The Color of Home: A Novel

by Rich Marcello

  “So, back to the Green Angel. In a year or two, I hope to open a number of sister restaurants along the East Coast.”

  “You will.”

  “I hope.”

  “You will.” He brushed out a wrinkle in the tablecloth. The space between their professions, between food and music, had always been a part of their relationship. Was that a good thing? Sometimes he wondered if working in the same profession would have kept them together longer. If she’d been a musician, a songwriter, maybe it would have been easier.

  “The previous owners, Matt and Myrina, seem to have figured it all out. They love their work. They’re happy. They’re married and have a kid.”

  “That’s reassuring.”

  “Talking with them made me believe in the possibility of two people staying connected for fifty years.”

  Did she really just say that? A year ago he would have given almost anything to hear those words. But now? He cut off a piece of his hamburger and put it on her plate. He munched on a few shoestrings. Reaching over, he plucked a gnudi off of her plate. “That’s a big change.”

  “I know.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m getting there. Which brings me to our third question. Do I know where I belong?”

  “Before you answer that, why don’t we finish our meal and go for a walk? It’s a beautiful night.”

  “Sounds good.”

  A short time later, he helped her into her coat. Opening the door for her, he followed her out of the restaurant. She’d taught him the importance of simple kind acts. Hot tea waiting for her in the morning. A warm bath drawn after a long day at the restaurant. Always holding the door for her. Building blocks of trust—that made it easier when the hard work came. They sauntered down Greenwich Street toward Canal. Street merchants peddled their merchandise, tried to lure Sassa in. “Hey, lady, you need a new Gucci bag?” Nick flashed back to Sassa haggling with a similar merchant years earlier, touched his wallet in his back pocket, smiled. As they made their way from merchant to merchant, he stockpiled courage one point at a time. Two years had passed. She’d done the same with Brayden. They still had a life-long friendship.

  At an intersection, they waited for traffic to pass. The sidewalk was spotted with debris. A Starbuck’s cup. A Subway sandwich wrapper. A cigarette stub. The time had come. No sense in waiting any longer. “I met someone this year. Her name is Rachel. We’re still together. She’s a musician and a songwriter. I worked on one of her songs back in the spring and things escalated from there.”

  Sassa turned to him. “Now I see why you wanted to go for a walk.”

  The traffic cleared and they crossed the street. They quickened their pace through the last row of merchants. He kicked a Whopper wrapper out of the way, paused for a second as it floated to the ground.

  “Do you love her?”

  “I haven’t told her yet.”

  “Are you looking for my approval?”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m taking it all in.” The wind picked up and gusted. She pulled her scarf up a tad to right below her bottom lip, adjusted her beret to make sure it was firmly in place, then slipped her hands back into her coat pockets.

  “We haven’t moved in together.”

  “Do you write songs together?”

  “A few.”

  She stopped at a storefront. “Look at those fake Coach bags for fifty bucks. I thought the NYPD cracked down on selling fake merchandise.” She picked up a bag and studied it, as if she’d been working with leather her entire life. Then another one. And another. “You’d rather be with Rachel now?”

  “I’m with Rachel. You and I haven’t been together for two years.”

  “Does that mean you know what you want long term?”

  “I’ve never seen you jealous before.”

  “I’m not jealous. All this time, you’ve been telling me that I’m the one. And now, when I’m ready to sign up, you’re with somebody else? What the fuck, Nick?”

  “Things just happened.”

  She pivoted toward him and gently cupped her hands over his shoulders. “Bullshit. Please have the dignity not to say that things with her just happened. You string together all of your pretty words about truth and honesty, and now you’re going to lie?”

  “How is this different from what happened with Brayden?”

  “That had ended before we met last year.”

  “That doesn’t matter.”

  “Are you telling me that if Rachel and I were sitting on two chairs in a room and you had to pick one of us, you’d choose her?”

