Sweet Thing (22 page)

When we returned to the living room everything was back to usual business. Rita displayed the cut-up turducken and everyone cheered. I wasn’t sure what all the hype was about—it tasted like turkey, duck and chicken. No surprise there, but it was charming how the entire family got so excited over it.

After everyone left, Will’s dad went off to his bedroom and Rita and I cleaned up while Will made a bed on the pullout sofa.

“Will, you’re almost thirty years old. I think your father and I will be okay if you and Mia want to sleep in the guest room.” Will looked over and waited for me to make a decision. It wasn’t like sleeping in the same bed was anything new for us, but I think after the episode in the bathroom he didn’t want to make any assumptions.

“That’s fine, thank you, Rita.”

She looked at me and then cupped my face and said, “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Thank you. I’m glad to be here.” I truly meant it. I studied Rita’s features. She had the same dark eyes as Will and the same full lips. She wore round glasses and her gray hair was in a bob. She was much older than my mother, but she had a youthfulness about her that I was sure Will had inherited.

In the guest room Will stripped down to his boxers, slid into bed, and rolled away, facing the window. I dug through his bag and pulled out one of his white T-shirts and slipped it over my head.

“Night, Will.”

“Night, buddy.” He said with a tinge of irritation. He made no attempt to touch me.

The next morning, I woke up to an empty bed. I threw on some sweats and went to the bathroom and brushed my teeth. When I got to the living room, Rita yelled out, “There she is. Merry Christmas, Mia!” Will’s parents were dressed in matching red pajama sets and Santa hats. His dad did not seem the least bit amused; it was clearly his mom who was the festive one. Will had on flannel pajama bottoms that I had never seen—they really made him look domestic and I think it turned me on. His white T-shirt was a stark contrast against his tattooed forearm and his hair was wet and brushed back away from his face. He looked unreasonably handsome for first thing in the morning.

There was a fire going and the lights on the Christmas tree were twinkling. I sat down on the couch next to him and put my hand on his leg. “Merry Christmas, honey,” I said softly and then I puckered my lips. His parents’ eyes were glued on us. Will focused on my expression as I gave his thigh a squeeze.

His eyes kissed mine and then he let out a barely audible sigh as he leaned over and pecked my lips. “Merry Christmas, baby.” His mom gave me a steaming mug and I wrapped my hands around it and folded my legs onto the couch, curling up into Will as I sipped my coffee.

Rita sat back on her heels, next to the tree. “Okay, it’s time to open presents,” she said as she handed me a box with a big red ribbon on it.

“Thank you so much—you didn’t have to get me anything.”

I tore the wrapping open and lifted the lid to find a gray, high-necked cashmere sweater. I put it up to my face. “Wow, I’ve never had cashmere, this is beautiful. Really, it’s too much.”

“Don’t be silly, Mia. Will has never brought a girl home for us to meet, we’re thrilled to have you here and we wanted to get you something you would like. I sent Will a picture of the sweater and he gave me the thumbs-up,” she said, giggling. She looked at Will, who was smiling at her with love.

“Thank you so much.” I got up and handed Rita the present I’d bought for her and Ray.

“Look, Raymond, a French press! I’ve always wanted one of these. Thank you, Mia.”

Will and his parents exchanged some gifts; he bought his dad a Civil War anthology and a baseball documentary DVD box set… very Americana stuff. For his mom he had a book called
How to Write a Cookbook
and a gift card to Williams-Sonoma. When she opened it he said, “You have to do it, Mom. Write the book, people will love it!”

Rita looked over at me and said, “I’ve been saying I wanted to write a cookbook since before Will was born.”

“You should, Rita, you’re a fabulous cook. Will has made so many of your dishes for me and I can’t get enough. I’m really going to miss it when he’s gone.”

As soon as the words came out of my mouth, it hit me that Will hadn’t told his parents yet.

“What do you mean, when he’s gone?”

