The One That Got Away (31 page)

1.
The One That Got Away
starts with this arresting line: “Every woman has one. That name you Google at two o'clock in the morning.” How does that opening set the tone for the novel?

2. In what ways does the author contrast Eamon and Noah? Do their personalities bring out different sides of Sarina? What makes Eamon the right choice for her?

3. In reference to Noah, Sarina thinks,
He made it so easy for me to fall in love with him
. What do you think her statement suggests about the kind of guy Noah is? What does it suggest about the way she sees him?

4. As Sarina contemplates her future with Noah, the topic of children frequently comes up. How did you react to the scene in
chapter 9
when Noah's parents are questioning Sarina about how she will adjust her career to accommodate children?

5. Sarina and Noah come from very different upbringings, which have ultimately had an impact on their priorities and sensibilities. Do you think it's possible for two people from such diverse backgrounds to really be compatible?

6. How do Eamon's swimming career and car accident affect who he is as a person? Can you see the way in which these two defining parts of his life affect his decision making?

7. Why do you think Sarina is so drawn to Eamon? Is it because she never got a real chance with him when they were younger? Do you think Sarina would still end up with Eamon if Noah had always been in Austin?

8. John and Sarina have a special relationship, and yet she always found it difficult to go visit him. How do you think she handles the guilt she feels for not visiting? Is it possible to channel regret like that in a healthy way?

9. Grief and coping play important roles in Sarina's story—from her mother's early death to John's passing later in life. How do those experiences, for better or worse, shape her character?

10. When the story takes place, Sarina's mother has been gone for ten years, so hers is not a recent loss. What are some ways you see that her mother's absence impacts Sarina, both prior to the story and in terms of her actions throughout it?

11. How does Sarina grow throughout the novel? Are there any scenes in particular that really stand out as turning points for her? Why?

12. Is there a greater significance behind Sarina's entrepreneurial spirit? How does her desire to build a strong business relate to, and affect, the choices she makes in her personal life?

13. One of the main themes in this novel is the strong role that timing can play in relationships. In what ways does the author use the concept of time to illustrate how we make decisions?

14. Of all the themes touched upon in the novel—love, second chances and starting fresh, grief and coping, stability and comfort versus taking risks, creating a sense of home—which do you connect to the most? Is there a scene that makes a strong impression on you? Why?

 

READ ON FOR A GLIMPSE AT BETHANY CHASE'S NEXT NOVEL, FEATURING SARINA'S BROTHER-IN-LAW COLIN AND FRIEND HILARY!

A black cat got me pregnant.

For some reason, as I'm hunched like a shrimp on my toilet, staring at the plastic stick I'm clutching in one trembling hand, that is the first thing my brain seizes on. Because it's true—although the actual impregnation part was taken care of by a very beautiful human male, the series of events that led me here, one following neatly and logically after the other, began with the first time I laid eyes on that little black Manx.

His name was Newman. His owner, a gangly Jane Birkin type with ink-smudged hands and a big, wicked smile, had brought him into the clinic back in September because he'd been vomiting more than normal. “And more than normal is a lot,” she'd said. “My husband says cat puke represents forty percent of our household GDP.”

I liked her immediately. When I mentioned that I was new to Austin, she got a look on her face like I'd offered her a box of fresh Gourdough's donuts, and I knew I was about to become a Project: help Dr. Koretsky make friends. Which surprised me at the time—married girls don't usually like to hang out with single girls. We aren't an appreciative audience for the endless litany of “we,” “us,” “my husband,” “the baby.” That is, if they can be bothered
to socialize at all; most of my married friends back in Colorado stopped going out even before they had kids. Somehow cuddling in front of Bravo became the ultimate leisure-time activity.

But Sarina was different; she was irreverent and potty-mouthed and we laughed like coked-up hyenas when we hung out together. I didn't get bored when she talked about her husband, because her stories about him cracked me up. Then, a few weeks ago, she invited me to a party they were throwing at their house at the end of January. A No Legitimate Reason party, meant to console everyone who was crashing hard into the postholiday blues. I was just excited that I'd recovered from an atomic stomach bug in time to be able to go.

I was waiting for the hallway bathroom when I heard the scrabble of claws on the inside of a nearby door, accompanied by a bitter wail. I dropped to my knees and inched the door open. A black paw shot out of the gap and swatted at the molding, trying to gain purchase to wedge the door open wider.

“Hello,
Newman
,” I said.

A yellow eye glared at me through the gap. I extended my fingers to stroke his cheek, and Newman, taking advantage of my relaxed vigilance, wedged himself forward and through the door.

“Damnit!” I launched myself after him and caught him around the ribs just as he was about to round the corner toward the living room. I scooped him up in my arms to return him to his prison. Newman, immediately forgiving me for derailing his bid for freedom, placed his paws on either side of my neck and head-butted my chin, purring like an idling Harley.

Behind me, I heard the bathroom door open and the light switch off. “Don't let my brother see him loving on you like that,” said a man's voice. “I don't know whether he'd be more upset to find out his wife was cheating on him, or his cat.”

