by L. Duarte
“Thank God, someone to help me.” Mel walks in and quickly hugs Will and me. She then stands in front of a pile of sweet potatoes. I sigh with relief. Mel has an astounding capacity for forgiveness. I know how mad she was with me, but since Will and I made up, she has embraced me as if nothing had transpired between us.
“Unfortunately for you, Portia, Mel has a bathroom break after peeling every other potato.” Maritza hands me an apron and a knife.
As I fiercely peel potato after potato, I wonder where the hell my moral compass has been my whole life. Prior to today, other than telethons, I have never labored for the benefit of those less fortunate than myself. I am beat, but I feel a tingling of excitement running through me.
Miles separate me from the blatant dismissal from my father. For once, I feel wanted. The scent of cinnamon and a symphony of laughter permeate the kitchen. A warm conversation, weaves in and around varied topics. Maritza spices every subject with funny remarks.
Listening to stories of Will and Mel in high school and tales of Dan and Maritza dating, makes me think of those cozy snow globes I’ve seen in Hallmark stores. Surprisingly, I have the snug feeling of being inside one.
The day passes in a blur, and after hours of peeling sweet potatoes for pies, a blister appears on my right hand. Though it is still Saturday, I have the feeling a thousand years passed. Jeez, this volunteering deal is great.
“Here, let’s wrap it on ice.” Will kisses my fingers and gently places a bag of frozen peas over my throbbing hand. He tugs my free hand and hauls me to the living room. He sinks into the couch, pulling me with him. My body instinctively molds to his.
“I will have that bag of peas when you are done.” Mel plops on the couch, next to us.
“Hold on, gorgeous, I will get you your very own bag,” Will says. I laugh at his concern toward the damsels in kitchen distress.
“He is a keeper,” I note.
“Yeah, Will’s heart is bigger than him.” Mel caresses her stomach, making me wonder if it will pop, if it gets any larger.
“Here.” Will slides a large bag of ice behind her back and sits next to me, pulling my legs over his.
Will glances at his watch. He is acting weirdly secretive today. After spending time helping us, he told me he had to go to his studio nearby. Side note: I didn’t even know he had one. When I asked him to wait so I could go along, he came up with what seemed like a lame excuse. Oh, well. He is entitled to some alone time. He did plan to spend the week without me after all.
Mercifully, Mel has being extra nice. I wonder if Will mentioned the fiasco with my father.
“Baby, I want to go hiking today. Are you up for it?” There is something in his undertone that doesn’t allow me to say no, even though all I want to do is to hit the bed.
“Yeah, but don’t we have to help some more?” My eyes trail to the kitchen where Dan and Maritza are preparing sweet potatoes pies.
“Nah, they will manage the rest without us. We are doing well. Besides we have the entire week before Thursday.”
“OK.”
Before I get up, I notice Mel and Will exchange a smile. I feel a sting of jealousy. The feeling that maybe I am being left out of some secret, swamps me.
I go to the guest room, and quickly don a warmer outfit and my hiking boots, which I keep here for all the hikes we take when we visit Connecticut.
During the drive, Will is quiet. I look at him and notice he gnaws on his lips.
“Check out this song.” Will hands me his iPhone, I love that he thinks of me whenever he finds a new song he likes.
I smile. “‘Nessum Dorma,’ who is singing?” I inquire recognizing the song from the opera Turandot. His thumb twists his platinum band, a habit of his when he is nervous.
“It’s from the album, The Three Tenors in Concert, isn’t it beautiful?” His fingers reach for my hand, and for a moment, I relax.
I want to ask what is bothering him. But I am too afraid of the answer. Maybe, he was looking forward to being away from me. I cannot bear to dwell on the thoughts, so I pay attention to the lyrics. A tight knot is on my throat at the end of the song.
“Will, I love this opera. I watched it many years ago, when Nillie, Tarry, and I backpacked through Europe.” I hit repeat.
“I’ve seen it too. I think this is such a sad, but profound song.”
