TWENTY-ONE
Willow
“Make a wish, Nana,” I said after singing “Happy Birthday” to her with Ryan. A gourmet cook, she’d prepared a wonderful pasta primavera lunch, made with fresh vegetables she grew in her yard. Now, her homemade buttercream cake occupied the center of the dining room table along with an open bottle of champagne.
Hovering over the cake, she took in the many candles. “I only wish your grandfather Harold was here standing next to me and could see how beautiful you are.”
Every year, the same wish. My grandma had never loved another man after my grandpa passed away. He was her everything, childhood sweethearts who grew up together in Brooklyn. Gettinger’s Hotel was their life dream and they’d built the resort together, starting off with small bungalows and expanding it to the once grand hotel it’d become.
Every molecule of my being was tingling as Nana inhaled a deep, fortifying breath. The aftershocks of my out of this world orgasm rolled through me, my inner thigh area still vibrating madly. Standing next to each other, Ryan and I clapped our hands as my strong, fiercely independent grandma blew out all the candles with one breath.
Removing the candles, I immediately sliced, plated, and doled out three huge portions of the mouthwatering cake, giving the first one to my grandma. Nana loved cake and never said no to a slice. She was a hearty eater, who somehow had managed to maintain her svelte figure though she’d shrunken a few inches in height over the years. She was built like me and my mother, whose genes I’d inherited.
“Wow! This is delicious!” said Ryan, shoving another hefty helping of the homemade cake into his mouth.
“My darling, only the best,” laughed Nana, shaving off the thick creamy frosting with her fork. “My cholesterol will likely shoot through the roof and my doctor will give me hell. Whatever!” She waved a hand dismissively. “You know what, bubula? You only live once. You might as well live your life to the fullest.”
Ryan twitched a small smile. “Yeah, isn’t that the truth?” He said it as if he meant it, and in an instant, I realized that my grandma’s words had made him think of Allee’s short, unfair life. Despite our amazing day, a shudder pulsed through me. There would always be Ryan’s great love. The incredible woman he immortalized in his book. More than anything right now, I wanted to talk to my grandma… get her take on things. I could always count on her honesty. She had no filters and always told it like it is. Just like my mom.
Just at that moment, Ryan’s cell phone rang. Pulling it out of his jeans pocket, he glanced down at the caller ID screen.
“It’s my agent,” Ryan said as the phone rang again. “Do you mind if I take this? It’ll give the two of you some time to spend together alone.”
“No, prob,” I replied. “Why don’t you take the call in the living room. I’ll meet you there in a bit.”
Once Ryan was gone, I took another bite of the scrumptious cake and washed it down with the bubbly champagne. Nana did the same. I also gave her the present I’d brought along—a small antique music box I’d found at a local antiques store. She collected them, the songs often reminding her of her ballroom dancing days with my late grandpa. To my delight, she loved it and gave me a thankful hug.
“You look good, bubula” she said, sitting back down.
“Thanks, Nana.” Truthfully, I was beginning to feel a little uneasy. I’d fucked Ryan’s brains out, but was now having second thoughts. Thoughts of regret. Before I could overthink things, my inquisitive grandma asked me another question. An unsettling one.
“So, tell me, when are you going back to dancing?”
My body tensed. Even my grandma, whom I confided in, had no clue about the extent of my breakdown. She, like my father, believed it was exhaustion-related. My relationship with Gustave It was the only thing I ever hid from her.
“I don’t know, Nana.” At least, I was being honest with her. To be more honest, my desire to perform again had been tugging at my heartstrings ever since I’d seen The Red Shoes with Ryan. Gustave’s didactic words, “Once a ballerina, always a ballerina,” danced through my mind like a series of bourées.
To my relief, my grandma changed the subject. “So, how’s your father?”
Still harboring anger toward my father, who she never could accept, her inquiry caught me off guard. I took a sip of my bubbly before responding.
“Actually, Nana, he’s better.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nana, he had a heart attack. A minor one, but nonetheless, it was a wakeup call.”
Contemplating her next words, she set down her flute. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
Her voice was devoid of emotion, but it could have been dripping with sarcasm, or worse, her response could have been plain out mean and heartless. Something like: “He deserves it.” Even though she was estranged from my father, she knew how much my father meant to me. How much I loved him. Hence, she tempered herself.
“You know, Nana, it would be nice if you saw him. It’s been a long time. Maybe you could come to the city or invite him up here. I think he’d like that.”
“I’ll think about it.” She took several long sips of her champagne and then changed the subject again. “So, bubula, let’s talk about something else. Forget that I’m your grandma and tell me everything.”
As she flicked flakes of dried up leaves from my hair, I almost choked on my next sip of champagne. “What do you mean?”
Of course, I knew what she meant. My sex-charged grandma wanted to know everything about Ryan.
Over another glass of champagne, I told my beloved Nana about how I’d met Ryan and what had transpired, including the details of our afternoon. She hung on every word, convinced that Ryan Madewell IV was in love with me.
“Nana, I’m scared.”
“Why, darling?”
“I don’t think I can ever be her.”
Nana shot me a reassuring smile. “No, my bubula, you can never be her. You can only be you. And you are special.”
God, how I loved my grandma.
“But what if he freaks out? Lets me go? Breaks my heart?”
There was no doubt in my mind that he was still fucked up. Still in love with another. A woman who was timeless. Written on his soul with words that had touched a million hearts.
My grandma took another bite of her cake and then lovingly brushed her fingertips along my jaw.
“My dear, there are no what-ifs when it comes to love. Only what is.”
I digested the wise woman’s words.
“But, Nana, you never found another man like Grandpa.” Nor did my father find another woman like my mother, I added silently.
“Darling, it hasn’t happened yet. But it will. I’m eighty years young.”
I couldn’t help but laugh before my insecurity manifested itself again. I knew that love could be all consuming. It could put you in a blender, twist and turn you …shred you to pieces.
Then, Ryan returned with all his virile glory, love written on his face. My fears evaporated. Hope filled me. I’d love him from page one. Maybe we could get to the end together.