by L. Duarte
“And where is that girl, Portia. The one who dreamed?”
“I don’t know. She grew up, I guess. There is not much use for dreams in real life.”
“I would like to have met her,” he says quietly.
I sigh, “I was a helpless dreamer, Will. And in this place, I could always dream of things I didn’t have. But one day, life happened and coerced me to wake up.”
“What kind of things did you dream, Portia?” his voice a low rumble.
“Impossible, childish things, Will.” Feigning indifference, I shrug.
“Like what?” Will pushes, and something about the intensity in his green eyes leads me to open up, revealing more than I care to share.
“A family.” I grab the warmer containing Chloe’s bottle, and her chubby hands bounce impatiently toward it. I twist the top and slide the rubber nipple into her parted lips.
Content, she wraps her tiny fingers around the bottle, and puckers her lips on the nipple. The humming of her suction fascinates me. I glance up and meet the silent scrutiny of Will’s gaze.
Perhaps, the heady combination from the heat of the sun, the exquisite scent of the baby in my arms, and the intensity of Will’s eyes unravel me because, for sure, something inside me snaps. It’s confusing.
He continues to regard me with his deep stare, and I am at a loss for words. I guess holding a vulnerable being causes one to be a bit vulnerable too, because right about now, I feel raw and exposed to the man in front of me.
“Didn’t I tell you Chloe would sleep like a baby?” I cradle Chloe in my arms. Her lips pucker around the nipple as she sucks the breast milk her mother pumped earlier. Observing Portia, my lips turn into an involuntary smile. It is Sunday, the sun is not yet up, but she is in full gear.
“Bottles, formula, car seat, diapers, extra clothing, and toys. Oh, her blanket, where is it?” Portia panics as her eyes sweep the room.
“Here,” I chuckle, waving the blanket, twisted under Chloe’s grasp.
Strewn baby toys and a portable crib give a different vibe to my space. My canvases, paints, and brushes are pushed into a corner, barricaded by sofas and a childproof gate.
“I think we have everything,” Portia says. But then I notice as she begins to check her mental list. Again.
“Relax, baby, there are stores in Connecticut. If we forget something, we will just buy it.” I smirk. She is so adorable all flustered like this.
“Really?” she frowns. “Yeah, you’re right.” She sighs, clearly relieved.
I hear her phone ringing. It is probably Chloe’s mom.
Chloe sucks the last drop from her bottle. I leap from my bed and hand the baby to Portia, who reassures Marina that Chloe is fine. I grab the car seat and the bags, and bring them to the Jeep I parked in the back earlier.
Whoa, tending to a baby is a lot of work. I smile to myself at the warm thought of Portia holding Chloe. This part of her I had not anticipated.
Focusing on securing straps, I struggle with the car seat until I hear a click that confirms the belt latched. One must have a class before attempting to install a car seat.
Hearing the muted steps of Portia behind me, I turn to take in the sight of her carrying the baby. Call me crazy. But since I met Portia, unnerving ideas rush through my mind along with a surge of feelings that I know neither of us are ready for. When I look at her, it feels as if I have found what I have been looking for my whole life. No, it is not a gut feeling. It is a knowing. Deep down, my quest is over. Does it make any sense? No? But I am too infatuated by the sight of her to analyze it.
Oddly enough, to add to the confusing emotions, flashes of my repeated nightmare invade my thoughts. With a pang of despair, I recall the faceless person vainly pleading for my help, but always dying without my being able to rescue the person. Somehow, the memory unsettles me and an eerie shiver runs through my body.
“Are you OK?” Portia hands me Chloe.
“Yeah, why?” I settle the baby in the car seat and buckle her in. I smile noticing that her lids are heavy. I turn and enlace Portia’s waist.
“I dunno. You looked at me weirdly.” Tilting her head up, she frowns.
A bleak, opaque predawn light gleams in Portia’s face. I don’t know if her incredible body pressed against mine causes the knot inside my stomach, or if it is the racing thoughts in my head. Regardless, I hold Portia tighter.
“I just remembered something. Nothing of significance, though.”
