Neighbor Dearest

***Early that evening, Damien and I were walking hand in hand through SoHo when he said, “So, I’ve been keeping something from you.”

“Not again?” I teased.

“This is a good thing, my little wiseass.”

“What?”

“A friend of mine, who I met through an art forum, opened up a gallery here that’s dedicated to spray paint art. That’s why I wanted to come to this neighborhood before we left.”

“That’s so cool. Is that where we’re going now?”

“Yes, but that’s not all. I actually gave him one of my paintings.”

“It’s there?”

“Yup.”

“Which one?”

“You’ll have to wait and see.”

The gallery was small. Large canvases of spray paint art were mounted onto the brick interior walls. Faint jazz music played in the background.

“Let’s see if you can guess which one’s mine.”

We walked slowly through the gallery, stopping at each work of art. The images ranged from people to abstract shapes and colors.

“What is that?” I looked closer at the title of one piece in particular.

Le Nombril by Damien Hennessey.

“I guess I don’t have to guess anymore. This is it!” I tilted my head. “What is it?”

“Look closely.” He stood behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his chin on my head. “It’s you.”

“Me? It just looks like a big swirly hole.” I suddenly felt hot. “That’s not my vagina, is it?”

His laughter vibrated against me. “Not that hole, baby, although, I could spray that all day long if you want. In fact, it would be my pleasure.” He guided me away from the canvas. “Step back.”

I finally saw it. “It’s my belly button. That’s right! You mentioned once that you’d painted it.”

“You are correct. That’s your belly button. My beautiful navel, otherwise known as Le Nombril. That’s the French term.”

“How did you manage to paint it?”

“Well, a long time ago, I did one from memory. You’d worn this half-shirt over to my apartment, and I took a mental picture. This version is the replication of an actual photo I took of you more recently while you were sleeping. I know you probably wouldn’t know the difference, but see all those grooves? They’re actually a pretty accurate depiction of yours. You’d be surprised how challenging it is to capture the details of a navel. One of the hardest paintings I’ve ever done, but it’s pretty much my favorite.”

“Is it for sale?”

“No. No way I’m giving that away to anyone. This is just for display.”

“Well, I think you’re the only person in the world who’d appreciate it.”

“I truly love every inch of you.”

I looked into his eyes and knew he’d meant that with all of his heart and soul.***New Year’s Eve in Times Square was just as spectacular as I’d always imagined. Swimming in a crowd of people, I cuddled with Damien who wrapped me in his shearling-lined coat as he hugged me from behind.

When the ball dropped, we kissed so hard it felt like my lips were going to fall off.

Damien flipped me around toward him and repositioned the coat over me as a blanket. “It freaks me out to think that this time last year, I was watching all of this, staring at Ryan Seacrest on the television and thinking it was just going to be another year of the same. I’d automatically assumed I’d be stuck in the same rut, screwing around with women I didn’t care about, painting all day. I didn’t think that was a bad life, but I really didn’t know better. I thought I was pretty happy. Turns out, I didn’t know happy from a hole in the wall.”

I smiled, appreciating the wall reference as he continued.

“I didn’t have a fucking clue. I didn’t know that true happiness would only come from a girl I hadn’t met yet. It’s hard to believe that this time last year, I didn’t even know who Chelsea Jameson was. Now, I don’t even know who I am without you.”

My heart felt like it was bursting with a mixture of love and fear. There was so much I wanted to say, but I couldn’t seem to form the words. It was very hard for me to articulate what I was feeling, so I simply buried my head against his heart and said, “This is gonna be a good year, Damien. I just know it.”

Damien was right. The New York trip had been a much-needed change of scenery. It went by all too fast.

The next day, on our flight home, Damien held my hand as our plane slowly descended in preparation for its landing in San Francisco. The sun was shining into the aircraft, illuminating his beautiful eyes as he looked at me and said, “I think I’m gonna do it.”

My chest tightened. I knew full well what he was referring to but asked anyway.

I braced myself. “Do what?”

“The surgery. I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna schedule it when we get back.”