Page 46 of Crossing Into Brooklyn

“Although, I think timing has a lot to do with relationships—if they happen and how long they last.”

“Do you mean maturity?”

“No. I mean timing. I’ve known a few people who set a timer for love.”

“A timer?”

“Yeah, you know, like you can set the timer on your microwave for a cake. When it beeps—done. The life timer.”

“There’s a life timer?” Brooklyn asks.

“For some people. At twenty-two they get a degree. At twenty-five they get engaged. At twenty-six they tie the knot. At thirty they have saved enough for a house. At thirty-two they start their family. At thirty-four they add another kid—the life timer.”

“That sounds hideous.”

I laugh. “Mm.”

“Are you telling me you don’t think that sounds boring and dreadful?”

“Maybe not dreadful, but I think it’s a bit hollow and unreliable—if what you want is love. If what you want is to find someone to tick all those yearly boxes, it’s fine. In my experience, love doesn’t arrive when you tell it to or even want it to. It just shows up. And a lot of times, it shows up at the worst possible time. That’s all.”

“I guess I never thought about it,” Brooklyn confesses. “I haven’t felt that.”

“What might that be?”

“An inclination to spend every day with someone or to plan for it,” she explains.

My only reply is a nod.

“You have,” she surmises.

I nod again. More than once. “Sure. The feeling part. I’ve never been great at the planning piece.”

“Andrea?” she asks.

I release a deep sigh. “No. Andrea is the person who came along at a time when I was willing to compromise.”

“What was the compromise?”

“True love for comfort. It worked for a while.”

“What happened?”

“It wasn’t enough—not for me, anyway.”

Now, it’s Brooklyn’s turn to nod.

It’s time to change the conversation. “How do you feel about old movies?”

“You mean like eighties movies?”

Brooklyn’s impish grin tells me she’s teasing me. “More like nineteen-fifties,” I say.

“Do you mean likeEast of Eden, or were you thinking something more on the idea ofGodzilla?”

“I was about to suggestWhite Christmas,” I tell her.

“Ah. A holiday classic. I’m always up for a musical. Bing Crosby is a bonus.”

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