Chapter 20
Mid- to late April
I pick up my iced tea, my feet up on the terrace couch, my trusty journal and pen on my lap.
Rob will be home any moment, bearing groceries, hopefully following through on this morning’s promise of shrimp risotto.
I gaze out through the glass barrier onto the New York skyline, dazzled by the warm April sun.
Breathing deeply, trying to practice the mindfulness Suzie has been telling me about, I take a slow sip of the tea.
Concentrate on its sweet flavor, its coolness.
I look over the rooftops and think about the magical past two weeks I’ve had with Rob who, since we got together, has been a revelation in terms of how loving a man can be.
It’s been the best two weeks of my life — and there’s that guilt again.
It comes to me when I’m lounging around this apartment, a place that now feels like home, and yet isn’t really mine.
And today has been tough.
David would have been forty today. Correction: David is forty, and I’m not with him.
I miss him so much. His cheeky humor, his lack of logic, his ability to turn every event into a party.
I wonder what he’s doing for his birthday, in our world.
It’s nearly 11 p.m. in London, and he’ll probably be at some pub with his friends, the center of attention, partying up a storm. Maybe with Her, too. Other Me.
A step behind me, and Rob’s hand is on my shoulder. “Hey, baby.” He leans down to kiss the top of my head. “How was your day?”
I tilt my head back, smile up at him. “Fine—” But I can’t hide the dampness around my eyes.
“What’s up?” He sits down beside me, lifting my feet onto his lap. “Why are you upset?”
“I’m fine. Only . . . It’s David’s 40th today. I’m sad, that’s all. I’ll be fine.”
“Baby, I’m so sorry. Of course.” He presses his lips together, clearly upset he forgot. “I guess his last birthday was when he came to stay here with that girlfriend of his. Three years ago now.” He takes my hand in his.
He’s trying to be kind, but I’m irritated.
“It’s not that it would have been today,” I reply.
“He is 40, today. And I celebrated his birthday with him last year, in London, and the year before, and yes, three years ago, when he and his girlfriend visited me — in Brooklyn, not here.” I’m getting more agitated.
“I’ve never missed his birthday, not even after I moved to New York.
But this year, for the first time, I am.
Missing it.” I pull my hand away and pick up my iced tea, taking a gulp.
Rob presses his lips together again, then pats my bare legs, and lifts them from his lap, getting up.
“I’m sorry. I understand it’s a tough day. I’m going to start dinner.” He goes inside, pausing to stroke my hair for a second on the way.
I feel awful. He was trying to be nice. None of this is his fault. But I can’t follow him yet.
I pick up my iPhone and pore over photos of David, as I’ve done so many times before.
The last ones of him, tanned and happy in Hawaii, are preceded by images of his final trip to visit me and Rob in April 2015.
They include a photo from David’s birthday meal at Eleven Madison, with the smiling faces of Rob, David and his girlfriend at the time, a platinum blonde.
What was her name? Ashley? Hayley? I don’t even remember.
But that visit, three years ago, I do remember — although in my reality, they stayed in Brooklyn with me, around six weeks after I had moved into my place.
The three of us went to a Greek place for his birthday dinner and got tipsy on cheap house red.
The server brought out a mini cake with a sparkler, and the staff sang “Happy Birthday,” while David conducted the staff, basking in the attention, taking a grandiose bow at the end.
I smile tearfully at the real memories while flicking through photos on my phone of a more glamorous version of events. The sun lowers over the city skyline, but I linger outside. The evenings are starting to get warm again.
When I finally venture inside, Rob is dishing up a wonderful-smelling shrimp risotto into shallow dishes, grating a little parmesan over the top. I walk up behind him and put my arms around his waist. He pauses as I lean my head between his shoulder blades and pull him back toward me.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “You were being lovely. I’m having a hard time, that’s all.”
Rob puts down the cheese grater and turns in my arms, taking my face between his hands. He gives me a gentle kiss. “I’m sorry too. It’s sometimes easy to forget how you feel about . . . being here.”
“I love being here with you, you know that, right?”
His lips curve through his beard. “I do. Come on.” He turns to pick up our plates. “I’m starving.”
“Me too. I fancy a drink, too. Want a glass of something?”
“I picked up champagne, it’s in the fridge. It’ll be great with the risotto.”
