by Alicia Rades
I smile up at him. “I did.” I slip my photo strip into my purse for safe keeping.
When we’re done exploring the area, we head back toward the street. He flags down another taxi.
“Where do you want to go now?” he asks as he kindly opens my door for me.
“Wherever you take me,” I reply, and I let myself once again relax onto his chest after he settles into his side of the vehicle, replaying the morning in my head as I again take in his scent as to not forget any of the details.
11
When the taxi stops, we’re in front of Central Park, and I’m glad that we’re here. Sometimes when I need a break from work or can’t seem to find inspiration for a blog post, I come here and walk the paths, and although it’s somewhat crowded, I find it serene.
Jacob and I climb out of the cab, and he once again hands the cab driver some cash. When we’ve escaped into the daylight and warm, comfortable air, I take in a deep breath and feel the city touch my nose. I love this place, and I want to get away from the street and escape into the trees.
Jacob grabs my hand and leads me down the path. We walk at a leisurely pace. My heart is giddy with excitement as we stroll, but I don’t let that show in the speed of my stride.
I lift my head up and focus on the leaves above me. “Don’t you just love it here?”
“It’s a beautiful place,” he agrees, and we walk in silence for a moment, taking in the bit of nature that the city allows us. I can tell by the look on his face, how he’s squinting his eyes and taking in long breaths, that he shares my love of Central Park.
When the silence ends, we go back to learning more about each other. Our subject: books. I talk to him about my favorite novels, and he talks about the classics like The Great Gatsby. My heart flutters when I realize that he’s into literature since few of my previous boyfriends have been, but I suppose that makes sense since he enjoys art and writing.
We share our thoughts about the characters, plots, writing style, and so on until Jacob stops walking. I tear my eyes from him and follow his gaze. In front of us sits a beautifully decorated white horse-drawn carriage. The cab is empty, but there is a man tending to the horses.
Jacob releases my hand and greets the man, and I see him hand the guy some cash. Holy crap. Aren’t these carriage rides kind of expensive? My heart again swoons, and my jaw drops in amazement. He is taking me on a carriage ride. A goddamn carriage ride! No guy has ever taken me on a carriage ride.
He grips my hand again and guides me to the carriage. I climb into the cab, Jacob leading me up the steps. He trails behind me, and after the carriage driver takes a moment to situate himself, we’re off.
I am too stunned by the romantic gesture to speak. I mean, I’ve never even been on a carriage ride before, let alone with a guy, and I almost feel like I’m riding into my own fairytale. I am Cinderella, and Jacob is my Prince Charming. I can’t help but smile as he again pulls me into him. Suddenly, every woman around us is dressed in a stunning ball gown, and the men wear suits to match the Prince Charming look.
Jacob continues our conversation as if the carriage ride is nothing, and I’m pulled from my day dream of elaborate ball gowns. The carriage ride ends far too soon, and Jacob exits, helping me down with the support of his hand.
For a moment, I feel woozy. The step down from the carriage is further than I anticipated, and I trip into him as my foot comes down onto the pavement. He catches me in his arms, and I get a good whiff of his scent again.
I blush, and I’m not sure if it’s out of embarrassment—I’m not usually so clumsy—or if it’s because of how his scent is turning me on.
“I’m sorry,” I say, involuntarily biting my lip nervously. I looked like such a fool.
“No worries,” he says as he takes my hand.
We continue on the path. I feel a bit better that he was able to shake off my embarrassing moment without much thought. I guess I was expecting him to make a joke at my expense or something, but he didn’t.
I take in each moment with my breath, memorizing the city noises around me, the way the warm air feels on my skin, and each movement that Jacob makes next to me.
As we round a bend, I see a beautiful white structure rising above the pavement and hovering over the water. Ahead of us sits one of the most picturesque places in the city. I’ve been to this bridge before. It’s the one you see often in movies. The first time I was here, we were filming Taking Reservations.