Will chimed in. “I’m going to California on New Year ‘s Day; I’ll be there for a month. I’ll be opening up for a band called Second Chance Charlie.”

“Never heard of ‘em.’” Ray Sr. finally decided to join the conversation.

Will continued, “It’s just for three concerts. I’ll be back in New York the first week of February.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful, honey,” Rita said with a smile. Will didn’t elaborate and I knew why, there was really no point. His parents were not into music and probably never would be; it was like speaking foreign language to them.

I jumped up and handed Will my present for him. He pulled the leather-bound black notebook out of the gift bag and slowly ran his hand over the cover.

“Open it,” I said. On the inside cover I had taped a black-and-white picture that Jenny had taken of me, Will, and Jackson sitting on a blanket in Tompkins Square Park on the Fourth of July. I was leaning back on my hands with my legs out. Will was lying perpendicular to me with his head on my lap and one arm reaching behind him around my waist and his other hand petting Jackson’s head. The three of us looked like a little family, completely relaxed and at ease with one another. On the first lined page of the notebook I had written a message:

Will,
Here is little something to write your thoughts in or perhaps lyrics or your inspiring poetry. All of it is amazing and beautiful and I’ve felt so lucky to have been privy to it.
I wanted to include the picture as a reminder that you will always have us to come home to if ever you need a break from being super famous and swooned over… you know me and how well I can bring you back to earth… wink. But seriously, the whole group from Kell’s loves you and we’re so proud of you. I know I’m going to miss you like crazy.
You’ve been the biggest comfort to me since I moved to New York; you’ve been a great friend; you’ve been the best and I won’t forget it.
Don’t forget about me, okay?
Love, Mia
Will narrowed his eyes at me and shook his head slightly. “What?” I said.

He glanced over at his parents and then back at me, swallowing before he spoke. “Thank you, Mia.” As he reached in to kiss my cheek he whispered, “We need to talk.”

I nodded and then sat back on the couch. He reached down and grabbed a box from under the tree and handed it to me. I opened it to find a framed black-and-white picture of Will and me onstage at the string festival. It’s a timeless picture that could have been taken in the sixties and I loved that about it. We are both smiling and looking out to the crowd with magic in our eyes. The plain black frame matched so many of my father’s from the apartment; I knew Will intended it to be an addition to the collection. On the cardboard back, Will had written:

“MYSTICAL ALCHEMY”

“There’s something else in the box,” he said. I looked down to find a necklace with a lotus-flower design carved into a round, silver pendant.

I looked up at him and smiled. “I love this.”

“It’s a lotus flower.”

“I know.”

“It symbolizes purity of the heart and mind.”

I reached in and gave him a long hug. “Thank you. You know me so well.”

“Do I?” he whispered.

I leaned back to gauge his expression. His lips were bent into a small, tight smile and there was sadness in his eyes. I immediately put the necklace on. I haven’t taken it off since…

We spent the next day acting like everything was fine. I knew on the drive to Ann Arbor we would have chance to talk, so we made the best out of our time with his parents. While speeding out of Detroit in our rented car, Will blared The Adolescents, singing along to the music at the top of his lungs. I finally turned it down during the song “I Hate Children,” when it occurred to me that Will was working out some of his frustrations; some that were clearly brought on by me and my harmless gift.

“What’s up, buddy?”

“Yeah, what’s up, buddy?”

Ahhh! It was neurotic Will
. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I don’t understand you. There, I said it. How many times do I have to tell you? What do I have to do to prove to you that I’m not going anywhere? I’m leaving for a month; I’m coming back. I live with you, for God’s sake. You’re my best fucking friend, Mia. I wish it were more and I think you know that. You are the most guarded person I have ever met, yet everything you feel is right there on your face and you don’t even know it. Whatever you need me to be, I’ll be! Friends? Fine! Best friends? Great! I’ll do it, because I want you in my life more than anything I have ever wanted. So please stop with the don’t-forget-me shit!”

“Okay.” I meant to say it softly, but it came out as more of a whine.