We hike the mountain along a narrow road. Will tells me it is faster and I have worked hard enough as it is. Though Will holds my hand, he is nervous and distant. By the time we reach the summit, it is past four, and the sun is low in the sky. A cold breeze makes me shiver. Will senses it and wraps his arms around my shoulders. Once on top, we relish the peace and solitude of the mountaintop. I suspect that today, due to the cold, people won’t be venturing up here.
“Thank you for coming up here with me,” Will whispers in my ear and embraces me from behind.
“To be honest, though I was dead tired, it feels right to be here. And at this moment, there is nowhere else I would rather be,” I tell him.
“Good.”
For a moment, I think he will say something else, but he is silent and deep in thought. We watch as the sun goes down. I swear, something is upsetting Will, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out.
“Portia,” Will’s voice is so deep and grave. I brace myself. He is going to tell me why he is so absent. I set my eyes on the lowering sun and refuse to face him.
From my peripheral vision, I notice that Will snatches a piece of paper from his jeans pocket.
“Here, open this, and hold it against the sunset.”
My mouth goes dry and my heart quickens. Staring into his brooding eyes, I remove my gloves. My fingers tremble as I struggle to unfold the thin piece of paper.
Is this gossip from the media? I have a flashback to the day at the hotel in London, when he broke up with me. An indescribable pain runs through me. Every fiber of my body is on high alert.
Will regards me, and he is serious, way too serious. My hands quickly become cold, shaky, and clumsy, making the ordeal even more difficult. I have this reeling sensation, just like when I wake up with a hangover. Can fear do this to you?
Finally, I smooth the sheet and see a graffiti drawing centered on the paper. It is a black circle. What is it? I hold it against the remains of the sun.
The sun lowers on the horizon and tints the brisk autumn air with a golden hue. Though it is cold as hell, I have to dry my sweaty hands on my jeans. Immersed in unfolding the paper, Portia doesn’t notice when I kneel before her. I watch her face closely. Her eyes squint. Once she opens up the paper, the sunlight filters through it revealing the outline of a ring with the script: Will you marry me?
When realization rushes through Portia, her eyes widen and her free hand covers her mouth.
She gazes at me. And I see tears brimming in her eyes. I take that as a good sign and go on to say, “Did you ever have a feeling you were running out of time? The very same day I met you, I had this pressing feeling that every minute I spend without you, is time escaping from me.” I inhale a deep breath. “Portia, when I close my eyes to contemplate on love, your face gleams as bright and as pure as the first rays of the sun. I want to spend the rest of my days on earth with you, and then in eternity. I brought you here so God can be my witness to me promising that if you say yes to me, I will treasure, protect, and love you all the days of my life, and thereafter.” I pause, gather all my courage, and ask. “Portia, will you marry me?”
“Oh, Will. I love you so much…” Portia lunges toward me. “Yes, yes, yes.” Her lips meet mine, and I taste the salt from her tears. We kiss until we are both breathless. Long after the sun settles behind the horizon line, we are still intertwined. My heart beats stronger than ever, leaping with a new found purpose and joy.
By the time we head down the mountain, a black blanket sprinkled with stars covers the sky. Anticipating the darkness, I had brought a small flashlight. Portia holds tighter to my hand at every foreign noise we hear. I almo
st regret bringing her here so late. Almost. I really wanted to make this special for us, especially for her.
I have come to an interesting conclusion regarding Portia. She has everything that money can buy and legions of people worshiping at her feet. But her life is shallow, sad, and even she is aware of how fleeting her fame is. Worse, other than Nillie, Tarry, and Stefan, she is on her own.
“Sorry that I don’t have a ring. I designed one, but it won’t be ready until the end of the week.”
“Don’t apologize, Will, this is the single most perfect day of my life.” Portia stumbles on the uneven and rough terrain, and I steady her.
“Oh, easy baby, I want you in one piece at our wedding.” I grin.
“When do you have in mind?” Her voice is full of expectation and enthusiasm.
“Well, we have to get a license, but I was hoping by Friday. Dan could marry us.” I stop for a moment, and glance at her expectantly. “Is it too soon for you? God, we don’t have to get married now. You probably want a big wedding, right? Sorry, baby. We can…” Portia releases a laugh that sounds like crystal ringing.
