by Ali Harris
He laughs. ‘So says the girl who a few years ago wouldn’t be seen dead in anything other than Converse!’
‘Hey, I still love my Converse,’ I say, looking down at the red ones currently adorning my feet. ‘And besides, a girl can change, can’t she?’
‘She certainly can . . . Harry,’ Ryan laughs.
‘I mean who’d have thought it of the spiky 15-year-old girl with the chip on her shoulder, who wanted to rebel against everything and everyone and who thought love was for “Losers, baby”,’ he says, his fingers making inverted commas. ‘Who would have thought she’d become this loving, romantic woman.’ He pauses and grins. ‘My woman.’ Then he pulls me into his arms. ‘I’m just glad my high-risk gamble finally paid off!’
I narrow my eyes dangerously. ‘Are you implying that I’m old?’
He whistles through his teeth and shakes his head. ‘Oh no, I’d never do that, I mean you’re only twenty-six in a couple of days, although, you are now officially closer to thirty than twenty!’ He pauses and smiles so that his blue eyes shine. ‘And it also means I’ve been in love with you for over ten years.’
‘You weren’t in love with me when I was fifteen!’ I exclaim, nestling into his arms as the wind whistles through my hair and blows it across his face. I gaze out at the glistening Hudson as I think back to my awkward, mixed-up teen self who could count her friends on one finger and her social skills on . . . none. I was morose, awkward, and so desperate to be different – but only so that I’d be accepted; a contradiction that despite my keen photographic eye, I hadn’t been astute enough to recognize.
He strokes my hair off my face. ‘I thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world . . . ’
‘You’d just been listening to too much Prince,’ I say with a dismissive smile.
‘So’, he adds, touching me on my nose, ‘why did I tell my mum after our first date that I’d met the future Mrs Cooper . . . ’
‘You didn’t!’ I laugh, expecting him to join me, but his expression is serious. ‘What did Jackie say?’
‘She said if I had, then I should make sure nothing messes it up.’
We lock eyes, the intensity of our gazes an acknowledgement of our recent split and then we smile. We’ve come a long way since then. I snuggle further into his arms, feeling like there could literally be no better place in the world than here.
What happened to not being bound by the constraints of a relationship? my teenage self shouts in my head, the one that caused my break-up with Ryan in the first place. I think of the list I had pinned to my wall at uni that used to remind me why I’d vowed to steer clear of serious relationships.
Reasons I don’t want a serious boyfriend
1. They hold you back
2. Grind you down
3. Then mess with your head
It was a short but succinct list. And yes, I was immature, angry and adamant that no one would ever hurt me again like Ryan Cooper had.
But things change, people change – as do perceptions of people, and now I answer in a language that I hope my teenage self will understand (even if I know it’ll make her roll her eyes and stick her fingers down her throat).
Molly Carter + Ryan Cooper = 4ever.
Two hours later we’re standing at the front of a queue that snakes around the most famous, filmed and photographed building in the world – the A-list of architecture, The Empire State Building. I squeeze Ryan’s hand and he grins down at me as he offers me his hot dog. I take a big bite and he kisses the mustard off the corner of my lips. I laugh. It’s like I’m Elizabeth Perkins in Big being shown by Tom Hanks just how much fun life can be if only you take it less seriously.
The last few days have been the best, not just of our relationship, but of my entire life. We’ve floated round the city feeling like we’re in our very own romantic movie. ‘An Affair to Remember?’ I suggested to Ryan yesterday. But he hadn’t seen it. I should know by now that Ryan refuses to watch or listen to anything that was made before he was born – especially not black-and-white movies. I tried describing the story to him, but when I got to the bit where Deborah Kerr gets knocked down by a taxi on the way to meet Cary Grant at the top of The Empire State Building, he just said, ‘It doesn’t sound very romantic to me, babe!’ and added, ‘If we were a film I reckon we’d be more 13 Going on 30.’ He’d grinned and taken my hand as we’d walked through Times Square. ‘After all, you were an awkward, totally uncool teenager when I first set eyes on you and now you’re basically Jennifer Garner! Viva magazine’s beautiful editor!’
‘Picture editor,’ I’d laughingly corrected.
