Madly (New York 2)

“You’re such a schemer,” he said, holding the car door open for her.

She stopped, crouching halfway into the backseat of the Lincoln, her face stricken. “Shit. You’re right, I’m sorry. I get so excited. You don’t have to get a hot dog with me, it’s like an hour in the car. Do you even want to? I mean, you’re probably mad at me, and I did this wrong, maybe.”

“Get in the car, darling.”

She slid the rest of the way in, and he walked around to his side. The sun was high in the sky, no clouds in sight, the city bright and hot and pulsing with life. He felt light in his shoes, buoyed by the presence of the woman he loved.

He had a quiet word with Jean before he got in. The privacy screen rose, creating a silent area in the back of the car for him to share with Allie. When the car pulled away from the curb, he took her hand. “I like your schemes.”

She pulled her palm from his, depositing a clasped fist into her lap. “I couldn’t sleep last night,” she said. “I kept thinking about all the things I failed at, with trusting my parents, or with May, even with Matt.” She glanced at him. “With you, maybe, too. But I don’t want to fail with you.”

“You haven’t. You won’t.”

“I don’t know, I just kept thinking about the thing about the mailman. You’re supposed to start practicing how to be authentic with the mailman so that you can get better at it, and eventually try it out on someone you see more often, until you’re ready to try it out on the people you love. And you and me”—she looked right at him, her blue eyes bright and full of longing—“we skipped so many steps on the mailman thing.”

“I’d prefer it if you never again referred to me as your mailman.”

“Sure, but what I mean is, we went from strangers to friends to lovers and—and more than lovers—all the time telling each other things we never told other people, things that were scary, and I started thinking, when does that stop, you know? Because it wouldn’t go on forever. Sooner or later I’d fail you. I’d start holding parts of myself back, or hiding them away, and you—maybe you’d fall back on your old patterns, too, and want to control me, want me to dress different or act different, be someone who f

its you better.”

“Allie, no.”

“But you don’t know. We don’t know. I’m scared, Winston, because I don’t want to fail anymore. Not when it’s this important. Not with you. And I have learned from the past few days—I’ve learned that I have to work harder to trust the people I love, and I’ve learned that I need to maybe stop acting on what the worst-case scenario is all the time. Like, I get that I shouldn’t have run out on you the other night just because I could imagine how much it would really hurt if I messed up with you in the future, or couldn’t handle being with you. But I don’t want to fail with you, I don’t. So I need you to help me.”

She cupped her hands in the lap of her purple leisure suit, her head bent. And suddenly Winston understood what it was he was meant to say.

“You’re going to fail.”

She looked up at him, her expression all surprise and disappointment.

“You’re going to fail again and again. You’ll fail spectacularly, in fact. You will probably fail more, Allie Fredericks, than anyone else I’ve known.”

“That’s kind of mean to say.”

“It’s not, though.” He took her hand. “All it means, truly, is that you commit yourself completely, over and over again. You give the world your all, and when you fail, you learn something, and you try again. That’s what failure is for. It’s what’s brought so much beauty into your life. You wouldn’t be wealthy and successful at such a young age, I’m certain, if you hadn’t put everything on the line more than once. I suspect you’ve done things that men twice your age called short-sighted and harebrained.”

“Impulsive. Reckless.”

“Yes, and I’d also bet that some of them have failed.”

She smiled, slightly. “There was this thing I tried with illuminated roller-skating carhops and ice cream, the Frosty Lites.”

“Do you have pictures?”

“Some.”

“I’d love to see them.”

“May will never let me live it down. The Frosty Lites. Oh my God, it was such a disaster in every way.”

“But May hasn’t your vision, nor has Ben. They seem like lovely people—I’m not disparaging them—but from what you’ve told me, your sister is spending most of her time getting ready to fail at being a children’s book illustrator instead of telling her agent where he can shove it and doing what she knows is what she wants. She’s afraid, and it’s getting in her way. I’ve just seen Ben’s restaurant, and you’re right. Everything you’ve said about it is right. They’re afraid to fail in business. You’re not.”

“No, I’m just afraid to fail in every aspect of my personal life.”

“You’ve no reason to be. You were a rubbish spy, and you misunderstood some aspects of your family’s situation, but you came to New York and accomplished an enormous amount in a very short time, not to mention made me fall in love with you.”

“Winston—”