“Anyway, that was Marina checking if Chloe had a good night. There was disappointment mixed with relief when I told her how well Chloe did.” Portia’s proud eyes meet mine. “We make a good team.”
“Yes, we do, baby.” I grin. “Let’s go. We don’t want to be late for the service.”
I swing the door open. She slides in. I kiss her delicious lips, shut the door, and jog to the driver’s side.
The drive is uneventful. Because of Chloe, we skip our usual stop at the beach. Unable to avoid it, I close in on my thoughts and think about the last few weeks with Portia. If she notices, she abstains from commenting. She is too busy dividing her attention between a sleeping Chloe and me.
After church, we meet with Dan and Maritza, who are thrilled to have a baby at home.
“Hi there, son! How do you manage to bring two pretty girls home, at once?” Dan greets me.
“Look who is talking. You have two already, and might have a third on the way.” I nod to Mel’s tummy.
“God, life is hard enough with two, imagine three.” He smirks.
Heading home, I hold Chloe in one arm and hold Portia’s hand in the other as we walk up the hill. Again, strange and unbidden thoughts flood my unrestrained imagination.
“Portia, since this is such a nice day, I thought we should have lunch outside. Would you and Mel set up the patio table?” Maritza asks as we approach the house.
“Oh, sure, I’ll love to,” Portia chirps. Hell, Portia is surprisingly unnerving. She seems to be wheezing with excitement to assist with such a mundane task.
Under the warm breeze, Portia’s cheeks are tinted pink, giving her the appearance of a little girl. From time to time, her eyes meet my gaze and in them, I see the longing and the promises she reserves for when she is staring at me.
Wondering if my grin is too obvious, I lounge on a large, cushioned patio chair. I observe Portia and Mel interacting as they fix the table. When they finish, Mel offers to lend Portia a pair of shorts and they disappear into the house.
A long while later, I glance at my watch, wondering why they are taking so long to simply change a piece of clothing. After what seems like an awfully long time, they are back and I notice a subtle change in Portia’s demeanor, which I am too distracted to dwell on it. My eyes repeatedly flicker to her long, taunting legs exposed by the denim shorts.
My stomach growls and I smile, wondering if lunch is late because Maritza is providing them extra bonding time.
Dan hands Chloe to Mel. “Here, honey, let me go help your mother get the food out.”
“Chloe must be loving all the attention,” Portia says.
“You really like kids, huh?” Mel inquires of Portia.
“Yeah, I guess I do.” Portia seems amused at the thought. “Have you picked names yet?”
“Tim and I have used a lot of our allotted time to come to a consensus for a name. He picked Gabriel, if it was a boy,” Mel says with longing in her voice. “But her name will be Ella.” Chloe’s chubby fingers clasp Mel’s honey curls.
“Ella, that’s beautiful. So, you know the gender already?” Portia inquires.
“Well, we haven’t had an ultrasound to confirm, but I know it is going to be a girl.”
“Yeah, I heard some moms can predict the gender,” Portia says.
“Can I feed Chloe? Mom cooked the same baby food she used to feed me. God, she is going to be one overbearing grandma.” She rolls her eyes and laughs.
“Yeah, Ella is a lucky child,” Portia says.
&nb
sp; Portia sashays toward me. She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
I am puzzled because I thought they were getting along well. I examine Portia’s face and it reflects an uneasiness that wasn’t there before. She sinks down in the chair next to me and instinctively, I drape my arm over her shoulders, pulling her closer.
“Mel is going to be a great mom,” I remark as we watch Maritza and Mel fussing around Chloe.
“Yeah.” Portia tilts her head up and kisses my lips. Her eyes are a deep shade of unfathomable emotions.
I wonder what they talked about when they disappeared. Whatever it was, it affected Portia because, though she does not look upset, her vibe has intensified. Portia sighs and snuggles on my chest. She embraces my waist as if she is sheltering the two of us against the world.
Portia won’t admit to it, not even to herself, I suppose. But she is eager for Mel’s approval. I talked to Mel and she admitted to trying to irritate Portia. She claimed Portia is untrustworthy, but agreed to give her a chance. Today, Mel seemed to honor her word and made an effort to befriend Portia. The touching part is the thrill it gave Portia, to engage in conversation with Mel. Well, until after Portia went to borrow Mel’s shorts.
