I inhaled a deep, frustrated breath and then randomly asked, “Can two broken hearts find happiness together?”
Dr. Goodman looked straight into my eyes. “Yes, they can.”
That’s all I needed to hear. With forty-five minutes left to our session, I bounded out of his office.
NINE
Ryan
I nursed my caffè latte. A grande two percent. During my unexpected and unnerving encounter with Willow, I impulsively asked her to meet me at the Starbucks on Columbus and Eighty-First. While she agreed to it, I wasn’t sure if she was going to show up. Especially after my dickish behavior last night. I alternated sips of my latte with glances at the entrance and nervously fiddled with my wedding band. Maybe Dr. Goodman was right…about everything.
It was weird that we’d run into each other at Dr. Goodman’s office building. Maybe her dentist shared the same floor as my shrink. She told me she had an appointment, and I wasn’t expecting her to show for another forty-five minutes, if at all, but on the next sip of my hot beverage, she dashed into the coffee shop.
Our earlier encounter was so rushed that I hadn’t had a chance to soak her in with my eyes. She was again wearing black leggings, this time with a heavy, oversized rust sweater. Combat boots had replaced ballet flats, perhaps because of the cool autumn weather. No matter what she wore, she was still so waif-like, something that turned me on and made me want to hold her and take care of her. Her fiery red hair, almost the color or her sweater, was loose and cascaded wildly over her shoulders. Man, that mane of hair was insane. She looked ravishing.
Despite the place being packed, she spotted me right away and waved. Before joining me, she ordered something at the counter. After her name was called by a barista, she grabbed her order and sat down in the vacant chair opposite mine.
She sipped her coffee without ever taking her eyes off me. Her intense green-eyed gaze made me feel jumpy and heated at once. Each of us was waiting for the other to start a conversation. Finally, after another sip of my latte, I began.
“So you were visiting your childhood orthodontist?”
“Very funny. I didn’t need braces.”
She shot me a toothy smile. Her sparkling teeth were pearl-white and perfect. Cover-girl perfect. I fought back the urge to run my tongue over them.
“So, why were you there?” I asked.
“The same reason you were.”
I processed her words. Holy shit. We shared the same shrink. My brows lifted to my forehead as I inquired. “Dr. Goodman?”
She nodded. “Yes, Dr. Goodman. I’ve been seeing him since I was a child.”
“Me too. I’m fucked up.”
“Headline news. I am too.”
My eyes widened then softened. “What do you mean?”
“Listen, Ryan Madewell, your life is an open book, no pun intended. I know you hurt. But I hurt too. So, keep that in mind.”
Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. I had no clue what motivated them. An unrequited love? An untimely death? Or maybe I was the cause of them? My freakish behavior last night was nothing to be proud of; I owed her an apology. Whatever the source, I knew they were real. With my paper napkin, I dabbed them. They kept spilling down her high cheekbones. The words of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow flashed in my head. Every man has his secret sorrows, which the world knows not.
Allee had hers and obviously Willow did too. Maybe I was just attracted to fucked up girls, though my ex, Charlotte, who I hadn’t seen in ages, definitely took the cake in the fucked up department. A total nutjob. But Willow was nothing of the sort. From what I could tell, she was sweet and unpretentious. I promised myself to be more sensitive. More caring. To listen more…starting right now.
“So, Willow, tell me…”
“I have self-esteem problems. I’ve been working on them.”
“Did you lose someone?” I ventured.
“Yes. I told you. My mother. I never got to say goodbye to her.”
With love, there are no goodbyes. Allee’s almost last words to me. “Maybe she didn’t want you to.”
Willow shrugged. “Maybe. But her death left me with terrible guilt.”
I understood guilt. I was supposed to be Allee’s Superman, but I couldn’t save her. My guilt had morphed into various emotions from failure to anger. Even fear.
“How have you dealt with it?” I asked.
“I’ve inflicted pain upon myself.”
Then silence.
