The door was closed and we were naked. Seth sat on the edge of the bed as I stood between his long, strong legs. He ran a finger down my naked side and kissed my belly. We were limbs and mouths, a tangled, twisted mass on top of sheets. We were promises solidified, named with each kiss, each breath.
* * *
WHEN THE SUN came up, a time-lapsed streak over the ocean, we watched the movement of people from bungalow to bungalow like ants from an airplane, so far away from the world that we had created in his room that night. It startled us to think we had to do anything but lie in each other’s arms for an eternity. I chose in that moment to be open to all possibilities. To honor Adam and let myself be open to love. To appreciate the fact that Seth was able to accept my love for another man, and to adopt his understanding of life, love, and soul mates. My life wasn’t over.
“We are the maid of honor and best man,” I said.
“I’m not convinced that we have to go,” Seth mumbled into my hair as he gripped the back of my knee and pulled my leg over him.
I had my head turned awkwardly to watch the people hurrying past our bungalow.
“It’s eleven a.m. We’re officially the worst friends ever. Their wedding starts in an hour.”
Seth hopped up, smiling. “You’re right. I have a feeling I’ll be saying that a lot in the years to come.”
I smiled back serenely, neither one of us flinching at the breadth of his statement.
Epilogue
Seth
I told her that it was very likely I would never learn to be poetic in our lifetime but that I loved her more than the ocean and Obi and baseball and myself. She responded with, “That, number twelve, is the most poetic thing anyone has ever said to me.” She also told me she loved me and that it meant forever.
Charlotte gave me an envelope the day after we got married. She said, “I didn’t read this because I promised Adam I wouldn’t, and he was my husband and I loved him. I will never break a promise to you, either.”
I opened the envelope later that day, read it to myself, and heeded the words I found so beautifully true and full of hope. Then I tucked the letter in a drawer, where I imagine it will stay until I die.
To Charlotte’s second husband . . . whoever you are:
Taking care of another person the way Charlotte took care of me doesn’t necessarily stoke desire, but we all know that marriage often leads to someone taking care of someone. Hopefully it goes like this: at the end, you’re in Boca Raton, in a sun-filled home with slanted ceilings, decorated in pastels and plastic flowers, dusted weekly by a housekeeper. There’s bland food but it’s plentiful, and there are pink flamingos, lawn jockeys, bingo nights, flu shots, and the occasional evening out, a candlelit dinner where you ask for the low-sodium option. Charlotte gets tipsy on one glass of wine, and after you check your blood sugar, you each have a bite of peanut butter pie and then you hold her hand all the way to the car.
At home you talk about your children, about how they’re not all perfect but you love them. You reminisce about your many years of marriage, you imagine yourselves young, and you come together again for the millionth time.
Eventually one of you takes care of the other until the end, but the one who is left will follow soon, and you’ll meet up in the same place you’ve been meeting all these years, which is “somewhere in the middle,” with a memory of youth close by.
She gave me this gift before she could have possibly had the wisdom to understand its meaning. I just wanted to say, I hope you know how lucky you are.
—Adam
Acknowledgments
I read the last paragraph of this book again more than a year after I wrote it, and literally minutes before I wrote these acknowledgments. I was trying to remember where I was in my life when I said those words about growing old with another person and wishing for something so simple. And then I remembered that the last piece was about gratitude. Just simply appreciating every breath I take with the people I love by my side.
I am grateful to the readers, bloggers, authors, friends, and family members who have supported me on this journey.
Christina, Jhanteigh, Tori, and Dani, thank you! Jane Rotrosen and Atria, thank you!
To my brother, Rich, this one is for you, maybe long overdue, but I was waiting for the most fitting piece. You’re the best brother anyone could ever ask for.
Sam and Tony, world’s best teachers and also the joy of my life, thank you.
Anthony, lawn jockeys, bland food, and flu shots sound amazing as long as they’re with you.
About the Author
RENÉE CARLINO is a screenwriter and the bestselling author of Sweet Thing, Nowhere but Here, After the Rain, Before We Were Strangers, and Swear on This Life. She grew up in Southern California and lives in the San Diego area with her husband and two sons. To learn more, visit ReneeCarlino.com.
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ALSO BY RENÉE CARLINO
Sweet Thing
Nowhere but Here
After the Rain
Before We Were Strangers
Swear on This Life
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 by Renée Carlino
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Carlino, Renée, author.
Title: Wish you were here : a novel / Renée Carlino.
Description: First Atria Paperback edition. | New York : Atria Paperback, 2017.
Identifiers: LCCN 2017015209 (print) | LCCN 2017021315 (ebook) | ISBN
9781501105838 (ebook) | ISBN 9781501105821 (paperback) | ISBN 9781501105838 (ebook)
Subjects: | BISAC: FICTION / Contemporary Women. | FICTION / Romance / General. | FICTION / Romance / Contemporary. | GSAFD: Love stories.
Classification: LCC PS3603.A75255 (ebook) | LCC PS3603.A75255 W57 2017 (print) | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017015209
ISBN 978-1-5011-0582-1
ISBN 978-1-5011-0583-8 (ebook)
Renee C
arlino, Wish You Were Here
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