“Are you kidding me?” she asks. We are in the parking lot now; and we stop next to the car.
“Will, I can barely wait until Friday.” She enlaces her hands around my neck and her trembling lips meet mine.
“Good…” I whisper against her lips, before crushing my mouth over hers.
I swing open the car door. Portia slides in and switches on her cell. I know she’s telling her friends, and I jog around to the other side of the car. A rush of happiness about the future runs through me.
Feeling a wave of happiness, I do group text Tarry and Nillie:
Me: Guess what???
Tarry: Yeah?
Niki: Spill it.
Me: Get your sorry arses here by Friday. I’m getting MARRIED.
Niki: Joking?!
Tarry: WTF?
Tarry: On my way ; )
Niki: Wait, r u serious?
Me: Dead serious.
Niki: OMG. Soooo freaking awesome!
Me: Will just proposed. Oh guys, I am so in love with this man.
Niki: Tears and goose bumps.
Tarry: Opening champagne as we speak.
Me: So r u on? I can’t do it without u 2.
Tarry: I wouldn’t miss it for the world.
Niki: Ditto.
Me: Call u later with the details.
Nick: Ohh, crying again.
Me: See u soon, my fiancé is waiting, we r going tell his family.
“Tarry and Niki are coming,” I tell Will as I step out of the car.
“For real? I was afraid it was too late notice for them.” Will’s fingers intertwine mine.
“Oh, I could not marry without them here, Will.”
“I know, baby, and we can always change the date.”
“Now, I need to call Stefan. I am sure he will come too.” I notice for the first time, that a grin is frozen on my face. Just like Dan’s.
Will opens the living room door. The house is silent. Three sets of eyes expectantly wait for us. After a glance at Will’s and my face, Maritza exclaims, “She said yes!” She lunges at us, her eyes tearing. “Oh, Portia, welcome to the family.” She squeezes me and a feeling of happiness that seldom comes my way swamps my body.
“Congratulations.’ Dan and Mel hug Will and me.
“Thank you,” I utter.
“Oh. So, did you choose a date?” Maritza leads us to the couch.
“Friday.” Will grins.
Shock shoots across Maritza’s face. “But, is it enough time?” She seems to hyperventilate. “I mean, there is a dress involved.” She sighs. “A party, invitations, the honeymoon—”
“I want a private ceremony and there are only a few people I will invite,” I utter.
“Oh, OK. But we need a small reception. Can’t we do it on Saturday? That will give us time to plan a small dinner after the ceremony.”
Will glances at me expectantly. In all honesty, I wish we could do it today, but I guess it will make more sense to wait until Saturday. “What you think Will?”
“Not a day after Saturday and I am good.” He smirks. “And Maritza, we will hire a caterer, I don’t want you worrying about food for our wedding.”
“OK, Saturday it is.” I clap my hands and, before I realize it, I grab Will and kiss him passionately. “Sorry,” I say when I glance around the room.
“Oh, come on, it is not like we don’t see the two of you smooching in the corners every chance you have,” Mel says and grabs my hand. “Come with me, I need to show you something.”
I follow her obediently. Mel seems genuinely excited for us, which is such a relief.
“Sit down, let me show you.” She points to the chair in the corner of her room. “I know you will be pressed for time, so, I want to show you this.” She pulls out a hanger from her closet, and unzips the cover.
“Oh,” I gasp, “It is your wedding gown, I’ve seen the pictures.” Realization runs through me, and tears burn my eyes.
“Yeah, it was Mom’s.” Her fingers slide across the beaded skirt.
“Mel, are you sure?” I stand up, and examine the gown. It is gorgeous. But Mel’s gesture is what melts my heart. I sudden remember when Will mentioned how generous Mel is. Now I understand.
“It is beautiful, thank you,” I murmur.
“You are more slender than me, but Aunt May can adjust it for you.” She hands me the dress. “Portia, I am sorry for giving you such a hard time at the beginning of your relationship with Will,” Mel says.
“Please, Mel. You were just looking out for your brother. I would have done the same.” I admire the handmade embroidery with cascading crystals. “Can I try it on?” I ask.
“Sure, let me help you. I changed it a bit from mom’s original design.”
