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“No, I’m heading there now.”
Molly laughed at his audible sigh of relief.
“Okay. Alright. Good. I was trying to find the list and realized I didn’t have it.”
“That would be because I have it.”
“Yes. I see. Wait—you’re mailing your dad’s gift too, right? I wasn’t supposed to do that on the way home from work, was I?”
“Yes, I am. Apropos of nothing, I’m curious how much coffee you’ve had today.”
“I accepted a new job the week before Christmas that starts in January. I have to transition my entire book of business in less than a month. Who does that? I think I’m allowed . . . three ventis.”
“I’m going to have my dad call and lecture you about heart strain. Donovan Academy knows you have a lot to juggle. They knew it when they made the offer, and they completely understand. It’ll be fine.”
“This is some kind of cosmic punishment for letting you convince me to apply at Laburnum’s rival. I still can’t believe they hired me. What were they thinking?” Aster sounded frantic.
“Okay, first, we’re capping it at the three ventis, right? And second, they were thinking they had a sudden, midyear chemistry opening that you’re highly qualified for. Plus, there’s probably a ledger somewhere keeping track of poached legacies. You’ve made some Donovan board member very happy, I’m sure.”
“All this emergency lesson planning has officially drained me of my brain power. Did we even speak this morning? I can’t remember.”
“We did. That’s when I told you I was picking up the groceries and mailing Dad’s gift.”
“Right. Maybe we should start using a family calendar again. In fact, I think I have . . .” He trailed off, and it sounded like he’d pulled the phone from his ear, navigating something on the screen. “Sent you an invite to our old one—oh.”
“Oh, what?”
“I’d forgotten about this.”
“About what?”
Aster didn’t answer.
“Aster?”
“Yeah, I’m here. Sorry. I—I used to use the old one.” He sighed through the phone. “We used the family calendar a lot. And you, uh, you took yourself out of it the first day you were back home after your stroke. Which, I don’t blame you, obviously, but I used it to talk to you after that. Well, not you. But when I was—when it was hard.” In the background, Molly heard a tinkling sound. “Shit, Mols. I’ve got to run; my next student is here early. When you read them just—it was a bad time. We’re happy now.”
“We are,” she agreed, smiling softly. His rambling didn’t make complete sense, but his sincerity warmed her despite the cold weather.
“Happy anniversary, Mols. Love you.”
“Happy anniversary. Love you.” And the call disconnected.
Molly was, as she always had been, hostage to curiosity’s grip. She settled into her car and cranked the heat, then reached for her phone again. She spared a soft, wistful smile for her passcode as she unlocked it. Aster had given it to her what felt like lifetimes ago: 1–2–2–0. Today’s date, their wedding anniversary.
She nearly dropped her phone at the sight of Aster’s notes. She hadn’t expected so many, hundreds, left on different days over the course of several months.
In the beginning: I love you. I miss you. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to do.
Later: I nearly killed Simon fucking Clay tonight. You don’t love him. I know you don’t. I’m not allowed to be mad at you. But I am. You can’t stand me. I miss you. I just want to kiss you.
Later still: You gave me a gift today. I love you. I’d give anything to hold you again. You called me handsome. You hate me today. I didn’t tell you about trying for kids. I don’t know how to tell you the rest. You’re breaking my heart, Mols. I’m fucking everything up.
Toward the end: Christ, Mols, I miss you so much. You’re in the bedroom right now. I just kissed you. I swear, if you’d have let me, I would have fucked you right there against the apartment door. I love you so much.
Week after week, becoming months: I love you. We’re going to figure this out. We will. I love you.
And so on and so on and so on.
