Undying Love (11 page)

“Like what?” I quipped back.

“Like sex.”

“Do not! And that’s not even a big word!”

“Gotcha!” Allee said, bringing more laughter to the table.

My sister, a high-powered, family-law attorney in Boston, went on to share some of her recent cases. One of them involved a young girl in foster care who was suing her foster care parents for neglect and abuse. Allee listened intently and told my sister that she had been in the system and wished she’d done that. Over the past few months, I had learned about Allee’s past in dribs and drabs. It was not something she enjoyed talking about. The abuse she’d suffered as a child ranged from beatings to attempted rapes. She was a survivor. I was sure that her defiant need to be in control stemmed from the abuse she’d experienced. I wanted to kill every son-of-a-bitch who had neglected and abused her.

Over a delicious cheese fondue that we shared, Mimi asked Allee a lot of questions. My sister-the-lawyer was the ultimate interrogator, subtle but sharp. I learned things about my wife-to-be that I hadn’t known before… like the fact that her parents were hippies who had met at Woodstock. Though both were artists, her father was also a musician who dreamt about a recording career. She fumbled with her locket to open it and showed us a photograph of them holding her as a toddler. I had strangely never asked to see what was inside her locket, which she told us had belonged to her mother. I studied the photo. They were a young and beautiful couple, Allee being a cross between them. The vibrant expression on their faces told me they were in love, with everything to live for. Their tragic, premature death sent a pang of sadness through me, especially since it came with such unfortunate consequences for Allee.

Allee told my sister and Beth about her museum job, which segued into the story of how we met. Of course, wise-ass Allee claimed that she saw me first, but I wasn’t going to fight a battle I couldn’t win. She went on to share her dream of one day working at the Musée D’Orsay in Paris. My sister had taken several art history courses at Wellesley, and had spent her junior year abroad, so they had a lot in common. Allee sat googly eyed while Mimi talked about her year in Paris.

“Why didn’t you go?” my sister asked her.

“I had to deal with some personal stuff.” Basically, the same excuse she gave me. Her eyes grew forlorn. She was obviously regretful, and it made me feel bad for her. Maybe one day, I would take her to Paris.

Over decaf cappuccinos, Beth announced that she and Mimi also had some exciting news.

“I’m pregnant!” said Mimi, blushing. “And we’re having twins—a boy and a girl. They’re due in September.”

Holy crap! I was going to be an uncle. “That’s awesome! Does Mother know?”

“Yeah. She was mostly concerned about where I was registering for baby gifts. Target didn’t go over well.”

I rolled my eyes. That was my mother for you. “Do you think she’ll tell Father?”

Darkness fell over Mimi’s face. “I don’t give a flying fuck if he ever knows. That bastard is never going to see his grandchildren.”

I regretted that I’d asked the question.
Stupid me
. Allee squeezed my hand under the table, sensing my unease. My sister was stubborn—like my father. She could not, and would not, ever forgive him for disowning her.

Beth, coming to Mimi’s rescue and mine, quickly changed the subject. She told us that they were staying at the London Hotel and about how gay friendly it was. Tomorrow they were going to take in a Broadway show and then they were flying back to Boston.

I was going to miss my sister, I thought, as the waiter brought the check. I insisted on picking up the tab despite Mimi’s loud protest. For sure, I was going to see her more often once the babies came. Family was important to Mimi. It was a tragedy that my father had disowned her. Yes, he was a bastard.

“What did you think of my sister?” I asked Allee as we strolled arm-in-arm back to my loft.

“She’s awesome. And Beth’s great too.”

I was thrilled she liked them both, and it was clearly mutual.

“What about us being Aunt Allee and Uncle Ryan?” I still couldn’t get over the fact that my sister was having twins.

“It’s pretty cool.” Her voice wavered a little.

“You know, one day we may be called ‘Mommy’ and ‘Daddy’.” Under no circumstances would any kid of mine ever be forced to call me “Father.”

Allee didn’t respond. Then, I realized we’d never discussed the “baby issue.” Maybe she didn’t want to have kids, given her tragic childhood. I was cool with that; we’d have each other to cherish forever. Brushing a silky strand of hair out of her face, I decided not to pursue the sensitive subject right now, especially after such a great evening. Allee remained unusually quiet for the rest of the walk home.

When we got back to my loft, I was beat, and headed upstairs to the bedroom. Allee said she wanted to hang downstairs for a while, and that she’d be up later. Even short times away from her drove me crazy.

I woke up at half past one, and Allee was still not in bed. Concerned, I kicked off the covers and rolled off the mattress. Throwing on my robe, I trotted downstairs. In the darkness, I could hear her softly crying. My heartbeat accelerated as I hurried toward the sound of her sobs. She was huddled in a corner, her head buried in her arms.

“What’s the matter, baby?” I asked, crouching down beside her.

She slowly lifted her head. The moonlight beaming through the skylight made her fair skin luminous. She turned to me, her eyes glazed with tears. “Madewell, I’ve gotta to tell you something. Something I should have told you a long time ago.”

A secret? I thought we had none. “What is it, baby?” I asked, steeling myself.

“I can’t bear children. I’m infertile.”

It took me a few long moments to register the shock of her words. My knee-jerk reaction was to say, “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” Instead, I folded my arm around her heaving shoulders and drew her close to me. I brushed away her tears with my other hand and smoothed her hair.

“So, we’ll adopt. That’s one lucky son-of-a-bitch who gets to be our child!”

Allee curled her mouth into a faint smile. “It could be a little girl, you know.”