I turned and experienced the sensation of tripping over an unseen extension cord. The guy, who was apparently Sarina's
brother-in-law, was goddamned spectacular. Dark, sleepy-lidded eyes, a pleasingly assertive nose, geological cheekbones, and longish, wavy black hair tucked behind his ears: he looked like Johnny Depp crossed with Julius Caesar. (Kate Moss–era Johnny, not Jack Sparrow—important distinction.) He was smiling at me, a lazy, sexy smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

“It's not what it looks like,” I quipped. “I'm his vet.”

“Oh, well in that case.” He stepped closer and stretched out his fingers to scratch the cat under the chin. I was instantly jealous.

“I'm Hilary, otherwise known as Dr. Koretsky,” I said. “I'd shake your hand, but as you can see, I've got my hands full.”

Eye crinkles. “Hey Hilary. I'm Colin.”

“Eamon and Colin? Tell me you have another brother lurking somewhere around named Seamus.”

“Actually, it's Kieran.”

I laughed. “No it is not.”

“Would I lie to you?” he said.

I cocked my head sideways to evaluate him. “I don't know you. You
might
be lying to me.”

He gave me a lady-killer eyebrow. “Why don't you put my nephew back in his room, and I will go and get us some beers, and then you can get to know me.”

I got to know him. Once supplied with drinks, we burrowed into one of the low-slung, vintage leather couches that anchored each end of the massive living room, and we pretty much didn't move all night. When I caught Sarina and Eamon making kissy fish faces at me over Colin's shoulder, I stuck my tongue out at them.

Colin took a sip of his Shiner Bock without turning around. “They're giving you shit, aren't they?”

“Yes, they are.”

Still without turning, he lifted his arm and saluted them with a raised middle finger. “I'm in town for a couple more days. Do you want to meet up for dinner tomorrow?” I must have looked confused, because he continued. “That asshole will give me his car. He's my little brother, he has to do what I tell him.”

Privately I thought it was a bit of a stretch for Colin to refer to his brother as “little,” since Eamon is essentially a walking skyscraper, but I liked Colin's more personable scale; just south of six feet is more than enough man for someone as vertically compromised as I am. In fact, I liked everything about Colin—except the fact that he lived in New York. Brooklyn, he was careful to specify, as if I would understand the nuances of that distinction.

And back to Brooklyn he went, two days later, though I almost made him miss his flight.
HILARY YOU MUST RELEASE HIM
, said Sarina's text.
Col is not answering his phone, Eamon is pacing like an animal, and I'm going to strangle him if he doesn't stop. Tell Colin he has to get back here if he wants to get to the airport on time
.

“Listen,” said Colin, one hand on my doorknob behind him, “I know we're not going to make this a thing, but if you ever feel like coming to New York, let me know, okay?”

“I will,” I promised. “Same for you when you come back.” I gave his chest a gentle shove. “But you have to go.”

“Mm-hm,” he said against my lips. Then we both heard the insistent buzz from his jeans pocket. “Okay. Going. Try to keep my nephew out of trouble.” And then, with one last flash of a smile over his shoulder, he was gone.

And now. This. My life, clicking along as steadily as a freight car on one of the MoPac trains that rumble past the clinic all day
long, slammed off its tracks in a pile of twisted steel by the impact of a Mack truck. This wasn't supposed to be mine, this consequence or this decision—this was never supposed to be me.

I dig my hands into my hair, making it flip forward in dark ribbons around my lowered face.
This is impossible
, I want to scream, but no sooner do the words bubble up than I know them for liars. All doctors, human or animal, know the inverses of statistics. The microscopic percentages everybody else likes to ignore when they make assumptions about what is or is not going to happen. I, Hilary Koretsky, am a statistic. My birth control failed. I am the 1 percent.

Except, I'm less than the 1 percent. I'm the 1 percent divided by an additional factor of hellish improbability.

I remember a lot of things about that third time we slept together: the way he caught my thigh under one arm and hitched it up against his waist; the satisfied sigh that slipped out of him when he felt the orgasm start quivering through me. The pop of his hip when he stood up to drop the condom in the trash can. His voice, swearing softly in the darkness.

“What's wrong?”

“I think…I think the condom broke.”

“Oh shit, really?”

“Yeah. I totally didn't notice. Little too wrapped up in everything else.” I could hear the apologetic smile better than I could see it.

“Well, no big deal,” I said. “Unless you have a rare Micronesian bat flu that's only transmitted through sexual fluids.”

“No Micronesian bat flu,” he said, crawling back across the bed. He stretched out next to me and wrapped one arm over my rib cage. “You're on the Pill?”

“Yeah.”

“Whew!” he said, wiping imaginary flop sweat off his forehead.

“Tell me about it,” I said. “But it's all good.”

And I really thought it was.

Of course, I forgot one fairly significant thing. The fact that I'd spent two whole days the week before puking everything I put into my stomach right back into this very same toilet I'm melting down on right now. Including two life-changing little tablets of Ortho Tri-Cyclen.

PHOTO © A. PACHENCE

A native of Virginia's Shenandoah Valley, B
ETHANY
C
HASE
headed to Williams College for an English degree and somehow came out the other side an interior designer. When she's not writing or designing, you can usually find her in a karaoke bar. She lives with her lovely husband and occasionally psychotic cat in Brooklyn, three flights up. This is her first novel.