The Love Letters: A Novella (7 page)

“I wish – God, I want nothing more than to give you that,” I tease, “but I need to visit Mom, and since I only have like thir—” Natalie sits up quickly and slaps her palm across my lips.

“Nope, nope, nope! I don’t want to know. Promise?” She removes her hand and reaches for mine. Natalie kisses my wrist and then places my hand on her chest. Despite being so forward and incredibly strong-willed, Nat is my vulnerable little princess, and I would do anything for her.

“Promise.”

Her body relaxes and she yawns. “What did you give me last night? I feel so much better!”

I smile as I put on my coat and say, “Mmm, baby, you know what I gave you – a Zach Attack!”

“Ha! My cough is completely gone.”

“Oh, that. It was basically roofies and orange soda – a pharmacy trick from the old country.”

“Well it worked! Hey, can you have them scoop out my bagel?”

“What? Absolutely not! Live, eat, be merry. And frankly, I like your big ass.”

Natalie tosses her pillow at me but I duck. “Ha ha, very funny, ya jerk! And I love your teeny tiny pecker – it’s so cute.”

“Poorly played, ma femme. We both know my dick is massive and you can barely handle it.”

1100 hours

“Do you remember our last train ride together?” Natalie snuggles in my arms as I stare out the window, gazing at the familiar Connecticut landscape.

“I’d rather associate trains with the first time we met. Tell me, ma femme, what do you remember about that day?” I ask, trying to lighten the moment.

Natalie lifts her head to look into my eyes. We’ve barely known each other for three months, and most of that time has been spent on different continents – but when I catch that tiny glimpse of sincerity in her playful eyes, I’m certain that she is the realest thing I will ever know.

“Don’t laugh.”

“Ooh, I can’t make that promise,” I tease.

She snuggles back into my arms and strokes my leg. “I’m not really the girlfriend type. Shit, I’ll probably never even be the marrying type. And knowing this about myself, I tend to label men in order to deal with my own deficiencies, ya know?”

I play with a loose curl around her shoulder as she continues. “Like, I’ve been with dicks with big dicks, mama’s boys, narcissistic playboys and one bi-polar musician that stole my jeans. Great sex, but I guess at a certain point, I get scared that they’ll realize I’m not that special.”

She looks at me with tears forming in the corner of her eyes. “Zach, that day we met, you changed all that – you made me a star.” She fondles the little gold necklace around her neck and sighs. God, if only she knew what she did for me . . .

“Ma femme, tu es une lumière dans mes ténèbres et le plaisir de mon désespoir. Tu pense que tu es une étoile, mais tu es ma balise.”

“A beacon? That’s beautiful, Zach.”

The train stops in the little depot of Greenwich, but as I reach in to kiss Nat, she quickly jumps up and slaps the window. “Holy shit! I told them not to embarrass us! Goddamn it. C’mon, you better pray there’s no bugle corps.”

I follow her annoyed gaze out the window to the station platform. Judy and Dave LeGrange are waving tiny American flags and holding a banner that says
Welcome Home Lt. Parker.

“Natalie, it’s very sweet. Really, I like it.” She rolls her eyes in disbelief and takes my hand. We exit the train into a blast of cold air so I take a step in front of her to shield her from the bitter wind.

“Do you think they see us?” she asks.

“Dave, Judy, over here!” I yell. Natalie knees me in the ass as I wave them over. “They see us now,” I say, laughing.

The LeGranges come barreling toward us with open arms and hearty embraces. Natalie is lucky to have such loving parents, but I wish she could see that.

“Zach, sweetie! You are so thin! What are they feeding you over there? Have you shot anyone?” Judy giggles as Natalie takes the homemade banner and rolls it up.

“Natalie!” Judy shouts. “Are you still sick? Feverish or just living too hard in the City?” Judy places a gloved hand over Nat’s forehead and shakes her head. “You need to be more sensible. You’re all alone in that apartment, and this time of year is menacing to an overworked body.”

Natalie snorts and punches me in the shoulder. “Ya hear that Zach, stop overworking my body.”

