Gabrielle Zevin - In the Age of Love and Chocolate

In the gutter, a yellow tulip improbably pushed its way through the mud and the trash and the ice. Apologies for the cliché, but I must tell it like I see it. The tulip was there —it is not my place to speculate why or how such miracles occur.

The wedding was in March though the day felt more like May. Win’s parents were not young people and they had already done this before, so it was not a grand wedding—only a justice of the peace at the Dark Room, Manhattan. Aside from Win and myself, the only other people there were a few of their colleagues, including Theo, who had brought Lucy. Rumor had it that Theo and the mixologist were engaged, but Theo and I didn’t discuss these matters. Natty had wanted to come, but she couldn’t get away from school.

I wore a pink dress that Ms. Rothschild had selected for me. Though I didn’t agree, she thought pink was my color, that it complemented my black hair. Win wore his usual gray suit, which I had seen several times—I hadn’t yet tired of it.

I wore heels, low ones, for the first time since I’d been hurt. I still had a pronounced limp, but I felt girlish, strong, and even a little sexy. Last year, I had never thought I’d feel pretty again.

Win’s parents said their vows. I snuck a glance at Win, who was standing beside me and who I had not seen since Christmas. He grinned at me, then leaned over and whispered in my ear, “You look awfully sweet, Annie.”

The wedding was over by three. As a present, Theo had provided the cake for the occasion—chocolate. Mr. Delacroix had recently pushed through legislation that amended the Rimbaud laws within New York City to allow for cacao to be served with a license, and so it made sense that chocolate cake would be featured at his wedding. There were no more prescriptions needed at the New York clubs either. Instead, we had a certificate on the wall that said the city permitted cacao-based products of all kinds to be served on the premises.

It was so warm out that I wanted to walk home, even though it was kind of a long walk for me. So I had Theo cut me two pieces of cake to go, and then I asked Win if he would walk me home. “If you don’t have anything else to do, that is. I’ll probably take forever.”

He looked at me a long time. “You’re sure you’re good to walk home,” he asked. “It’s a long way.”

“I’m sure,” I said. “I’m stronger than I was in the fall, Win. I think I’m finally ready.” I slipped my arm through his. “Is this okay?”

“It is,” he said after a pause.

“Let’s head west,” I said. “I’d like to go past Trinity.”

“That’s a bit out of the way,” he said.

“I’m feeling sentimental, I guess.”

“All right, Annie,” he said. “Let me carry the cake.” He took the box from me, and we made our way uptown.

“Any spring plans?” he asked as we crossed into Central Park.

“I’m going to Russia with Mouse. We’ve approached the Balanchiadze about manufacturing a line of cacao bars.”

“Aren’t you worried about working with them?” Win asked.

“No,” I said. “Not anymore. They’re in my business whether I want them there or not. I think the best option is to try to convert them to the good side.”

“That seems optimistic for you.”

“I’m optimistic now, Win. Why shouldn’t I be? I’m twenty-one years old, and I may have had a hard time and made a few pretty shady decisions, but I’ve stayed alive and mainly everything has worked out for me, hasn’t it? Look at your dad. Look at your parents. Who would ever have thought that they would get married again? I can’t help but feel hopeful today.”

“I think my mother is crazy,” Win said. “I don’t remember if I mentioned that.”

“I know they’re your parents. But don’t you find it romantic, even a little? They were high school sweethearts.”

He looked at me steadily. “Where has Anya Balanchine gone? Isn’t she the girl who told me no one ever ends up with anyone they dated in high school?”

“Your parents have proven me wrong. I am humbled yet again.”

“I don’t even know who I’m walking with right now.” He was smiling at me, and there were wrinkles around his eyes. I liked his face when it got squinty that way.

“How can you not feel happy when it is almost springtime and the air smells like flowers and you can walk across the park without getting mugged?”

He put his hand on my forehead. “Spring fever,” he said. “Clearly.” He laughed at me. “I should get you home.”

“No, let’s not go home. Let’s stay out the whole day. We’ll find a park bench and we’ll eat our cake out here, too. You don’t have somewhere you have to be, do you?”

“I do not,” he said. “Going back to what we were talking about before, it’ll be kind of dangerous for you in Russia, no?”

“Maybe,” I said. “Though I don’t think anyone wants me dead at the moment.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” He rolled his eyes. “I rather prefer you alive. Maybe that comes off as too forward for you.”

“Scandalous. That pretty boy must really like me if he doesn’t want me dead! Actually, I’m excited to go to Russia,” I said. “I’m reasonably sure I’ll survive, and what’s more, I’ve never been. People think of me as Russian, but I honestly don’t know a thing about it.” Suddenly, I stopped. “Win, look at that!” We were halfway through Central Park. “There’s water in the lake!”

“What do you know.” Win said.

“Is your dad behind that, do you think?” One of Mr. Delacroix’s stump speeches had been about how people in a city needed more than essentials. The reason he thought that the Dark Room had improved Midtown so much was because it had reminded citizens that life could be more than survival. And so Mr. Delacroix had promised to plant flowers in the medians and reopen museums and, yes, fill the man-made lakes with water. He said that even if the cost seemed exorbitant, it was worth it—a city with hope is a city with less crime, and policy decisions made on cost alone were often shortsighted. It was a very good speech. But politicians—my dear colleague included—had been known to make lofty statements when they were campaigning. I hadn’t known if Mr. Delacroix would get around to filling the lakes when he was elected. But today, miracle of miracles, I was looking at a lake! Five years ago, I remembered running past a dirt hole while Natty had almost gotten herself mugged.

“Could be,” Win said. “Annie, what would you think if I went to Russia with you?”

“You wouldn’t be trying to protect me, would you? Because I’m hardy, you know.”

“Nah, I know that. I’ve always wanted to visit Russia. Maybe you weren’t aware of it, but I’m kind of into Russian girls.”

I thought about kissing him, but I didn’t. I was not afraid. No, not anymore. I knew with absolute confidence that I would kiss him again. I knew I might even be kissing him for the rest of my life, though one would rather not tempt fate with such outlandish proclamations. But at that moment, the promise of that first kiss hung in the air like the promise of springtime on a balmy March day. What I didn’t know when I was sixteen was the exquisite pleasures that can be found in the waiting, the anticipation. How lovely it was to look at fallow ground and know that any day a flower might poke her head out. How lovely it was to be outside, to be young, and to know that, oh yes, there would be a kiss. How lovely to know with authority that this future kiss would be a good one, because I had kissed him before. I knew what that mouth felt like, those lips, that tongue. That future kiss was like a delightful secret that we both already knew. The day had been so filled with happiness. Why not save a portion of joy for tomorrow?