“I know that. But I know better than anyone that you only have right now. If you wait until everything is perfect to get what you want, or,whoyou want, you might never get there. Tomorrow is never promised, Leo.”
Her words settle in my chest, as does the light hint of grief that hangs in the words. It’s been years since my dad died, and she will never get over it, will never move on, something I find both sad and beautiful.
But her words settle differently right now, the truth of them weighing on me in a way I don’t expect, and when I move through my house to the front door and see a smiling Willa in her front seat, waving at me, I can’t help but wonder that if this was all gone, would I regret things I didn’t do?
“I know. But I gotta go,” I say, opening the door and stepping out. “My help is here.”
I wonder if she can hear the smile in my voice, the same way I can when she responds. “Okay, Leo. Just keep what I have in mind, okay?”
“I will. Love you.”
“Love you, too. And get that guest room done for me—I’m coming for the holidays whether you’re ready or not.”
I think we might make it through the entire day outside, since Willa normally leaves around four, but the sky gets dark faster than I anticipated, clouds rolling in quickly around two. We’re finishing up installing a swing on my front porch, something Willa insisted would make the front of my home look absolutely perfect when we were at the home improvement store earlier this week. I faltered for only a moment before I realized I’m highly receptive to her charms and can’t seem to not give in toany of her wants. I slid the heavy thing onto our flat and headed to the hardware aisle to figure out how to install it.
We were only there for mulch and grass seed, and my current project list is already a mile long, but it didn’t matter.
The clouds rolled in that morning, and Willa asked if we could add it, saying she’d love to watch the storm from the covered porch. Again, I couldn’t do anything but agree. We’re barely finished, and I’m adjusting the chains so the swing hangs evenly, when suddenly, the sky opens up, and a downpour begins. Willa stands up from where she was cleaning up cardboard, instructions, and plastic, and moves to the very edge of the steps. Today she’s in a loose purple T-shirt and a pair of jean shorts, and as I watch her, standing under the cover of the porch still, the wind blows a few drops of rain towards her, making darker spots appear on her top.
“It’s pouring,” she says, stating the obvious.
I smirk at her back despite myself.
“I can see that,” I say, standing and moving to rest my arms on the railing beside where she’s standing. The raindrops are warm as they hit my forearms, not the chilly fall downpour that I expected.
“We should go play in the rain.”
I stare at her, but she has that far-off look in her eyes, barely noticing I’m beside her. I’ve seen it a few times, often when she sees or thinks about something that I’d never thought twice about, but clearly, she sees it as a memory she never got. Water fights and watching clouds and getting an ice cream from an ice cream truck, something we did on Tuesday when we drove past one stopped on our way back from the store.
All things I’ve done countless times over my life, simple memories I never thought twice about, memories that, now that I’ve made them with her, mean a fuck of a lot more to me.
“Play in the rain?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer, not verbally. Instead, she just grins and nods and runs into the rain. I shift, stepping towards the edge of the steps, and open my mouth to call her name, but the word dies on my tongue as I take her in.
She’s smiling, head tipped back, arms out like some character in a movie or a cliche stock photo. Her top is already soaked to a dark purple, clinging to her curves, and her hair is drenched and stringy, but it flares out behind her as she begins to twirl in the rain.
She’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
It’s a moment of pure joy, beauty in its most basic form, something that is so deeply Willa in a way I can’t quite explain.
I’m still in awe when she stops, turning to me with a bright, beaming grin and waving her hand towards me.
“Come on!” she shouts, spinning in a circle as water continues to fall, dripping down her skin, her hair sticking to her face. She kicks off the flip flops she’s wearing, and I’m suddenly also grateful that the grass is soft and lush where she’s playing.
“What are you doing?”
“Dancing in the rain!” she yells back as if I’m not ten feet away from her, as if the excitement in her chest can’t maintain normal volumes. I can’t help it. I smile back at her, and she waves her hands at me once more. “Come on, Leo! Dance with me!”
She’s beautiful, smiling and spinning, and even though common sense tells me to drag her inside, get her out of the rain, I can’t find it in me to do it. I can’t find it in me to dampen this example of pure, unmitigated joy.
So instead, I step off the porch, the rain warm as it instantly soaks my skin through my shirt. I run a hand through my hair, and the rain slicks in back, and she squeals as I approach. With each step I take, her smile somehow grows brighter, and when I am a few feet from her, she closes the gap, wrapping her armsaround my neck and tipping her head back, her body pressed to mine.
She is so blissfully happy, and even though it’s because she’s giving herself an experience she’s never had, for a moment, I let myself imagine it’s for me, that she’s smiling because I came over here.
That she’s happy we’re here, together.
“Dance with me, Leo,” she whispers, and just like in the bar, we start to sway.