  Where was this coming from? What was going on with her? He calmed, slowed, like he did right before a difficult guitar solo, until a wave of sadness hit him. Was love nothing more than timing? His thumb repeatedly rippled across the tips of his fingers, trying to ward off the cold. “I’m not going to answer a hypothetical. The first year we were apart, I would’ve done anything to get you back. After our one-year reunion, I started to let go. Part of me wishes that I’d never let go, but I did.”

  “I want you back, Nick. That’s what I was trying to tell you in the restaurant.”

  “How’s that going to work? You’re in a different state with your own business. I’m bound to the city. I’m with Rachel.”

  “We’ll figure it out.”

  He constructed two lists in his head. Sassa: intelligent, strong, sensitive, beautiful, home. They had history. They both came from loss. Around her, he was at peace; alone, he had ached. He deeply loved her, though the shape of his love had morphed over the past two years. Rachel. She’d struck a chord. He’d fallen in love with her, but home? For sure, a lot of fun. She introduced him to tantric sex, and he loved her personas. She shared his love of music, and she could write. She didn’t back down from anyone, and her strength had rubbed off on him. He juxtaposed the lists. Sassa inched ahead in the long run, but Rachel had the advantage in the moment. Fuck. “Things with Rachel haven’t run their course. I’m not sure where they’ll go, but I need to play them out.”

  “I want to meet her. I’ll stay an extra day. Can you ask her?”

  “Is that a good idea?”

  “Yes. I need to meet anyone you love, just as you need to know who I love.”

  “I didn’t want to meet Brayden.”

  “Oh, please.”

  • • •

  Nick raced up the stairs to his apartment, where Rachel waited for news. He stepped into the living room, found her on the sofa riffing on her Santa Cruz. An incredible rush of desire engulfed him. She nodded, grabbed his hands, and danced him over to the kitchen table. He lifted her skirt, loosened his belt, unbuttoned his jeans. They pushed, pulled, a little deeper with words and touch and fingers and sweat. Good lyric. The entire act lasted only a few minutes. Afterward, he sprawled out on the floor next to the table. Rachel nestled against him.

  “Sassa wants to meet you.”

  “She wants to size up her competition.”

  “There’s no competition. Are you sure that meeting her is a good idea?”

  Rachel ran her finger up and down the inside of his thigh a few times, then slid her hand under his T-shirt. “What did you tell her about me?”

  “I told her about what you do, what you look like, you know—all of the surface info. I told her I was happy with you. And I mentioned one other thing.”

  “Cut with the suspense, Nick, and just say it.”

  There was a time when he was sure Sassa would be his last love. But there was no denying it, he’d fallen for Rachel. How did that happen? “I told her that I’m in love with you.”

  “I know.”

  “You know?”

  “Of course I do. And you know I’m in love with you.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Oh. I didn’t realize that you were in love with me.”

  “Yes, you did. That caged, unaware brain of yours got in the way, that’s all.”

  “You’re
so romantic.”

  “Thank you for telling her,” she whispered. “I guess I’m locked and loaded now.”

  • • •

  Nick and Rachel banded together the following day for brunch at Sassa’s midtown hotel. Nick spotted Sassa in the lobby. She wore an old, flowered, blue and tan Lou Lou skirt and a gold sleeveless top that he’d bought for her on a whim when they still lived together. She’d pulled her hair back into a ponytail. She towered over Rachel in three-inch pumps. Just beautiful. He had to look away. Did Rachel notice?

  “You look great, Rachel,” he whispered before they reached Sassa.

  “I know.”

  Rachel had outdone herself playing dress-up. The night before, she had died her hair jet black. In the morning she styled it to look as wild as possible with special gel she saved for more-is-better occasions. To match her hair, she applied black lipstick, black eye shadow, and black nail polish. She dressed in brown leather pants and a sleeveless brown leather vest, which exposed the tattoos on her arm. High-laced black military boots, which gave her back the two inches of height she rarely displayed during her time with Nick, finished the persona. She walked up to Sassa like she was holding her Grammy. Or his.

