Chasing Stars (32 page)

I march back to the bed. Gently, I assist her into a sitting position. “Here, drink this, it’s chamomile tea.” I bring the teacup to Portia’s lips, hoping to pour some warmth back into her. As she sips from the steaming liquid, heavy teardrops flow down her cheeks. I set the cup down and cuddle her.

“Shhh…I am here for you, darling.” I lie next to her, tightening my arms around her. Portia weeps, her body shakes violently now. With a sense of helplessness, I just hold her in my arms. After what seems like an eternity, her tears subside.

“He told me, I couldn’t go,” she whispers.

“You don’t have to talk about it.” I slide my fingers in her hair. Portia sits up. Her blues eyes are intent.

“Yes, I do. After today, I will never mention it again.” She looks at me, and I see the pain of rejection reflected in her eyes. “When I got to the apartment, he told me that Priscilla hadn’t planned on having an extra guest. Something related to last-minute notice, not enough food, marked seats, and her extensive plans for preparing a dinner.” She weeps again and her voice falters. “And she also said that Thanksgiving is exclusively for family members,” she chokes.

“What did you say to him?” I squeeze her hand.

“Me? Oh, I couldn’t get around to saying much. So I just said: Fuck you.” She shrugs.

“You did not.” I smile, proud of her.

“Yep.” She wipes her face. “Do I look awful?”

Her eyes are puffy, her nose is red, and her hair disheveled. “You look adorable.”

“Do you think I can still come with you to Connecticut?”

Is she joking? What kind of a question is that? But I see the insecurity in her expression. Rejection will do that to people.

“Of course you can. You know, not only Dan and Maritza will be thrilled to have you as a guest, but it also means an extra pair of hands to assist in the kitchen.” I grin. “Are you up to do some manual labor in favor of your fellow homeless?”

“Oh, that’s right. You cook for a shelter.” She stands up with renewed strength.

“Yeah, and the best part of Thanksgiving at the Millers is: Maritza’s turkey is absolutely better than anything featured in
Scene
.”

After smooching Will, Maritza strides my way and hugs me. “Portia,
bienvenida
. I thought you were going to your father’s.”

Breathless from her tight embrace, I smile. “A change of plans.”

“Oh, but that’s wonderful.” Maritza leans in and whispers conspiratorially in my ears, “No one wants to put up with Will’s moping when you are not around.”

“I can hear you, you know,” Will utters.

“Hello there, darling.” Dan hugs me affectionately.

“Hi Dan, sorry for the last-minute intrusion,” I mumble.

“Please, sweetheart, we are always delighted to have you with us.” He grins. I notice how much Will looks like him, even though there are no blood ties.

“Thank you.” I grin back, realizing his smile is contagious.

“Thank God, someone to help me.” Mel walks in and quickly hugs Will and me. She then stands in front of a pile of sweet potatoes. I sigh with relief. Mel has an astounding capacity for forgiveness. I know how mad she was with me, but since Will and I made up, she has embraced me as if nothing had transpired between us.

“Unfortunately for you, Portia, Mel has a bathroom break after peeling every other potato.” Maritza hands me an apron and a knife.

As I fiercely peel potato after potato, I wonder where the hell my moral compass has been my whole life. Prior to today, other than telethons, I have never labored for the benefit of those less fortunate than myself. I am beat, but I feel a tingling of excitement running through me.

Miles separate me from the blatant dismissal from my father. For once, I feel wanted. The scent of cinnamon and a symphony of laughter permeate the kitchen. A warm conversation, weaves in and around varied topics. Maritza spices every subject with funny remarks.

Listening to stories of Will and Mel in high school and tales of Dan and Maritza dating, makes me think of those cozy snow globes I’ve seen in Hallmark stores. Surprisingly, I have the snug feeling of being inside one.

The day passes in a blur, and after hours of peeling sweet potatoes for pies, a blister appears on my right hand. Though it is still Saturday, I have the feeling a thousand years passed. Jeez, this volunteering deal is great.

“Here, let’s wrap it on ice.” Will kisses my fingers and gently places a bag of frozen peas over my throbbing hand. He tugs my free hand and hauls me to the living room. He sinks into the couch, pulling me with him. My body instinctively molds to his.

“I will have that bag of peas when you are done.” Mel plops on the couch, next to us.

“Hold on, gorgeous, I will get you your very own bag,” Will says. I laugh at his concern toward the damsels in kitchen distress.

“He is a keeper,” I note.

“Yeah, Will’s heart is bigger than him.” Mel caresses her stomach, making me wonder if it will pop, if it gets any larger.

“Here.” Will slides a large bag of ice behind her back and sits next to me, pulling my legs over his.