I digested her words. Was she a cutter? Did she try to commit suicide? Starve herself to death? Before I could ask, and truthfully I didn’t want to, she continued.
“I was in an abusive relationship.”
“You let some guy hurt you?”
“It’s complicated. Let’s not go there yet.”
“A boyfriend?”
“Please, Ryan. Drop it.”
We shared a long stretch of silence until Willow broke it. “Maybe we should end whatever we started.”
I jolted, for sure not expecting her reaction. “Is that what Dr. Goodman advised?”
She looked deep into my eyes and shook her head. We both broke into sheepish smiles at the same time.
I asked her out on the spot. She agreed.
Tomorrow night, we were having our first official movie and dinner date.
We finished our coffees when Willow’s cell phone rang. She pulled it out of her backpack and answered it. Her face turned as white as chalk.
“Oh my God.”
“Willow, what’s the matter?” I asked.
“My father. He’s had a heart attack!”
TEN
Ryan
My Fiat was parked just around the corner. I offered Willow a ride. She was more than grateful to accept it. Her father had been admitted to New York-Presbyterian on Williams Street in lower Manhattan, not far from his deli. Yet another hospital whose board my philanthropic mother sat on.
Sitting beside me in the small car, Willow was stone-faced. Biting down on her bottom lip, she didn’t say a word as I drove down Fifth Avenue, expertly weaving in and out of the crazy lunch hour traffic, trying to get to the hospital as fast as possible. At a light at 34th Street, she burst into tears.
“Oh, Ryan!” she sobbed. “I’m so scared. What if he dies before we get there?”
Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, I gripped her hand with the other. It was cold as ice. “Butterfly, it’s going to be okay.” Butterfly. A term of endearment. I couldn’t help it.
She squeezed my hand. I think she wanted to believe me. With quivering lips, she looked my way. Her misty eyes glistened like emeralds, making her more exquisite. There was a moment at the next light that I wanted to kiss her and make all her tears go away.
We parked the car with the valet and dashed into the hospital. She let me hold her hand as we headed to the information center. My distraught Willow was still in tears and could barely speak. “I’m looking for…” Her sobs didn’t allow her to finish her sentence, so I did it for her.
“Melvin Rosenthal. He had a heart attack.”
An attractive African American woman scanned his name on her computer. “Yes. He was just admitted. He’s in intensive care.”
“I want to see him!” cried out Willow.
“Sorry, Miss. No visitors allowed at this time.”
“But, I’m his daughter,” she pleaded desperately.
I hated to wield the power of my last name, but there were times it came in handy. I eyed the name card pinned on the woman’s hospital uniform. “Sheila, I’m Ryan Madewell …my parents donated the…”
The woman’s face brightened. “Of course, I’ve met your lovely mother. I think I can make an exception this time. She gave us visitor badges, which we clipped on to our sweaters.
Adjusting her badge, Willow gazed at me with her watery eyes, forlorn but full of gratitude. “Oh, Ryan, I’m so glad you’re here with me. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“You don’t have to.” I gently
kissed the top of her head, inhaling the strawberry scent of her hair. Had this been a different situation, my lips would have consumed hers. And she would be thanking me in a different way.
I waited in the tenth-floor reception area while Willow visited her father. I tried to read a magazine but couldn’t. Being in a hospital made me emotionally and physically ill. It made me think of Allee. Our last night together. An intense, nauseating sadness washed over me. I thought I would throw up when Willow reappeared. Her bloodshot eyes met mine. I leaped up from my seat.
“How’s your dad?”
“He’s going to be okay. His heart attack was mild, but they’re going to keep him in ICU for a few days.” Her face brightened. “He may be home early next week.”
“That’s great news.” Drawing her into me, I gave her a hug. Her waif-like body felt so good in my arms. With a sigh, she leaned her head against my chest. I smoothed her hair and savored the warmth of body next to mine.
“Thanks again, Ryan, for being here for me.” She gazed up at me, with a small grateful smile and blinking back tears. I wiped them away. It felt good to be needed. It had been a very long time.
