22. Willow
TWENTY-TWO
Willow
D uring the warm spring evening, long after dessert, the Brooklyn girls, Marco, Laura and I are relaxing out the remainders of our hangovers in the hot jet streams of a large Jacuzzi on the side of Sunflower House.
It could have fit us all but it would have been a cramped fit, so I'm glad that Steve, Maggie and Pete decided to abstain and play a card game.
Dax wanted to paint and is doing exactly that, alone and happy in the arts and crafts room.
Rachel and Sylvia said they were going to read their books before bed, with Rachel walking back to her house and her husband for the night. Sylvia disappeared upstairs to the room she’s lived in for too long.
We learned at dinner that Ben wouldn't be joining us tonight because he wanted to spend time with his son, newly returned from his grandmother’s, making their meal for the two of them at home. I was secretly disappointed, but at the same time thought it incredibly sweet. I wondered what they were talking about. What his son is like. How Ben is as a dad. Does Jonny look like Ben did when Ben was a boy? During empanadas and shrimp tacos, I kept these thoughts to myself even when Rachel told stories of how Ben used to help a lot at the retreats, charming all of us.
The meal felt like home. Southern California is known for great Mexican food considering it used to be part of Mexico before the settlers took it over long ago. That’s one reason we do not lack for excellent food that’s authentic and hard to duplicate. Also, Korean taco trucks took over the streets some years back and never left, thankfully. Both types of tacos are different but delicious. The ones Rachel and Sylvia made for all of us tonight, outstanding. They really did their research on what spices you need, and they heated up the tortillas in a pan with olive oil to make them extra tasty. Huge hit.
With plenty of steam keeping us company I inform everyone, "Sylvia shared with Laura and I that she wants to change rooms to the one Dax and I are staying in. I was thinking maybe we could all help them.” The Brooklyn girls, Marco, and Laura, are listening as if they think it’s a good idea, too, so I continue, “Last night, while I was lying in bed, I checked out our room, and I think it could fit her king-size bed in it. They were talking about getting a queen, for size, and switching out the old bed since she had it with her ex-husband. But maybe she could just switch out the mattress, and that would be the fresh start she’s looking for? Or get a whole new bed later after we’ve all helped to switch everything out?”
“That could be her call,” Laura says, adding an enthusiastic, “But this is a great idea.”
Michelle begins, “All of us helping," with Sienna finishing, "We could get the rooms changed out in no time. Why do they want to switch?"
Marco, ever aware of his divorce, surmises correctly, “Too many memories of her Ex.”
The girls nod understanding, and Michelle says, "I moved entire apartments after I broke up with my last one."
The memory is in Sienna’s eyes as she says, “Best thing you ever did was drop that guy."
Laura tells them about how I still talk to my ex and the three of them, the Brooklyn girls and Marco, listen in rapt attention, every one of them confessing that none speaks to an ex.
With a whimsical look, Michelle says, "I'd like to know what Danny is doing. He was my first love in high school. It wasn't meant to last for us. I know it does for some people, high school sweethearts and all that. But Danny and I were just too different. Still, I'd love to know what he's up to. He was such a sweet guy. A little too sweet for me."
Sienna laughs, “That’s why I never heard of him.”
Michelle grins with mischief, “Exactly!”
Not having traveled much, I ask them, “What's New York like? "
"It's so fun!” Michelle says.
Sienna gives more detail, “When you walk out of your apartment, there are always people on the streets. Constant activity. You could be completely relaxed in your space, having a nap, and you walk outside and you're thrown into this electricity. It's very cool. I like to call it, reliable excitement .”
“I love that there are so many people from different countries," Michelle adds. “ If you're on the subway, in a store, just walking around, and oh my gosh, Central Park! So many accents are walking by you all the time. It's one of the biggest cities in our country even though it's only about nine-and-a-half miles long, Manhattan I mean. If you include all the boroughs it's huge."
Sienna nods, “Way huge,” and continues, “So many different industries, so when you're at a café or something and you're overhearing people’s conversations, they're always completely different. People are talking about current events, their businesses, the finance world, Broadway, international trade. You see people from all ages out and about, and usually incredibly fashionable. It's one of the fashion meccas of the world so?—“
Michelle asks Marco, "Do you think New York is bigger than Milan, fashion-wise?"
I glance to Laura, and she smiles. We both noticed at dinner that Michelle asked a lot of questions of him. He explained to us all about Sorrento because she asked, diving in to know more about the Italian with gently asked question after question. It was impossible not to notice her interest in him.
"I've never been to Milan,” Marco admits, “It's on the far north of Italy. Industrial. I prefer smaller cities. Have you ever been to Italy?" He is only looking at her. Only curious about her reply.