It is a truly magnificent sight, with the trees surrounding the water as they reflect off the glassy surface. We stop along the bridge and look out over the water. It is beautiful and green here, and my heart is full.
Together, we marvel at the scenery, and the conversation has switched from literature to our favorite pastimes. I tell Jacob how my job is more like a hobby than a job, how I enjoy my yoga classes, and how Juliet and I go out dancing frequently. I talk to him about my blog, telling him how I use my blog as journal entries and that I love the way that people respond to me, giving me advice and sharing their own thoughts.
Listening to Jacob talk about his pastimes is more interesting to me than talking about my own hobbies, and I’m intrigued as he tells me about how he loves photography. He takes out his phone to illustrate and places me against the side of the bridge.
“Okay, you stand here,” he says as guides me to my proper position.
“Okay,” I comply with laughter, fully enjoying myself.
Backing up, he holds up his phone and tweaks a few of the settings. I’m grinning, though he doesn’t tell me to. I don’t think I could stop if he asked me to be serious. I’m having far too much fun.
“Say cheese,” he commands as he snaps a photo of me and my grin, the background gorgeous behind me.
When he returns, he shows me the picture, and I am stunned at how beautiful I look. He gestures at different aspects of the picture, explaining the lighting and how different points balance out the photo. This guy isn’t a painter like Juliet; his love of art lies in photography.
When it seems like we’ve covered every path in the park, it’s already 5:00. By this time, I feel like I practically know everything about him, and although I don’t want to feel it, I think my heart is telling me that I’m in love. I forcefully repress the idea, explaining to myself that I can’t love a man after only two dates. My subconscious argues with me, telling me that we’ve spent a total of 10 hours together now and that should count as more than two dates. Is 10 hours enough to fall in love with someone? I’m not sure.
We reach an exit, and Jacob looks down at his watch. “Want to get something to eat?” he asks, and I realize that I haven’t eaten anything since the cotton candy.
“I’m starving!” I agree, and instead of leading me to a cab, he takes my hand and walks down the street.
“Have any preference?”
“No,” I answer. Right now, I don’t really care what I’m eating as long as I’m eating it with him.
We walk another few blocks, and then he stops at a small pizzeria and opens the door for me. We enter, and the delicious scent of food hits my nostrils.
The host leads us to a small two-person table and hands us our menus, taking our drink orders before he disappears.
“A pizza to share?” Jacob asks.
“Sounds great to me! How do you like pepperoni and sausage?” I ask.
Jacob’s nose turns up, and I know that he doesn’t like the idea. “I’m not too keen on the sausage,” he tells me, and we compromise by agreeing on stuffed-crust pepperoni.
We know what we want before our drinks arrive, and we order our meal. Our conversation continues, and we talk mostly about the little things in life instead of divulging the larger details. We talk briefly about sports, and then the conversation turns to our favorite movies, and by the time our enormous pizza arrives, we’re discussing our favorite restaurants in town. I am beyond pleased that we haven’t run out of things to talk about even though we’ve spent the entire day to
gether.
My eyes widen as our waiter places our pizza in front of us. It’s enormous and is cut into 12 pieces.
“I’m not going to be able to eat all this,” I grumble, and Jacob laughs at me.
“That’s okay, I’ll eat your share,” he tells me, and I’m pretty sure he’s joking, mostly because I don’t think two people can eat a pizza this big in one sitting. Why did he order the large?
I grab a piece and take a bite, and it is heavenly. The pizza is warm, fresh, and cheesy, and I’m not sure that I’ve ever tasted anything so delicious. I wonder if it tastes better because I’m sitting across from Jacob. Is that possible?
I take a bite before Jacob does, and with a string of cheese running between my mouth and my pizza, he catches me off-guard.
“I really like you,” he admits, and I stop mid-bite. My heart rate speeds, and the butterflies in my stomach come to life. He likes me. He likes me. He likes me.