  “Hi, I’m Sassa.” Sassa extended her hand.

  “Hey. Rachel.” Rachel tapped her fist against Sassa’s palm.

  “I reserved us a table. Ready to go in?”

  “Okey dokey.”

  The three of them settled in at their table and ordered drinks. Nick gleaned a hint of the perfume Sassa had worn every day when they were together. He fidgeted with a spoon for a bit; his fingers had a mind of their own. Why was he so nervous? He had no idea where the conversation would go, and it scared him.

  “Thanks for meeting me in person. Nick’s my closest friend, so naturally I wanted to meet you.”

  “Yeah, you were high on my list too.”

  “I guess this might be awkward, but it doesn’t have to be. We can talk openly and honestly.”

  “That’s all I do.”

  “Good. Why don’t we order first?”

  Sassa ordered a bowl of oatmeal with fresh blueberries and a cup of tea. Rachel ordered bacon, eggs, and toast, with an extra side of bacon, and a triple shot of black espresso. Nick ordered French toast covered with fresh fruit and whipped cream, and a cappuccino.

  “So, I love Nick and always will. I want him in my life for as long as he wants to be there,” Sassa said. “A person’s lucky if she has a few close friends around her at the end, and I know I want Nick with me when that time comes.”

  “I hope that’s not for a long time.” Nick smiled.

  “Me too.” Sassa smiled back at him.

  Rachel tapped her glass with her knife. “Okay, I’ll jump. I love Nick, too. I’m happiest when we string together our minutes and try to stay present in each one. That’s enough. I’ve never used ‘fifty’ and ‘years’ in the same sentence until now.”

  “I guess I’m trying to figure out long-term stuff,” Sassa said.

  “There is no long term. Just now,” Rachel said.

  Sassa nodded.

  Why did Sassa just lie? That wasn’t like her, Nick thought. Had she changed her view on fifty years? From just a day ago? He shifted his weight from one side to the other and tapped his feet on the ground.

  “Toward the end of my year with Nick, I decided I needed to figure some things out. I let him go.”

  “Wrapped in a bow.” Rachel reached over and brushed the back of his hair.

  Normally, Nick loved it when Rachel touched his hair. It was part of a lengthy tantric massage technique that they often practiced. But in front of Sassa, he was relieved when she stopped after a few strokes.

  “I came to New York with the intention of getting Nick back. When he told me that wasn’t going to happen, I asked to meet you.”

  “I know why you came back.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I had a feeling the other day. I’d told Nick before he met you.”

  “She did.”

  A waiter interrupted them to refill their water. There was something about the three of them together that Nick couldn’t put his finger on. What was it? Glasses refilled, the waiter moved to the next table.

  “Anyway, I didn’t sleep well last night. After a few restless hours, I realized that I would never intentionally push love out of Nick’s life. So, as long as he loves you, as long as he wants to be with you, I’ll be a fan.”

  “That’s hard to believe.”

  “I know.” Sassa looked directly at Rachel. “I love him, so I have no choice but to let him follow his heart.”

  Rachel crunched on a piece of bacon. Then another. She took a long sip of espresso. “Don’t you want him back, like yesterday?”

  “Yes, but the timing is off. I guess timing is a much bigger piece of the puzzle than I originally believed.”

  Nick doused a few pieces of French toast with whipped cream and slowly ate them. On the way to the restaurant, a shiny, multi-colored rock had caught his eye. An amulet. He’d stopped to pick it up and slipped it into his pocket. He wanted to give the rock to one of them. But which one and when?

  Sassa rose from her chair, slid it closer to Rachel. Perched on the edge of her seat, she folded her hands on the table. “Thanks for being honest. I wish you were easier to dislike.”

  “Must be my hair.”

  “Your make-up.”