“Hey, baby, are you OK?” I look down and ask.
“Oh, yeah, the heat has made me a bit tired. That’s all.” She looks up at me. Her eyes are vulnerable and almost sad. “Shall we eat?” Maritza inquires.
“Finally!” I sprint up, hauling Portia with me.
The rest of the day passes in a blur. After lunch, Dan spreads a blanket on the grass where we all lounged. From time to time, Portia shot me a sad stare. But the rest of the time, we laughed and talked for most the afternoon.
On our return to the city, Portia and Chloe slept. I watched over them with confusing feelings continuing to stir inside my knotted heart. We returned Chloe to a refreshed Stefan and Marina. Last night, Portia had treated them to dinner at a fancy restaurant and today she treated them to a renowned spa for couples. They seemed to have enjoyed every second of it.
Exhausted, we both collapse in bed, drifting into an immediate sleep.
My eyes fly open, a layer of sweat covers my skin, and my heart thumps inside my ribcage. The familiar feeling that my lungs are closing permeates through my body. I inhale deeply, attempting to ease my accelerated heartbeat. Focusing, I command my mind to register the air nourishing the fibers of my lungs.
I shudder and question what triggered the recurrence of the nightmare, finally concluding that it was the overwhelming emotions of the last few days. Just as with every other time post-nightmare, a great deal of dread sweeps through me. Remembering the images, I feel a gut-wrenching pain ramping through my body. For the first time, the blurry person pleading for help had a face. Portia’s.
I glance to my side and find Portia in a peaceful sleep. Her long hair drapes over my chest, and her arms and legs wrap around me. The sight is soothing. Too afraid to dwell on the images of the nightmare, I focus on the cadence of her serene breathing, in hopes it will lull me back to sleep.
Up until I moved to Dan’s, parasomnia had plagued and possessed me. Nightmares and night terrors had haunted me throughout my childhood and adolescence. It was always memories of abuse I suffered, mingled with the fear of threats from the people I currently lived with. At times, I spent weeks without sleeping through the night.
During my fourth grade year, I slept at my desk in the classroom. The teacher must have taken pity on me, because she allowed me to sleep without interrupting me. Though I failed her class miserably, my body got the rest it desperately craved.
After moving in with Dan, for many nights he, Maritza, or Mel, sat by my bed, comforting me until I was exhausted and could be lulled back to sleep. In the span of two years, the sleep terrors subsided and eventually ceased. However, one single recurrent nightmare, which I had since a very young age, persevered. In a way, the repeated swirling images are worse than the terrors because, while not as severe and violent, it leaves me with an unexplainable hollow-feeling chest that lingers for days.
I focus on calming my breath, relaxing my muscles, and eradicating the daunting memory of the dream. My mind reels, seeking all the strategies to dodge the anxiety that Dan taught me. Wow, it has been many years since I went from a sixteen-year-old delinquent to becoming the exemplary, adopted son of a preacher. The irony of that? I couldn’t be happier. A ghost of a smile reaches my lips. Without Dan, what would have become of me?
Giving up on sleep, I disentangle my body from under Portia and slide off the bed. I gather my painting supplies and set a blank canvas on an easel beside her. My hands itch with anticipation. As I contemplate my angel sleeping, my eyes rummage through her perfect curves. With parted pouty lips, tinted cheeks, and disheveled hair she looks incredibly beautiful.
Noticing my absence, her hand searches the empty bed and a soft moan escapes her lips. She frowns slightly, but continues her slumber.
My fingers curl around a pencil and I sketch the perfect and round fullness of her hips partially wrapped within sheets.
Tranquility engulfed the room with the heady combination of painting and watching her slumber. The artistic process, which I have done repeatedly, escalates into a new realm from the simple fact that I am snapping a very intimate picture of Portia that the world will never get to see. I sigh deeply, realizing I could spend the rest of my life just watching her sleep. Hoping to do justice to the splendor of her heavenly beauty, I continue to sketch her and focus on capturing the essence of her purity.