“Very fancy.” I take it out of the refrigerator door, grabbing some crystal flutes along the way. “We can toast David’s birthday.”
We sit at the dining table, and Rob pops the cork. He hands me a glass and lifts his to mine. “Happy birthday, David, wherever you may be,” he toasts.
“Happy birthday, David,” I echo, and take a sip. I wonder if he’s celebrating with Her.
“So,” I pick up my fork and pile fragrant rice onto it. “What’s this about, then?”
“What?” Rob looks confused.
“Oh, come on — nice dinner, champagne . . . And I know it’s not to make me feel better about David, because you forgot. So, why the special treatment on a random Thursday?”
Rob grins ruefully. “I can’t get anything past you, can I?”
I shake my head.
“Well, I figured we could talk. About us.”
“Ruh-roh.” I put my fork down, suddenly nervous.
“No,” he puts his hand on mine, “it’s a good thing. But before we get into that—”
“What?”
“Well, I know you want to be here. I know you love me. I’m not worried about that.
But you still seem to feel there’s another life somewhere, with David alive.
Your life in Brooklyn. I’m not sure you can 100% commit to me, if you’re feeling like that.
Like, how present are you in what we have here? ”
“I’m present. I swear, baby, I am. It’s not like I’m torn. I don’t have a choice, but if I did, I’d choose you.” I lean forward. “I choose this life, with you. I love you so much.” I’m on the verge of tears again, though these are happier emotions. But, oh, David. I’m sorry.
Rob smiles, his relief obvious. “I needed to hear that, baby. Sometimes I’m not sure if you’re here because you’re .
. . stuck here. I need you to feel this is your real life, the one you were meant to have.
This has to be it. You and me, this world, together.
Whatever you believe your path was before your accident, this is your path now. The right one, you know?”
“I do. I do,” I assure him, leaning farther in for a kiss. I stroke the side of his face, smoothing his beard. “I’m here, and I want to be. This is my life. You are my life.”
“Well, then. That’s what the dinner is about.”
He pulls one hand away and reaches into his pocket. As I lean back, he puts a small black box on the corner of the table between us.
“Open it.”
I do as he says. Inside is an antique oval sapphire engagement ring, outlined with tiny diamonds.
Rob slides off his chair and drops to one knee.
Wait . . . What?
“Will you marry me?”
“Uh . . .” I laugh, shocked. “This is beautiful, but . . . we’re already married.”
“I know that, but do you? I mean, really? You don’t remember our wedding.
As far as you’re concerned, you’ve never said ‘I do’ to me — you’ve never committed to me.
I don’t think you’ll feel like we’re married until you’ve done that.
I have to admit, Suzie put the idea into my head, but I realized it’s the greatest idea ever.
So — again — will you marry me? Slash, remarry me? ”
I’m stunned. “A wedding?”
“Yep. A wedding. Okay, I’m getting up, these floors are tough on my old joints.” He sits back on his chair, still holding my hand. “Make an honest man of me?”
I laugh. “I can’t believe this. I didn’t even think of this! I mean, we’re married, so it didn’t occur—”
“Put me out of my misery, for God’s sake.” I realize that beneath the bravado, he’s uncertain. “Is that a yes? Because if it’s a no, then . . . damn, we’ll have to get divorced, or something.”
I look into his soulful eyes. “Yes. Of course, it’s a yes! Of course, I’ll marry you. I love you.”
Rob laughs too, his face lighting up, all the strain gone. “Thank Christ. You had me worried.” He takes the ring out of the box and examines my left hand. “Hmm, you already have an engagement ring from me, not to mention a wedding ring. How do we do this?”
“Here.” I take off the engagement and wedding set, and put them onto my right ring finger. I offer my naked left hand to Rob, and he slips the antique ring into place. We look at each other for a second, break into laugh, then kiss again. And again. And again.
“Riiiight — that’s what the champagne was for . . .”
* * *
“I wanna see! Lemme see!” Suzie yells from outside my changing stall. She’s a little giddy on the free mimosas.
I zip up the dress and examine myself. This is the thirteenth or fourteenth I’ve tried, but it’s the one. It’s fabulous.
I walk out into the lounge, where Suzie is lolling on a chaise. I step onto a raised circular platform in front of a trio of full-length mirrors.
“Oh, hell yeah, baby,” says Suzie, eyeing me up and down. “Wow. I’d do you myself, in that.”