He likes me for the way I act around him, not for the way I act on screen. He likes me for the time we’ve spent together, not for what he’s seen of me in movies. He likes me because he enjoys my company, not because he thinks I’m rich or can make him famous. He likes me for me.
The concept is so foreign to me that I’m not sure how to react.
I finish chewing my piece of pizza and swallow. “I really like you, too,” I confess, and he grins before taking a bite of his own pizza.
The pizza is too good to get any words in between bites, so we simply shovel it into our mouths and cease our conversation. When I get to the end of my piece to the stuffed crust part, I let out a moan of pleasure. This pizza is tasty and warm in my mouth. I take another piece.
Before I know it, I’ve eaten four giant pieces of pizza, which you would not expect from a petite woman like me. My stomach is about to burst. I force the last few bites of my fourth piece into my mouth.
“That was delicious!” I exclaim when I’m done, but Jacob is still not finished. He nods his head in agreement mid-bite.
When Jacob finishes and leans back in his chair, hands on his stomach the same way mine sit, there are two pieces left. “We’ll each take one home,” he offers, and he gestures to our waiter. “The check and two boxes to go, please.”
He gazes at me and smiles, and we stare at each other dreamily until our waiter returns. Jacob once again grabs for the check before I get a chance, so I instead shovel a piece of pizza into each box, and then I throw a few dollars onto the table as a tip.
We leave our table and pay our bill at the front, and then we walk hand-in-hand out of the restaurant.
12
We stroll leisurely, neither of us wanting the date to end, and continue our conversation that allows us to get to know each other better. I’m surprised when Jacob’s pace slows and he turns to another door in a nearby structure, opening it and guiding me into the cool building.
“Where are we?” I ask, and as soon as I have time to assess my surroundings, I know where we are. Well, not exactly where we are. I haven’t been here before, but the white walls that span the vast room tell me that we’re in an art gallery. There’s a front desk off to the left, and there is a man in a tight black sweater, blue scarf, and jelled hair sitting behind it.
“We’re about to close,” he informs us.
“That’s okay,” Jacob says, “We won’t be long.” The receptionist allows us through, and instead of exploring the gallery, Jacob leads me back to a single photograph.
There are a few people still admiring the artwork here, but for the most part, the gallery is empty. I’m not used to this since I only go to galleries during opening receptions with Juliet, but I find this emptiness quite tranquil.
As I gaze around the room, I notice that all the hanging works of art are of nighttime photography, all lit up by various parts of the city. “Wow, they’re so beautiful,” I marvel, still enjoying each one as we pass.
“I know. The exhibit is called ‘Nightlife’ and is meant to represent the city at night. Different photographers around the city submitted their photos, and the best ones got in. I wanted to show you mine.” Just then, he comes to a halt. I nearly trip over him because I’m paying attention to the photos instead of his pace.
There on the wall sits a gorgeous photo of a Ferris wheel lit up at night.
“Is that . . .” My voice trails off.
“Yep,” he answers. “That’s the one we rode today.
“My God, you’re talented.” I don’t give the compliment just to flatter him. I honestly mean it.
The photo is taken from the bottom looking up, and it cuts out about a third of the wheel, but the way the photo is balanced against the night sky, coupled with the crisp beauty of the lights, is enchanting. His photograph is stunning, and I can’t tear my eyes off of it.
“Thank you so much for bringing me here,” I say, and he gives me a charming smile.
“I’m glad you like it.”
I take several more minutes to admire his photograph, really letting the colors captivate me. Soon, however, we’re told that the gallery is closing, and we’re forced to leave.
Together, we walk out of the building and continue walking, Jacob leading the way. I think he took me to the pizzeria on purpose to get close to the gallery, and I’m glad he did. I love that he’s shared this with me.
I’m not paying any attention to where we’re going, but we spend a long time walking. When I finally become aware of my surroundings, which is only after a very long walk and an extensive conversation, I realize that we’re in my neighborhood. Back so soon? I don’t want to leave him already!
