Matchmaking for Beginners
Page 76
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Andrew and Jessica, now members of a family of four, bought a house in Ditmas Park (a much more residential section of Brooklyn). They’re planning a spring wedding. Best man: Sammy. The maid of honor will only be nine months old, so her mother plans to carry her up the aisle.
Sammy’s school bus brings him to me after school twice a week, and we sit in the kitchen while he works on the poem he’s going to read for the wedding toast. (It’s a pretty good bet we’ll be hearing about the further adventures of the egg and the toast.)
And some new tenants moved into Jessica’s apartment: Leila and Amanda, who will forever after be known as the lesbian moms, a title they love, by the way. Their baby is adorable. And their sperm donor, the one they were writing the note to when I first met them at Best Buds—well, I have to say he’s around a fair amount, too. I’ve been asked if I can think of a spell that might bring him his own woman and baby.
Oh, and then there’s Patrick—and, well, Patrick is still Patrick. Wonderful and generous, startled by life and all it can hold. I talked him into quitting his depressing job when he moved in with me upstairs. Now at night I’ll see a wistful look come to his face, and he’ll get his watercolors out and take my hand, and we go up on the roof, where he paints the Brooklyn sunsets and the skyline while Bedford and Roy and I keep him company. He’s taking photographs, too—going outside and taking pictures of everything that Brooklyn holds for both of us.
Here’s something. The other day we were in a store buying art supplies, and there was a little girl, about four years old, who was staring at him curiously. Normally Patrick would have tightened up, scowling and turning away. But this time I watched as he bent down there to her level, and then she reached her little hands up and lightly touched his skin, ran her fingers slowly along the scars and the places where the skin is pulled tight. I could hardly breathe. I saw them look into each other’s eyes, and then she said, in barely a whisper, “Does it hurt?” And he smiled at her, closed his eyes for just a moment, and then he said, “No. No more hurt. Not anymore.”
You don’t know, until there’s a moment like that, how much more space there can be in your heart. How much breathing room there is out in the world just for you. That’s when you learn for sure that love will win in the end. It just will.
As for me, I’m still working at Best Buds. And I keep the book of spells right there with me—with all its vines and flowers on the cover—because sometimes I add in one of Blix’s little blessings when a customer needs some magic along with their bouquet.
Oh! And Patrick and I are working together on baking cupcakes with the little messages in them. We’ve figured it out, I think. Just last night I told him that all the messages should say the same thing: WHATEVER HAPPENS, LOVE THAT.
Because, as Blix told me at the wedding, if you need a mantra, that’s one of the best.
Sammy’s school bus brings him to me after school twice a week, and we sit in the kitchen while he works on the poem he’s going to read for the wedding toast. (It’s a pretty good bet we’ll be hearing about the further adventures of the egg and the toast.)
And some new tenants moved into Jessica’s apartment: Leila and Amanda, who will forever after be known as the lesbian moms, a title they love, by the way. Their baby is adorable. And their sperm donor, the one they were writing the note to when I first met them at Best Buds—well, I have to say he’s around a fair amount, too. I’ve been asked if I can think of a spell that might bring him his own woman and baby.
Oh, and then there’s Patrick—and, well, Patrick is still Patrick. Wonderful and generous, startled by life and all it can hold. I talked him into quitting his depressing job when he moved in with me upstairs. Now at night I’ll see a wistful look come to his face, and he’ll get his watercolors out and take my hand, and we go up on the roof, where he paints the Brooklyn sunsets and the skyline while Bedford and Roy and I keep him company. He’s taking photographs, too—going outside and taking pictures of everything that Brooklyn holds for both of us.
Here’s something. The other day we were in a store buying art supplies, and there was a little girl, about four years old, who was staring at him curiously. Normally Patrick would have tightened up, scowling and turning away. But this time I watched as he bent down there to her level, and then she reached her little hands up and lightly touched his skin, ran her fingers slowly along the scars and the places where the skin is pulled tight. I could hardly breathe. I saw them look into each other’s eyes, and then she said, in barely a whisper, “Does it hurt?” And he smiled at her, closed his eyes for just a moment, and then he said, “No. No more hurt. Not anymore.”
You don’t know, until there’s a moment like that, how much more space there can be in your heart. How much breathing room there is out in the world just for you. That’s when you learn for sure that love will win in the end. It just will.
As for me, I’m still working at Best Buds. And I keep the book of spells right there with me—with all its vines and flowers on the cover—because sometimes I add in one of Blix’s little blessings when a customer needs some magic along with their bouquet.
Oh! And Patrick and I are working together on baking cupcakes with the little messages in them. We’ve figured it out, I think. Just last night I told him that all the messages should say the same thing: WHATEVER HAPPENS, LOVE THAT.
Because, as Blix told me at the wedding, if you need a mantra, that’s one of the best.
