The Hypnotist's Love Story by Liane Moriarty

Author:Liane Moriarty [Moriarty, Liane]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: General Fiction
ISBN: 9780425260937
Publisher: Berkley
Published: 2011-10-01T00:48:04+00:00

Everyone is moving.

Jeff from next door is moving down the coast. The lively new family will soon be moving in.

Patrick and Jack are moving in with Ellen.

I’m the only one standing still.

Tonight after work I sat in my car outside Patrick’s place while he loaded boxes into the back of his pickup truck. He obviously still doesn’t believe in movers. I remembered the day that I moved in to his house. He insisted on moving all my stuff. He got Stinky to help him, while I looked after Jack. We went to the park down the road. There was another little toddler there about the same age as Jack, so we had to practice sharing. Jack thought the park belonged to him. The little girl was exactly the same. They both kept saying, “Mine! Mine!” while the other mother and I chanted those inane things parents say, “Share!” “Play nicely!” “Take turns!”

The other mother sighed, “This stage is just so exhausting, isn’t it?” and I agreed, except, of course, I didn’t think it was exhausting because I was giddy with happiness. I was in love with Patrick, and I was in love with Jack, and the three of us were starting our new life together.

That night we had pizza and beer, and we let Jack have a piece of pizza. His first ever. Patrick took photos. He said it was a historic moment. Jack had the funniest wide-eyed, blissful expression—like he couldn’t believe that he’d lived on this earth for three whole years without knowing about the existence of this extraordinary thing called pizza. He chomped his way through it like a machine. “I know, mate, I’m with you,” said Patrick. “Just wait till you have it with a nice cold beer.”

I was there when your son ate pizza for the first time, Patrick. I helped teach him how to share. I was there, and I’m still here.

He didn’t look too happy tonight as he dumped his boxes in the back of his pickup truck. He didn’t look like a man who was getting married and having a baby. He looked sort of grumpy and middle-aged, to be honest.

I guess it could have been the fact that he knew I was there watching him. I know my presence infuriates him, but, I don’t know, I sensed there was something else. I know him better than anyone.

When he put the last box in the pickup truck, he came over to my car. I wound down my window and he bent down and leaned in and said, “Hi, Saskia.”

I was taken aback. He hasn’t said my name in such a long time. Or if he had said it, he’d yelled it, as if even the very word “Saskia” was something evil and disgusting.

This time he said it in such a normal way, like I was an old friend.

And for a second I was filled with jubilant, insane hope. He’s leaving her, I thought. He’s back. It’s him again. It’s all over. All I had to do was wait it out.

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