by L. Duarte
“Keep me away from you…” She hides her face on my chest.
The sound of my throaty laughter fills the silent Manhattan morning.
“You find me amusing, huh.” Her voice is serious, but I see a twitch on her lips.
“Oh, baby, trust me, I have no intention of keeping you away.” I kiss her again.
“Let’s go!” I open the door for her, relishing the familiarity of the gesture.
“Aren’t you the classic nature lover?” I smirk at Will.
“What’s not to love?” Kneeling in front of me, he slides the hiking boot on my foot. I lean back and relish the gentle touch of his strong hands.
“I don’t think I have ever hiked,” I muse.
“You’re going to love it.” He ties the shoelace. “Does it feel OK?” He glances up at me.
“Yeah, it feels so good to finally have you at my feet…” I give him a wicked smile.
“You’ve had me at your feet all along, baby,” he says playfully, and gives me a peck on my nose. He stands.
We are a Bob’s Store, buying a pair of hiking boots. Yep. Those are my exact words. Will decided to take me to one of his favorite place, Sleeping Giant Mountain. Honestly, I have my doubts if I am going to like it. The concept of hiking a mountain is a novelty. I am a city girl. I enjoy concrete, room service, elevators, and air conditioner. Then again, I might like it because I’ll be with Will.
“This place is a piece of heaven,” he told me. Which is why when he informed me we had to hike there, I simply smiled back in agreement. Will had a grin on his face when he invited me. He is so incredibly charming, and I just can’t refuse anything he asks me. Since the day I met Will, one of the greatest mysteries I have tried to unravel is how his stare alone can disarm me.
We head for the cashier, and a teenage girl recognizes me. Oh, no free pass today. I want to deny who I am, but her eyes glimmer with excitement, and I just don’t have the heart.
“Are you Portia McGee?” she mumbles with startled eyes.
“That’s me.” I smile.
“Oh. My. God. No one is going to believe me. Can I take a picture with you?”
“Sure.” I notice as Will steps back, allowing the girl to enjoy her moment with me.
I do my best to be discreet; I sign an autograph and hastily take a picture. But before the cashier registers our purchase, there is a group of people hovering and blinking their cameras toward us.
“I am sorry, baby.” Will opens the car’s door for me. Some of what I suppose are fans have followed us into the parking lot.
“It comes with the territory, Will. I am not going to pretend I don’t resent it sometimes. But as one of my nannies used to say, ‘Can’t take the heat, get out of the kitchen.’” We both laugh at my attempt at a Spanish accent.
Will’s strong, capable hands maneuver the car out of the parking lot. We hit I-95, toward his “piece of heaven.”
I think back to the sunrise earlier this morning. Surprisingly the sun has a variety of shades. Today the sun shone red and reflected rays of fire on the clouds surrounding it. I wonder where I lived my life before Will. Little things that surrounded me my entire life, but went unnoticed now fill me with joy. Each morning, when dressing I choose different outfits, and so does the sun. Prior to my Sunday mornings with Will, I never realized this and it baffles me.
Will pulls over in a parking lot near a slope. He opens my door and tells me, “We are going to hike the purple trail. It offers a gorgeous view, and it’s easy enough for you.” He retrieves a backpack from the trunk.
“Oh, Will, the view is a bonus. But at this point, I’m just hoping not to embarrass the hell out of myself,” I joke, though there is some truth to my statement.
“No worries, I’ll give you a piggyback ride, if you can’t manage.” He reaches for my hand, and I obediently follow him.
Will is good on his word. Not only is the trail easy enough, but it is breathtaking. The initial slope of our trail is alongside a stream. In the silence, I hear the distant chirp of birds, the hum of the water, and the sound of twigs breaking under our feet.
Wondering if I am worthy of the blissful flood of happiness I close my eyes and inhale deeply. A sharp pain grips my heart. Then it is gone. It is as quick and sudden as deadly lightning crossing the sky on a stormy night. For the duration of less than a second, an eerie chill rushes up my spine. I’ve had these presentiments before, but never so urgent. Today, it feels like a warning that this joy is evasive and it comes with an expiration date stamped on it. I ignore. This moment with Will is too precious. I won’t allow a fleeting premonition to snatch it from me.
