Chapters (59)
- Cover
- About the Author
- Praise
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- January
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- February
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- March
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- April
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- May
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- June
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- July
- Forty-One
- Epilogue
- Acknowledgments
- Author’s Note
- Ladies of the House - Reader’s Guide
- Questions For Discussion
- Excerpt
“After,” he said softly, his warm breath on my jaw, just below my ear, “you told me it was a mistake. I believed you. God, that word followed me around for months.”
“But I was lying,” I said, sniffling.
“Well,” he said gently, smiling, “I guess I can see that now.”
“I just need you to know,” I said, my voice now steady, “that if we do this, if we get together, you will be forbidden from changing your mind. No takebacks. No undos. You won’t be able to get rid of me. Do you understand?”
“Completely. Why are you trying to scare me?”
“Because this is it for me. It is. And if that doesn’t scare you, then I don’t know if this can be.”
I barely blinked, and I was on his lap. I think he’d lifted me there. His arms were around my waist, his hands underneath the bottom of my shirt, and he was clinging so hard I thought he might leave prints on my skin. Someone, Wallis or Cricket, had shut the bedroom door. “This room is off-limits,” I heard Cricket say to a passerby in the hall. “Doing some construction in there.”
“I love you,” he said, his voice thick, “and I’ve never been so scared in my life.”
In my childhood bedroom, surrounded by syrupy brown walls that used to be a hopeful shade of pink, he kissed me. My past, all around me, paved over; inside I felt a shift. I wrapped my arms around his neck, wondering if something this good could be sustained. Eventually we came up for breath. He touched the cold tip of his nose to mine, and I thought, yes, lovely world, it can.
Epilogue
Wallis has packed us a picnic: soft cheese and salami, wheat crackers and spinach dip, lots and lots of rosé. Cricket brought the good, thick knit blanket from the back of her couch; Bo had one from his place, too, and we pick a viewing spot in the grass near the edge of the Mall, just north of the Reflecting Pool, facing the Lincoln Memorial. Atlas, wanting to be helpful, arrives with his rain jacket and a poncho still in its wrapper, thinking the ground might still be wet from the thunderstorm yesterday, thinking of our bottoms. We laugh when he unveils this, and applaud once it is revealed he’s also brought champagne, which is much better received.