“Natalie.” Dave peers down at Nat and shakes my hand. “Zach, we are so glad you’re here. C’mon, Judy brought a thermos of eggnog.” Dave leads us to their Volvo station wagon and Nat and I climb in the backseat to snuggle under a blanket, like two teenagers sneaking behind their parents. I would never miss an opportunity to feel Natalie up, but as usual, her hands are one step ahead of mine.

“Thank you for picking us up. My dad, well, he is . . . thank you.” I hesitate before I say too much. I never want my family drama to be my sole representation.

“Nonsense, dear. I stopped by last week to bring your father a vegetable lasagna. He was out, but a nice gentleman, Robby I think, was working the gate that evening and had such amazing things to say about you.” Judy turns her head to address me sweetly. “Please let your father know we are right in town if he ever needs anything.” Judy can never know what an asshole my father really is. It will break her heart, and furthermore, her optimistic hope in humanity.

“Thank you, Judy. I’m sure he enjoyed it on a cold night.” Nat cups my balls and rolls her eyes.

“So how long do you have, Zach?” Dave asks.

Natalie violently shakes her head and pinches my thigh underneath the blanket. I remember the promise I made to her this morning, so I smile happily and say, “Just enough to see my girl.”

We pull into the entrance of my parent’s house while Robby opens the gate to let us in. Dave rolls down the window so Judy can lean across to ask Robby about his granddaughter . . . I didn’t even know he had a granddaughter.

I turn to Nat and she gives me an encouraging smile. “It’s okay. I’m here,” she says. She can sense my fear and irritation and she knows that I hate my father.

“Okay kids, just call us when you’re ready and we’ll go to dinner. Dave found a cute little place that’s decorated for the holidays and even has Dickensian carolers!” Judy says cheerfully.

“Fine Mom, we’ll call when we’re ready. And please, no more fanfare, okay?” Nat demands.

Natalie and I walk hand in hand into the large house that at some point was my home. Mom always made sure I had a fantastic childhood and never worried about what other people thought, and I know if she were healthy, she would still manage to keep a humble and charming appearance.

I’ve heard all the rumors, most of them true unfortunately. Between my friend Molly (Nat’s boss) and my attorney Jack, I get constant updates on the status of my asshole dad and the demise of Parker & Parker – quite literally.

Mom was a dreamer. She started a pharmaceutical company for the single purpose to fund a research center. Dad
was
a realist. He latched onto
her
ambition and decided he had dreams, too – like making millions of dollars at the expense of other’s hard work. But my mom’s dream didn’t just stop at medical discovery . . . she wanted her husband and son to work side by side – she wanted a family, not an empire.

“Let’s see if she’s in the garden room,” I suggest.

“Oh, actually, she’s been moved to that small bedroom at the end of the hall,” Natalie says quietly.

“What? Who moved her? That bedroom is used for guests. She is not a guest in her own home!” I scream.

Natalie puts her arm around my waist and wrinkles her forehead in discomfort. “I’m sorry, I should have told you.”

We walk quietly to the end of the hall on the first floor, an area I avoided most of my life because of the dark walls and few windows. I peek into the small room and find my mother, a woman that was once compared to Grace Kelly, lying unresponsive on a hospital bed. I thought I could do it – but I can’t. She’s alone. How can I let my mother die alone?

Natalie releases my hand and walks over to a record player I recognize from my youth. She carefully pulls out a vinyl record and places it on the turntable. I remain frozen in the doorway, watching a woman so full of life compassionately caring for a woman that’s losing one.

“Claire loves this one,” Nat offers.

Edith Piaf’s sorrowful voice instantly makes me collapse into tears.
Non
,
je ne regrette rien.

I’m not prepared for the sudden onset of memories – Mom in the kitchen baking oatmeal cookies and singing along with Edith. Dramatically rolling her ‘Rs’ and making me laugh. I would sit at the island with a big glass of milk and listen to stories about Paris during the Algerian War, and then I would fabricate my own fascinating stories about my friends, Bo and Luke Duke.

