Chapter xxxix
xxxix
THERE ARE SOME DAYS THAT FEEL LIKE A GIFT. LIKE somehow the universe has decided it’s time for a day that’s so spectacular, so special, that I know I will start using this day as a reference point for others.
We had days like that, Gabe, you and I. Darren and I did, too, of course. When I’m feeling sad or alone, I try to remember ours, though, like when we went out for your friend Adam’s twenty-fourth birthday. We were at that long table with so many of your friends at the beer garden in Astoria. The day was warmer than we’d thought it would be, so you’d taken off your Henley and just had on a white Hanes T-shirt and jeans, and I had stripped off my sweater and was in a tight black tank top with my denim skirt. We both had our sunglasses on and were drinking beer and eating those sausages and big pretzels they have there. People were talking and laughing, and the sun was shining, and it was one of those absolutely beautiful fall days that makes it feel like the sky is smiling down on you. I felt so loved that day, so deserving of love, and it was so easy to give my love to you. You snaked your arm around my waist and pulled me so close to you that I was practically sitting on your lap. And then you kissed my neck with lips cold from beer and whispered, “Mmm, salty.” I turned toward you and you caught my bottom lip with your teeth, and then you kissed me, hard, in front of your friends. Jason whooped, and you kissed me harder, your mouth turning up in a slow grin during the kiss.
You pulled away for a moment and then said, “I need another beer. Let’s go take a walk, Luce.”
I knew you didn’t need another beer—the one in your hand was still cold and mostly full—but I got up and took your hand, and you led me not to the bar, but to the restrooms. We got there just as someone was walking out, and you smiled at them and held open the door, then said to me, “Let’s go.”
I was a little embarrassed that people had seen us walk into the restroom together, but then not, because I didn’t care if the whole beer garden knew what we were going to do in there.
Ignoring our surroundings, you bent down to kiss me and then lifted me up, pinning me against the wall. I wrapped my legs around your waist and leaned back against the tile, balancing there without your arms holding me. You kept kissing me and managed to unzip your pants. I felt you hard against my inner thigh, and then your arms came back around me and slid me down so my legs were around your hips. I held on to you with one hand and pulled my underwear to the side with the other. With your mouth still on mine, you managed to lower my body onto yours, and I moaned into your mouth as you filled me.
I opened my eyes for a brief moment and saw you, your eyes closed, blissed out. You rocked against me, and I held on tight to your shoulders, feeling the wall against my spine. I pulled my legs tighter around your waist, moving away from the wall.
You felt amazing, but I knew there was no chance I’d orgasm like this, in this bathroom, my back against a wall. But you did, and then said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t wait.”
“It’s okay,” I said, still in your arms, still wrapped tightly around you. “I like watching you.”
You kissed me again and I loosened my legs and you slowly pulled out and lowered me to the ground.
I felt so empty without you inside me.
I rose up on my tiptoes to kiss you.
“How is it that I want you so much?” you whispered to me.
“How is it that I always want you back?” I answered.
I looked at us in the mirror, our lips swollen from kissing, my hair slipping out of its ponytail, and laughed.
“We look like we just had sex,” I said, fixing my hair.
“Perception matches reality,” you answered.
And then we left the bathroom, grabbed two more beers, and went back to the party. As we stepped into the sun, its warmth kissing my cheeks and haloing your curls, I kept thinking how grateful I was that we had found each other, that we were together. And I knew, in my heart, that if we were together forever, our lives would be beautiful. Breathtaking. Full of so much light. We sat back down with your friends, and it felt so good to be there. With you, with them, in the sunshine. I was so full of love then, love for you and for the whole world.
That’s one of the days I live inside sometimes, when I’m feeling lonely. I have a feeling that—some time in the future, when my kids are grown—I’ll probably live in my memories with them the same way. And that Sunday, the day I took them to the Museum of Math near Gramercy Park, will probably be one of those days.
In the morning, Sammy asked if we could go to MoMath. Liam agreed, as long as we could go to the nearby fried chicken place afterward. And Violet agreed, as long as Ji-ho could come. So we met Ji-ho at the subway station and all headed into Manhattan. Ji-ho wants to be a structural engineer, so the math museum is his jam, and he and Violet sat down to build three-dimensional shapes out of sticks and joints as they chatted. Liam found a section talking about the math of music, and Sammy found another one that let you draw with a digital pen on a screen and turned your art into patterns. As usual, his art attracted other people, and he made a few friends. They made fractal trees together in another part of the museum, and then became the three points of a triangle on a magical floor that connected them together with lines of light that followed them where they walked. Liam joined them, and then Violet and Ji-ho, and the kids all tried to outsmart the floor by jumping, first up in the air, and then the little kids jumped into the bigger ones’ arms.
We closed down the museum and then all chowed down on fried chicken at Sweet Chick. After that, we searched for the perfect dessert and ended up at Jacques Torres for hot chocolate. When we took the subway back to Brooklyn, Liam and Ji-ho were deep in conversation, Sammy was falling asleep on my shoulder, and Violet looked at me and said, “I love seeing you happy, Mom.”
I wasn’t sure what to say. Did this mean I wasn’t usually happy? That it was so rare she needed to remark on it? I hoped that wasn’t the case, but I didn’t push it. Instead, I said, “Thanks, sweetheart.”
But it made me wonder: What was it exactly that made me happy? That was the dream I had for my kids— I wanted them to grow up to be happy and healthy. But what did that mean for them? And what would it mean for me? If I really thought about it, I’d been content these past years, but not quite happy.
As we came up from the subway tunnel, my phone buzzed. It was a message from Dax: Only a dozen days until I’m back in NYC. Looking forward to it. Hoping I’ll get to see you.
“Who’s that from?” Violet asked, reading over my shoulder.
I blushed. “No one special,” I said.
She looked at me seriously. “He seems kind of special to me.” She paused and then said, “Mom, I hope he is.”
I found myself hoping so, too. And wondering if there would come a time when I’d be telling my kids about him, telling Violet about my relationship. But not yet. There was another conversation that had to happen first, and that one was more important.