Page 75 of Wish For Me

Noelle interlocks her hands behind my neck. “Which part? Approaching the end of the inaugural season at the theatre? This exhibit? Or your billionaire Sugar Mama over there?”

I chuckle, my hands pulling my wife closer. “Please never say those words again.”

The proper term for Lillian is benefactor, but truly, she’s been more like a fairy godmother to us. From paying my hospital and rehab bills, to funding the complete renovation of the theater with state-of-the-art everything and a living space and offices at the back. As if that wasn’t enough, when I mentioned the Eleanor Cleary story to her offhandedly, she set this event in motion, including hiring a museum curator and his team from the Smithsonian to display everything we had collected over the years.

Lillian has made the past two years completely surreal. But as she reminds me constantly, it’s not for nothing.

“You owe me several books, Mr. Kelly,” is her favorite saying. She said it to me the second time we met, when she showed up in my hospital room somehow knowing everything about me, including that I’d say yes to her funding the books she wants me to write. It’s never a threat—she has the same interest in improving the world through expanding our thinking as I do.

But I do owe her, and I intend to deliver.

I’ve been working on those in the apartment upstairs. Noelle keeps telling us there’s a house with our name on it whenever we like, but Noelle insisted we have to draw the line somewhere or she’ll own our firstborn.

Noelle laughs now. “It’s almost time. Did you remember your notes?”

“I did.”

Everyone insisted I do the keynote, even though I didn’t do half as much as anyone else in getting to the bottom of Eleanor’s story, including Noelle.

“Then you have time to kiss me,” she says.

Now, wrapped up in Noelle, the sounds of the party around us fade away as I press my hand across her back, the other one tangling itself in her hair. I wish we were upstairs next to a crackling fire, the box with my mother-in-law’s Christmas cookies at hand.

But that’s only until Noelle’s lips part from mine again and I can breathe.

I need this event as much as everyone else in my family.

“Did you see Marissa and Enzo?” Noelle asks as she straightens my tie.

“Yes. It’s giving me an unreasonable amount of satisfaction seeing that particular dude in love.”

Enzo’s grown up a lot over the past couple of years, the rest of him catching up with that mature business side. He’s fallen in love and had his heart broken, and finally admitted—at Noelle’s and my wedding last Christmas, no less—that love was in fact real, and that all the guests were witnessing it in me and Noelle.

“First time you’ve been right about love,” I told him afterward.

He hugged me almost as hard as he had when he’d come to see me in the hospital two years ago.

Now, seeing him charm Marissa—a bona fide Broadway star, currently giggling at something he’s said as they stand far too close together next to the chocolate fountain—I grin.

When Noelle got the news her former assistant had gotten a lead role on the hottest show on Broadway, she’d told me tearfully that she finally understood what it was like for her mother. “Seeing someone live yourformerdream is like an expansion on your own happiness.”

“I’m proud of the little butthead,” I say, turning my attention back to my wife.

“Okay,” Noelle says after another kiss. “You’ve canoodled your way to showtime.”

“That’s a ridiculous word. More canoodling later?”

She gives me that beautiful crook-toothed smile. “I promise.”

I give her one more for good measure, then make my way through the crowd, patting my pocket to make sure the notecards are in fact still there. It’s a slow journey, and once again, I have to greet several people along the way. I don’t mind—the breaks are nice. I’m at least 30% steel rods and disks. I no longer walk with the cane, but I’m still not fast.

It doesn’t matter. I have nothing to rush to when my love is right beside me.

The music fades out and the crowd hushes as I climb the stairs to the stage. When I reach the podium, I slip my hand in my pocket, then change my mind.

I know what I want to say.

I clear my throat, the sound echoing through the sound system. “Guess it’s on,” I joke, suddenly nervous. This night’s been a long time coming.

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