Endless Love

by Nelle L’Amour

  We stayed in this position until our breathing and heartbeats calmed down. Then, I repositioned us so she was snuggled in my arm, her head resting on my chest as the sun beat down on us. We didn’t talk about what we had done—or about how amazing it was—but rather of sweet nothings. As we studied the billowy clouds, reflecting on what their shapes reminded us of, I picked a dandelion, left over from the summer, and blew on it. The furry little spurs scattered upon us.

  Willow giggled. “Do you know when you blow on one a wish comes true?”

  “Really? I didn’t know that. I didn’t make one.”

  A look of disappointment washed over her face. She frowned. “Then, I’ll pick one and make a wish for the both of us.”

  I watched as she reached for another one of the fuzzy flowers and then pursed her lips, blowing on it. Again, the spurs fell all over us.

  “What did you wish for?” I asked.

  Laughing, she flicked the tip of my nose with the stem. “I can’t tell you. If I do, it won’t come true.”

  “Well, I hope it was a good one.”

  She looked up as the last of the spurs floated in the air. “Yeah, it was.” A dreamy smile spread across her face as she caught one. “Hey, we better head back. My grandma is probably wondering what happened to us.” She sat up.

  As much as I could have stayed here in this euphoric state forever, I helped her to her feet and we both put our clothes back on. It was time to say farewell to the weeping willow, but there was something I wanted to do before we left. Reaching into my jeans pocket, I pulled out my trusty Swiss Army knife. I switched it open as Willow watched.

  “What are you doing?” she asked as I put the sharp blade to the thick trunk of the stately tree and began to carve into it.

  A few short minutes later, there was another heart gracing the tree just above the one carved by her father. Except this one was bigger and on either side of the arrow were two initials. RM on the bottom and WR on the top.

  Willow flung her arms around me. I passionately kissed her once again.

  It was official.

  I, Ryan Madewell IV, long time suffering, fucked-up widower, celibate for four years, had a girlfriend.

  I was officially in love with a girl named Willow.

  Bending down to pick another dandelion, this time I made a wish before blowing on it, hoping this love would last forever. Like the heart on this tree that eternally connected us. Love had no goodbyes.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Willow

  “Make a wish, Nana,” I said after singing “Happy Birthday” to her with Ryan. A gourmet cook, she’d prepared a wonderful pasta primavera lunch, made with fresh vegetables she grew in her yard. Now, her homemade buttercream cake occupied the center of the dining room table along with an open bottle of champagne.

  Hovering over the cake, she took in the many candles. “I only wish your grandfather Harold was here standing next to me and could see how beautiful you are.”

  Every year, the same wish. My grandma had never loved another man after my grandpa passed away. He was her everything, childhood sweethearts who grew up together in Brooklyn. Gettinger’s Hotel was their life dream and they’d built the resort together, starting off with small bungalows and expanding it to the once grand hotel it’d become.

  Every molecule of my being was tingling as Nana inhaled a deep, fortifying breath. The aftershocks of my out of this world orgasm rolled through me, my inner thigh area still vibrating madly. Standing next to each other, Ryan and I clapped our hands as my strong, fiercely independent grandma blew out all the candles with one breath.

  Removing the candles, I immediately sliced, plated, and doled out three huge portions of the mouthwatering cake, giving the first one to my grandma. Nana loved cake and never said no to a slice. She was a hearty eater, who somehow had managed to maintain her svelte figure though she’d shrunken a few inches in height over the years. She was built like me and my mother, whose genes I’d inherited.

  “Wow! This is delicious!” said Ryan, shoving another hefty helping of the homemade cake into his mouth.

  “My darling, only the best,” laughed Nana, shaving off the thick creamy frosting with her fork. “My cholesterol will likely shoot through the roof and my doctor will give me hell. Whatever!” She waved a hand dismissively. “You know what, bubula? You only live once. You might as well live your life to the fullest.”