After a few hours, I succumb to the exhaustion coursing through my body and I tuck the canvas away where Portia won’t see. I want to finish it before showing it to her. I climb back into bed and sleep finally finds me.
“Do I look OK?” Portia critically examines her reflection in the mirror.
Sprawled on my bed with my hands crossed under my head, my eyes travel lazily along her body. I admire her perfect figure. A blue sheath dress hugs her full hips and she looks delectable.
“Aren’t you eating in?” I ask.
“We are, but I want to look presentable.” Her lips twitch slightly and she shrugs, feigning indifference. Her body language is such a giveaway when she attempts to hide her feelings.
“Portia, don’t worry, it’s only your Dad, for crying out loud.”
“Exactly.” She blows her hair away from her face.
I sprint from bed and stop in front of her. My hands cup her face and my eyes search hers.
“Baby, you would look stunning wearing a rag.” I kiss her lips, trying to dissolve the anxiety I see in her eyes.
Portia’s torn face is maddening. The thought of how her father toys with her disgusts me, but I conceal my emotions and smile at her.
In multiple ways, I respect my biological mother more than I respect Portia’s father. At least, my mother had the courage to discard me and never bothered to cultivate any ground for dreams to grow inside my heart.
Portia rests her head on my chest, and I have an overwhelming desire to protect her. Releasing my hold of her, I whisper, “Please hurry back, I can’t be away from you for too long.”
“Oh, Will, I will hurry back.” She grabs her purse and walks to the back door. With her hand on the knob, she turns to me. “Will, thanks for making me feel wanted and special.” She leaves before I can reply.
Stunned, I stand in the middle of the empty room. My lips curve in a small smile. Portia is more perceptive than I gave her credit for. She saw right through my feeble attempt to make her see her worth. I realize we are two halves, fitting perfectly together. And, yes, there is more to us than amazing chemistry.
An irrevocable force keeps my center of gravity anchored with Will. The thought is scary, confusing, and a novelty. But also amazingly delicious.
I clamber into Dad’s Mercedes and smile at his driver. “Hi Dennis, it is good to see you. How have you been?” I smile at the kind man who has worked for Dad for the last three decades.
Jeez, before I existed.
“Hello, Miss Portia. I am well, thank you.”
The quiet engine hums as Dennis steps on the gas and merges into the hectic traffic of a Monday evening in Manhattan. The five-minute drive will likely take a half hour. If the heat index weren’t so high, I would have walked to Dad’s house.
Gazing at the lively streets, my eyes feast on the explosion of colors and the diverse ethnicities of the pedestrians. They rush through the cement mazes, seemingly oblivious to the blaring noises of the city as it pulsates with a unique beat as the center of the planet. Street vendors, newspaper boxes, cars, and skylines of glass and steel, complete the mural. New York has its own unique rhythm that attracts people of all races, from all cultures.
This city used to be one of my least favorite places in the world. Spending every summer alone in this concrete jungle made me resent it a bit, especially knowing that Tarry and Niki were together back in LA.
For the first time, I am having a very, very pleasant stay in this unbelievable city. Daunting green eyes is playing a pivotal part in this new feature of my life. Will took it upon himself the role of my private tour guide. In the past few weeks, he has shown me a side of New York that fascinates me. In addition, Dad has had dinner with me almost every week, which is the closest to a miracle I have ever witnessed.
A bitter smile plays in my lips. As a child, when I stayed here for the summer, I saw Dad once a week, when he briefly visited with me after work. Considering that he worked two blocks from the apartment, and Priscilla was on The Hamptons, I never understood why we didn’t spend more time together. She would never have even known.
Well, now I do comprehend. People are not forced to love: they do or they don’t. It’s just that simple. But none of that matters anymore, I have learned to cope with it.
My mind shifts to reminiscing about the time I have spent with Will. It’s been a week since Marina and Chloe visited and, though my filming schedule has been brutal, I can always count on Will to be very entertaining. I smile, thinking of how unfair it is to the rest of mankind that Will owns such magnificent pecs. But there is so much more to him than his nearly perfect body. Will’s smile transports me to a very relaxing, yet exciting place and he always does something to blow me away.