He glanced over at me and his expression softened. “Okay? I’m sorry, baby, I just… I don’t want to leave, either, and I don’t want you to put up your defenses because you think I’m going to run off and forget about you.”

Will knew I had always been worried about the rock star life and all the faceless, foregone conclusions that would come into his life. He was reassuring me that I wasn’t that, no matter what label we gave to each other. Really, Will wasn’t the rock star, at least not the stereotypical image I’d had in my mind when I first met him. He was nothing like that. Sure, he could flirt with women, but he was never smarmy and he didn’t sleep around… per se. He liked people, he liked women, he was a lover, but he was honest with everyone he came in contact with and he was especially honest with himself; a quality I needed to work on.

I reached over and squeezed his hand; he pulled my hand to his mouth and kissed it, never taking his eyes off the road. He changed the CD, turning up Nina Simone’s “Sinnerman.” He accelerated and we flew toward Ann Arbor without another word. He bobbed his head and tapped his hand on the steering wheel to the fast, jazzy beat. The music set my mind into spiraling motion, thinking about what he had said. I never considered myself guarded, I thought of myself as strong, but I was wrong. Life had thrown me for a loop when my father died. I’d gone to New York thinking I would straighten things out with the café, then go to grad school, further my education, meet some strapping doctor or business man and let my life follow the square rules I set forth, but the moment I stepped onto that plane back in March, I’d started to feel a different pull. There was a magnetism I felt toward Will, the music, my new friends, the café, and the city itself. It felt right and it felt good. How could I have been so wrong about myself before? If I was guarded it was because I was realizing how little control I had over my feelings and it scared me.

When we got to my mother and stepdad’s in Ann Arbor, I gave Will a brief tour and introduced him to David, whom I called Dad. It was a Sunday and the Detroit Lions were playing, so my stepdad was wearing his normal NFL garb. Will struck up a conversation about the team and the two hit it off right away. I didn’t even know Will followed football, but there were so many things I didn’t give him credit for. He may not have been a sports fan, but Will read the newspaper every single day. He knew a little about everything and his own curiosity and desire to better himself and grow as a person had given him a far more valuable education than I had gotten from a fancy, Ivy League college. My mother and I caught up in the kitchen while we prepared dinner.

“Mom… I want you know that I don’t blame you for what happened between you and Pops. I’m getting things now… I guess I’m realizing we’re all just people… trying to figure it all out.”

She walked over and wrapped her arms around me. “Thank you for telling me that. You’ll figure it out, Mia; I think maybe you already have.” She glanced over at Will. Somehow letting my mom know how I felt gave me a sense of closure regarding my father.

After dinner Will sang and played his acoustic guitar. My mom and stepdad seemed really impressed by his ability to figure out a song in a matter of minutes. It wasn’t always perfect, but he would usually get the melody pretty close. My mom requested “The Girl from North Country” by Bob Dylan. He knew the song but he needed a little help with the lyrics, which my mom new word for word. I was surprised since I had never known her to listen to Bob Dylan. I knew the lyrics as well; Pops had sung that song a thousand times and then I realized why my mom requested it; there was no question that Will had a spirit like my father’s. He sang the song passionately with his eyes closed. His soulful voice belted out the lines like they were his own.
I’m wondering if she remembers me at all… many times I’ve often prayed.
I looked up at my mom, who immediately looked away. I wondered if my father thought about her when he sang those lines.

I made an ill attempt at the harmonica solo, but it didn’t sound that great; Will chuckled at me and winked. He finished the song carrying the last line out, soft and slow;
She once was a true love of mine
. I looked at my mom again, this time she didn’t look away and she didn’t hide the tears streaming down her face. She was mourning my father, too, and Will being there was healing for us all. The old music wasn’t Will’s style but he didn’t care, he just wanted to play for the people he cared about. He never asked if we wanted to hear an original song even though I knew he had plenty of great ones, he just wanted to provide everyone with something that was personal. He played for hours; we laughed and cried and talked a little about Pops.