The autumn air is still and crispy. Leaves, one by one, twirl in a slow, lazy fall. I look at the branches woven together—orange, red, brown, and yellow explode with an infinite multitude of shades. The sun, filters through the leaves, tinting the air golden, it is magical. I have never seen such a beautiful place.
“Oh, Will, this is…beyond description…” A soft tingling travels on my skin.
A flicker of a smile crosses Will’s face. “I thought you would like it.”In the solitude of the woods, I have the sense of an invisible thread, weaving itself around us and keeping all the bad things out. It is sublime. I want to absorb all the beauty surrounding me and harness the emotion it invokes in my befuddled soul. I really think this is what “seize the moment” means.
Instinctively my mind goes to the first time I witnessed the sunrise with Will. My chaotic emotions stir and come full circle. I gaze up; my eyes meet the deep eyes of the man I love. And I know I can do everything and anything for him. We climb the rest of the mountain silently. When we reach the summit, Will guides me to an unfinished castle.
“Let’s go over there. It has a magnificent view.”
Our steps echo on the deserted stones of the ruin. A cold breeze welcomes us from the opening of the old construction. A shiver runs through me.
“Are you cold, baby?” Will removes his backpack, snatches a small blanket from inside, and drapes it around my shoulders. I smile.
We stare at the expanse of colors on treetops. The most perfect canvas. Again, I am mesmerized.
I face Will, “I never thought I could feel the things I feel when I am with you. If this is a dream I don’t want to ever wake up.” My voice sounds pained, and it scares me.
“This is our reality, Portia. You are not waking up from it, you are in it,” he says confidently.
The cold wind tousles my hair. Will stands behind me, his strong arms wrapping around my shoulders. He nuzzles my hair, and I rest the back of my head on his chest, hearing the rhythmic thump of his heart.
“Tell me why this is one of your favorite places.”
“Many reasons.” I hear the longing in his voice. “I like the solitude.” He inhales. “It is a solace, where I can touch unreachable parts of the universe. Here, I can endeavor to reach places inside me, which would otherwise be untouchable. Sometimes Portia, touching the depth of our being, is the most difficult quest of a human soul. ” Funnily enough, I can relate to what he is saying.
“Each single color I see, I register in a compartment of my mind,” he says and I can hear him smiling. “The sky alone never ceases to display a show,” he murmurs. “Days like today, it is a rare sight. It always presents a new shade I have never seen before; it’s damn glorious.”
In awe, I admire the swirling clouds, ranging from colors of a seashell to silver-gray. It is all so beautiful.
His hands move up and down my arms. “I can taste the colors, Portia, and each has a different flavor. Literally. It is similar to savoring the texture, flavor, smell, and temperature of a favorite food.” He inhales, becoming silent.
Listening to Will makes me want to reach deeper inside me for a journey of self-discovery. Through him, I have the courage to step into the unknown, fearlessly.
“But there is one very special reason I love it up here, which I have never told anyone,” he says reluctantly.
“It makes me feel closer to God.” He pauses. “More so, than when I am at church,” he adds guiltily.
“Oh, Will, there is nothing wrong with that.”
“When I am up here, and I see how good God is with color, I know for sure that I am his son and we are deeply connected.”
“That’s a beautiful thought.”
“That’s why I wanted to bring you up here.” Will turns me, so I can face him.
“For me to feel closer to God?”
“To tell you, on the place I feel the closest to God, that I love you with all my mind, body, and soul.” Will’s fingers skim my face with a feather light touch.
He cups my face and his eyes blaze. I am entranced as his mouth covers mine. His lips are all consuming. It is as if Will venerates me through his lips and hands. Air vanishes from my lungs, my body trembles, and my heartbeat quickens. A new level of vulnerability inundates me. But I welcome it and even embrace it. Because, in doing so, I am set free.