Incredibly, in just four days here we’ve ticked nearly everything off my Things To Do In New York List:
• Take the Staten Island Ferry to the Statue of Liberty
• Horse and carriage ride around Central Park
• Go up the Empire State
• Eat cupcakes from Magnolia Bakery
• Spend an afternoon at MoMA
• Go to the Guggenheim
• Go to the Met
• Ice-skate at the Wolfman rink in Central Park
• Carnegie Hall
• Shop (a lot)
• See a show on Broadway
• Have ice-cream floats at Serendipity 3
• Go to Strawberry Fields
More importantly we’ve fallen in love even more; not just with this city, but with each other. I feel like we’re at the start of a brand-new relationship. Which is all I could ever have hoped for, after what happened.
‘Come on!’ I say, dragging Ryan into the lift and excitedly clapping my hands as it soars ever upwards. ‘I can’t wait to get to the top!’
‘How’s this, Cooper?’ I yell minutes later, the wind lifting my voice and carrying it over the city’s skyscrapers as I pose on the observation deck.
Ryan is standing opposite me, camera aloft, wearing a New York Yankees cap. He looks out from behind the viewfinder and smiles slowly. ‘Beautiful. The best thing I’ve seen in New York.’
‘I told you The Empire State would be amazing!’ I exclaim.
‘I mean you, Moll,’ he calls back. I pout suggestively to cover my smile as Ryan takes photo after photo before someone approaches him and asks him if we’d like one together. He hands them the camera, strides over to me, turns, hitches me up onto his back and I wrap my knees around his waist, resting my cheek on his neck and laughing. I close my eyes for a second. They say you feel on top of the world up here, that you couldn’t feel any higher. And it’s true.
‘I can’t believe it’s our last day,’ I say sadly as we stroll out of our hotel onto the tree-lined, shop-filled 5th Avenue. The pavement is packed with pedestrians, the road a constant stream of cars and honking yellow taxis. The seemingly endless stretch of limestone-fronted buildings are splashed with exuberant splodges of colour from the billboards, theatre posters and the fluttering flags that accessorize this, the most famous shopping street in the world. And most of the shops are so famous they deserve not just flags, but exclamation marks and their own fanfares too – Tiffany & Co! Bloomingdales! Harry Winston! Louis Vuitton! Pucci! Prada!
And then behind it all, the towering Empire State Building lies like a beautiful discarded stiletto, heel stretched skyward as if to remind its relentless stream of visitors that it is the star of the city.
We walk slowly hand in hand towards Central Park and I glance at Ryan strolling along in just an Abercrombie T-shirt, denim jacket and a body warmer. I slip my gloved hand into his and rearrange my scarf. It’s unseasonably mild for November but I’m still wrapped up like a mummy compared to Ryan. He’s too active to ever really feel the cold.
‘And your birthday – you haven’t had your present yet . . .’ Ryan points out.
‘I’ve already had the best birthday ever here with you,’ I say, and it’s true. Historically I’ve never liked birthdays; even as a kid I hated the pressure that came with throwing a party: what to wear, who to invite, who
would come (if anyone). As a result I’ve always been low-key about them – especially milestone ones. My 21st passed with a night at the Student Union with Mia and Casey, my 25th was spent at The Crooked Billet in Leigh-on-Sea with Ryan and both our families. But this . . . this has been awesome.
‘It’s been brilliant!’ Ryan agrees as we stroll along. ‘I want us to do much more of this you know, Moll, see the world, go to new places . . . I want us to do it all. Together.’
I squeeze Ryan’s hand tightly now and sigh with contentment as I see we’re nearly at Central Park. His excitement has been infectious. Ryan makes everything fun. He always has. He never takes life too seriously and finds pleasure in the simple things. In the past I found this frustrating but now it’s the thing I admire the most about him. Ever since I started working in magazines, I started needing ‘validated fun’. You know, the hot new bar, the best new bag, the most stylish city, hotel, restaurant . . . But sometimes this relentless pursuit of the ‘new’ and ‘cool’ just leaves me feeling deeply unsatisfied. That’s partly what caused our relationship problems before; my constant desire for something more. But I’ve learned my lesson, I hope. On this trip I’ve loved discovering the city together, his way. A tucked-away little café we happened across here, a laid-back stroll and a meal at a low-key, romantic Italian in Greenwich Village there.