A warm hand taps my back, rousing me from my nostalgic melancholy . . . but Nat is still standing by the record player, confused and afraid.

“Son.”

I spin around to find my dad, tanner than what’s acceptable in the middle of December, standing emotionless and unaffected.

“You son of a bitch,” I seethe.

Natalie stops the record and pushes us out of the room. “Not in here,” she whispers.

“Zacharie, it’s nice to have you home. Shall we discuss our business in my office? Your friend can stay with your moth—”

“Her name is Natalie and she needs to hear what I have to say to you.” I take a deep breath and let it fly. “Jack Schaeffer emailed me last week about Mom’s will. From my understanding, I will be the beneficiary of her 60% holdings of Parker and Parker. Is
that
what you want? Of course it is, you greedy bastard.” Natalie grabs my arm to make me stop, but I can’t. “Mom built that company out of a broom closet, and you just can’t wait to sell it! What is it, a house in Greece or a new wife on Long Island?”

“Zach, I will not have you speaking to me like this. I love your mother very much and you are making a mockery of our family in front of Natalie. When you enlisted, you made it very clear that you wanted nothing to do with us – Claire wanted to sell the company years ago, she wanted you to have a different life.” Dad remains stoic, like he’s the one being victimized.

“Fine. It’s yours to sell.” I shrug my shoulders, not in defeat, but because I’m fuming mad and I’m trying not to hit my father. “I’ll tell Jack to draft a contract giving you full ownership upon Mom’s dea—” I clear my throat. “After Mom’s passing, you can sell to the highest bidder.” I smirk. “What’s she worth to you anyway?”

Natalie squeezes my arm tightly and pleads, “Zach, stop.”

“And what do you want in return?” Dad asks smugly.

“In return? Unbelievable!” I shake my head in disbelief. “This is what I want
Pops
. . . Jack will be instructed to withhold every goddamn penny until you make a large donation to Mt. Sinai. So much money in fact, that the hospital will name an entire fucking wing after Dr. Claire Dumas Parker. And then, you will hand over a generous check to the September 11
^th
Memorial Fund – be the face of goodwill for once. And one more thing, if Natalie’s parents bring you a fucking lasagna, you better acknowledge their kindness.” I plant my feet firmly and stare down at the man I’ve never really known, and pray that my children never have to experience this type of pain.

“Now, if you will excuse us, Nat and I are moving Mom back to the garden room.” I extend my arm to shake my father’s hand. This is my closure.

Raymond Parker places his other hand on my shoulder and mumbles behind a fake tan and an even faker smile. “Son, be safe over there.” He nods apologetically at Nat and clears his throat. “Natalie, please wish your parents a Merry Christmas and tell your mother the lasagna was delicious.”

I place my hand on Nat’s back and lead her into Mom’s little room. We silently gather her quilts and slippers and all the picture frames Aunt Patty displayed throughout the room. I stand over Mom’s bed and smile down at her fragile body. I wonder if she’s even coherent . . .

“Claire, you would be so proud of Zacharie!” Natalie exclaims while packing up the records.

“Nat? Can Mom even hear us?” I ask in a hushed voice.

“Of course she can!” Natalie falls in next to me and takes Mom’s hand. I look down at her pale face and her dark blue eyes, alert and content. Her limp hand rests in Nat’s palm, donning decorative nail polish.

“Why are Mom’s nails painted red and green?”

“Because it’s almost Christmas, ya dork!” She turns her attention to Mom and giggles. “Claire and I have manicures every Sunday night. Her French manicure was
so
last week . . . we decided something a little more festive would be in order!”

“You come here every Sunday?” I’m shocked – Nat’s the type of girl that surrounds herself in fun and rarely gets too serious. Damn, she’s the most profound creature I have ever met.

I furrow my eyebrows in amazement as she nods proudly. And it’s in that silent nod of affirmation that my feelings are confirmed – I’m in love with her.

“Natalie, you’re everything.”

“Je suis ton étoile, n’est ce pas?”

2002-12-17
0900 hours

Nat’s old bedroom is like a mind-trip to
Saved by the Bell
. In fact, lying below a poster of Mario Lopez and sporting my morning boner is just too much.

