To begin with, Christy had howled and sobbed. Why was life so unfair? How could this happen? How could a heart give up with no warning? She’d wanted to talk about how she was feeling, but whenever she tried to do that, her mother closed down. Her solution to Christy’s distress had been to give her things to do. Lay the table. Make bread. Keep busy, busy, busy. Don’t think deeply. Don’t give those uncomfortable emotions space to grow.

It was an approach that seemed to work. Christy discovered that when she was pummeling the dough and waiting for it to rise, she thought less about her father. And if her list of things to do was long enough she could occasionally go hours without being ambushed.

She learned to copy her mother’s behavior. From watching Elizabeth she’d learned that you couldn’t control the big things in life, but you could control the small things. So that was what she did.

Christy had lived her life that way. And then she’d met Seb.

Seb had never made a list in his life. He liked to be spontaneous. He never booked tables in restaurants or advance tickets to the theater. He didn’t have a plan for the following week, let alone a five-year plan or a ten-year plan. When she’d asked what he hoped to be doing in ten years, he’d said, Enjoying my life, and he made what seemed to her like uncertainty sound exciting. That night in the bar she’d realized she’d reined in her life so tightly that it wasn’t going anywhere. She’d controlled everything, leaving no room for the unplanned or the unexpected. Her life was predictable and safe, but it was also boring. So boring. Seb showed her an alternate reality, and it was intoxicating. He represented a life she’d rejected. Alix had thought he was wrong for her, but Christy knew he was right for the person she wanted to be.

In those early weeks she’d woken with a feeling of excitement for what the day might bring. On Sundays he’d take her for brunch by the river, or they’d spend the whole day in bed occasionally refueling with pizza ordered from the Italian restaurant next door to his apartment. He had a motorbike because it made it easier to negotiate London traffic, and Christy, who had never been on the back of a motorbike in her life, had felt daring and unbelievably free when he’d taken her on a trip out to the country. They’d picnicked in a field, made love under the shelter of an oak tree and then traveled back to London. With her body pressed against his, the rush of wind in her face and the glittering spectacle of London at night, Christy had never felt more alive.

Every day he surprised her. There was no plan, there was only the moment. He’d taken her on a roller coaster and, as she’d screamed and closed her eyes and tried to hold on to the contents of her stomach, she’d realized that this was how he lived his life, embracing the ups and downs. For Christy, whose life had been all but ironed flat, it was a revelation. She’d wondered, maybe, if extremes of emotions weren’t more fun than bland neutrality.