Laura begins to open her mouth to answer and, under the bubbling water, I poke her leg. She locks eyes with me and I wordlessly tell her to let them have their conversation. New Hampshire glances over to Sienna who nods that she knows exactly what we're thinking.
"I'm getting hot. I think I'm gonna go in,” Laura says.
“Me too,” agrees Sienna.
Michelle overlaps, “I’ve never been but I’d love to go,” until she realizes what Sienna just said. “Oh really? You’re leaving?” Michelle begins to rise but her friend waves that bad idea away.
"You stay. I'll see you up in our room. I think I'm gonna grab a donut on my way up. I saw them in the pantry box."
Laura takes the cue, “Donuts?"
I rise, water cascading off my body, steam blowing up around me, "I would love a donut.”
I know it's not the heat that's making Michelle suddenly blush, but she doesn't object as we three women leave her and Marco alone in a very sexy location. Lucky girl. Maybe something might come of it? As soon as we’re inside I tell Laura, “And I thought California to Georgia was far."
Sienna overheard me. “You're interested in Ben, aren't you? I saw you guys dancing! Don't think I didn't!"
"How long is the flight? Four-and-a-half hours?" Laura asks. "That's not that long."
Sienna says, "I once dated a guy who lived in London." adding after a beat, “See, New York has people from all over the world coming to it. He was there on business and wow, what a ride!" She giggles, heading for the glazed donuts. We each take one, debating whether or not to have espresso with it.
“We're on vacation,” I grin.
“So what if we don't pass out right when we hit the pillow tonight,” Laura says.
“Yay! Espresso!” Sienna says, pronouncing it correctly as Es presso rather than Ex presso like so many do because you drink it so fast, with it that small. Yet powerful.
Drinking it, I wince almost as hard as I did the tequila, and Laura laughs at me. “You’re not supposed to down it!”
“Habit from last night.”
“You’re hilarious.”
I wink, “I did that to make you laugh.”
“Was it worth the burn?”
“Of course it was.”
Sienna is heading for the arts and crafts room to see what Dax is up to. At hearing her say through the open door, “Oh my God!” Laura and I hurry to see what’s up.
On the long table in front of my roommate is an array of about thirty paint bottles, seven used brushes, three aluminum pie tins covered in mixed paint, and a plank of wood with Sunflower House painted onto it, an abstract likeness worthy of both Van Gogh’s and Monet’s praise. The three of us ooh and ahh, Laura gushing, “You are truly gifted!” and staring in shock at the piece. The sunflowers are so bright and beautiful, and you can almost see the long grass floating in the sunlit breeze.
Sienna melts, “They are going to love this so much!”
Dax’s demeanor is calm and detached, accepting the compliments with grace. No smile.
I lean in to stare closer at thick brushstrokes, stunned as I whisper, “You have a talent.”
“So do you.”
Over my shoulder, I meet their eyes. “Not like yours.”
“You don’t know that. You just started. But you have a seed. Now you’ll plant it.”
“But this?” I look back to the gorgeous painting. “This is God-given.”
“Aren’t all talents?”
Uncomfortable talking about my photography held up in comparison in any way, shape, or form to this gifted artwork, I bluntly say, "I'm gonna go up to bed. "
Sienna and Laura run over to get their own wood planks, with Laura choosing one painted over, instinctively knowing it's meant for us if we want it. "This one already has pink all over it. I've got a head start!"
Sienna's blank one is held up for us. "I'm gonna see if I have any talent!"
Dax says, "I can show you some techniques."
She spazzes out, “Would you?!”
I leave the three of them to their painting, feeling a slight tug to join them, but no. I need some time with my camera. I’m going to delete photos I took that day that didn’t make the cut, removing all of the ones that give me zero feeling, keeping only what makes me smile.
But right after I turn on the bedroom light, I hear something hit our window. Pausing by the door I stare, and hear another ‘ping’ follow. Sounded small, like a pebble? Immediately after, a third hit propels the memory forward from within the recesses of my mind — If I threw a pebble at your window, everything changes.
Was that what he said? Rushing to the window, I throw it open and stick my head out to see Ben standing in the tall grass behind Sunflower House, dozens of its namesake surrounding him. His cowboy is hat tilted up, green eyes glittering in moonlight, jeans and denim shirt tight enough to make any woman steal a second glance. And a third.
In wonder I call down, “Hi!”
Holding his finger to his lips, he throws a whisper loud enough to reach only me, “I need to see you.” He brings up his right hand and waves once, calling me down. “Come on.”
Running quickly into the bathroom, I rinse espresso clean with mouthwash, fix my damp hair, throw on a robe, and race out of the Rose room, downstairs, quietly as possible.
They’re still painting, not aware I’m sneaking through the main room, out the front door and around the side of the house without the jacuzzi. Grabbing a sunflower on a whim, I yank it from its roots and rush around back to answer Ben’s beckoning call.