  “Yeah, yeah, unfortunately, I get you too. Too bad. I was looking forward to acting like one of those girls in a Quentin Tarantino movie,” Rachel said.

  “As long as I get to be Uma Thurman.”

  Nick studied them as they bantered back and forth. They were so different, and at the same time they shared a common source of strength. Sassa was a little more reserved in her use of it and wasn’t always consistent. Rachel was a little more flamboyant and sometimes unintentionally alienated people. But their strength came from the same place. Someplace deep. Someplace well below the loss line. Someplace where love was more important than trust.

  Sassa reached out and placed her hand over Rachel’s hand.

  A fraction of an inch later, Rachel held her ground. “Okay, let’s do this.”

  “I’ll continue to love Nick, but I’ll treat him as unavailable.”

  “Are you sure that’s how you want to play it?”

  “Yes.”

  Rachel downed the rest of her espresso. She glanced over at Nick and smiled. With her fingers laced behind her head, she stared at Sassa for a long time. “Takes a lot of strength.”

  “And trust.”

  “Are you absolutely sure this is how you want to play it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okey dokey, I’ll give you a shot.”

  He was bowled over. What had just happened? They’d reached an agreement in a few minutes on how they would be in his life and he didn’t have to say a word. Better than anything he could have hoped for. Were there any provisions for three wholes in the model? “That was amazing.”

  “We know,” Rachel and Sassa said at the same time.

  The three chatted naturally for the rest of brunch, with little trace of the awkwardness that had permeated the conversation an hour earlier. On their way out, they passed a large floor-to-ceiling mirror in the hotel lobby. He waved into the mirror, conscious of the strange bond that had formed among the three of them. Sassa waved back at him. Rachel rolled her eyes.

  Sassa offered to drop them home in the taxi she’d reserved. A moment later, the three of them settled into the back seat of a cab, Nick in the middle with his legs propped up on the floor hump. Rachel gathered his hand on her lap, and stroked it with her thumb.

  “Sassa, what time are you leaving?” Nick asked.

  “My flight is at 4:00. I’ll head over to the airport after I drop you guys off. I’m glad we had a chance to meet face to face, Rachel.”

  “Me too.”

  “I was thinking, Nick, you’re with Rachel now, so it probabl
y doesn’t make sense to keep our no-talk rule in place next year. I could use your regular advice on the Green Angel. What do you think?”

  “Fine with me. Rachel?”

  Rachel squeezed his hand a little tighter. “Makes sense.”

  “Come up and check out the restaurant when you get a chance.”

  “We’d love to,” he said.

  Sassa dropped Nick and Rachel at Nick’s apartment. As they were both climbing up the stoop, she called Nick back to the cab. He trotted down the stairs and, leaning over, drew close to Sassa. She whispered “You’re happy.” He kissed her good-bye on the cheek, tapped the roof of the cab, and, smiling, waved her off.

  Back on the stoop, he joined Rachel, who was sitting with her elbows on her knees, cupping her chin with her hands. He took one hand, and pulled it across his lap.

  “What did she say?”

  “She said it was good to see me happy.”

  “Ah.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I like her.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “She’s going to be around for the long haul.”

  “So are you.”

  She ran her hand up the inside of his thigh. “I thought today might be the end.”

  “I told you there was nothing to worry about.”

  “No worries.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Nick drove Rachel to Portland one month later. At their hotel, Rachel dressed for dinner in a vintage plum-colored paisley, patchwork bohemian halter dress laced in the back with long, glass-beaded cotton ties. She put on multiple shades of purple make-up and accented her dreadlocks with purple and red ribbons. Strands of multicolored African beads encircled her neck. Platform sandals lifted her three inches.

  “Nice outfit.”

  “You know—Portland, vegetarians. Seemed like the right look and it complements your Sergeant Pepper thing pretty well, though we still need to get you some new threads.”

  “But there are no new albums.”