  Ryan twitched a small smile. “Yeah, isn’t that the truth?” He said it as if he meant it, and in an instant, I realized that my grandma’s words had made him think of Allee’s short, unfair life. Despite our amazing day, a shudder pulsed through me. There would always be Ryan’s great love. The incredible woman he immortalized in his book. More than anything right now, I wanted to talk to my grandma… get her take on things. I could always count on her honesty. She had no filters and always told it like it is. Just like my mom.

  Just at that moment, Ryan’s cell phone rang. Pulling it out of his jeans pocket, he glanced down at the caller ID screen.

  “It’s my agent,” Ryan said as the phone rang again. “Do you mind if I take this? It’ll give the two of you some time to spend together alone.”

  “No, prob,” I replied. “Why don’t you take the call in the living room. I’ll meet you there in a bit.”

  Once Ryan was gone, I took another bite of the scrumptious cake and washed it down with the bubbly champagne. Nana did the same. I also gave her the present I’d brought along—a small antique music box I’d found at a local antiques store. She collected them, the songs often reminding her of her ballroom dancing days with my late grandpa. To my delight, she loved it and gave me a thankful hug.

  “You look good, bubula” she said, sitting back down.

  “Thanks, Nana.” Truthfully, I was beginning to feel a little uneasy. I’d fucked Ryan’s brains out, but was now having second thoughts. Thoughts of regret. Before I could overthink things, my inquisitive grandma asked me another question. An unsettling one.

  “So, tell me, when are you going back to dancing?”

  My body tensed. Even my grandma, whom I confided in, had no clue about the extent of my breakdown. She, like my father, believed it was exhaustion-related. My relationship with Gustave It was the only thing I ever hid from her.

  “I don’t know, Nana.” At least, I was being honest with her. To be more honest, my desire to perform again had been tugging at my heartstrings ever since I’d seen The Red Shoes with Ryan. Gustave’s didactic words, “Once a ballerina, always a ballerina,” danced through my mind like a series of bourées.

  To my relief, my grandma changed the subject. “So, how’s your father?”

  Still harboring anger toward my father, who she never could accept, her inquiry caught me off guard. I took a sip of my bubbly before responding.

  “Actually, Nana, he’s better.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nana, he had a heart attack. A minor one, but nonetheless, it was a wakeup call.”

  Contemplating her next words, she set down her flute. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Her voice was devoid of emotion, but it could have been dripping with sarcasm, or worse, her response could have been plain out mean and heartless. Something like: “He deserves it.” Even though she was estranged from my father, she knew how much my father meant to me. How much I loved him. Hence, she tempered herself.

  “You know, Nana, it would be nice if you saw him. It’s been a long time. Maybe you could come to the city or invite him up here. I think he’d like that.”

  “I’ll think about it.” She took several long sips of her champagne and then changed the subject again. “So, bubula, let’s talk about something else. Forget that I’m your grandma and tell me everything.”

  As she flicked flakes of dried up leaves from my hair, I almost choked on my next sip of champagne. “What do you mean?”

  Of course, I knew what she meant. My sex-charged grandma wanted to know everything about Ryan.

/>   Over another glass of champagne, I told my beloved Nana about how I’d met Ryan and what had transpired, including the details of our afternoon. She hung on every word, convinced that Ryan Madewell IV was in love with me.

  “Nana, I’m scared.”

  “Why, darling?”

  “I don’t think I can ever be her.”

  Nana shot me a reassuring smile. “No, my bubula, you can never be her. You can only be you. And you are special.”

  God, how I loved my grandma.

  “But what if he freaks out? Lets me go? Breaks my heart?”

  There was no doubt in my mind that he was still fucked up. Still in love with another. A woman who was timeless. Written on his soul with words that had touched a million hearts.

  My grandma took another bite of her cake and then lovingly brushed her fingertips along my jaw.

  “My dear, there are no what-ifs when it comes to love. Only what is.”

  I digested the wise woman’s words.

  “But, Nana, you never found another man like Grandpa.” Nor did my father find another woman like my mother, I added silently.

