Read Online Love the One You're With by Emily Giffin - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Emily Giffin
Tags: marni 05/21/2014
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you!”
“We’re pretty happy, too … for lo, these forty-five seconds! Your girl doesn’t waste much time, does she?”
I laugh, wondering if he’s annoyed or amused by our constant phone lifeline and our vow to visit one another at least once every other month, and then say, “Look forward to seeing you guys next weekend. We’ll have to celebrate.”
“Yeah, we’ll have fun,” he says. “And you, Andy, and I will just have to suck it up and drink for Margot, too.”
I force another chuckle and say, yes, we’ll have to do just that. Then Webb passes the phone back to Margot, and she tells me she loves me. I tell her I love her, too. Andy tells me to tell her that he loves her. And we both say we love the baby on the way. Then I hang up and lie back down next to Andy. We are facing each other, our feet touching. His hand is resting on my hip, just under my oversized T-shirt. We smile at each other, but say nothing, both of us processing the big news. News that feels way bigger than, say, running into an ex-boyfriend on the street.
And so, for the first time since I left that intersection, I feel a sense of perspective wash over me. Perspective that wasn’t ushered in by sex. Or a fun dinner out. Or a night sleeping next to my adorable husband and awaking every few hours to hear his reassuring, steady breathing. Leo has no place in this moment, I think. He has no part in Andy’s family. Our family.
“You want one, too?” Andy says, his hand moving around me, and then massaging the small of my back.
“One what?” I say, even though I know what he’s referring to.
“A baby,” he says. “I know you and Margot like to do things together.”
I can’t tell whether he’s joking or propositioning me or speaking theoretically, so I just murmur, “Someday.”
Andy’s hand moves more slowly and gradually stills. Then he closes his eyes for a few more minutes of sleep while I watch his eyelids flutter and imagine someday, every day, with Andy.
seven
Thoughts of Leo fade almost completely over the next week, which I credit to my contented life with Andy, Margot’s exciting news, and maybe most of all, my work. It’s amazing what a productive, satisfying week of work can do for your psyche, and I consider myself very lucky (or as Margot would say— blessed —a nice, spiritual spin on the source of good fortune) to have the kind of job I can get happily lost in. I read once that when the hours pass in a blur while you work, you know you have found your calling, and although every day isn’t like this for me, I certainly am no stranger to that immersed feeling.
I now own my own one-woman photography business, working on a freelance basis. I have an agent who books assignments for me—anything from advertising shoots for hefty sums, sometimes as much as several thousand dollars for a couple days’ work, to smaller, editorial assignments, which I actually prefer from a creative standpoint.
I love portraiture most of all—perhaps because I’m not a very outgoing person. I don’t talk easily to strangers, although I wish I could, and taking someone’s portrait allows me to make that inroad. I enjoy meeting someone for a leisurely afternoon, becoming acquainted over lunch or coffee, and then getting down to business. I love the trial and error of it all, tinkering with various positions and lighting until I get it just right. There is nothing more satisfying than capturing that one, perfect image. My interpretation of another soul. I also love the variety of the work. Shooting an entrepreneur for Business Week, for example, feels very different from taking photos for a piece in The New York Times Style section or a glossy spread for Town & Country, and the people I’m photographing vary as much as the publications. In the past few weeks alone, I’ve shot a bestselling author, the cast of an art-house film, a college basketball star and his legendary coach, and an up-and-coming pastry chef.
In
“We’re pretty happy, too … for lo, these forty-five seconds! Your girl doesn’t waste much time, does she?”
I laugh, wondering if he’s annoyed or amused by our constant phone lifeline and our vow to visit one another at least once every other month, and then say, “Look forward to seeing you guys next weekend. We’ll have to celebrate.”
“Yeah, we’ll have fun,” he says. “And you, Andy, and I will just have to suck it up and drink for Margot, too.”
I force another chuckle and say, yes, we’ll have to do just that. Then Webb passes the phone back to Margot, and she tells me she loves me. I tell her I love her, too. Andy tells me to tell her that he loves her. And we both say we love the baby on the way. Then I hang up and lie back down next to Andy. We are facing each other, our feet touching. His hand is resting on my hip, just under my oversized T-shirt. We smile at each other, but say nothing, both of us processing the big news. News that feels way bigger than, say, running into an ex-boyfriend on the street.
And so, for the first time since I left that intersection, I feel a sense of perspective wash over me. Perspective that wasn’t ushered in by sex. Or a fun dinner out. Or a night sleeping next to my adorable husband and awaking every few hours to hear his reassuring, steady breathing. Leo has no place in this moment, I think. He has no part in Andy’s family. Our family.
“You want one, too?” Andy says, his hand moving around me, and then massaging the small of my back.
“One what?” I say, even though I know what he’s referring to.
“A baby,” he says. “I know you and Margot like to do things together.”
I can’t tell whether he’s joking or propositioning me or speaking theoretically, so I just murmur, “Someday.”
Andy’s hand moves more slowly and gradually stills. Then he closes his eyes for a few more minutes of sleep while I watch his eyelids flutter and imagine someday, every day, with Andy.
seven
Thoughts of Leo fade almost completely over the next week, which I credit to my contented life with Andy, Margot’s exciting news, and maybe most of all, my work. It’s amazing what a productive, satisfying week of work can do for your psyche, and I consider myself very lucky (or as Margot would say— blessed —a nice, spiritual spin on the source of good fortune) to have the kind of job I can get happily lost in. I read once that when the hours pass in a blur while you work, you know you have found your calling, and although every day isn’t like this for me, I certainly am no stranger to that immersed feeling.
I now own my own one-woman photography business, working on a freelance basis. I have an agent who books assignments for me—anything from advertising shoots for hefty sums, sometimes as much as several thousand dollars for a couple days’ work, to smaller, editorial assignments, which I actually prefer from a creative standpoint.
I love portraiture most of all—perhaps because I’m not a very outgoing person. I don’t talk easily to strangers, although I wish I could, and taking someone’s portrait allows me to make that inroad. I enjoy meeting someone for a leisurely afternoon, becoming acquainted over lunch or coffee, and then getting down to business. I love the trial and error of it all, tinkering with various positions and lighting until I get it just right. There is nothing more satisfying than capturing that one, perfect image. My interpretation of another soul. I also love the variety of the work. Shooting an entrepreneur for Business Week, for example, feels very different from taking photos for a piece in The New York Times Style section or a glossy spread for Town & Country, and the people I’m photographing vary as much as the publications. In the past few weeks alone, I’ve shot a bestselling author, the cast of an art-house film, a college basketball star and his legendary coach, and an up-and-coming pastry chef.
In
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