“Who are you kidding? You’d do me anyway,” I tease, causing her to snort out the mimosa she is sipping.
“So . . . this is it, right? This has to be the one?”
Suzie wipes her nose. “Yeah. No question. Rob is going to die.”
“Well, let’s hope not, after what happened last time. But thanks.”
“How are we ladies doing in here?” Kate, the store assistant, re-enters the lounge, bearing a selection of glittering tiaras and gossamer-thin veils. “Oh, goodness me.” She examines me, approvingly. “Yes, quite lovely.”
“It’s perfect. This is the kind of vintage style I wanted, but I wasn’t sure if I could find it.”
I look in the mirror again, turning to view angles.
It’s a killer dress. Old Hollywood glamor, 1940s in style.
A slender, ivory silk number with long buttoned sleeves, slightly squared shoulders, and the neckline a deep V at the front and back.
Beneath each V is a flat diamond-shaped panel, out of which the fabric explodes in all directions, in an art deco starburst design.
The back of the gown is longer than the floor-length front, with a slight puddle train.
“Lana Turner, eat your heart out,” adds Suzie.
“Not too . . . bombshell? I don’t want to look like a slut on my wedding day.”
Suzie shakes her head vigorously. “No. I’d tell if you if it was, but it’s not. It flows enough that it’s not too figure-hugging. There’s lots of fabric. It’s super-hot, though.”
“Okay, then. This is it.”
“Hair up or down?” asks Kate.
“Well, not all up. Not too formal. I mean, Lana Turner always looked best with her hair down, right? This is that kind of dress. And no veil.”
“How about a clasp on one side, like this?” Kate delves into a box and pulls out a pearl-studded hair comb, about five inches wide with a curved design.
She expertly sweeps up one side of my hair and pins it back.
It’s stunning. “Then, imagine your hair in smooth waves on the other side . . . Very vintage.”
“Perfect. Thank you.” I step off the platform, Kate supporting me as I wobble in the skyscraper heels. “These shoes won’t work, I can’t walk, but we’ll find some later. You’ve been amazing, Kate, thank you.”
Once I’m back in regular clothes and have settled the vast bill, I treat Suzie to lunch on the patio of the nearby Standard Grill restaurant. It’s just warm enough to sit outside, and a row of trees in full blossom seems to be celebrating my upcoming wedding with me.
“Thank you for helping me today.” I take a sip of my wine.
Suzie digs into her salmon. “You’re welcome. I love the hair clasp. Definitely right to go the hair down route.”
I nod. “I kind of have to. I don’t want the nape of my neck showing.”
“How come?”
“Well, I’ve probably told you this before, but I’ve always kind of wanted a tattoo.
I’ve been quite jealous of the birds on your shoulder,” I add.
“So I designed one that represents me and Rob, and our lives. I’m getting it done as a sort of wedding gift to him.
On the back of my neck, below my hairline. ”
“Awesome!” Suzie claps her hands together in excitement. “Do you have the design finished? You gotta get it right. It’s a big commitment.”
“Well, not as big as marrying someone, but I’m sure. I’ve been thinking about a tattoo for years, and now I have one in mind that means something and a reason to do it. Here,” I flick through my phone, until I find it. “I got our marketing designer to draw it out properly.”
I show Suzie the design of a stylized tree, branches twisting and curling. “You can make out an R and a J. See?”
She tilts her head. “It’s so pretty . . .
Oh, that’s the R, and then the J there, right?
I approve. It’s kind of classic, like a book lettering illumination.
And I get it. You don’t want to be one of those brides with a very visible tattoo.
That’s not really you.” She studies it again. “It’s gorgeous, but why the tree?”
I put the phone away. “It’s about me and Rob, but the tree represents life in general.
Every split of a tree branch is a new branch, and then each of those becomes more and more branches, ending up with thousands of twigs, right?
” I lean towards her. “To me, all those splits are like your choices in life, or things that happen to you, and the life path they take you down, which is only one of countless possible paths. You start off as a baby, one individual at the base of the trunk, but then life takes over, and you twist and turn, and there are a million different ways it could turn out. I guess it’s about Rob and me finding each other on this path, which is amazing when there are so many others that could have been taken. We might have never met.”
Suzie raises an eyebrow. “Well, fuck. And I just thought it looked cool.”