More Than Words(83)
“I love you,” he whispered into her hair.
“More than words,” she answered him.
And even though she did, she loved him more than anything, she still loved Tim, too. And missed him. She looked around, hoping that he’d show up, even if he hadn’t called her back.
“He’s not coming, darling,” Caro said softly, realizing who Nina was looking for.
Deep down, Nina already knew that. She felt a shiver of sadness blow through her, until Rafael rested his hand on her hip. “Are you ready?” he asked.
She looked at him, squaring her shoulders, raising her chin. “I am,” she said. “Let’s fly.”
Nina climbed up the ladder, her heart racing. I can do this, she told herself, even though her hands didn’t want to move to the next rung. Her feet wanted to stay put, too. She’d faced so many things in these past two months—losing her father, losing Tim, taking over a corporation, starting something new from scratch, being in a public relationship with someone she loved so much that sometimes she was gutted by the power of it. She could handle this, too.
When she got to the top of the platform, one of the people working at the trapeze school handed Nina the bar.
“Hold on tight,” he said. “And on the count of three, jump!”
Nina’s heart raced even faster; it was like every molecule of her DNA was telling her not to jump.
“You can do it, Palabrecita!” she heard Rafael yell. “Superhéroe!”
“Go, Nina, go!” It was Pris.
Nina looked down at her friends—her family really—and smiled. And then she jumped, soaring over Manhattan, happy, strong, and free.
And as Nina looked out over the city she adored, time stretched. She thought about the past and the present and the future and decided that, regardless of the sadness she’d experienced, she was glad she lived in this universe.
It was a beautiful day to be a New Yorker.
Poetry Note
The poem “Jabberwocky” by Lewis Carroll is referenced throughout More Than Words. It’s a poem that is important to Nina’s father—and to Nina herself. She grew up hearing about it. I did, too. Like Joseph Gregory, my grandfather had a boat that he kept docked in East Hampton (though his boat was much smaller than the one I imagined the Gregorys sailing on). And it was also called the Mimsy, though it wasn’t named for the line in “Jabberwocky”—it was named for my grandmother, who herself was named for the line in “Jabberwocky.” My grandmother, Mildred, was nicknamed Mimsy from the time she was born because her own father was a huge fan of Lewis Carroll. And, perhaps because of the provenance of her name, she was, too. I still have the copy of Through the Looking Glass that she bought for my father when he was a child, which contains “Jabberwocky”—and a pronunciation key for the nonsense words therein. When I was thinking about a poem that I wanted to run through the heart of More Than Words, this one came to mind because of the story I always imagined when I read it—a boy, a son, sent out alone to slay some unimaginable foe and given love only when that deed was accomplished. I imagined that was how Joseph Gregory would have felt as a child, worthy of love only when he achieved what was expected of him; that’s why I had him connect so deeply with “Jabberwocky.” As for my great-grandfather, I’m not sure what he saw in the poem, though I wish I could go back in time and ask him.
Jabberwocky
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!”
He took his vorpal sword in hand; Long time the manxome foe he sought— So rested he by the Tumtum tree
And stood awhile in thought.
And, as in uffish thought he stood, The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, Came whiffling through the tulgey wood, And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
He chortled in his joy.
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
—Lewis Carroll
Acknowledgments
I spent nearly two years writing More than Words, and it has morphed more than any project I’ve ever worked on. The setting went from Washington, D.C., to Ithaca, New York, to New York City. The characters had different professions, different sexual orientations, different roles in each other’s lives. Some characters who started out dead in one draft ended up alive in another, and vice versa. And some characters were deleted from one draft only to crop up again in a later draft in a slightly different form. I wouldn’t have been able to write this book without the support of a huge community of friends and family who talked to me about the story, read various versions of it, and understood when I disappeared into my work.
This book was written after my father died in a car accident and while many people I care a lot about were fighting cancer. They and all the people who love them were in my heart while writing this story. The character Leslie was named after my remarkable high school Spanish teacher, Leslie Walker, who lost her battle with cancer in September 2016. And while Joseph Gregory and my father, John Santopolo, are very different men, they both loved their daughters dearly and had a penchant for driving classic cars. This book is dedicated to my dad because he showed me how powerful the love between a father and daughter can be. And how much losing a beloved father can change someone’s world.