The Forever Year

by Lou Aronica

  Mickey laughed and leaned back in his chair.

  “You make an excellent pretend husband,” she said. “Right down to letting me be selfish with my gelato.”

  “Thank you. I practice my role every night while you are sleeping.”

  “Really? Well if so, I commend you both on your hard work and your ability to do it while keeping your arms and legs and everything else as close to me as humanly possible.”

  “Does that bother you?”

  Gina lowered her head slightly.

  “I’m sorry, did it sound like I was complaining?” she said with a tempting smile.

  Mickey found his appetite for Gina to be voracious. Even a suggestion of the two of them in bed together could make him nearly senseless with desire. But his hunger went much deeper than that. On dozens of occasions in the past few days, her expression or a subtle gesture would inspire him to embrace her, to kiss her temple, to envelop her. He wanted desperately for her to feel not only his burgeoning love for her, but also his overflowing affection. He had never felt either to the level he felt now, and he’d never felt the two of them in combination before.

  “Since you brought up the subject, you pretend to be a wife very well.”

  “Thank you. Of course, I don’t need to practice at night the way you might. Women start imagining these things at a fairly young age.”

  “Really? Even someone as progressive as you?”

  “Oh yes, absolutely. I ‘married’ Tommy Strassi when I was four. And I walked down the aisle in my dreams with numerous boys throughout high school.”

  Mickey laughed, but he was surprised to discover that he didn’t particularly want to hear this.

  “Oh, so this mock husband thing is just another day at the office for you.”

  “Something like that,” she said, taking a bite of her cone. “Like ice cream.”

  Mickey took another lick of gelato and noticed that some had dripped onto the table. He of course knew that Gina was teasing, but this line of conversation left him uncomfortable. A few minutes later, they got up to walk through the street.

  Gina had been holding his hand, but now she took that arm with her other hand and pulled herself tight to him while they continued to walk.

  “It’s nothing like that,” she said. “I’ve never felt anything like this in my life. I never knew I could feel anything like this.”

  Mickey stopped and kissed her. They held each other tightly for several minutes in the middle of the street until a smiling elderly woman passed them, saying something in a high voice that Mickey didn’t understand.

  “What did she say?” Mickey said, resting his forehead on Gina’s.

  “She said something like, ‘Newlyweds, so beautiful.’”

  “I guess we’re very convincing.”

  “It’s easy to perform with you.”

  They started walking again. Mickey couldn’t think of another time in his life when he’d felt this satisfied. He remembered that the day before the trip, he briefly considered the possibility that things might not go well between him and Gina while they were away. They hadn’t, after all, spent a large uninterrupted period together. They had never seen each other first thing in the morning. What if they got on each other’s nerves? What if mannerisms that he found so endearing in Gina seemed less so when repeated over the course of two weeks? Now he realized that such concern had been frivolous. The only thing that happened as a result of all of this time in each other’s company was that he wanted more of it. And while he realized that they were in a fantasy situation in a fantasy setting, he knew instinctively that he would always want more of it. For a moment, he imagined the two of them walking down this same street while in their late seventies, and he knew then that he needed to be with Gina forever.

  ~~~~~~~~

  Two days later, they drove to Florence for the day. They spent the morning exploring the sights, realizing quickly that they would need much more time to do this properly. They walked through the Duomo for an hour and a half, stopping every few feet to marvel at the majesty, the artistry, the sheer magnificence of the structure. They scaled a tower to look down in admiration at the city and then walked slowly by the banks of the Arno.

  In the pre-gelato afternoon, they moved toward the shopping district. Mickey had never felt any need for a leather jacket, but now that he was here, he felt compelled to buy one. Still, he managed to hold out as they perused purses, footwear, and pottery. A side street brought them to an artist making small freeform wrought iron sculptures. Mickey had never seen anything like them and he wasn’t sure he liked them.

  “Aren’t these incredible?” Gina said as she walked into the little shop.

  “What are they supposed to be?”

  Gina moved close to one that curled and weaved in multiple directions. She put a hand up as though to touch it, but stopped inches short.

  “They’re supposed to be what they are. You’re not one of those people who think that something is only art if it looks like an apple or a woman in a chair, are you?”

  Mickey admitted to himself that he probably was that kind of person, but he didn’t want Gina to see him that way. “I was just wondering how you interpreted it.”

  “I interpret it as beautiful.”

  She turned to the shop owner who was at that moment working on yet another piece.

  “These are magnificent,” she said. Mickey continued to look at the one that Gina had nearly touched. As he did so, he began to find beauty in its sweep and form. Was that because it had come so close to Gina?

  “Thank you,” the artist said in heavily accented English. Gina switched to Italian and the two of them spoke for several minutes. The artist became more animated and expressive as the conversation continued. Mickey was sure that the artist didn’t often find customers as appreciative or knowledgeable as Gina. Just another life that she improved by touching it.

  Mickey further studied the piece Gina had first admired. As he looked at it, he began to see how two strands of iron wove together, meeting in the middle and then again near the top of the piece. It suddenly seemed very romantic to him. He picked the piece up off of the shelf and brought it to the artist.

  “We’ll take this one,” he said.

  Gina looked at him, surprised. “You want to buy it?”

  “Of course I want to buy it. You love it, don’t you?”

  Gina glanced at the sculpture again. “Yes, I do love it. I was thinking of buying it myself but,” she whispered, “it’s a little expensive.”

  “I’m buying it for you. For us.”

  Mickey didn’t actually realize the import of what he’d just said until it came out of his mouth and he saw Gina’s expression. He realized that the words felt very, very good, and he thought that Gina hugged his arm just a little tighter when they resumed their walk. They continued on, stopping in countless other shops.

  “I’m almost afraid to look at anything for fear that you’ll go broke buying things for me,” Gina said. Still, when they came to a shoe store, she hesitated longingly over a pair of black leather boots before pulling herself away.

  The jeweler was a few shops down. While Gina lingered over handmade silver brooches, Mickey’s eyes scanned elsewhere. Past the semi-precious stones to ones that suddenly seemed very precious to him. When they walked out of the store a few minutes later, Mickey turned to Gina and said, “You really wanted those boots, didn’t you?”

  Gina wrinkled her nose. “The leather was so soft. I can just imagine what they would feel like to walk in.”

  “Why don’t you get them?”

  She shook her head. “It’s an extravagance.”

  “I’ll buy them for you.”

  “No you won’t. You’ve paid for too much on this trip already.” She offered her most teasing smile. “You can’t buy me, you know, Mr. Sienna.”

  “Shudder the thought. And besides, I know you’re priceless. But I also know you really wanted those boots.”

  “I did.�
�

  “Go get them.”

  Gina looked back in the direction of the shoe store.

  “I guess I can afford them. Let’s go.”

  Mickey held up a hand.

  “Actually, I think I might wait here.” He waved toward a bench. “I’m getting a little worn out by all of this shopping.”

  Gina patted him on the chest. “Ooh, my big strong man can’t keep up. I’ll have to take that into consideration.”

  “Go buy the boots.”

  Mickey moved toward the bench and waved to Gina as she glanced back at him. When she was gone, he slipped into the jewelry store. He knew precisely which diamond he wanted.