I chuckle as I recall our sightseeing yesterday. I took Ryan for lunch at Katz’s, the deli that featured in When Harry Met Sally.
‘No way,’ he’d said when I’d dared him to re-enact Sally’s fake orgasm. ‘You do it, you’re the rebel girl.’ His voice had taken on a mocking tone, instantly taking me back to our teen roles over a decade ago; him as the town heart-throb, me as the awkward, clichéd social leper. God, I’d hated that time of my life. I wish my teen self could see me now.
I’d folded my arms. ‘But I’m Harry,’ I smirk. ‘You’ve always said so. Which means I couldn’t possibly swap roles now. Come on, Ry, I’m waiting, you’re not embarrassed, are you? Worried you’ll fail the challenge?’ I smile, knowing Ryan won’t be able to ignore any sort of dare.
And, just as I knew he would, he’d obliged, his ever-present tan turning a curious salmon colour. How I howled with laughter as Ryan reached his ‘climax’ and then took a massive bite of his pastrami sandwich, the blush still flushing his cheeks.
‘Ry, I will remember that forever!’ I laughed as I leaned over and kissed him, then made a face. ‘Eurgh, gherkin breath!’
Ryan slows down to a brisk stride as we approach Central Park from the East Side and stroll down the 79th Transverse past the Conservatory Pond and to the Bethesda Fountain.
‘It’s pretty beautiful isn’t it, Moll?’ Ryan says quietly, squeezing my gloved hand as we gaze around at the majestic fountain with its centrepiece sculpture, The Angel of the Waters. It feels like discovering the prize at the centre of a pass the parcel game after unwrapping layer upon layer of endless little gifts to get to it; the shimmering boat-filled blue lake with row boats and the occasional gondola drifting by, all wrapped generously in a layer of evergreen trees surrounded by the shiny, glittering decorative finish that is the skyscrapers.
Walkers, joggers, snap-happy tourists, cyclists, mums pushing prams, dog walkers, office workers and college students surround us, yet the park doesn’t feel crowded at all. It feels as if we’re all plugged into the park’s very own iPod, our laughter and chatter combine and blends with the breeze, the constant hum of traffic and whir of passing bicycles, to make the perfect soundtrack for the city.
I nod at Ryan because I am too happy to speak. This is the ultimate New York romantic experience. I’ve seen this park so many times with Ryan, in the romcoms which he has no embarrassment about loving and the Sex and the City episodes I adore. We’ve witnessed some of the greatest fictional romantic moments in history take place. Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan realizing they were more than just good friends in When Harry Met Sally, Clooney and Pfeiffer splashing through puddles with their kids in One Fine Day, and Cusack and Beckinsale’s skating tryst on the Wolfman’s rink in Serendipity. And now we’re here. In real life. At last.
I sigh with delight and lift my camera up as I fire off some shots of the wintry sun filtering through the curtain of trees, then I flick the angle and manage to catch a shot of Ryan backlit by it. The way the light falls on his blond hair makes him look positively angelic. I pull him towards me and hold the camera out in front of us for another shot, our cheeks pressed together. By lowering the camera to my waist and tilting the lens up I think I can just get us as well as the glistening backdrop of the skyscrapers peering over the trees. I’m reminded suddenly of what my dad has always said about the John Constable painting of Hadleigh Castle hanging on the wall back home in Leigh-on-Sea. ‘It’s a man-made structure deferring to the power of nature.’ Then I think of Ryan and me and how I took something strong that had been built carefully over time and I nearly destroyed it too. And then I remember how Ryan tried to bring me to New York before. . .
A rogue tear falls and I swipe it away. Ryan and I have sworn to not bring all that up again.
‘I’m so sorry, Ryan . . . ’ I sob, pulling him into a hug.
‘What?’ Ryan sounds confused, then concerned. ‘Hey, why are you crying?’
‘I’m sorry, it’s just that I was thinking about how perfect this is and that I’ll be sorry forever for what I did . . . ’ I’m properly crying now and Ryan takes me in his arms and holds me.
‘Hey, hey, hey,’ he murmurs. ‘Please don’t cry, Molly. I thought we agreed all of that stuff is in the past?’