  “Darling, it hasn’t happened yet. But it will. I’m eighty years young.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh before my insecurity manifested itself again. I knew that love could be all consuming. It could put you in a blender, twist and turn you …shred you to pieces.

  Then, Ryan returned with all his virile glory, love written on his face. My fears evaporated. Hope filled me. I’d love him from page one. Maybe we could get to the end together.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Ryan

  The next week went by quickly. After fucking Willow at her grandmother’s house, I couldn’t get enough of her. It wasn’t easy. In fact, it was next to impossible. One time we snuck into the women’s room of her father’s deli and while a customer banged on the locked door, I did some other form of banging against the door. The woman, who was with a young child, gave us a dirty look as we giddily clambered out of the small, cramped room. We tried to have a tryst at a local hotel—in fact, any hotel, but every room in the city was sold out because it was Fashion Week. We both skirted the issue of sleeping together—that is, in her bed or mine. On Thursday, I discussed my progress with Dr. Goodman, who was pleased but concerned that Willow staying over at my place was still off limits. Once again he urged us to seek couples therapy and told me that sooner or later I would have to get over my inability to share my bed with another woman, let alone let one stay over. He was convinced this hang up was connected to my writer’s block. Since Allee’s death, I hadn’t written anything new. Not a single word.

  Dr. Goodman’s words gnawed at me all day. I just wasn’t sure if I could make it to the next step. Though I loved Willow, sharing my bed with her was something I wasn’t sure I was ready for. Fortunately, she wasn’t pushing me and seemed content with the arrangement we had. Which was a lot of stolen kisses and a few more encounters in the restroom of her father’s deli. Maybe I should look into renting a fuck pad, some small furnished apartment with a bed that had no meaning to me. No emotional attachment. Dammit. I wished I could have drinks with my love guru Duffy, but he’d left for California. His wedding, which I was attending, was next weekend. Man, it was hard to believe it was just around the corner. Time had gone by so quickly, perhaps because I now had Willow in my life.

  On Friday, I had little time to dwell on my predicament. My four-year-old niece was coming in the late morning to stay for the weekend. I hadn’t done shit to get things together and I had to admit I was freaking out. This was the first time the little girl was sleeping over and I wasn’t even sure where she was sleeping. My loft technically only had one bedroom—mine—and it wasn’t what I’d call kid-friendly. Thank God for Willow. She came up with the perfect solution. Her childhood sleeping bag—a plush pink and white satin-quilted bag, which was shaped like a ballet slipper and came with a matching pillow. I gave her a hug when she brought it over. Violet was going to love it, and I could place it on the area rug in my room.

  Willow insisted on accompanying me to the nearby Whole Foods on Seventh Avenue to stock up on food for my niece. Of course, my obsessive-compulsive sister had sent me a list of everything my niece required. It might have been the longest email I ever received. What was with this kid—organic almond milk, flax seed muffins, and kale for making smoothies and fresh veggie chips? And that was just for starters; attached were recipes. Was my sister out of her fucking mind? She knew damn well I didn’t cook. In fact, I almost burned down my parents’ kitchen when I was eleven trying to make pizza. I showed the list to Willow and shared my childhood cooking fiasco. She burst into laughter and continued to laugh as I showed her the second attachment: a minute by minute breakdown of Violet’s activities from the minute she woke up to the time she went beddy-bye. Holy Jesus. I was never going to survive this weekend. Nonplussed Willow told me not to worry as we drove to Whole Foods. Leaving the posh supermarket with three bags worth of stuff, we made another stop at the Gristedes around the corner and left with a bag of groceries that weren’t on the list. Then, on the way home, we made a final stop at her dad’s deli.

