Page 25 of The River in Spring
My young self had never thought about it like that. I remember calling him a genius. He laughed at my conclusion.
“Nobody ever really wants to change. You will end up resenting the woman who tries to make you into a different man. Then you’ll hate yourself for going along with the idea. We need to be loved as ourselves. That’s the secret. Remember that.’
Now, for the first time, the lesson is being applied. Have I ever really thought that deeply about love since that night? It’s almost laughable to raise the question. The unequivocal answer is no. In fact, I may have never thought about the conversation again. Till now. But it was there deep inside my subconscious. And now, I have come to understand something I hadn’t before. Dove and I reach for higher ground. Even at the beginning. Hope it’s real.
Week six into our relationship has arrived, and it’s weird I counted. Things are morphing. I’ve always been consumed by my career. After Kristen’s death even more so. But lately, since Dove’s arrival, work and most other routines have to be squeezed in among the really important things in life. Like fucking. Or hiking the property and watching Netflix with her. It’s strange to have priorities realign. Friends, family, and every other consistency have taken a backseat.
I don’t want to be a prick. But shit, I want to concentrate on what calls me. It’s not like there is a choice. When I saw my family more happy for me than mad about missing my company, it meant something. They all get it. Every one of them.
Laughing, preparing meals, taking a shower, everything common and normal holds greater weight. Colors are sharper, music more meaningful. And nobody is invited to join our club. Stay away! A memory of the Lyon boys’ treehouse with a signNo Girls Allowedbriefly pops in my mind. I’m changing the rules. This time it readsOnly One Girl Allowed.One perfect one.
Today brings something new. Meeting the best friend. That, and having lunch at Casa Dove. It will be the first time seeing inside. Not that I have avoided it, but it’s just so comfortable at my place. Wonder what kind of taste she has? There has been one clue. Apparently, she’s sentimental about her grandparents’ things and her home reflects that. She said it one day when we were talking about my taste. She had made a comment that all my heart was hanging on one wall in the kitchen. The pictures. Can’t argue with that. Why have stuff spread all over?
Maybe her place will be something completely different from mine. I don’t give a damn, except for the story it will tell. I have a feeling we will align despite any differences, making coming together in the future seamless. It only makes sense when everything else fits like a glove.
Things have gone smoothly for us. So far.Don’t get ahead of yourself.The mantra replays in my head at least once a day as it regularly comes up against my eagerness. Never has the future been on my mind so much. Sometimes life climbs into your bones.
Not being able to spend the night away from Maudie has unexpectedly worked in my favor. There is no need to explain my idiosyncrasies. I like my bed. I feel strange using other people’s beds and toilets. How am I supposed to take a shit in an unfamiliar bathroom? The thought makes me cringe. Those are things she’ll eventually learn. I could write a book on my habits.
Can’t help myself. Even as a kid, it was like that. I have the perfect excuse right now, because it is true. I can’t risk being away from the dog. And it hasn’t stopped us from being together or spending every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday sleeping in my bed.
The weekends suck. She is required to perform and rehearse, rehearse, rehearse. To fine-tune new music she and Jimmy write. Getting her sleep, taking care of personal business, doing whatever she does without my company. It all takes time. She reminded me it takes a lot of effort to be serious artists of their caliber.
There are thousands of talented people willing to put the time in, just waiting to take their place. The fact sounds bitter in my mind. But that is just the initial reaction. Being resentful of her talent and career, so she can be at my beck and call, is a move a lesser man might make. That isn’t me. I think she’s so talented and everyone else does too. Of course, it requires devotion. The truth is, I am constantly having to keep myself in check and remember what my father told me about knowing the real person. It’s better to look at the long game.
As I approach the final twist in the road, Siri speaks.
“Your destination is ahead in three hundred feet.”
Looking around I take in the houses. Okay, 3607 Cloud Way is next. As I make the turn Dove’s home comes into view, surrounded by tall trees standing guard. It’s Hansel and Gretel’s place, a tiny, enchanted cottage, set back from the street. Looks like it’s about to come to life. Bibbidi bobbidi boo, as my mother likes to say whenever she sees something with a Disney quality. The unstructured front yard is flush with wildflowers and rose bushes on one side and a vegetable garden on the other. Colorful stone pathways snake through.
Her two thousand ten Accord is parked on the gravel driveway, in front of a well-restored VW Bus from the sixties. Must be the girlfriend’s. Is that music I hear coming from inside the house? Pulling up, I park and grab the flowers. Once out, my question is answered. Definitely music. It’s great, whoever is singing. Think it’s Sting. A smooth voiced female accompanies him in a soulful jazzy ballad.
Walking down the path leading to the front door, I hear laughter. Male laughter. What the fuck? Who’s here?Calm down.I really hate this jealousy shit I’m noticing about myself. It surprises me more than anything. Who is this guy I am turning into?
The front door is wide open and Dove comes out dancing barefoot. The sexy beat of the song sets a seductive rhythm, and she knows how to take advantage. Moving with erotic intent, her eyes locked on mine, she sings every word. I have got to remember to add this to our playlist. A pair of low slung green cargo pants hug her waist as hips roll. The short yellow top that stops right under her breasts just about begs me to reach underneath. Shoulder sweeping earrings brush against golden skin. I would like to lay her down between the roses and radishes and fuck her senseless. Instead, I hold out the bouquet.
“Are those for me?” She pretends innocence with a tilt of her head.
“Yeah babe. Come get ‘em.” Now it’s my turn to tease. I lower the flowers in front of my crotch, erasing earlier lofty thoughts about the gift of flowers. Lately my fourteen-year-old boy’s sense of humor has made a return. Dove doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, she joins in the play. With a sprint, she comes to me and takes the bouquet. I feel fingers wave over my dick. A big smile puts a cherry on the sundae.
Our lips meet under the Montana sun and we share one perfect kiss. I’m about to go for seconds when we are joined by a tall, blue-haired woman standing in the doorway. The expression is of a pissed off babysitter, overwhelmed by the screaming toddlers.
“Excuse me! Hate to interrupt. Dove you better get your ass in here. I think today’s science experiment is about to boil over. Want me to shut the fire off?”
A barely there smile cracks, and a hand raises in a wave, as I hold Dove in my arms. I return the gesture. Dove untangles herself and turns to her friend.
“Deborah, this is Nobel. Nobel, meet our manager, and my best friend forever and ever.”
I move toward the woman who is deciding if I pass the litmus test.
“Hi. Nice to meet you.”
Instead of a greeting I get a review and a warning.
“Handsome. Hope you aren’t too particular about what constitutes a lunch. Or how it tastes. Other than that, it should work out. So, welcome to Casa Dove’s Don’t Expect Too Much or You’ll Be Disappointed Lunch. It’s an annual event.”
What? I’m not sure how to take the news. But it delights Dove, who does not deny the words and thinks her BFF is funny. “Quit exaggerating! I cook more than once a year!” She says it with no conviction.
