Dee waved a hand. “You’re sweet, and honestly, you’re like one of the only people he listens to, but no. Even if he got his shit together, which he definitely won’t, I still need a change. Maybe I’ll move back to Berkeley, who knows. My parents would love it.”

“Wow,” Nora repeated. “This is . . . a lot.”

“You did it, right? I mean, I know it wasn’t for the same reasons, and yes, those poetry readings still sound completely bananas, but now you’re with your family there, and you’re also dating a hot, handy doctor.”

Nora laughed, but something about it rang false to her own ears. First of all, she was still catching up to the thought of Deepa leaving Verdant. Second of all, something about what Dee had said about Will—about Nora and Will, together—settled uncomfortably in her stomach.

What they were doing, it couldn’t really be called dating.

She took another drink of her wine, wanting to shake off the thought. For now, this was working; this was what she’d wanted. It was what she wanted even though the rental situation downstairs had been surprisingly unproblematic so far—the responsible, quiet mother and daughter Will had promised, who so far had mostly kept to themselves, and her neighbors for the most part politely resigned, even once or twice complimentary toward Will’s judgment in choosing them. Once, while they’d been out for a walk, Nora had thought of mentioning something about Will to Mrs. Salas—maybe a test run, with talk of towel rods—but she’d lost her nerve at the last minute, a nagging feeling that she’d be doing something disloyal. To her neighbors, to Nonna.

But even more than that, she liked it, having this secret.

She liked having this thing for herself, in this place where she’d always shared everything.

And she knew Will had his limits, too. She’d seen the look on his face that first morning, when she’d come back from the bathroom, and it was familiar to her: faraway and pained. He’d looked like that once before in her bedroom, the night she’d been sick, and she hadn’t wanted to see that look again.

So she kept it light, kept it specific. A project, an interlude. Each time, a casual, no-promises goodbye.

It was working for both of them.

Wasn’t it?

She cleared her throat, setting down her glass and folding her arms across her chest. On-screen, Dee looked as put together as she always did, but Nora could still see strain from the day in her eyes.

“Dee,” she said, her tone serious. “You know if you go, I’m one hundred percent in your corner. Whatever you need, you have it from me.”