Several layers of insight hit me at once. Inside Will’s embrace, I soar higher than ever before and dive deeper than my heart ever tolerated. Tears flood my eyes. Love. I already acknowledge the love I have for Will, but in this moment, I am deeply and delightfully stricken with the realization of his deep-seated love for me. It falls over me like a cozy blanket on a frigid night. It warms me, protects me, and transports me to a serene place.
I realize I am at the edge of a boundless emotional cliff and falling is only natural, because Will’s arms surround me. So I breathe in the heady scent of Will and I fall, freeing my soul from the great emptiness that had consumed me—until then.
Wow, why did I ever think soul-searching crap was outdated?
Immersed in each stroke shaping my canvas, the abrupt sound of the back door opening startles me. My lips curve into a smile, my adorable tornado is home. I glance back and see Portia strolling through the room, a grin plastered on her face.
It has been a few weeks since we got back together. Life has never been so perfect.
“I have bad news, and good news. Which one you want first?” The words rush out of her lips. She throws her purse on my bed, and strides my way. She tugs my hair, pulling me to a deep kiss. When she draws back and gazes at me, her eyes twinkle. I don’t recall ever seeing her this happy.
“Bad news first,” I whisper, nibbling on her lower lip.
“We are going to be a few days apart.” Her lips twitch in a very sensual way.
“And why is that?” My arms snake possessively around her waist.
“I am spending Thanksgiving with my dad,” she chimes. “Imagine. He invited me tonight, during our dinner.” She stumbles backward, hauling me with her to the bed.
“For real?” I smile.
“It’s in The Hamptons, no less. I’ve never been there.” She grins. “Every year, Priscilla hosts an exclusive, lavish party. It has even been featured in Scene. I saw the pictures. And I am invited.” Her eyes widen.
She sinks on the bed, pulling me with her. My body covers hers as I prop my weight on my elbows. Stains of paint from my fingers have blemished her flawless skin. I trail kisses over the stains, then my lips brush over her eyelids and her cheeks, finding their way back to her lips.
“Oh, baby, I am thrilled for you.” She looks like a child on her way to an amusement park.
“I know. Surreal, right?” Her fingers clasp my hair and her lips meet mine.
Breathless, I pull away, asking, “When do you leave?”
“Saturday.”
“Same day I am going to Connecticut.” I dread the imminent separation, though I don’t want her to notice.
“Yeah, that’s the bummer part, being away from you,” she says.
“I hope I can handle a full week without you.”
I get up and extend my hand to her. “Come. Let’s celebrate with ice cream.”
I clear out the fridge and toss the leftover Chinese in the trash bag. Saturday came too soon, and I am leaving to Connecticut for a full week. Thanksgiving is one of our busiest holidays. Dan’s congregation prepares a real feast for the homeless shelter. Every family in the church volunteers to prepare a dish, but Maritza prepares the greatest part of the dinner. And even I get assigned kitchen duty.
Portia left early this morning, and I already miss her like crazy. I glance at my dresser, where I have given her a couple drawers. I recall how she bounced in excitement while packing for the week at her father’s.
Even though she won’t admit it, she adores her father and doesn’t hesitate to indulge his requests. The thought angers me, a lot. I wish she would let go of him. But, in a way, I can’t blame her. From what I observed this far, he keeps her at bay. He won’t fully commit emotionally to her, but he won’t let go of her. The douche bag is a wimp. That’s what I think.
In magazines, the man is described as a shrewd entrepreneur. Though he was born into wealth, Portia’s dad is a tycoon, who amassed a substantial fortune on his own. He ranks 103 on the list of the wealthiest people on the planet. All the while, at home, he is a puppet in the hands of his wife. Priscilla dictates his every step. Portia’s dad has two conflicting sides: the business persona and the obedient husband, who neglects Portia to appease the caprice of his wife.
I check my cell, no messages. Weird, Portia should have texted me by now. She was meeting with her father at the apartment before they left for The Hamptons. I tie the trash bag, grab my duffel bag, and head to the back door.
