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Not that I needed any reassuring, I thought, as I watched David exit the grocery store. His smile was big when his aviators locked on me, his gait leisurely and confident. An attractive woman did a double take as she passed him. She turned and lowered her sunglasses to get a better look. My chest swelled with pride as she checked out my man, but I laughed a little when she tripped over the curb.
“Manchego,” he said, holding up the block of cheese. “Crisis averted.”
“My superhero,” I returned.
He leaned over and picked up all the bags, including mine. “Let’s get this party underway.”
As we walked away, I shot one last glance at the table of friends. They made a good group and seemed happy. I couldn’t be upset about that. I stuck my hand in David’s back pocket, and we made our own heavenly way back home.
As we pulled up to the house, I smiled. I always did. David’s vision, with some minor input from me, had blossomed before our eyes. It was alive again, or maybe for the first time, I wasn’t sure. The grass was green, plants revived. The stone walkway was fixed and led a natural path to the front door.
Before David took the six-month job in New York, he’d warned me that I might not like his apartment there because it was ‘masculine.’ I’d teased him that ‘masculine’ was code for bachelor pad. To both our surprise, I’d fallen immediately in love with it. Unlike his Chicago apartment, it was dark and woodsy, with exposed brick walls and dim, yellow lighting. The vintage furniture was heavy leather and oak, worn but solid.
I’d insisted on decorating our house that way; it was a sylvan paradise. It was earthy and heavy and the smell reminded me of David, which I loved most of all.
Tonight was the perfect Chicago night for a party. David opened up all the doors and windows so the light of the setting sun filtered in. I’d almost finished laying out the food on a table in the backyard when there was a knock at the door. David and I met in the entryway, the same spot I’d told him over two years before that Bill had put in an offer on this very house. We kissed quickly.
“We can see you.”
I giggled at Jessa, who peered through a vertical window that ran alongside the front door.
David pulled open the door and groaned. Equipped with margarita mix, wine, whiskey and other assortments of alcohol, stood our friends and family: Gretchen, Ava, Bethany, Mack, Alex, Jessa, Judy, Gerard, Cooper and Brian. Just past them, Serena and her boyfriend, Brock, were climbing out of his car.
“Well, baby, I’d say we have extremely punctual friends,” David said, looking down at me.
They all piled in at once, and David assumed bartending duties. They were a rowdy bunch, and sometimes they were weird, but I couldn’t complain. I loved them.
“In honor of David’s and my trip to Spain, we’re having tapas,” I announced in the backyard. “You can help yourselves,” I added, gesturing to the expansive spread.
“So? How was Spain?” Jessa asked, hooking her arm in mine.
I smiled wistfully and attempted to think of a word that could possibly do it justice. “Magical,” I decided.
I waved back from my beach towel. David looked sexier than ever, perched on his surfboard, his stomach flexing into a delicious six pack. Riveted, I watched as he caught another wave, fluidly hopping onto his shortboard and riding it down the line. I loved watching David at the beach, completely in his element.
I reclined back onto my towel, inserted my earbuds and closed my eyes to soak in the hot Spanish sun. Cool drops of water punctured my relaxed state. I opened one eye, squinting up at David.
“I couldn’t help noticing you from the water,” he said. “Mind if I join you?”
“Actually,” I purred, “I was thinking of taking a dip.”
He set his board down next to me and held out his hand. He hoisted me up with one pull and scooped me off my feet.
“Well, I was just going to get my feet wet,” I admitted nervously as he cut gracefully through the sand.
“I don’t think so, honeybee. The water’s perfect.”
“But – ” A squeal tore from my lips when he threw me into the sea. I popped up, gasping for air and splashed him as I tried to run ashore. He caught my waist and spun me into him. I was breathing hard as he captured my lips in a quick kiss. “You look incredibly sexy, Mrs. Dylan.”
“Thank you for this,” I said, motioning in the general direction of San Sebastián. “All of this.”
“Thank you for all of this,” he replied, running his hands greedily over my body, his fingers teasing the straps of my bikini top. One hand skated down to my lower back and pulled me so close that my entire body felt his heat, even through the cold salt water.
“David Dylan, you scoundrel,” I teased.
“Olivia Dylan, you temptress.”
“Do you intend to take me in front of all of Spain?” I asked hopefully.
“Would a gentleman do that?” He smiled and then peered over my shoulder. “Remind me to find us a private beach next time.”
“I don’t care,” I said, kissing his briny neck and then working my way down to nibble on his shoulder.
“I know you don’t,” he said, shaking his head and pulling me off.
“Damn it,” I said under my breath, and he laughed. But I wasn’t ready to give up. “It’s our honeymoon, we’re supposed to do this sort of thing.”
“Oh, we will do this sort of thing, as much as possible, and as long as possible – in a place where I’m the only one who gets to see you naked.” He kissed me. “Oh, how I do love that pretty pout, though,” he added.
“Read it to me again,” I said suddenly, fingering the gold disk that hung between my breasts from its chain.
We’d spent the first week of our honeymoon in the South of France before making our way to Spain. I’d learned that my new husband spoke French and spoke it beautifully. He’d impulsively stopped in a small jewelry shop and unbeknownst to me, ordered a hand-engraved gold necklace that we would pick up on our way out of town.
“Haven’t you memorized it by now?” David asked, bringing me back to the moment.
“No,” I lied.
“Car, vois-tu, chaque jou
r je t’aime davantage,aujourd’hui plus qu’hier et bien moins que demain.”
I smiled and looked at him expectantly.
He covered my hand that held the tiny, delicate disk. “For, you see, each day I love you more, today more than yesterday and less than tomorrow.”
The honeymoon had been three weeks of espresso, navigating tiny streets, laughing until our faces hurt and sex in cramped places. We learned even more about each other during the trip and though we fought at times, the arguments always ended in either fits of laughter or steamy sex.
My heart began to race when Serena approached me in the backyard, her lips quirked into a small smile. “Well?” I asked.
“I love it,” she said. “Genuine, fluid and actually quite funny. I love your first novel.”
I exhaled a rush of air. “Thank you. It still needs a lot of work, but it’s a start. Please tell me you have notes.”
“Meet for coffee next week to discuss? Tonight,” she said, swirling her margarita, “estoy barracha. I’m drunk.”
Once I’d begun to make real progress on the book, I’d quit my job at David’s urging and set a goal to finish my first draft before the wedding. I’d only asked Serena to read it so far because I trusted her opinion. I was now Olivia Dylan, happily, and I would use that name to distance myself from my mother’s work.
In a final attempt to get my mother to accept our upcoming nuptials, David and I had stopped to see her as we drove my dad’s early wedding gift, the ’68 Shelby, from Dallas to Chicago. Despite telling her we were coming, or perhaps because of it, she was drunk when we arrived. We tried to convince her to let us take her to a rehab facility nearby, but she refused. After hurling one too many insults at me, David had put her in her place and marched me back to the car. It was with heavy hearts that we left, but I knew we had run out of options.
We didn’t get married right away. With his ring on my finger and finally, my entire heart in his hands, he respected my request that we wait some time after the divorce was finalized. It was a small, intimate affair held amongst the peacefulness of the Alfred Caldwell Lily Pool. My mom did not attend, but I’d had my dad along with David’s family, who couldn’t have been more loving and supportive.
