Page 72 of Yours, For Good

I'll see you next week!

Nora

Nora

I HAD THOROUGHLY MEANT the letters I sent to Mr. B. where I told him I would let him go. When I said goodbye to his condo in San Francisco, I said goodbye to him, too. Without the sponsorship and without his presence or advice, I didn't think we could have a relationship at all.

Getting Mr. Griggs's email had changed things. Even if not a promise that there would be a relationship with Mr. B.— one where maybe I knew his real name— it was a sign that there had been reasons for how things went down. That maybe we could have the familial relationship I had dreamed of when I sent him that first letter.

Now I walked down a street on the Upper East Side in Manhattan that looked straight out of a movie. Old trees and brownstones, their walls half-covered by ivy thick with late spring growth, and wrought black iron going up the stoops. The view made me feel like a romcom heroine. It seemed Mr. B. lived in a beautiful, expensive side of town, and I wasn't surprised.

The night before I had memorized the map to get there, and now turned the last left toward his townhouse. From my investigation, it seemed he lived within a generous walking distance from the Pendletons but, considering how this area was full of wealthy folk, it didn't mean they actually knew each other. All their proximity meant was that I was thinking of Javier even more than usual. It had been in this area that I had last seen him, after all. Which had been the problem with Lock Willow, too.

My life had been full of him for three-quarters of a year, and it only made sense how many things reminded me of him.

Wind played with my hair and the skirt I had chosen for the day. My heart flipped at the thought of Javier, and the last time I'd seen him… and the kiss we shared. I had almost texted him a thousand times but, every time I grabbed my phone, I remembered he hid something from me. That I had kissed him, and even if we could figure out a way to be friends after that, I didn't know if I could trust him with all of me. I didn't think friendship could be what I wanted if every time I opened up to him, I knew there was a place inside him and his life I would never reach.

But wasn't it his right to keep parts of him his own? Maybe that would be one of the first questions I'd ask Mr. B., if this meeting turned out to be the start of a friendship with an octogenarian.

Palpitations fluttered in my chest when I saw the house numbers approaching the one I looked for. One, two more townhouses and I stopped in front of my destination, and I had to force myself to breathe.

Mr. Smith's home was gorgeous. A mix of tan and reddish brown stone gave it a classic look, with greenery at its feet half-hiding the lower level windows. The stoop ended on a stone awning and a wooden double door; to the side, the front of the home had what my research had called an Edwardian bay window from top to bottom. The night before, I had imagined going up the stairs with a big smile on my face; at the moment, I had to lean on the iron railings edging the stoop.

It took several deep breaths to calm me down enough to ring the doorbell. I counted the time it took for the door to open in heartbeats. One, two… ten…

Only one panel opened, to reveal an East Asian presenting person in masc clothes.

He smiled at me. "Hey there."

"Hi! I'm Nora." My voice had come out higher than usual in my nerves, and it distracted me enough I forgot to explain why I was there.

It didn't seem to matter.

"I thought you might be. I'm Griggs." He offered me his hand.

"Oh! Hello, Mr. Griggs!" I smiled and shook his hand. "It's lovely to put a face to those emails!"

"Likewise, but please call me Griggs." He moved aside and let me into the foyer. "I'm on my way out. He's waiting for you at the end of the hall."

"Thank you."

"Have a good day."

"Thank you," I repeated, and watched him close the door behind himself.

I stood in the foyer with my heart in my throat, and looking without seeing at the back of the doors for a little too long.

When it finally clicked that I was supposed to move, I walked through the hallway with slow, deliberate steps. I was seconds away from meeting Mr. B.! And his house was gorgeous. The architectural designs in the crown molding and walls pointed at the age of the building, but it had evidently been renovated recently enough to look contemporary, too. The walls were white, the details dark, and the parquet flooring a pale warm brown that went well with mid-century modern details in the furniture.

After passing a set of stairs that seemed to go up and down for several stories, the space opened into a small gallery and, past an arch, into a living room. I crossed the rounded opening and stopped in my tracks.

The room was beautiful. Navy blue wainscotting gave texture to the walls, and a large fireplace centered the eye around the two sofas and the two armchairs around it. A huge painting rested above the marble-looking mantle, and a few big plants livened the place. Utterly cozy, the room seemed to invite long evenings of conversation, with the cabinet across from the dark fireplace full of glasses and bottles. If I continued walking to the back of the room, I would meet a big window wall, opening to what looked like a private garden space.

I had no intention of doing such a thing, when Javier stood in the way and stole all my attention.

He stared at me, immobile and a little pale. He didn't say a thing; he seemed stuck waiting for my response, and ready to react if I appeared to make a run for the door.

Judging by the conflicting instincts coming to life inside, he might have to wait for a long time. My brain didn't seem capable of deciding whether I should run to his arms, or look around for Mr. B., or ponder on the big questions of the universe.