Page 8 of Waves of Time
Marc nodded. “I’ve met him a few times.”
“I should have known you knew him,” Hilary said. “I’m sure you rub shoulders with all the rich people in San Francisco.”
“I don’t,” Marc said, giving her a mischievous smile. “Only the ones who throw good parties. And you’d be surprised how many of them throw terrible parties.”
Aria laughed, throwing her head back joyfully.
As the company car left the airport, Marc turned toward Aria and asked, “Tell me about the island. What’s new?”
“The island doesn’t change that much,” Aria explained, “but the Coleman family certainly does. So much gossip and news.”
Marc eyed Hilary curiously. “Is that so? The famous Colemans? What are you up to over there?”
Hilary winced. “It’s such a long story.”
“Lucky for you, I have all night!” Marc said. “The dinner reservation is at seven, and then the rest of the night is ours to do whatever we please.”
“I’ll have to hit the hay around eleven or so,” Hilary said, mostly to ensure she didn’t get carried away. Sometimes, when Marc wanted to have a fabulous night, it was easy to fall into his orbit.
“I can hang out as long as you want!” Aria said. “Our meeting isn’t until four tomorrow, so I was planning on sleeping in, anyway.”
“Fantastic,” Marc said. “Let’s paint the town red.”
Sotheby’s had booked a suite at the San Francisco Proper Hotel, located on Market Street. Marc’s driver took them directly there and parked at the entrance, where he leaped out to grab their bags and pass them off to the bellhop at the door. Marc stepped onto the sidewalk and held the door open for Hilary and Aria, who couldn’t help but ogle their surroundings on this glorious street, with architecture that could only be San Franciscan— ornate carvings and old-world flair. Hilary took a deep breath, slightly overwhelmed at the frantic nature of being back in the city. There was a reason she’d wanted to raise Aria in Nantucket.
But there was something intoxicating about San Francisco, too. And something even more exhilarating about being with Marc, who led them into the lobby with a confident stride. At the front desk, a young receptionist gave them their keys, and another bellhop led them to their suite, which had two bedrooms and a living area that looked out over the street. Aria fell back on the gloss of her bed’s comforter, saying, “This is heaven!” as Marc and Hilary laughed open-heartedly in the living room. The hotel staff had set out a bottle of champagne and a bowl of fresh fruit, and Marc grabbed the bottle of champagne and said, “Should we?”
“We have to celebrate us being back together again,” Aria said, leaping back up from her bed and hurrying in. “Right, Mom?”
Hilary found it difficult to say no to her daughter. After a dramatic sigh, she said, “All right. One glass won’t hurt, I suppose.” Marc popped the bottle and poured them three flutes, which they clinked together, their eyes dancing.
“To being back together,” Aria exclaimed.
“And to having one of the best nights of our lives!” Marc said.
Hilary remained quiet, her heart jumping. She hoped Aria was too old to get her hopes up when it came to her father, as it was quite clear to Hilary that Marc probably wouldn’t make it to Nantucket to see them this year or even next year.
Marc had booked a table at the Lazy Bear restaurant, where they ordered Dungeness crab, smelt rolls, oysters, and white wine. It was far fancier than any restaurant Hilary had been to in over a year, maybe two, but she knew how to act the part, how to order well, and how to fit into the immaculate, moneyed crowd. Aria’s eyes danced as she sipped her wine and asked her father questions about his life out in San Francisco.
“I’d love to see your office this time,” Aria said. “And meet your coworkers.”
“I don’t go into the office much these days,” Marc said mischievously. “I’m enjoying more freedom than ever. I wake up early, go for a run, and work a few hours in the morning, then take the rest of the day off.”
“Wow,” Aria breathed, impressed.
“I’m lucky,” Marc affirmed. “The company is rocking, which has allowed everyone to have better work-life balances. Life’s too short to spend it at work, you know?”
“Mom and I talk about that all the time,” Aria said. “Don’t we, Mom?”
“I learned everything I know from your mother,” Marc said. “Hilary, you must remember back in college when you told everyone you weren’t going to have a traditional life. That you wanted to work when you wanted to work and take the rest of the time to daydream on the beach.”
Hilary laughed. “I was so idealistic, wasn’t I? I wish I could go back in time and tell myself to wear more sunscreen on those daydreamy beach days.”
“You inspired me to fight for a life of freedom,” Marc assured her.
Hilary sipped her wine, unsure of what to say. Although she’d generally worked for herself, only taking the jobs she felt most interested in, she hadn’t been free over the years in the slightest. Aria had been her main responsibility. There had been dance recitals, swim meets, math tests, sleepovers, and thousands and thousands of nights when Hilary had wished to herself that she didn’t have to do this all alone.
But instead of bringing up her resentment at Marc’s insane amounts of “freedom,” she said, “I’m so glad it’s going well for you, Marc. You deserve it.”