Chapter 70
CHAPTER SEVENTY
Gabriel
On Thursday morning, I had ten songs for the album, hadn’t slept in twenty-four hours, and fell asleep as soon as the needle pierced my skin.
I woke up two hours later in the tattooist’s chair and gave her an extra big tip for the work and for the uninterrupted nap.
Not a single cloud on the horizon as I left the jeweler in East Hampton.
What a day to be alive.
I strode through the front door, calling Cleo’s name.
“Hey. Everything okay?” she said when I found her in the laundry room taking clothes out of the dryer.
I pulled her into my arms and buried my face in her hair. She smelled like orange blossoms and sunshine.
“I love you,” I said, trying to make up for lost time and all the times I should have said it but didn’t. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”
Cleo pulled back to look at my face. She placed her palm on my cheekbone. “I love you. So much. I’ve never stopped.”
My eyes drifted shut and I leaned into her touch like I was starved for it. This was the first time she’d said the words.
Was there a better feeling in the world than telling someone you loved them and having them say it back?
No. There was not.
“Say it again,” I said, bringing her hand to my mouth and kissing the inside of her wrist.
“I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you,” she said, showering me with kisses.
I had big plans for this evening but fuck it, I wanted to do this right now, so I lifted her onto the washing machine. “Stay right there. Don’t go anywhere.”
“Sex on the washing machine…” She ran her tongue over her lips and gave me a big wink. “I could get into that.”
I groaned. Now I was getting hard.
In the living room, I dug through the backpack I’d dropped on the floor and pocketed the things I needed, ready to head back to Cleo when a truck pulled into the driveway.
Two delivery men carried a crate to my front door and made quick work of unpacking the art piece. They propped it against the bookshelves while I signed for it.
After they left, I took a few seconds to admire the moody blue and indigo tsunami. My love letters. Our photos. The us that we used to be.
It was Cleo’s art, the piece I’d bought six weeks ago: I dreamt that you loved me . But this wasn’t a dream. It was real.
Later, I would hang it in our bedroom, but I had more pressing business, so I returned to the laundry room.
It smelled slightly musty and like fabric softener. Not exactly the most romantic spot for the occasion, but I was committed now so I didn’t let the location deter me.
We didn’t need the perfect setting, anyway. We had each other.
The laundry machine was going and so was the tumble dryer, so Cleo probably hadn’t heard the delivery guys.
She was leaning back on her palms with a smile on her lips.
I took a moment to drink her in. She was wearing the short white dress over a faded orange bikini. Her golden-brown hair fell around her shoulders and her long bangs brushed her eyebrows. Fresh-faced with no makeup and a bit of a tan, her cheeks were flushed a pretty pink, just like her lush lips.
Cleo had never looked more beautiful to me.
She looked like my forever.
I stood between her legs, and she locked her ankles around my back, giving me a playful smile as she slid one of the bikini straps off her shoulder.
“I didn’t come in here for sex,” I said. “Not that I’m ruling it out,” I was quick to add when her bottom lip jutted out in an adorable pout. “But first, I have something to say.”
She sat up taller, sensing the gravity of my tone. “Okay,” she said hesitantly, chewing on her lip as her gaze flitted over my face, trying to gauge my mood. “Am I going to like this?”
I sure as hell hoped she would, or I’d be fucked.
I had a whole speech prepared for our romantic sunset picnic on the beach this evening but now I couldn’t remember a damn word of it.
Guess I’d have to wing it. My specialty.
Besides, I didn’t need to make a whole big speech. I just needed to speak honestly.
I cleared my throat and looked into her green, green eyes.
“I lost myself a few years ago and I can’t promise I’ll always be okay,” I said.
“But I can promise that I will never stop loving you and that I will never leave you again. You’re it for me.
Without you, there is no music.” I pulled the velvet box out of my pocket and flipped it open, holding it out to her.
“For better or worse until death do us part, will you spend the rest of your life with me, Cleo?”
My heartbeat kicked up a notch, pulsing in my ears while I waited for her response.
“Yes!” She slid off the washing machine and threw her arms around me. “Absolutely yes.”
I sighed with relief and wiped the sweat off my forehead. “Thank fuck for that.”
“As if there had ever been any question,” she scoffed. “I was a sure thing.”
I gave her an incredulous look that made her laugh. “It was touch and go for a while but in the end, we prevailed so that’s all that matters,” I said, tossing the box aside and sliding the gold wedding band onto her ring finger.
Mine. All mine.
“Oh my god,” she breathed. “This is gorgeous.” She brushed her thumb over the half-twist in the metal. “What is it? I mean, what does the design represent?”
I held out my left hand so she could see it better. Her jaw dropped. She took my hand in hers and studied the tattoo on my ring finger.
“It’s a Mobius strip,” I said. “An infinite loop. It symbolizes eternity and transformation. It has no beginning or end so if you travel far enough, time and space become a loop, and you’ll end up where you began.
” Not sure if I got that exactly right, but she nodded like she understood what I was trying to say.
No matter how far we journey, we’ll always find our way back to each other.
“I ended up right back here with you,” she said softly, gently brushing her thumb over my knuckle just above the transparent bandage covering the tattoo. “Exactly where I belong.” Her smile eclipsed the tears shimmering in her eyes.
“Let’s make some new memories.” I pulled the camera out of my pocket then leaned in next to her and held the camera at arm’s-length.
No idea if we’d both end up in the photo or how good it would be, but I pressed the shutter and captured the shot anyway.
I wanted to etch our memories onto my heart and engrave them on my skin—the joyful moments, the quiet moments, the passionate moments. The celebrations and the mundane, victories and losses, heated arguments and reconciliations, and everything in between.
I would never get all my memories back but now I was grateful for the ability to create and retain new ones.
The photo was blurry, but we were looking at each other and we both wore big, sloppy smiles so that was good enough for me.
“Why are we doing this in the laundry room?” Cleo threw up her hands. “This is so us .”
She gave me an exasperated look and we burst out laughing.
Once we started, we couldn’t stop laughing. We were gasping for breath. Clinging to each other as new peals of laughter rang out. Which was when Otis joined the party and started howling.
And I thought, This is what love looks like.
Being so in love that you need to tell the other person right this minute …in the laundry room with your dog swishing his tail in excitement and then circling and circling before finding a comfortable spot to lay down. Right on my feet.
This evening, we would take a romantic stroll on the beach. We would drink wine and feed each other grapes on a blanket in the sand with the ocean rushing to the shore.
And later, we would take a moonlit dip in the pool. Slow dance on the deck under a sky full of stars. Make love until dawn painted the sky red.
Cleo would press her lips over my heart. I would kiss the soles of her feet.
We would laugh about nothing and talk about everything and marvel at our great good fortune that we found each other in this great big, beautiful, fucked-up world.
We would buy an Otis-approved loft on the Lower East Side with a private roof terrace where we would plant an urban garden.
We would live fully and create without boundaries, grow old together, and continue to inspire each other for the rest of our days.
And one day in the distant future, one of us would wake up alone and we would remember all the love and all the joy, and we would feel an overwhelming gratitude simply because the other person had existed.
But right now, right here, this moment was perfect, vibrant and shimmering with life, and I didn’t want to miss a single second.
I framed her face in my hands. Cleo was art and poetry. The music in my soul. My once in a lifetime. And I was so fucking grateful to have her in my life.
“You know how I feel right now?” It was a rhetorical question, so she raised her brows, prompting me. “I feel like the luckiest man in the world.”
Cleo smiled.
And then I kissed her. Slowly. Thoroughly. Savoring the taste of her on my tongue. Sun-ripened peaches and summertime dreams.
Home.