CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
“Do you like it?”
I watch my mother carefully as she takes in Gavin’s penthouse that’s flooded with morning light. Jasper weaves happily in and out of the open terrace doors and wind billows in the new white cotton curtains.
I’m finally finished transforming Gavin’s apartment and it looks nothing like the monochromatic bachelor pad where I cleaned up the filth Gavin left behind.
Only the grand piano remains of the old place, and I had it tuned so it’s ready when Gavin returns. Mom moves into the living room, taking in the sturdy Craftsman furniture, soft wool rug, and cozy leather couches.
I don’t know much about decorating, so to make Gavin’s place new I decided to choose only natural materials—no plastic or chrome—and a palette of greens and browns like the forest.
“I can’t believe you did all this by yourself. It’s beautiful.”
Mom’s smile is genuine and I’m relieved. I take her on a tour. Gavin’s room is pale, sea-glass green, with white linens, dark wood furniture and handmade paper lampshades.
I’ve changed the cold, gray guest rooms as well, painting them peaceful shades of sand and sage and adding rugs to make the hardwood floors feel warmer. Plants are everywhere and I hung photography of Oregon’s beaches, forests and farmland. I even planted two containers of cherry tomatoes on the terrace.
Mom touches the soft green duvet cover in her guest room and turns to me, her arms open for a hug. “I’m proud of you, Beryl.”
“Thanks, Mom. The painters just finished yesterday, so hopefully it doesn’t smell too much like paint.”
“No, it’s fine. It smells fresh. It smells new, like no one has ever lived here before.”
“That’s the idea. Gavin wants a new start before he comes home, so he told me to change everything.”
“When he comes home, where will you live?”
“I’ve got another house-sitting gig. There’s a family on the Upper East Side that’s going to Europe for the summer and I like their chocolate Lab a lot.”
“That’s a pretty nomadic life.”
“Yeah. It’ll be weird moving around so much since you and I stayed in the same apartment so long. But I like new. It’s an adventure.”
“That’s what your father always wanted for you.”
I pause, fighting the question on the tip of my tongue. “It seems like you always wanted me to stay put.”
“No. I just wanted you safe. Your dad was the adventurer, but I need security. It’s frightening to not know what will happen next, and not be able to control it.”
“That’s what makes it exciting,” I say. “If I’d stayed in Eugene, I never would have had this crazy adventure.”
Mom lifts her brows at the word crazy, but smiles.
“Genetics are so funny. Here you are, looking so much like me, but everything about you is like your father. Your spirit. Your daring.” She cups my cheek for a moment and I feel thirteen again. “Beryl, it’s a gift. But be careful with it.”
***
Mom takes a nap to catch up from her redeye flight and I check in with Gavin on my laptop. His bubble is gray, but I expect that. It’s the middle of the night for him.
I open my email to send him a note and find a message from him waiting.
Let me be the first to say happy birthday, sweet B! I hope you’re celebrating tonight and that your mom arrived safely. What does she think of the apartment makeover?
I didn’t want to be boring and send flowers, so go downstairs and find a special delivery box.
I’ll be online tonight and I’m hoping to chat with you even if it’s late. I’ll wait for you.
Always,
Gavin
I race downstairs and fidget as Charles helps an elderly resident figure out a problem with his laptop. Chalk up tech support to Charles’ long list of informal duties.
Charles sees me fidget and excuses himself, reaching behind the counter for a giftwrapped orange box with a bow on top.
“Happy birthday, Beryl. It looks like someone special is thinking of you.”
I grin and take the box from him, whispering, “It’s Gavin.”
Charles’ eyebrows shoot sky-high and a grin spreads on his face. “Looks like you’ve given him a very good reason to come home.”
I blush and carry my package to the elevator. It’s a little bigger than a basketball, square and heavy. It doesn’t rattle when I shake it, but I feel something solid inside.
