long—the preparation as well as the cooking, not to mention the cleanup. She wonders if Philippe is right, that it’s just easier to eat out. She’s tired afterward, not even hungry anymore.
But the Amish Friendship Bread looks and smells so wonderful that Hannah can’t resist. She breaks off a piece and pops it into her mouth. It’s fabulous. She wishes Philippe could see her now, could see the woman she’s becoming and that he’s missing out on. He had been furious that she hadn’t followed his instructions to the letter and let the movers do the packing. For a second she was scared, thinking that she was making a bad situation worse. And then she stopped herself.
Why is she the one feeling bad? She’s been the agreeable one since the beginning of their relationship. When Philippe suggested they move in together, she agreed. When he wanted to get engaged a couple years sooner than Hannah would have liked, she agreed. When he wanted to move to Chicago, she agreed, even though it meant that she was the one flying back and forth for those couple of years to make their long-distance relationship work. After they got married, it was Philippe who called the shots, who picked the furniture, who chose their cars and where they would live, what vacations they would take. It had been his idea to move to Avalon, a decision that surprised Hannah, but delighted her, too. She had agreed to everything, and now she is filled with regret.
He assures her that he will take care of her, that everything won’t be any more complicated than it needs to be. He has his earnings andshe has hers, it’s always been separate. He’ll give her the house in Avalon to keep or sell if she’ll agree to give him their apartment in Chicago which, he points out, is half the size. He’ll send Hannah her things from the apartment once the season is over in June. They’ll each keep their respective cars—Hannah has a Toyota, Philippe an Audi—and that should be the end of that.
Jerk
, she thinks as she eats another piece, stopping only because she wants to save room for lunch with Julia. They’re meeting in a few minutes, but it’s a short walk to Madeline’s and Hannah doesn’t want to seem too eager. Then again, since she’s the one inviting she shouldn’t be late, either. She puts the three bags of starter into her purse then gathers the rest of her things and steps outside.
It’s a beautiful day in Avalon, still cold but with all the early signs of spring on its way. Hannah buttons her jacket and ties a scarf around her neck as she walks along the sidewalk. She looks at the houses adjacent to hers, noticing that their homes look lived in, cared for. Their street in particular has a row of single-story bungalow-style houses built in the late 1800s with wood siding and shingled roofs, all with garages that were added after the fact. Hannah and Philippe’s house is one of the few properties that had undergone additional renovations to expand the size of the house, the appliances upgraded, the original wood floors refinished and restored. The ornamental fireplace—typical for these old homes—was replaced with one that actually worked. The small front yards belie their spacious backyards, one of the features Hannah loves about their home. It’s what she missed the most in New York and Chicago. Space. Grass. Your own tree. Now Hannah has five, the royal empress being her favorite. The fragrant purple blossoms are just starting to bloom.
There’s a pride in the simple upkeep and landscaping of their street, which isn’t far from Avalon Park and the elementary school. Hannah likes that Avalon is big enough that you need a car to get around and at the same time there’s so much within walking distance. Less than fifteen minutes away there’s a bona fide neighborhood ice cream parlor with black-and-white checkered floors and a row of redvinyl stools at the counter. Hannah sees the kids go there after school, backpacks lined outside
But the Amish Friendship Bread looks and smells so wonderful that Hannah can’t resist. She breaks off a piece and pops it into her mouth. It’s fabulous. She wishes Philippe could see her now, could see the woman she’s becoming and that he’s missing out on. He had been furious that she hadn’t followed his instructions to the letter and let the movers do the packing. For a second she was scared, thinking that she was making a bad situation worse. And then she stopped herself.
Why is she the one feeling bad? She’s been the agreeable one since the beginning of their relationship. When Philippe suggested they move in together, she agreed. When he wanted to get engaged a couple years sooner than Hannah would have liked, she agreed. When he wanted to move to Chicago, she agreed, even though it meant that she was the one flying back and forth for those couple of years to make their long-distance relationship work. After they got married, it was Philippe who called the shots, who picked the furniture, who chose their cars and where they would live, what vacations they would take. It had been his idea to move to Avalon, a decision that surprised Hannah, but delighted her, too. She had agreed to everything, and now she is filled with regret.
He assures her that he will take care of her, that everything won’t be any more complicated than it needs to be. He has his earnings andshe has hers, it’s always been separate. He’ll give her the house in Avalon to keep or sell if she’ll agree to give him their apartment in Chicago which, he points out, is half the size. He’ll send Hannah her things from the apartment once the season is over in June. They’ll each keep their respective cars—Hannah has a Toyota, Philippe an Audi—and that should be the end of that.
Jerk
, she thinks as she eats another piece, stopping only because she wants to save room for lunch with Julia. They’re meeting in a few minutes, but it’s a short walk to Madeline’s and Hannah doesn’t want to seem too eager. Then again, since she’s the one inviting she shouldn’t be late, either. She puts the three bags of starter into her purse then gathers the rest of her things and steps outside.
It’s a beautiful day in Avalon, still cold but with all the early signs of spring on its way. Hannah buttons her jacket and ties a scarf around her neck as she walks along the sidewalk. She looks at the houses adjacent to hers, noticing that their homes look lived in, cared for. Their street in particular has a row of single-story bungalow-style houses built in the late 1800s with wood siding and shingled roofs, all with garages that were added after the fact. Hannah and Philippe’s house is one of the few properties that had undergone additional renovations to expand the size of the house, the appliances upgraded, the original wood floors refinished and restored. The ornamental fireplace—typical for these old homes—was replaced with one that actually worked. The small front yards belie their spacious backyards, one of the features Hannah loves about their home. It’s what she missed the most in New York and Chicago. Space. Grass. Your own tree. Now Hannah has five, the royal empress being her favorite. The fragrant purple blossoms are just starting to bloom.
There’s a pride in the simple upkeep and landscaping of their street, which isn’t far from Avalon Park and the elementary school. Hannah likes that Avalon is big enough that you need a car to get around and at the same time there’s so much within walking distance. Less than fifteen minutes away there’s a bona fide neighborhood ice cream parlor with black-and-white checkered floors and a row of redvinyl stools at the counter. Hannah sees the kids go there after school, backpacks lined outside
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