I hastily remove my clothes and slip inside the gown. Thousands of butterflies flutter in my stomach.
After zipping the dress, Mel retrieves a box from her closet and opens it, revealing a long lace veil. “This was my grandmother’s.”
The dress is strapless with organza fitted around the waist and a flaring embroidered skirt. The gown is simple, but when Mel places the veil over my hair, it is breathtaking.
I stare in the full-length mirror tucked behind the door. Biting my lower lip, I ponder about the recent changes in my life. Is this for real? Can someone’s life change so suddenly and so drastically?
Mel notices my contemplative moment and adds nervously, “If you don’t like the dress, don’t feel pressured. We can carve out some time and go shopping in the city.” The words roll out in a rush. “I’m sure any famous designer will accommodate short notice for you, right? Oh, Portia, you don’t have to wear it. I didn’t think this through. It was silly of me to offer it you. I am sure you want to choose a more modern gown,” she continues and shows her growing anxiety.
I turn around to face her and tears are flowing down my cheeks. What the hell! Does being happy open the gates of one’s tear ducts?
“It is perfect, Mel. I mean it. No designer could ever make a prettier gown than this. In addition, it will be my honor to wear it.” Mel’s simple act makes me feel special and part of a private circle. “Thank you, I will never forget this.”
Mel throws her arms around me awkwardly, due to her belly. “I am so happy for you and Will,” she sniffles. “OK, so, now, we only need to shop for new lingerie. There is a nice mall in Stamford. We should be able to find something there that’s, let’s say, memorable.”
Jeez, I wonder if Mel knows Will and I haven’t have sex yet. Wow, he will make love to me. Gasping for air at that very thought, I look at my reflection and notice the pink color spreading across my cheek. Yes. I am blushing. Portia McGee, the untamed and wild woman is actually flushing at the thought of having sex. Who would have thought?
A blend of excitement and expectation runs through me. I haven’t had sex in forever. OK, in about six months. The p
oint being is I will make love to Will.
Mel gathers the excess fabric around my hips and it is stunning. “See, we need to adjust around the hips, not a big deal.” She is gleaming.
We are both startled by a knock at the door. “Who is it?” Mel yells.
“It’s me. I want my fiancée back,” Will says from the hall.
“Go away, she can’t be seen by you right now,” Mel scolds him. “Send Mom in.” She bosses him and sounds every bit a sister.
“OK. But let me take a quick look first, only for a sec.”
“Shut up and do as you’re told,” Mel laughs.
I hear Will’s laughter echo down the hallway as he walks away. I wonder if I can be any happier.
A little later, Maritza strolls into the room and stares at me. My own mother comes to mind, and I wonder if I should call her. I decide to think about that later.
“What do you think?” I ask hopefully.
“Oh, Portia…” She chokes, and she is teary. “You look stunning. Will is a fortunate man.” She squeezes me tight.
“I am the fortunate one.” I smile in between sobs. Internally I roll my eyes at becoming teary. Again.
“C’mere.” Will enlaces my waist and plants a kiss on my nose.
“What?” I snuggle in his embrace, but sense tension emanating from his body.
“I know you must be beat, but can I show you something?” Will’s deep green eyes are more intense than usual.
“OK.” Will leads me to the basement. He retrieves a manila folder from the computer desk and sinks into a love seat, pulling me into his lap.
“These are my records from when I was a foster child under the care of the State of Connecticut.” He pauses, biting the inside of his lips. “I should have shown you this before, but…” Will’s voice trails off as he gives me the envelope. He rubs his hand over his jeans, and then his thumb fidgets around his ring. He is nervous.
“Will, you don’t have me to show me this. I mean, not if it makes you uncomfortable.”
“Portia, it is fair for you to know what you are getting into. As a child, I fell into the hands of incredibly evil people. As a consequence, I have demons I still battle, day and night,” he exhales. Most of the time, Will exudes confidence. But, like everyone else, ghosts from his past haunt him. At times, they grab hold of him and try to pull him back to the damaged kid he was. A sudden awareness strikes me. Will’s daily fights reaffirm who he is and that he heals a bit more every day.