‘I–I know,’ I sniff into his shoulder, ‘but I can’t help . . . ’
He pulls away and gazes at me, a smile hovering over his lips. ‘Our relationship is better and stronger than ever, Molly, you know that. We needed to break up to appreciate how much we want to be together. I’m glad it happened. I am, honest! Please stop looking back. I want this trip, this moment, to be about our future. And it won’t be if you keep beating yourself up like this. We were both at fault and we didn’t know what we had till it was gone. I’m just glad we realized in time.’
We begin to walk again and Ryan slips his arm around my shoulders, reassuring me how much he loves me, making me smile and then laugh. We’ve been walking for a few minutes when he pulls me towards him and kisses me.
‘There!’ he exclaims. ‘That’s better. Now, I don’t know about you, but I can’t possibly walk another step without a coffee. I saw a stand over there . . . will you be OK for a minute while I go and get us some? Latte, yeah?’
I nod and sniff and lift up my camera to indicate that I can keep myself busy.
He hands me his rucksack and blows me a kiss as he walks backwards then breaks into a run, streaking across the park like some kind of action hero.
I turn around, snapping furiously as I try to capture the colour and beauty of this pretty pocket of the park. The sun is disappearing behind the silhouetted treetops, creating jewel tones of coral, amber and ruby in the sky. I focus my lens on a sign to my left and suddenly realize that I’m standing at the entrance of Strawberry Fields. I shiver, as much with the sense of musical history as the wintry chill. I glance down and notice the ‘Imagine’ mural on the ground ahead, laid in honour of John Lennon after he was shot in 1980. I walk up to it and gaze at it. My dad would love to see this. He loves The Beatles.
I hate that I’ve tainted a single moment of this perfect trip with bad memories from the past. I want to put it right, focus on today – that should be my motto. Just focus on how good life is right now. Suddenly I have an idea. I put down the rucksack and, giggling to myself, I quickly pull out all the ridiculous novelty souvenir items we’ve collected over the past couple of days and put them on one by one.
I feel pretty silly standing here alone like this, but it’ll be worth it for the look on his face when he appears with those coffees. I adjust the foam Statue of Liberty crown and wave at some passers-by who are lookin
g at me out of curiosity. I can’t believe I’m the strangest thing they’ve seen in this city. I look around. Ryan’s been gone for ages. Where the hell is he?
I busy myself taking photographs of the scenery surrounding me, finally pointing my camera down and photograph the mural for dad. My red Converse are just poking into the picture and I’m still looking down when I hear Ryan’s voice.
‘Close your eyes, Molly.’ His breath warms my forehead as his hand suddenly covers my eyes. I can hear the amusement in his voice. ‘Nice to see you’ve dressed up for the occasion.’
‘What occ—’ he puts his finger across my lips to silence me. ‘Ryan?’ I whisper through his finger. ‘Have you got my latte?’
‘No, Molly.’
‘Hey!’ I protest, opening my eyes momentarily. ‘I’ve been waiting ages!’
‘I said, close your eyes,’ Ryan repeats firmly.
‘I don’t know why you’re being so bossy, Cooper . . . ’
‘While you’re at it, can you please close your mouth too?’ The restrained laughter is evident in his voice.
‘Charming!’ My eyes ping open.
‘Are you ever going to do anything I say?’ he asks, clearly exasperated now.
‘Probably not,’ I laugh and he looks pleadingly at me. Reluctantly I squint my eyes shut.
I sigh as I’m cloaked in darkness. ‘Now what?’
‘Well,’ he says, the warmth on my neck disappearing and his voice sounding more distant. ‘I want you to open your eyes and look down at your feet.’
I do what he says and see the mosaic again. Imagine. It strikes me what a beautiful word it is, full of hope, possibility and belief.
‘Now,’ he says, his voice sounding strange. ‘Imagine for a moment that we’re here alone. Imagine that it is just you and me, like this. There’s no one else here. Just you, me, the earth, the sky and the sun, stretching out before us endlessly . . . ’
‘Sounds lovely,’ I sigh, opening my eyes briefly. He’s not there. I go to turn around. ‘Now what?’ I close my eyes again and I hear music start playing, the opening chords of a song. I start humming along.