ELEVEN
Willow
I stayed at the hospital through the evening, never leaving my father’s room in the ICU ward. He was attached to all kinds of IVs and beeping monitors, and he had a breathing tube up his nose. While he was weak, his great sense of humor was already shining through and he was already complaining.
Around eight o’clock, jovial Nurse Hollis, who reminded me a little of my mother with her curly reddish hair, told me visiting hours were over.
“C’mon,” begged my father, his voice hoarse. “Can’t she stay a little longer?”
“I’m afraid not, Mr. Rosenthal,” she replied with a smile and a twinkle in her caramel eyes. “She can come back tomorrow morning.”
My feisty father grunted, then he winked. “How ’bout you stay, beautiful, if I behave?” I swear if I didn’t know better, he was flirting with the attractive fifty-something nurse.
“Sorry, I have rounds, Mr. Rosenthal.”
“It’s Mel…call me, Mel, sweetheart.”
Nurse Hollis batted her eyelashes. Holy moly! She was affected by my father. Maybe my father’s heart attack had given way to a little love attack. I silently chuckled. There was nothing I wanted more than to see my father get well again. Then after that, see him fall in love again. There had never been another woman in his life after my mother. He was a wonderful man, a mensch, who would make someone a wonderful husband.
Catching her breath, Nurse Hollis told my father she would come by one more time this evening to check on his vitals.
My father, his strength ebbing, smiled. “Yeah, all my vitals. I’d like that, Hollis.”
With that, I rose from my chair and planted a goodnight kiss on his forehead. “Night, Pop. You behave,” I chided. “I’ll come by tomorrow.”
On my next breath, I followed Nurse Hollis out the door.
“Are you sure he’s going to be okay?” I asked as we walked down the corridor, side by side.
“Don’t worry, honey, he’s going to be fine.” Her voice was warm and comforting. “And I’ll make sure he behaves.”
I liked her. In fact, I liked her a lot.
To my great surprise, Ryan was still seated in the waiting room. Putting aside a magazine, he jumped up as I approached.
“Ryan, what are you still doing here?”
“I didn’t want to leave you alone. How’s your father doing?”
“He’s doing well. And he’s in good hands.”
He quirked a smile. “That’s good to hear. What about you? You look tired.”
I let out a breath that released a lot of my stress. “A little bit. More hungry I’d say.”
“C’mon. Let me take you out for dinner.”
“No, Ryan, it’s fine. I’ll just head home.”
“No, I insist. And I’m starving too. Anything you’re in the mood for?”
Your lips on mine. My heartbeat sped up, my body heated.
“Anything but deli. And a glass of wine would be great.”
He wrapped an arm around me, naturally as if he’d done it a thousand times before.
“C’mon. I know a great little neighborhood restaurant.”
Fifteen minutes later, we were sitting face-to-face in a small, dimly lit Indian restaurant, dipping Naan, a pita-like bread, into a yummy chutney sauce and sharing an order of tandoori chicken. The food was delicious and I ate ravenously, hungrier than I thought. I washed down the spicy food with sips of chilled rosé as did Ryan. My eyes stayed on him as he ate and drank, in awe of how elegantly he did thanks to his upper class upbringing.
“You eat the European way,” he commented as I slipped a forkful of the tender chicken into my mouth.
Chewing, then swallowing the tasty white meat, I nodded. “I lived in Europe for a few years. Holding my fork like this comes naturally to me.”
He took another sip of his wine. “Where did you live?”
“Latvia.”
“Latvia?”
“Yes, it’s a small country in northern Europe. Not that many people know about it. Riga, the capital, is often called the Paris of the Baltic.”
At the mention of Paris, my companion’s jaw ticked. I suddenly realized my faux pas. Paris was where Allee had died.
“I-I’m sorry,” I stuttered.
“Don’t be,” he replied, his tone genuine enough to assuage my guilt. Reaching across the table, he swept his forefinger along my bottom lip. “You’ve got a little chutney on your mouth.”