I shake Natalie’s shoulders and say, “I’m taking a shower. Let’s get going – Christmas in NYC today.”

“In a minute. I can’t move my legs,” she whines.

Last night we decided to sleep over at Nat’s house because it was so late and frankly, I couldn’t suffer an hour train ride without getting my hands on her. Judy laid out bedding for the sofa downstairs, condoning my blatant intentions to screw her daughter. I tried to remain as respectful as possible by not allowing any sex noises to creep from Nat’s room. So . . .

I fucked her on the bathroom counter with the shower running.

“Nat, Mario is staring at my dick,” I say standing from her bed and stretching my arms.

“Mmm, I bet.” She rolls over and smiles. “Doesn’t he have the most amazing dimples?”

“Get out of bed and come help me with this,” I demand while posing like Superman.

“Why Zach Parker, I had no idea you had a thing for Slater.” She giggles while pointing to my manly erection. I jump on top of her, making the twin bed creak and shake, and then run my tongue over her bare stomach. I tickle her ribs and she flails her arms, begging for me to stop.

“You’re bad. Turn over – I want to spank you!” I say as a knock raps against the bedroom door.

“Natalie, Zach? I made blueberry pancakes and turkey bacon. Come down and have some breakfast?” Judy calls through the door.

“Turkey bacon,” I whisper.

“Give us twenty minutes! Zach is showing me how to clean his weapon.” Natalie snorts. I shake my head and laugh into her chest, a little embarrassed, but incredibly turned on by her candor.

“Oh, good Lord,” Judy mumbles.

I stare down at Natalie’s glowing face and move the strand of hair covering her eyes. “What am I going to do with you?” I ask hypothetically.

“Don’t leave me.” She sighs.

1200 hours

I slowly take my last bite.

Tenderly passing the caramelized flesh across my lips and moaning in pleasure upon the comforting taste of heaven.

Sweet and tangy – just like her.

“Mmm,” I growl. Licking my lips and my saucy thumbs, I let out an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, yeah, so, so good.”

Natalie wraps her arm around my waist and laughs. “You have some sauce right . . . there. Just dangling by your mouth like an invitation.”

Returning my barbeque ribs to their pillow of cornbread, I ask, “Oh really? My face gets messy because of my insatiable appetite.”

Smiling, Natalie reaches in to kiss me. It’s a weird and exciting sensation to feel a person smile as they kiss you – and Natalie is a sensation I feel all over my body.

Her hand slides under the table and lands on my thigh. Making her way to the waist of my jeans, she whispers into my ear, “There’s nothing messy about the way you eat.”

Taking her hand from my pants, I move our joined hands between her thighs. Turning my body to shield us from the other diners, I then lift her skirt and thrust my hand against her tights. “I need it. It’s just so good and warm and I’m so hungry . . .” I’m interrupted by Natalie’s smirk and growing laughter.

“Are you talking about the barbecue or me? Because let’s be honest, this place is a tourist trap with mediocre meat.”

“If only there was a way to combine Virgil’s and Natalie,” I suggest.

Nat snaps her head back in laughter and pretends to fan herself. “Zach, your flattery needs some work.”

Shrugging my shoulders and snorting I say, “Sorry, ma femme, I’ve been with dudes for too long.”

Natalie picks at her salad and lowers her head. “Tell me what it’s like,” she whispers.

Furrowing my brows and shaking my head, I reply, “No way, Nat. This is our Christmas Fun Day – I don’t want to bore you with the details of the past few months.”

Her face serious, she adds, “Zach, I want to hear your voice. I will
never
grow bored of hearing your voice. Tell me a story about Germany.”

I take a swig of my beer and then wipe my mouth with a paper towel. Pulling Natalie into my arms inside our tiny booth, I rest my chin on her head. “Oktoberfest was a trip. Alcohol and schnitzel and bar fights. Seriously, it was exactly like that scene in
European Vacation
. And the village girls fucking love American Marines.”