  ~~~~~~~~

  Now that he had the ring, the question was how to present it to Gina. Mickey thought it was interesting that he was far more nervous about finding the right setting in which to ask Gina to marry him than he was about the prospect of marriage. Mickey had friends who were married and they all talked about how carefully they deliberated before deciding to pop the question. The very idea seemed ridiculous to Mickey. He couldn’t possibly be more certain of how right marrying Gina would be.

  He decided upon a picnic on a hilltop outside of San Gimignano. A blanket borrowed from the innkeeper. Some bread, some Parmesan, some more of those delicious cured meats. A bottle of Chianti, of course. From their vantage point, they could see the bustling walled city while the Tuscan hills opened up in front of them. I could live here, Mickey thought. Right on this spot, me and Gina with the rest of the world at just enough of a distance.

  “You’re not saying much,” Gina said as they ate.

  Mickey realized that he had been very quiet. Part of it was the peacefulness of the setting. Most of it was because he was rehearsing his proposal. “It’s very nice up here.”

  “It is beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “We’ll come back some day. An anniversary, maybe.” Mickey realized what he had done. As did Gina.

  “An anniversary? Are you trying to tell me something?”

  For a moment, Mickey wasn’t sure what to do. He certainly hadn’t planned to blurt something out like that. He’d been thinking about being married to Gina nonstop since he bought the ring, and the words had come out naturally. It was hardly the romantic speech he had been planning. At the same time, it seemed ridiculous to backpedal now to allow him to make things more romantic later. He did the only thing he could think of. He laughed.

  “What are you laughing at?” Gina said when he didn’t stop.

  Mickey wiped at his eyes. “Yes, I’m trying to tell you something. I just can’t believe that this is how I’m doing it.”

  Still laughing, he looked over at Gina. There was so much anticipation on her face. At that moment, Mickey realized that how he asked Gina to marry him was meaningless. Only that he did so and that she said yes. He reached into his pocket for the ring, taking a deep breath to regain at least a little composure. As he held the ring out to Gina, she gasped.

  “I bought this for you yesterday. I had this whole speech planned where I was going to tell you all of these things I’ve told you already.” He got up on his knees. At least he could do that part right. “I love you, Gina. I want to be with you forever. Will you marry me?”

  Gina was already nodding yes before he finished. She leapt into his arms, knocking him over, and lay on top of him kissing his face. Mickey realized that he hadn’t really pictured Gina’s reaction in his mind. He wasn’t sure if she would be cool and clever in response, or even dismissive of how traditional a proposal and a ring was. He liked having her bowl him over much more.

  “I want my ring now,” she said when she at last leaned back off of him. Mickey handed her the diamond, a single oval gem, nearly a karat in size.

  “It’s incredible,” she said, slipping the ring on her finger.

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  “I mean all of it. Everything that has happened between us. A few months ago, I was planning to take on the world alone. And now I have you.”