Whatever child would be ours was meant to be. It didn’t matter to me if it was a boy or girl. What mattered was that Allee was going to be the mother of my children. Our children.

She rested her head on my shoulder, and we joked about baby names. While we couldn’t come to any agreement, one thing was for sure. There was never going to be a Ryan Madewell V.

I swept Allee into my arms and carried her upstairs. Maybe we didn’t make a baby, but we made sweet glorious love until the wee hours of the morning. We were all over each other, groping, grasping, stroking, kissing. Just as the sun came up, I finished her with a tenderness that made her orgasm roll over my exploding organ like a crashing wave, washing me in a sea of ecstasy. Oh, how I loved this girl!

TWELVE

I
t was finally time to introduce Allee to my parents. My mother had told my father that I had a new girlfriend, and he was insistent on meeting her. What neither of them knew was that I planned to marry her.

Allee took a lot of care getting ready for our evening together with my parents—acting quite the opposite of her usual carefree self who casually threw on her museum uniform, sweats, or a pair of jeans. As cocky and confident as she was, she was very nervous about meeting my parents. I couldn’t blame her. I was anxious too.

“How do I look?” she asked.

“Fuckable.” I eyed her from head to foot and grinned sheepishly. She was wearing an elegant, sleeveless black dress that came just to her knees and showed off the defined curves of her toned body and long limbs. She bought it with her own money. At some point, she was going to have to get used to the idea that my money was her money and that I could buy her things. In fact, the entire third floor of Barneys if she wished. As she slipped on a pair of sexy, black suede peep-toe pumps that made her long, shapely legs even longer, the burning urge to rip off her dress and fuck her right on the floor surged inside me.

She rolled her eyes at me as though she was reading my mind. “What’s your father’s name?” she asked, catapulting me out of my fantasy.

“How could you forget? The same as mine minus one. Except I call him Bastard.”

She rolled her eyes again. “I know a lot of people with that name.”

“But you don’t know one like my father.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll see.”

I had given Allee some insight into my father, but nothing could prepare her for the reality of meeting him. If she was lucky, he’d shake her hand, test her on her knowledge of Ivy League schools, size her up, and then show her his collection of trophies—if she was worthy of such a treat. If she wasn’t worthy, he would mentally throw her into a trash bin and ignore her.

I always hated the fact that I had to share his name. There was no way around it. There was another kid at Andover who shared his father’s name—Maximillian Wentright III. But lucky him, he got to go by Max. I was happy that Allee always called me “Madewell” and not Ryan.

“What about Bastard’s wife?” she asked.

“Eleanor.” I could have said her name was “Pathetic,” but I didn’t want to perpetuate a sick joke. I felt sad for my mother that she had to endure my father. But it was her choice.

“That’s a pretty name.” Allee headed over to me, walking gracefully in the high heels as if she’d been born wearing them. I was wearing a suit to please my father—and a tie. She helped me finish knotting it—something she also did surprisingly well. Her skills never ceased to amaze me, from cooking to dressing—and undressing me—to fucking. Maybe she’d had a hot boyfriend in her past who’d taught her what do. The jealous streak I harbored kept me from asking. I didn’t want to know about her past boyfriends. Or sexploits. I was that possessive. After she straightened my tie, I kissed her lightly on the lips. My stomach clenched with nerves. I was not looking forward to my dinner with my parents. Not one fucking bit.

At the last minute, Allee put on her eyeglasses. “You don’t need them.” I lifted them off her beautiful face and slipped them into my jacket pocket. I still hadn’t asked her why she wore fake glasses. Once we got through this night, I was going to find out.

When Allee stepped into the elegantly appointed lobby of my parents’ swank apartment building, with its white-gloved concierge service, she got cold feet. “Let’s catch a foreign flick and split,” she said, her eyes turbulent. “I’ll even make you come over popcorn.”

Part of me wanted to make a run for it too, and she sure made it tempting, but we had come this far. The longer I waited to introduce Allee to my parents, the harder it would be. I squeezed her clammy hand and reassured her how stunning she looked.

She was wearing her long, wavy hair loose, held back with a black velvet headband. Lightly dusted with makeup, she truly had never looked so breathtakingly beautiful.

“My parents will probably adore you,” I told her with a kiss to her head.

She gave me the evil eye. “Don’t bullshit me!” she rasped.

I quirked a lame smile. She was right. They never liked anyone west of Park Avenue or below Fifty-Seventh Street. I gave her hand another gentle squeeze.

After stepping out of the elevator, we were greeted immediately by Maria. As usual, she was thrilled to see me and wrapped her ample arms around me in a warm embrace. I introduced her to Allee.

Maria smiled brightly
“Ella es muy linda.”

“What did she say about me?” Allee asked nervously.

She said, “You’re fat and ugly. And that you should wear a bag over your head.”

“That’s not funny, Madewell.” She nudged her elbow into my ribs as Maria led us into the expansive living room. My mother, elegantly dressed in beige pleated slacks and a matching silk blouse, was seated on a creamy damask couch. A half-drunk champagne flute was in her hand. With Allee’s hand entwined in mine, I strode over to her and gave her my customary kiss. She gave Allee the once-over.

“So you must be Ryan’s new girlfriend.” There was a slight slur in her speech. I wondered how many glasses of champagne she’d already had.

“Yes, Mother. This is Allee Adair.”

“You’re not by chance related to the Adairs of Palm Beach?”

“No, ma’am, I’m not.” Allee’s voice quivered.

My mother took another sip of champagne. “Please, call me Eleanor.”

Allee, relaxing a little, surveyed the room. Her eyes zeroed in on a small oil painting of a ballerina on the wall by the baby grand piano.