from it. He knew if I got in there with all those people watching, I’d just cave, and I’d keep right on caving.”
Maren sits up straighter, sucking in her cheeks. “He flewbackto rescue you? From where?”
I sigh. In retrospect, it’s so crazy that I didn’t see it. A man doesn’t rush onto the first plane from Tanzania for someone he just sees as a friend. “Tanzania. He’d stayed for a safari.”
She grips the edge of the coffee table, her eyes already tear-filled before she closes them. “Wow.”
“We weren’t together,” I tell her. “We weren’t together there, and that wasn’t meant to change when he came here, but then…”
