Love Your Life(28)

For keeps.

    “Dutch…” I begin, then swallow hard, trying to get my thoughts together. I barely notice Scribe—or, rather, Felicity—creeping up toward me with a plaited garland of greenery. She pops it on top of my head with a mischievous smile, then retreats. And now I really do feel like a bride, standing in an olive grove in my white drifty dress with a wreath on my head. Oh God. I’m not sure I can cope.

“Dutch,” I start again, trying to ignore the tear which has edged onto my cheek. “I came on this course to learn about writing fictional love. Fantasy love. But I’ve found the real thing.” I squeeze his hands tight. “Right here. The real thing.” My voice has started to tremble, but I force myself to continue. “And I want to pledge to you, Dutch, that no matter what your real name is…no matter what you do…no matter where you live in the world…we’ll make this work.”

Dutch gazes at me wordlessly for a moment, then pulls me in for a kiss, and everyone erupts in whoops, cheers, and clapping. Richard is singing the bridal march, because he’s the type to milk a joke, and I’m sure Anna is sneering, but I’m not even going to glance in her direction. I’m in bliss. I’m in delicious, hazy, romantic bliss, and—

“Scusi.” Giuseppe has appeared out of nowhere, holding a pile of paper slips, and reluctantly I swivel my gaze toward him. “Taxi vouchers,” he announces to Dutch and me. He consults the slips, then holds out one to each of us. “BA flight to Heathrow. Yes? The taxi leave at eight A.M.”

He nods briskly, then moves to distribute vouchers among the other guests, while Dutch and I stare at each other, taking in this thunderbolt. Heathrow. Heathrow! I’m stunned. (In fact, I’m almost let down, because I’d imagined romantically battling the odds of a long-distance relationship.)

    “Heathrow,” says Dutch. “Well, that makes things simpler. You live in London?”

“Shhh!” I bat my hands at him. “That’s…Not yet.”

The stars are in alignment, I’m thinking in giddy joy. That’s what this is. Of all the places in all the world Dutch could have come from…it’s London!

“I always assumed you did,” he adds, and I jolt in astonishment.

“How on earth did you assume that? I could have lived anywhere! I could have lived in…Seattle! Montreal! Jaipur!” I cast around for another random place. “Honolulu!”

Dutch stares at me blankly for a moment.

“You sound like a Londoner,” he says with a shrug. “Plus I was chatting to Nadia and she said over sixty percent of the class came from London.”

“Oh.”

“They have London-centric marketing,” he adds. “We were talking about how they could expand their targets regionally. It was interesting.”

OK, I feel we’re getting slightly off topic here. To recapture the mood, I reach up to kiss him again, then press my cheek against his strong, stubbly jaw.

“We’re meant to be,” I murmur in his ear. “That’s what this is. We’re meant to be.”





Seven




By the time we board our plane the next morning, I’m bursting with anticipation. I’m finally going to find out about Dutch! And Dutch will find out about me…and our happy life together will begin.

We’ve decided we won’t spill our details to each other on the plane. (At least, I decided.) Even though I’m dying with curiosity, the moment needs to be right. We’ve waited this long; we can wait a little longer.

So my plan is this: We arrive at Heathrow, find a bar, sit and face each other, take a deep breath—and reveal everything. Meanwhile, just for fun, we’re going to write down a few guesses on the flight. Name, job, hobbies. That was my idea too. I was going to add “age,” and then I suddenly realized what a terrible idea that was and amended, “Everything except age.”

A few of us from the course are on the plane, all scattered around. Dutch has been seated four rows ahead of me, but that’s fine. We don’t need to sit together. We’ve got the rest of our lives to be together.

    We’re both wearing normal clothes by now. I’m in a floaty dress and Dutch is in jeans, with a linen shirt he bought from the monastery gift shop. His outfit doesn’t give much away, although I’ve noticed a nice watch. He’s tanned and brawny and he’s wearing flip-flops. He looks just like a carpenter.

I write down carpenter and Jean-Luc and then lean back in my seat, trying to picture where he might live and work. I can definitely picture his workshop. And him in it, wearing a frayed gray undershirt. Maybe he saws a few planks and builds up a sweat, then heads outside with a cup of coffee and strips off his undershirt to do martial-arts training in the sunshine. Mmm.

This is such a delicious vision that I close my eyes to imagine it even more vividly, and then I guess I must have fallen into a doze, because it seems about five minutes later that we’re preparing for landing. The London sky is white and cloudy as we descend, and I feel a pang of longing for Italy—but it’s soon swamped by excitement. Not long now!

We’ve agreed to catch up with each other at the baggage carousel, and as I arrive there I see Eithne and Anna. (It still feels weird not to call them Beginner and Metaphor.)