“Oh, really?” Natalie shifts her head to look up at my face. “Like Heidi?”

I pinch her side and reply, “Ah,
merde
, ma femme! We’re not discussing meaningless sex. Deal?”

“Fine.
Continuez sans
Alpine sluts.”

“October was pretty good, boring, but okay. Basic weaponry instruction and fitness classes. Apparently, the terrain in Afghanistan is fucked up.”

Natalie runs her hand over my bicep and flutters her eyes. “You’re so buff. And pretty. I bet all the boys fancied you in the showers.”

I flex my arm and let out a shallow grunt. “Maybe that’s why every guy in my camp was getting assigned a mission – they were jealous of my body.” My smile fades as I continue. “But not me. I woke up every morning, made my bed, and reported for duty – day after day – until it was November. That was when things started to suck.”

I quickly pick up my beer to hide my anger. It was stupid of me to make Natalie feel uncomfortable. But she just looks at me, tears watering her blue eyes, and smiles.

“Fuck November,” she whispers.

“Yep. Fuck it. December is definitely better,” I add.

“I bet Germany is a winter wonderland in December!”

“It’s beautiful. The snow looks like untouched powdered-sugar, not like that brown shit that lingers on the streets here.”

Nodding her head, Nat asks, “What’s with that? There’s a mound of dirty snow on the corner of Broadway and Worth that has pizza boxes and coffee cups sprouting from it.”

“You need to see Europe in the winter.”

Pushing her plate across the table and throwing her paper towel in the mix, Natalie says, “Oh yeah? Convince me.”

“Well, there were roosters that roamed the countryside, shrilling before the sun made its appearance.”

“Why the fuck would I want to spend a holiday with chickens?”

Placing my finger on her mouth, I whisper, “Shh, ma femme, listen.”

“Go on.”

“I awoke every morning to the sound of life. It was repetition, but sometimes that sound was comforting – knowing that life goes on with or without me.” Natalie flinches slightly so I add, “Farmers brought our camp fresh eggs and slabs of bacon, and the mess hall served some of the best coffee. And you know what I realized?”

“What?”

“The best part . . . of waking up . . . was Folgers in my cup.”

“Ha ha,” Nat deadpans, jabbing my side with her elbow.

I smile, happy that she finds familiarity in my goofiness, and confirming that our love exists beyond our stories.

Regaining composure over my dark thoughts, I add, “Oh shit, I forgot that you won’t get my Krampus letter for a few more days – I even sent you a picture.”

“What the hell is Krampus?”

“Nat, it’s totally up your twisted alley. Men were dressed in costumes as the evil demon of Christmas, Krampus. Parents actually brought their kids to the village parades to scare the shit out of them – can you believe that?”

“That’s insane!”

“I have never drank so much in one night – and I may have pissed my pants.”

“That’s disgusting – please tell me the photo you sent doesn’t include that image!” Natalie exclaims.

Shaking my head I reply, “Nah, the picture is a snapshot of my new tattoo.”

“What tattoo? My mouth has been all over your body the past few days and I didn’t see a new tattoo.”

“It’s under my arm.”

“Lemme see!”

“Now? It’s under my arm – I’d have to take off my sweater.”

“If you were stupid enough to get a tattoo in your armpit, then I’m going to need to see it. Now.”

“Jesus, Nat. It’s not in my armpit.”

I glance around the packed restaurant but decide to just go for it. Pulling the navy sweater over my head and placing it in my lap, I watch as Natalie’s eyes expand in delight.

“Why Lieutenant Parker, what big guns you have.” Natalie runs her hand over my chest and smiles. “And your T-shirt is so tight and clingy!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Smiling with my crooked grin, I lift my arm and rest my wrist on my head. I study Nat’s reaction as her sexy smile turns to genuine surprise.

Her index finger moves to my arm like E.T. phoning home – it’s as if she’s scared to touch it.

I let out a sigh as her finger slowly makes contact with the cluster of stars – pink, yellow, and blue . . .

“Je ne regrette rien,” she whispers, reading the quote.

Lowering my arm, I squeeze Natalie into a hug and kiss her forehead.