Will glances at his watch. He is acting weirdly secretive today. After spending time helping us, he told me he had to go to his studio nearby. Side note: I didn’t even know he had one. When I asked him to wait so I could go along, he came up with what seemed like a lame excuse. Oh, well. He is entitled to some alone time. He did plan to spend the week without me after all.

Mercifully, Mel has being extra nice. I wonder if Will mentioned the fiasco with my father.

“Baby, I want to go hiking today. Are you up for it?” There is something in his undertone that doesn’t allow me to say no, even though all I want to do is to hit the bed.

“Yeah, but don’t we have to help some more?” My eyes trail to the kitchen where Dan and Maritza are preparing sweet potatoes pies.

“Nah, they will manage the rest without us. We are doing well. Besides we have the entire week before Thursday.”

“OK.”

Before I get up, I notice Mel and Will exchange a smile. I feel a sting of jealousy. The feeling that maybe I am being left out of some secret, swamps me.

I go to the guest room, and quickly don a warmer outfit and my hiking boots, which I keep here for all the hikes we take when we visit Connecticut.

During the drive, Will is quiet. I look at him and notice he gnaws on his lips.

“Check out this song.” Will hands me his iPhone, I love that he thinks of me whenever he finds a new song he likes.

I smile. “‘Nessum Dorma,’ who is singing?” I inquire recognizing the song from the opera
Turandot
. His thumb twists his platinum band, a habit of his when he is nervous.

“It’s from the album,
The Three Tenors in Concert
, isn’t it beautiful?” His fingers reach for my hand, and for a moment, I relax.

I want to ask what is bothering him. But I am too afraid of the answer. Maybe, he was looking forward to being away from me. I cannot bear to dwell on the thoughts, so I pay attention to the lyrics. A tight knot is on my throat at the end of the song.

“Will, I love this opera. I watched it many years ago, when Nillie, Tarry, and I backpacked through Europe.” I hit repeat.

“I’ve seen it too. I think this is such a sad, but profound song.”

We hike the mountain along a narrow road. Will tells me it is faster and I have worked hard enough as it is. Though Will holds my hand, he is nervous and distant. By the time we reach the summit, it is past four, and the sun is low in the sky. A cold breeze makes me shiver. Will senses it and wraps his arms around my shoulders. Once on top, we relish the peace and solitude of the mountaintop. I suspect that today, due to the cold, people won’t be venturing up here.

“Thank you for coming up here with me,” Will whispers in my ear and embraces me from behind.

“To be honest, though I was dead tired, it feels right to be here. And at this moment, there is nowhere else I would rather be,” I tell him.

“Good.”

For a moment, I think he will say something else, but he is silent and deep in thought. We watch as the sun goes down. I swear, something is upsetting Will, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out.

“Portia,” Will’s voice is so deep and grave. I brace myself. He is going to tell me why he is so absent. I set my eyes on the lowering sun and refuse to face him.

From my peripheral vision, I notice that Will snatches a piece of paper from his jeans pocket.

“Here, open this, and hold it against the sunset.”

My mouth goes dry and my heart quickens. Staring into his brooding eyes, I remove my gloves. My fingers tremble as I struggle to unfold the thin piece of paper.

Is this gossip from the media? I have a flashback to the day at the hotel in London, when he broke up with me. An indescribable pain runs through me. Every fiber of my body is on high alert.

Will regards me, and he is serious, way too serious. My hands quickly become cold, shaky, and clumsy, making the ordeal even more difficult. I have this reeling sensation, just like when I wake up with a hangover. Can fear do this to you?

Finally, I smooth the sheet and see a graffiti drawing centered on the paper. It is a black circle. What is it? I hold it against the remains of the sun.

The sun lowers on the horizon and tints the brisk autumn air with a golden hue. Though it is cold as hell, I have to dry my sweaty hands on my jeans. Immersed in unfolding the paper, Portia doesn’t notice when I kneel before her. I watch her face closely. Her eyes squint. Once she opens up the paper, the sunlight filters through it revealing the outline of a ring with the script:
Will you marry me?

When realization rushes through Portia, her eyes widen and her free hand covers her mouth.

She gazes at me. And I see tears brimming in her eyes. I take that as a good sign and go on to say, “Did you ever have a feeling you were running out of time? The very same day I met you, I had this pressing feeling that every minute I spend without you, is time escaping from me.” I inhale a deep breath. “Portia, when I close my eyes to contemplate on love, your face gleams as bright and as pure as the first rays of the sun. I want to spend the rest of my days on earth with you, and then in eternity. I brought you here so God can be my witness to me promising that if you say yes to me, I will treasure, protect, and love you all the days of my life, and thereafter.” I pause, gather all my courage, and ask. “Portia, will you marry me?”