I set it on the kitchen counter and untie the white satin bow, unfolding the glossy box top to reveal a Styrofoam lid. Underneath it, packed tightly in dry ice, are four pints of passion fruit gelato.
He remembered!
And how in the heck did he find this stuff? I guess it’s true what they say—you can get anything in New York if you just know where to look.
There’s a card taped to the underside of the Styrofoam lid and I rip into it to read a typewritten message.
Beryl,
I hope you enjoy this birthday treat—it took some searching but I finally found the passion fruit gelato you love in New York. Isn’t the Internet cool?
Your other treat is a spa day tomorrow. You’ll get that massage you wanted, plus I picked all sorts of weird services since you like trying new things. I hope it makes you feel as beautiful as you are.
Always,
Gavin
There are appointment details for the spa at the bottom of the card and I squeal with delight. It’s far too extravagant, but I guess rock stars don’t do subtle.
What really makes me happy is that Gavin listened. He took the things I’d said I liked and remembered.
I put three pints of gelato in the freezer and grab a spoon for the fourth, taking it out to the terrace to enjoy the view of Central Park while Jasper lies in the sun on the mini-lawn beside me.
It’s beautiful—the day, this place, my mood—and I’m feeling more optimistic than ever.
I force myself to stop eating gelato even though I’m sure I could devour the whole pint. I open my laptop and see Gavin’s bubble still gray, but that’s fine. It’s my turn to send a message.
You win. You totally rocked my birthday, Gavin, and I’m already in sugar shock from the amazing gelato. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
I’m a little nervous about the spa day since I’ve never been to one before, but hopefully they won’t torture me too much. I’ll be back online tonight to chat.
Yours,
B.
***
I take Mom to the West Village for dinner, a gastropub called The Spotted Pig with tin ceilings and pig paraphernalia all over the walls.
I order a pint of Old Speckled Hen, an English beer that’s as frothy as a pint of Guinness, but blonde. Another new thing! It’s delicious.
“I told Dan to meet us here,” I tell my mom as she sips white wine. Her eyes widen with alarm.
“What? I wasn’t expecting him.”
“Well, after you shouted at him and accused him of dragging me to New York, I wasn’t expecting he’d want to come, either.”
My mom looks down at her hands and fidgets. “I shouldn’t have shouted at him. It was just a lot to take in, all at once.”
“Then just apologize tonight. He used to be one of your best friends. I remember you and Dad sitting with him in the backyard for hours, drinking beer and telling stories. Why can’t you be friends again?”
“I’m not really … ready.”
“Ready for what? He’s been awesome to me. I thought you’d like to ask him about life here.”
Mom takes a big gulp of her wine and coughs a little. “It’s complicated.”
“I’m an adult. Try me.”
“Dan and I used to, before your father…”
“Go out?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. He never said. But maybe that’s why he keeps asking about you, why he wants to see you so much. When I told him you were flying in today he pretty much begged to join us.”
“B, it’s complicated because it feels wrong. We broke up in high school over some silly thing, and then I started dating your father, his best friend. It was uncomfortable for a while, but then he got a new girlfriend and things worked out.”
“Why do I feel like there’s a but coming?”
“Dan was my first boyfriend and my first love. And I still remember those feelings. But it would be a total betrayal to ever follow them.”
“A betrayal? Mom, Dad would want you to be happy. With Dan or anyone else, but maybe especially with Dan. Dad liked him. He trusted him. Why wouldn’t you at least see where things go?”
I watch my mom closely and for a moment I feel like we’re girlfriends trying to figure out the mystery of men. They can be so confusing—Anthony, Peter, and Gavin have my brain and my heart tied in knots.
“You sound so grown up, B. Like you’ve figured things out.”
“Oh, I’m far from figured out. Pretty much any guy I like is complicated.”
“Do you like someone here in New York? Already?”
I’m tempted to tell her about Gavin, but I resist. It’s hard enough explaining how I ended up living in a rock star’s apartment. I can’t tell her I’ve fallen for him.