One plus One

Rebecca rests her hand on my leg as our Sentra pulls up to a set of tall, ornate gates. Golden cherubs climb the gilded bars, a few blow trumpets, and one offers a mischievous smile to visitors.

"His parents are well-to-do" Rebecca explains.

"I see."

"They're actually down-to-earth and not judgmental."

"His parents or those chubby gatekeepers?"

Rebecca smiles, squeezes my thigh, and we drive inside.

*

I pull between two Mercedes couched between two other immaculate foreign sports cars. I washed the Sentra before coming but, obviously, I didn't get the polishing and detailing Memo.

"One of these things is not like the other" I chime.

"Silly" Rebecca chuckles.

I turn off the ignition, take a deep breath, and sit for a moment. Getting out, I try to sneak a peek into one of the Mercedes. Only my reflection. These sunglasses conceal self-doubts, but the Mercedes' tint shows no mercy mocking this third-tier man with a cheap haircut and crooked tie. "Not good enough" I think.

I open the passenger door and extend my hand. Rebecca's long, tan legs flash as she shifts and exits. She stands beside me, offers a playful frown, straightens my tie, exaggerates a nod and smiles with accomplishment. She takes a moment to examine her lipstick reflecting in my sunglasses and, with mixed satisfaction, grins again.

"Come on, my man" she says.

My man. That's me. She must have won quite a raffle on BINGO night for such fortune. Two years ago, it would have been Rebecca receiving guests at this swank beachfront mansion rather than being a mere guest. Perhaps I'd be one of the interchangeable waiters rather than this forgettable plus-one. But she seems happy enough and, after all, I am holding the jackpot… for now, at least.

Walking along the path on a manicured lawn, I feel so stiff - like some sort of Star Wars action figure. As if some kid was dragging C3PO across the dirt. How did I forget to walk like a human? Rebecca, hand-in-mine, glides effortlessly beside me.

Large oak doors burst open before we reach the first steps. Two perfectly decorated children spring towards Rebecca. The quicker one leaps, clinging to her neck while the other hugs Rebecca's leg.

"Oh, my little monkeys," she laughs, balancing uneasily against the exuberant tide. "My, how you have grown!" I adore Rebecca's maternal instincts. Admittedly, I love her 'hotness' but I must concede this love swells even more when I visit her classroom. During our first date, I very awkwardly told Rebecca that I am looking for something serious but, above all, I am looking for a good mother for my future children. "Too soon" my friends teased, but Rebecca seemingly took it in stride. While these feral little garden gnomes climb Rebecca, she turns back to me and smiles; I smile back.

*

The groom-to-be's parents emerge from the doorway and fix onto my red-dressed beauty. "Mr. and Mrs. Chomsky" she sings. They hug while the little monkeys dance around Rebecca's knees. I am introduced and the Chomsky's offer a seemingly dismissive perfunctory nod. You cannot judge what you cannot see, so I have some confidence in escaping judgement all evening. But Rebecca's finger clasps my own, and I feel seen.

"My darling," Mrs. Chomsky sighs. Rebecca's attention darts between the Chomsky's as they excitedly talk over each other. The enthusiasm softens momentarily when Rebecca asks about the new fiancé. "She's 'pretty enough'", father Chomsky spits grudgingly, and even I could see mother Chomsky doesn't believe the new girl will be her son's savior.

*

We pass the atrium and traverse among the guests. While certainly a stand-out, this seems a setting natural and well-suited for Rebecca. Servers wearing white shirts and burgundy bow ties carry appetizers on silver trays. Generally, I prefer simple cocktail wieners, but Rebecca persuades me to try the smoked salmon Crostini with herbed mayonnaise. Not bad, I must admit. We examine vandalized canvases that some may mistake as art. One painting shows a couple standing apart, surrounded by overworked globs of paint. I share that the distorted perspective and bold reds pressed against the putrid greens suggest an uneasiness and despair. Rebecca nods and adds, "Look at their hands. Do you see how, ever so inconspicuously, they seem to reach for each other - if only by outreached fingers?" I squint and more closely examine. I'll be darned if she isn’t entirely onto something. "I see it too. I can imagine them walking further, wrists touching wrists if only by accident." Rebecca has a way of finding beauty within the clutter. Her fingertip brushes my wrist, and we continue.

*

The back yard is reached through a set of French doors. Among pockets of cliques stands the 'man of the hour.' Rebecca takes my hand and leads us to this boisterous center of attention, flanked by two 'bros' and four under-dressed coeds. Steven's eyes catch Rebecca. He steps away from the group, blindly passing his martini glass like a baton to one of the bros.

"I am so glad you could make it" Steven kisses Rebecca's cheek. I am introduced to the old flame, and he pays me the amount of mind as one would expect. I am not jealous, not angry; but rather ashamed. Throughout their chat, Rebecca's hand squeezes mine. Steven brags about a recent promotion in his family business, the new summer home in Montauk, and how his 2024 Mercedes is a considerable upgrade from the 2022. Rebecca asks about the fiancé, and Steven talks about their globe-trotting. They spent time in London for Steven's financial dealings and in Paris for her modeling. While work occupies most of these travels, Steven smirks unseemly and adds that they are always able to squeeze-in alone time. I suspend feelings of self-doubt for a bit of disgust.

Steven remarks on the Vegas bachelor's party. He says that his fiancé is the 'best’, but he still needs some of that 'buddy time.' "Thou protest too much" I think. Rebecca offers a smile that I recognize as contempt rather than affirmation - my shame and disgust makes room for a little derisive pleasure.

*

Rebecca and I continue the evening walking the grounds, spotting bird nests among the tall pines, and she shows me her favorite spots. We find a place to rest by the shore. The music and chatter drone distantly as we sit under the stars and watch a sailboat pass in the Sound. Surrounded by all this bounty, I don’t feel jealous. I feel sad. Maybe Rebecca can sense this, maybe she doesn't, but she pulls closer and lays her head on my shoulder.

*

"Rebecca," I begin uncertainly, "you look so beautiful tonight. It's like peeking into your natural world; the big house, the extraordinary views, the fancy guests… And understand, I appreciate being your plus-one. But, when we leave tonight, you will be leaving all this… maybe forever but, at the least, for as long as you are with me, most likely. May I ask, and I truly am sorry for this pity party, why you seemingly have chosen me over… well… over all this?"

*

"My man" Rebecca begins, "I know today wasn't easy for you as it wasn't so easy for me either. With some effort, you came to help me finish a chapter."

Rebecca continues, "Tonight was a frame without the painting. It feigns importance. What we have can be hung on a wall with a single nail and still be more precious than any of those paintings hung in expensive frames. You claim to be the 'plus-one' but plus to what? No, my Man, 'we' are one. I am who I am when I am with you. To be honest, I feared that you would see past the fancy frame. You would see all these as frail ornaments on an artificial tree. But you know me, I love those natural trees. Grown strong with love."

*

I smile, and we sit a while longer, watching the sailboat drift from view. When we get home, I’ll wait a few days and then give her the gift that's been sitting in a blue velvet box in the back of my dresser. Rebecca bumps against my shoulder and she grins mischievously. "Look at those bushes under that pine" Rebecca says, "we are young and so is the night. Want to have some fun?"