I let out an embarrassed giggle, his touch making my skin prickle.
His beautiful blue eyes stayed fixed on me. “What were you doing in Latvia?”
My giddiness gave way to an inward shudder. Even with the wine, I wasn’t feeling loose enough to talk much about my past.
“I was a dancer. A ballerina. I danced with a ballet troupe.”
“Wow! Why didn’t you tell me this the other night?”
I shrugged. “I don’t like to talk about it that much.”
“Why aren’t you there now?”
I took another sip of my wine and then set the glass down on the table. “I needed to take a break. It was intense.”
“How so?”
Gustave. My body tensed at the thought of him. Not wanting to take things any further, I quickly changed the subject and thanked him again for taking me to the hospital and staying with me. “My dad is my everything,” I added, my eyes growing watery. “Except for my grandma, he’s all the family I have. I love him to pieces. Maybe more than he loves me, if that’s possible.”
A wistful smile crossed Ryan’s lips. “You’re so lucky you have such a great relationship with him. Why does he call you Pumpkin?”
I laughed. “I was born on Halloween with a big head of bright orange hair. My dad thought I looked like a pumpkin and the name stuck.”
Ryan laughed back. “That’s funny. And by the way, you don’t look anything like a pumpkin.”
“Thanks.”
“So, you have a birthday coming up soon.”
“Yeah.” My trick or treat birthday was four weeks away.
“How old are you going to be?”
“A ripe old twenty-five.”
He reflected on my words. “That’s so young.”
A tense silence followed. Intuitively, I knew what was going through his mind. Allee was just a few weeks shy of her twenty-fifth birthday when she died. I recalled that grief-ridden passage in Ryan’s memoir. No, it wasn’t fair that she died so young. I felt his sorrow as we both drank more of our wine. My mother wasn’t that much older when God claimed her. We lowered our glasses back onto the table at the same time.
“How are things with your father?” I ventured, trying to keep our conversation going though knowing from his book that things had always been strained.
“A little better, but not great.”
My
eyes stayed on his. “Are you learning to forgive him?” In her farewell letter, Allee had urged Ryan to make up with his estranged father.
He took a long sip of his wine. “I’m learning to forgive, but it’s hard to forget. I can never erase the memories of how he ignored me as a child, cheated on my mother, disowned my gay sister, and most of all, used and abused Allee.”
“I’m sorry,” I said again as he inhaled a fortifying breath.
“But, I’m trying. I owe it to Allee. My father suffered a major stroke last year and he’s softened a bit. In his own way, he’s trying to be a better husband to my mother and a better father to me. I think the stroke put a lot of things in perspective for him. That he isn’t immortal. That he doesn’t have a long time to live his life right.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” I caught myself. “I mean, about the two of you reconciling.”
Ryan picked at the chicken. “It’s not been easy. I still harbor a lot of anger toward him. But Dr. Goodman has helped a lot. I’m trying to let go of the past. Make up with him.”
Memories of my mother flooded me. “You’re lucky, Ryan. I wish I had the chance to make up with my mother. To tell her I loved her before she left us.” The tears that had been building up behind my eyes broke loose. I could feel a couple trickle down my cheeks.
Ryan tenderly brushed them away and then clasped my hands. “Yeah, Willow Rosenthal, I’m lucky. Lucky that I met you.”
I quirked a little smile. “I feel the same way, Ryan.”
He smiled back at me. “C’mon, let’s get the check. And I’ll take you home.”
TWELVE
Ryan
Over the course of the next week, I was needed in more ways than one. Well, maybe I wasn’t exactly needed, but I volunteered my services: to help Willow run her dad’s deli while he was convalescing at the hospital. It was a convenient way to spend time with her, but admittedly not the easiest. Making sandwiches and waiting tables. I sucked at hard labor. Mayflower-descended Madewells weren’t made for it.
Endless Love Page 5