“Je ne regrette rien.”

1400 hours

“Thank you for taking me to Virgil’s,” I say as Natalie and I walk hand in hand down Fifth Avenue.

“Eh, what’s not to love? There’s something very erotic about watching you go at a slab of ribs . . . the way your tongue licks the sauce from your fingers and then you dramatically suck off the tiny pieces of meat from the bone – hot.”

I grab her and bring her close to me, ignoring the customary flow of sidewalk traffic. Christmas shoppers zigzag around us, cursing under their breath. Taxi drivers press their horns, pretzel vendors scream, the Salvation Army bell rings, street performers sing – but all I can hear is her laughter. Ma femme.

“Let’s go see Santa,” Nat suggests with big, child-like eyes.

“Perfect. Macy’s?”

“No, at the fucking North Pole.”

We pick up some hot chocolate and roasted cashews on our stroll down Fifth, doing our best to avoid the crowds of people gawking at the window displays. Of course when we reach Macy’s, the line to see Santa is jammed packed with snotty-nosed kids screaming and crying. We’re the only idiotic adults without kids meandering through a candy cane village, but it’s moving rather quickly. Why? Because there’s like fifteen Santas hidden in different gingerbread houses. What a scam.

When we reach our designated North Pole, Natalie plops down on the iconic red velvet lap and waves me over.

“Ho, ho, ho! C’mon dude, you’re never too big for Santa,” he quips.

I casually sit on the little bench next to St. Nick and cross my arms, trying to hide my enthusiasm.

“Have you been good this year?” Santa asks Natalie.

She adorably bites the inside of her lip and shakes her head. “Not really. But he has.” Natalie winks at me and I smile.

“Ho, ha, ha, the beautiful lady’s been naughty!” Santa turns to me and asks, “What can Santa bring you?”

I don’t even acknowledge him because a) he’s thirty and flirting with my girl and b) I’m looking at what I want.

“All right, smile for the camera! Folks, look at the camera. You need to look at the camera for the picture. Look at the camera. Look at the – oh fuck it.” The Elf takes the photo and Santa pushes me off his bench.

“Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas! Exit is to your left.”

I purchase the photo from the Elf and stick it inside my coat pocket. Natalie and I finish the whimsical candy cane tour and take a ride on the vintage escalators before rushing out into the pandemonium of 34th Street.

“What next?” I ask.

“Ice skating!”

“Ah, shit. Really?”

“I know you played hockey in high school . . . and later, I’ll do that thing you like with my tongue,” she whispers.

“Deal.”

2100 hours

“Zach, I’m so happy.” Natalie places my arm around her shoulders as we curl up on the sofa to watch
Gremlins
.

We spent the afternoon ice skating in Bryant Park. I only fell once, and Natalie decided to take that opportunity to straddle and kiss me. We received some applause from skaters and then a pimply-faced employee actually blew a whistle.

On our way back to the apartment, we bought a red Christmas tree (Nat’s choice of course) and some seafood paella from Gristedes. After two bottles of wine and a loaf of bread, we decided to screw dinner and just have sex.

“Kiss me,” I say as I pull her onto my lap. I’m leaving in the morning and I want to tell her, but instead, I keep my promise and simply kiss away the dread. Time has no meaning when I’m with her, but knowing that I will soon be without her is torture. Our lips part and she starts to cry. “Ma femme, please,” I beg.

“I wish, I wi—” she says between gasps of air.

“Tell me. Tell me what you want, but please don’t break my heart.”

She shakes her head firmly as I wipe away every single one of her tears. I cradle her in my arms under the red glow of the lighted tree and we watch the entire movie – in perfect silence.

2002-12-18
0700 hours

Twenty minutes of scorching hot water penetrating my skin and the only pain I feel is heartache. The moment I step out of the bathroom, she’ll know . . . she’ll know that I’m leaving her. Fucking, fucking shit!

I turn off the water and quickly dry myself off. I wrap the towel around my waist and dart into the bedroom. I’m going to tell her – I need to see her face when I tell her I love her.