  Stocking my kitchen cabinets and fridge with Willow’s help, I was getting more and more anxious by the second. My sister Mimi and her spouse, Beth, would be here any minute with Violet. Over the years, I’d seen them numerous times, both here in New York and Boston, where they lived. They’d both been so supportive, especially in the months following Allee’s death. I was beholden. So, when I found out that the two workaholics were flying to the Caribbean for a long weekend to celebrate their tenth anniversary, I offered to take care of Violet at my place while they were away. Now, I was having second thoughts. While I adored my niece and was also her godfather, I had no idea how to take care of a little girl. Fuck. What was I thinking? My stomach knotted, I scurried through my loft making sure everything was childproof while Willow remained behind in the kitchen preparing lunch. This was the first time Mimi would be meeting Willow…the first woman in my life since Allee…and this also made me nervous as shit. My brilliant sister-the-lawyer was very judgmental, and I worried if she would like Willow…even a fraction of how much she adored Allee. Allee, indeed, was a hard act to follow.

  Then, suddenly out of nowhere, Allee appeared…sitting cross-legged on the couch.

  “Relax, Madewell, you’ve got this.”

  “Allee!” I gasped. “I’m freaking out. I don’t know the first thing about kids.”

  She laughed. “Madewell, you’ll do just fine. I always thought you’d make an awesome father.”

  A sudden cloud of sadness fell upon me. The memory of that fateful day in Paris drifted into my head. That moment I learned about her frozen eggs, harvested in college before receiving her first cancer treatments. The eggs that I’d fertilized and were still waiting for a surrogate to bear them. Since becoming involved with Willow, I hadn’t thought about them. Guilt mixed with the sorrow. Remorse.

  Allee smiled at me. It was a wistful smile. A smile that gutted me.

  “I know what you did, my Superman.”

  “You do?”

  She nodded. “One day, you will be a fine father, Ryan Madewell.” She emphasized the word “will.” Then, her smile brightened and she shot me her signature eye roll. “And stop worrying about what your sister will think about Willow. She’s gonna love her.”

  The intercom sounded, and with that, she disappeared.

  My emotions in a jumble, I ran to answer it.

  “Uncle Ryan, we’re here!!” a sweet raspy voice shouted. Violet. My spirits instantly lifted. I was excited to see her as well as Mimi and Beth. I hit the intercom button and let them in.

  A few minutes later, my adorable niece was in my arms while her moms set down her small suitcase and a doll. She rubbed my face.

  “Uncle Ryan, you grew a beard!”

  I laughed. God, she could even make me laugh in all the dark times. “Do you like it?”

  She
rubbed it again with her little hand and then scrunched up her face. “It’s very scratchy. I liked you better before without it.”

  Frowning, I faked a sad face. “Does that mean you don’t love me anymore?”

  “Of course not, silly!! You’re my bestest uncle.” She gave me a delicious hug, kissing my thick stubble. “Eeww!”

  While I chuckled, my sister chided her. “Violet, that’s not nice. Tell Uncle Ryan you’re sorry.”

  My stubborn niece hedged and hawed. She reminded me in ways of my bullheaded Allee. “Hey, don’t worry about it, kiddo.” I affectionately tugged at one of her long braids. “Beards are an acquired taste.”

  “They taste yucky, Uncle Ryan.”

  I chortled at her literal interpretation. She’d likely tasted my cologne or the remnants of the soap I used to wash my face. Then behind me, I heard footsteps and a familiar voice. With Violet still in my arms, I spun around. It was Willow, holding a tray with food and beverages.

  “Hi, everyone. I hope you’re staying for lunch. I’ve made some sandwiches and hot dogs.”

  “YAY! I’m starving!” shouted my niece. “And I love hot dogs with mustard and ketchup!”

  A big smile beamed on Willow’s face while my sister frowned.

  “Since when do you eat hot dogs, young lady?” she asked her daughter.

  “Marta buys them for me all the time from the hot dog man in the park.”

  Marta was their nanny. Mimi and Beth exchanged what-the-fuck looks while Willow waltzed up to us.

  “And, sweetie, I also made you chocolate milk.”

  “Wow!! I love chocolate milk. My mommies never let me have it.”

  My strict as hell sister shot me a guilty as charged look. Holding back a laugh, I introduced Willow to everyone.