Before I know it, we’ve arrived at my apartment complex. I don’t want him to leave, so I quickly come up with an idea that might intrigue him to stay for a few more minutes.
“Do you want to see some of Juliet’s paintings?” I ask. “She has them strewn across the apartment. I could show you them. She’s really quite good.”
I’m not sure if he’s catching onto my invitation for him to stay or if he actually wants to see her paintings, but he agrees. We enter my apartment, and I set my box of pizza on the counter before leading him to Juliet’s dry canvasses, showing off her talent.
He studies the paintings, one hand on his mouth and the other supporting his elbow. He has a look in his eyes that Juliet gets every time she inspects a piece of art. Is this a trait that all artists share? I wonder if I do this when I’m studying web designs considering I’m somewhat of an artist myself.
Jacob is silent for a while, but he eventually speaks. “She is very talented.” He raises his eyebrows, and I know he’s impressed, but his focus doesn’t last long.
Instead, he begins studying me. I set her canvas back down and shyly meet his stare. Then, in one quick, swift motion, he closes the distance between us and crushes his lips to mine. In a moment, I am entangled into him, and without realizing what I’m doing, my legs are wrapped around his waist and I’m no longer touching the floor.
He turns with me still clinging to him and takes a few steps forward until my bottom touches the counter top of the breakfast bar. I run my hands all over his body to every part of it I can reach.
His arms are wrapped around me, and he gently slides them under my shirt and runs his hands across my back. I think I’m trembling with exhilaration, but there is a flame rising inside my body that leaves me confused and unable to focus on more than one aspect of the moment simultaneously.
I’m suddenly brave, and I pull away from him so that I can jump down from the counter. With my new-found confidence, I take his hand and lead him into my bedroom. I stop in the middle of my room and kiss him lightly. Then I subtly back up, and he follows, until the back of my knees hit my mattress. I don’t have to say a word for him to meet my desires, and together, we tumble onto my bed.
***
When I wake, Jacob is gone and so are his clothes. I have to briefly confirm the details of last night to make sure that I wasn’t dreaming the whole thing. Yes, I�
��m naked. Yes, I have sex hair. Yes, his used condom is placed neatly in my trash can.
I had sex last night. I. Had. Sex. Last. Night.
I repeat this several times in my head before it really sinks in, and when it does, the grin that forms across my face has enough energy in it to light all of New York state.
But where is Jacob? I get out of bed and wrap my bathrobe around me, which is hanging on my closet door. On my computer screen sit two sticky notes with the same on-going message that reads:
I’m sorry, I didn’t want to wake you, but I had to get back home. Please call me and let me know when I can see you again.
-Love, Jacob
Love!? Love! Love, Jacob. Love, Jacob. I repeat the phrase in my head. My heart is fluttering with excitement, and I feel like a 16-year-old girl. Finally I’ve found someone that makes my heart long for him and swoon for him, and it’s a thrilling sensation.
I read the note again. What does this mean? I ask myself this question, rereading it several times. Love, Jacob. Yes, I think I do.
13
Sunday, June 14
What Is Love? I Think I Know.
By Siobhan Spencer
A few days ago, I wrote that I would like to know what love is. Some of you responded saying that you don’t believe that love exists, that it is a delusion created by the hopeless romantics. Other commenters shared what they believe love is based on their own relationships.
First of all, I want to say thank you all for sharing your thoughts. Second, I want you all to know that I believe I’ve discovered what it is.
I don’t want to say that I’ve never believed in love. I’ve certainly seen it before in couples I’ve known. It seems like all the members of my family are in love, and I can see it in their eyes. I see it in the way my sister Mackenzie stares at her fiancé Derek. When I met him for the first time last Christmas, I knew she was smitten by him, and now they’re getting married! I see it in my parent’s eyes and the way they interact with each other. I’ve never heard them fight, and they’re always treating each other with respect, even after nearly thirty years of marriage.
