Page 37 of Starry Tides
She knew she needed to break up with him. She had half a mind to leap into the water and swim away, if only to confuse him. Maybe he’d think she was so nuts that he wouldn’t chase her.
But she knew he would. She knew, too, that when and if she told him about her liver disease, he’d decided to stay with her, to help her through it. That wasn’t what she wanted either. She didn’t want him to stay just because he pitied her. That was the opposite of what she wanted.
When they reached the mainland, Helena helped tie up the boat and then told herself that she couldn’t invite Matteo over after all. She needed to start putting distance between them. But when she looked at him, she felt the question spill over her lips. “What are you doing now? Do you want to come to my place?”
Because Matteo’s car was on the mainland, because he usually either slept in a hotel or on the boat when he came to Nantucket, Helena drove him to the little house. In the driveway, he laughed and said, “I haven’t been here in a while, huh?”
It felt like longer than a while. It felt like years. But in actuality, it had been early June, the second day of Helena’s stay on Nantucket.
She was a different person now. But she couldn’t tell him that.
Inside, Helena opened her fridge and pulled out one of the beers he always drank.
“You bought that for me?” He asked.
Helena blushed. She’d had a six-pack delivered three days ago in anticipation of this. “Is that wrong?”
“No,” Matteo said. “It’s just sweet.” He kissed her cheek, her forehead. Expectation bubbled between them. Helena put her head on his shoulder, closed her eyes, and sighed.
Could she really let herself experience this? Could she really let him sleep over?
But that night, they dressed in thick sweaters and sat on the patio?—
him with his beer and her with her mug of tea. They listened to the waves, held hands, and made no move to go anywhere else. Helena had no plans to kick Matteo out of her house, not if he didn’t want to go.
She realized she was beginning to need him, which was maybe the worst thing of all.
The following morning,Helena woke up before Matteo did and rolled over to watch him sleep. He looked peaceful, handsome, like a stoic statue you might see in Rome. Helena had never been to Rome. She supposed she’d never make it there.
Rather than wake him up, she tiptoed to the kitchen to make herself some tea. A notification dinged on her phone: a calendar appointment with a potential buyer in an hour. She wondered if Matteo would want to leave before the appointment, or if he’d want to be around while Helena showed off her paintings and put on her “seller” persona. She imagined Matteo teasing her about it after, pointing out that she sometimes used words when she was selling that she never would have used with him. “It’s my artist personality!” she’d explain to him, laughing. “You wouldn’t get it!”
Helena drank her tea, responded to messages, scheduled social media updates, and presented five potential paintings to the prospective buyer. She arranged them in the living room directly next to the kitchen, so that he wouldn’t see the mess they’d made of the sink and countertops.
The buyer was Nantucket-based, which probably meant he’d heard about her work through the grapevine of Hilary Salt and her friends. In Helena’s limited experience, most of the men who’d purchased from her weren’t avid social media users. She wondered why women were more into social media than men, then decided that men were less keen on connections. She wondered why that was. Were they too embarrassed to open their hearts to all that?
Fifteen minutes before the prospective buyer was supposed to arrive, Helena heard Matteo’s feet on the stairs. She raisedher head to watch as he came into the kitchen, smiling. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”
Matteo had wild hair, which he tried to flatten without success. He came over and kissed her neck, her cheek, her forehead. “Good morning!” he said. “I haven’t slept that well in years.”
Helena was touched by the sentiment. But she knew what he meant. If she hadn’t had this disease, she might have tossed and turned after the divorce. She might have struggled to make sense of long nights alone. In that way, her sleepiness had saved her from her mind, she supposed.
Helena told Matteo that a client was coming by to see her paintings. Matteo teased her.
“You’re so important,” he said. She watched as he expertly made a pot of coffee, as though he’d been there a thousand times before. She told herself to remember this moment, to keep it in her mind forever, so that she could return to it after he’d gone.I love you, she thought, but she couldn’t say it aloud.
There was a knock on the door. “That’s him,” she said. A jolt of adrenaline went through her. “Wish me luck!”
“You don’t need it,” Matteo said, kissing her again. “But I’ll see you on the other side!”
Matteo remained at the kitchen island, reading his phone and sipping coffee. Helena took a breath and went to the front door to shake the client's hand, a man in his forties with salt-and-pepper hair and kind eyes. Something was familiar about him, but Helena wasn’t sure what. Maybe she’d seen him around the island. It wasn’t so big.
“Good morning! So good to see you,” she said, guiding him into the living room to see the paintings.
As the man assessed the paintings, shifting his weight from side to side, he remained quiet. Helena listened to the quiet yet clear sounds in the kitchen: Matteo pouring another cup ofcoffee, Matteo pouring himself a cup of water. She wondered if there was any food for him. Maybe she could make them an omelet after this. Maybe she could chop up a ton of garlic and onions and grate some cheese. A smile played over her lips. A man she loved was in her house, waiting for her!
The client turned. “I’m sorry I’m taking so long. I don’t know a lot about this kind of art, I guess. I wanted to buy a painting as a surprise for my wife. She’s been having a hard time.”
Helena smiled. “Don’t worry! What is your wife like? Maybe I can help you.”
