The Look of Love: A Novel by Sarah Jio Read Free Book Online

fire.
    “Do you think it was a nice Christmas?” Elaine asks, watching the flames dance before us in the fireplace.
    “It was a beautiful Christmas,” I say. “You make it beautiful.”
    She shifts positions and takes another sip of wine before turning to me. “You’re lucky, you know.”
    “Me?” I let out a little laugh. “I’d hardly say that. You, on the other hand, are lucky.”
    Elaine shakes her head. “Jane, you have your whole life ahead of you, and you can make it anything you like.”
    I scrunch my nose. “Well, so do you. You’re only a year older than me, darling.”
    “No,” she says. “I’m not talking about age. I’m talking about the difference of being settled and set versus being open to new possibilities.”
    I nod and turn back to the fire. How strange to hear Elaine speak this way, when for so long I’ve looked at her life as the pinnacle of perfection, the destination on the road to happiness. The house. The husband. The kids. The life. She has it all.
    I place my hand on her arm. “What is it, honey?” I ask. “Tell me.”
    She’s quiet for a long moment, then wipes the hint of a tear from her eye and picks up a little white box from the coffee table and hands it to me. I lift the lid to find two shiny glass knobs, the old-fashioned kind that you’d find on an antique dresser. “Matthew gave me these for our anniversary,” she says.
    “Well,” I say, “they’re pretty.”
    “Knobs, Jane. Knobs.”
    I wonder if I am missing an important detail. “Is there something wrong with . . . knobs?”
    She shakes her head. “There’s nothing and everything wrong with them.”
    I nod with understanding. She doesn’t have to explain any more.
    Elaine wipes another tear from her eye. “Look at me getting all weepy,” she says, turning to me with a summoned smile. “I hate that I get this way on Christmas Day.”
    “Try having it be your birthday on top of it all,” I say, squeezing her arm again.
    “I’d be a wreck.”
    “But you’re not,” I reply.
    She nods vacantly and turns again to the fireplace. We sit together in silence, watching the logs crackle and hiss.

    Lo is standing behind the counter when I arrive at the flower shop the next morning. “Morning,” she says cheerfully. “I see you survived another birthday.”
    “I did,” I say, hanging my coat on the hook in the back room. I set my purse down under the counter. “How was your night?”
    “Oh, good,” Lo says. “Dom Pérignon with Lorne.”
    I raise my eyebrows. “Lorne, huh? A new one?”
    “Yes, he’s an investment banker by day and a closet poet by night,” she says dreamily. “I think I like him.”
    I smirk playfully as I turn on the computer to review the orders that have come in online overnight. “You always like men on the first date.”
    “Of course I do,” she says. “They expire after the third date. I get bored after that.”
    “You’re like a man, you know?”
    She shrugs. “So what if I am? Women would do well to behave more like men.”
    Sometimes I admire Lo’s bold take on love. But I worry about her too, and I wonder if she’s too caught up in the game to ever be happy. I sigh and reach into the pocket of my jeans for a rubber band to pull my hair back into a ponytail, which is when I find the strange birthday card I received in the mail. I tucked it in my pocket this morning, intending to show it to Lo.
    “Hey,” I say, turning to her. “Will you do me a favor and read this? I have no idea who it’s from or whether it’s some kind of practical joke.”
    Lo takes the card and reads it over. “That’s like no other birthday card I’ve ever seen,” she says.
    “I know, right?”
    She nods. “And the handwriting looks familiar, for some reason.” She looks thoughtful. “It reminds me of a guy I dated last year. Tristan, yes. He had the most beautiful handwriting.”
    I roll my eyes. “So you’re saying this is from Tristan.”
    “No,” she says.