  “You’ll still take on the world.”

  Gina smiled. “I will. But I won’t be doing it alone. You have no idea how lucky I feel right now.”

  Mickey hugged Gina close to him and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he first saw the glorious Tuscan landscape. Then, pulling back to look at his new fiancée, he beheld a vision that put the other to shame.

  ~~~~~~~~

  Mickey was staring off to the corner of the kitchen.

  “You took on the world, Gina, you really did,” he said weakly. “I wish we could have taken it on together. I should have been there with you.” He looked down at the table. “I hope you got everything out of it you hoped you would.”

  Jesse had grown accustomed to feeling a little disoriented after one of his father’s stories, but this one made him feel as though he were treading on the lunar surface.

  His father and Gina had been engaged? He had never even considered the possibility of this.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I’m not sure why I never realized before that emotional calisthenics were so much more taxing than physical ones. I’d been doing psychic aerobics for most of the last week. The invigoration of my trip to Northern California. My father’s sexually-charged tale of life with Gina. Marina’s telling me she loved me. And then learning that my father and Gina had been engaged. It was time for my cool-down exercises. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to write. I didn’t want to eat. I was spent.

  Marina’s telling me she loved me hit me like a time-release capsule. As that first morning wore on and then the next few days followed, I became increasingly focused on the implications. It was impossible for me to take this lightly. No matter what else I did, I would never trivialize anything in my relationship with Marina. At the same time, it was even more impossible for me to receive this with arms wide open. I just didn’t know what it all meant about my future with her, and she wasn’t giving me any clues.

  On the other hand, the news about my father’s engagement to Gina came on like a shot of scotch (or perhaps Nyquil, if one wanted to maintain the metaphor). What is it about marriage or the intention to marry that so utterly changes the level at which one perceives a relationship? Why do we regard the breakup of a three-year marriage as so much sadder than the split between two people who had been living together for five?

  That my father had asked Gina to marry him changed the dimensions of this story. It didn’t matter that he didn’t marry her (at least I was assuming at that point that he didn’t, though who knew what surprises were still in store?). What mattered was that they had been that serious. Certainly there was every chance that time had obscured my father’s memories. It was very possible that their feelings for one another weren’t as deep as he made them seem to me. It was even more possible that he wasn’t telling me about the difficulties they had, the disagreements, the tiffs. But the absolute detail with which he told these stories – he couldn’t possibly tell me nearly as much about last night’s chess match – suggested that Gina had affected him at such an intense level that their every act together was seared onto his brain.

  Or he was making the entire thing up. I hadn’t entirely rejected the notion that this story was all some elaborate invention of his, triggered by an age-scarred mind. There was, among other things, that recent incident where he “talked” to his brother to suggest such a possibility. But this seemed less and less conceivable to me as these stories continued.

  This meant that my father had once loved a woman named Gina. They had an electrifying relationship. They merged spectacularly and indelibly into each other’s lives.

  And still it ended.

  Your honor, the prosecution rests.

  Whatever Gina and my father had together hadn’t lasted. It affected him so deeply that on the morning when he told me about their engagement, he pulled back and addressed the ethereal version of her, still looking for answers to his questions. It moved him so deeply that he shed years as
he spoke about her.

  But the romance hadn’t lasted.

  I can’t imagine that it was his intention in telling the story, but I couldn’t help but come away from what I’d heard so far with one heart-stopper of a question: if a relationship as star-kissed as theirs failed, what chance was there for me and Marina?

  And so, depleted from my emotional workout, I sat at my desk and did close to nothing. There had been all too many days like this in my past, but I hadn’t expected there to be many in the wake of the Hayward article. Aline had called late the day before to tell me how much she loved it and implied that other such assignments would follow. That should have sent me into a flurry of writing activity, even if it was just completing a rudimentary gig while I dreamed up more ambitious ones, but I could not have been flatter. I could barely get my fingers up on the keyboard.

  When the phone rang, I was happy to answer it. It was the kind of morning where I’d welcome a telemarketer. Perhaps even a survey taker.

  I didn’t even mind that it was my brother-in-law Brad.

  “Hey, Jess, how’s Mickey treating you?”

  “It’s like an extended vacation.”

  “Yeah, I can just imagine. Years from now you’ll have to tell me what the hell you were thinking bringing him into your house. I don’t know what I would have done if Denise had had the same idea.”

  You would have alerted the New York Times that a flock of pigs were circling the roof of your building, I thought. What I said was, “What’s up?”

  “You mentioned Mark Gray in our last conversation,” Brad said, switching inflections to let me know that I was no longer speaking to a family member but rather a magazine scion.

  “Yeah, he’s great.”

  “I’ve done some checking around about him, and lots of people share your opinion. Any idea why he doesn’t have an editor-in-chief’s position now?”

  “Well, I know for a fact that it isn’t because he hasn’t been offered one. I also know that it isn’t because he’s wedded to The City. I think he’s just being really picky. He’s young, he’s well paid, he has a fabulous reputation, and when he’s ready to make his move, there will be plenty of opportunities for him.”