When I step out, an arctic wind hits my skin. Then a shudder racks my body when I see, huddled on the stairs outside my back door is Portia. Oblivious to my presence, her arms are tightly wrapped around her knees. My heart thumps and, for a moment, panic blurs my thoughts. She does not acknowledge my presence. I sprint in her direction, crouching next to her.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” Checking for signs of an injury, my hands brush the hair from her pale face. She seems in a trance. “Portia, can you hear me?” Her eyes are unfocused and her body trembles when my warm fingers slide across her cold skin.
“What happened?” Fear ripples down my spine. Is she in shock? “Please talk to me,” I try to coax her into speaking.
Finally, Portia’s vacant eyes glance at me and she slowly focuses on me as if she is escaping from a horror zone. “Oh, Will.” Her lips quiver. “I hate peanut butter. I tried to like it. I did. But I can’t,” she mumbles as I scoop her in my arms. She curls inside my embrace, hiding her face in my chest. I carry her inside the apartment.
Initially I think she is not making sense, but I sudden remember the analogy of peanut butter and her parents that she once related to me. I gently lay her on the bed and cover her trembling body. Swiftly I stride to the kitchen to prepare a cup of tea. Seeing her so broken hurts like hell. I squirt extra honey in her tea with the silly thought it will make it all better. I resolve that I won’t let anything or anyone hurt my girl like this. Ever again.
I march back to the bed. Gently, I assist her into a sitting position. “Here, drink this, it’s chamomile tea.” I bring the teacup to Portia’s lips, hoping to pour some warmth back into her. As she sips from the steaming liquid, heavy teardrops flow down her cheeks. I set the cup down and cuddle her.
“Shhh…I am here for you, darling.” I lie next to her, tightening my arms around her. Portia weeps, her body shakes violently now. With a sense of helplessness, I just hold her in my arms. After what seems like an eternity, her tears subside.
“He told me, I couldn’t go,” she whispers.
“You don’t have to talk about it.” I slide my fingers in her hair. Portia sits up. Her blues eyes are intent.
“Yes, I do. After today, I will never mention it again.” She looks at me, and I see the pain of rejection reflected in her eyes. “When I got to the apartment, he told me that Priscilla hadn’t planned on having an extra guest. Something related to last-minute notice, not enough food, marked seats, and her extensive plans for prepari
ng a dinner.” She weeps again and her voice falters. “And she also said that Thanksgiving is exclusively for family members,” she chokes.
“What did you say to him?” I squeeze her hand.
“Me? Oh, I couldn’t get around to saying much. So I just said: Fuck you.” She shrugs.
“You did not.” I smile, proud of her.
“Yep.” She wipes her face. “Do I look awful?”
Her eyes are puffy, her nose is red, and her hair disheveled. “You look adorable.”
“Do you think I can still come with you to Connecticut?”
Is she joking? What kind of a question is that? But I see the insecurity in her expression. Rejection will do that to people.
“Of course you can. You know, not only Dan and Maritza will be thrilled to have you as a guest, but it also means an extra pair of hands to assist in the kitchen.” I grin. “Are you up to do some manual labor in favor of your fellow homeless?”
“Oh, that’s right. You cook for a shelter.” She stands up with renewed strength.
“Yeah, and the best part of Thanksgiving at the Millers is: Maritza’s turkey is absolutely better than anything featured in Scene.”
After smooching Will, Maritza strides my way and hugs me. “Portia, bienvenida. I thought you were going to your father’s.”
Breathless from her tight embrace, I smile. “A change of plans.”
“Oh, but that’s wonderful.” Maritza leans in and whispers conspiratorially in my ears, “No one wants to put up with Will’s moping when you are not around.”
“I can hear you, you know,” Will utters.
“Hello there, darling.” Dan hugs me affectionately.
“Hi Dan, sorry for the last-minute intrusion,” I mumble.
“Please, sweetheart, we are always delighted to have you with us.” He grins. I notice how much Will looks like him, even though there are no blood ties.
“Thank you.” I grin back, realizing his smile is contagious.