The First Last Kiss (3 page)

And then behind it all, the towering Empire State Building lies like a beautiful discarded stiletto, heel stretched skyward as if to remind its relentless stream of visitors that
it
is the star of the city
.

We walk slowly hand in hand towards Central Park and I glance at Ryan strolling along in just an Abercrombie T-shirt, denim jacket and a body warmer. I slip my gloved hand into his and rearrange my scarf. It’s unseasonably mild for November but I’m still wrapped up like a mummy compared to Ryan. He’s too active to ever really feel the cold.

‘And your birthday – you haven’t had your present yet . . .’ Ryan points out.

‘I’ve already had the best birthday ever here with you,’ I say, and it’s true. Historically I’ve never liked birthdays; even as a kid I hated the pressure that came with throwing a party: what to wear, who to invite, who would come (if anyone). As a result I’ve always been low-key about them – especially milestone ones. My 21st passed with a night at the Student Union with Mia and Casey, my 25th was spent at The Crooked Billet in Leigh-on-Sea with Ryan and both our families. But this . . . this has been awesome.

‘It’s been brilliant!’ Ryan agrees as we stroll along. ‘I want us to do much more of this you know, Moll, see the world, go to new places . . . I want us to do it all. Together.’

I squeeze Ryan’s hand tightly now and sigh with contentment as I see we’re nearly at Central Park. His excitement has been infectious. Ryan makes everything fun. He always has. He never takes life too seriously and finds pleasure in the simple things. In the past I found this frustrating but now it’s the thing I admire the most about him. Ever since I started working in magazines, I started needing ‘validated fun’. You know, the hot new bar, the best new bag, the most stylish city, hotel, restaurant . . . But sometimes this relentless pursuit of the ‘new’ and ‘cool’ just leaves me feeling deeply unsatisfied. That’s partly what caused our relationship problems before; my constant desire for something more. But I’ve learned my lesson, I hope. On this trip I’ve loved discovering the city together, his way. A tucked-away little café we happened across here, a laid-back stroll and a meal at a low-key, romantic Italian in Greenwich Village there.

I chuckle as I recall our sightseeing yesterday. I took Ryan for lunch at Katz’s, the deli that featured in
When Harry Met Sally
.

‘No way,’ he’d said when I’d dared him to re-enact Sally’s fake orgasm. ‘
You
do it, you’re the rebel girl.’ His voice had taken on a mocking tone, instantly taking me back to our teen roles over a decade ago; him as the town heart-throb, me as the awkward, clichéd social leper. God, I’d hated that time of my life. I wish my teen self could see me now.

I’d folded my arms. ‘But I’m
Harry
,’ I smirk. ‘You’ve always said so. Which means I couldn’t
possibly
swap roles now. Come on, Ry, I’m waiting, you’re not
embarrassed
, are you? Worried you’ll fail the challenge?’ I smile, knowing Ryan won’t be able to ignore any sort of dare.

And, just as I knew he would, he’d obliged, his ever-present tan turning a curious salmon colour. How I howled with laughter as Ryan reached his ‘climax’ and then took a massive bite of his pastrami sandwich, the blush still flushing his cheeks.

‘Ry, I will remember that forever!’ I laughed as I leaned over and kissed him, then made a face. ‘Eurgh, gherkin breath!’

Ryan slows down to a brisk stride as we approach Central Park from the East Side and stroll down the 79th Transverse past the Conservatory Pond and to the Bethesda Fountain.

‘It’s pretty beautiful isn’t it, Moll?’ Ryan says quietly, squeezing my gloved hand as we gaze around at the majestic fountain with its centrepiece sculpture,
The Angel of the Waters
. It feels like discovering the prize at the centre of a pass the parcel game after unwrapping layer upon layer of endless little gifts to get to it; the shimmering boat-filled blue lake with row boats and the occasional gondola drifting by, all wrapped generously in a layer of evergreen trees surrounded by the shiny, glittering decorative finish that is the skyscrapers.

Walkers, joggers, snap-happy tourists, cyclists, mums pushing prams, dog walkers, office workers and college students surround us, yet the park doesn’t feel crowded at all. It feels as if we’re all plugged into the park’s very own iPod, our laughter and chatter combine and blends with the breeze, the constant hum of traffic and whir of passing bicycles, to make the perfect soundtrack for the city.

I nod at Ryan because I am too happy to speak. This is the ultimate New York romantic experience. I’ve seen this park so many times with Ryan, in the romcoms which he has no embarrassment about loving and the
Sex and the City
episodes I adore. We’ve witnessed some of the greatest fictional romantic moments in history take place. Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan realizing they were more than just good friends in
When Harry Met Sally
, Clooney and Pfeiffer splashing through puddles with their kids in
One Fine Day,
and Cusack and Beckinsale’s skating tryst on the Wolfman’s rink in
Serendipity
. And now
we’re
here. In real life. At last.

I sigh with delight and lift my camera up as I fire off some shots of the wintry sun filtering through the curtain of trees, then I flick the angle and manage to catch a shot of Ryan backlit by it. The way the light falls on his blond hair makes him look positively angelic. I pull him towards me and hold the camera out in front of us for another shot, our cheeks pressed together. By lowering the camera to my waist and tilting the lens up I think I can just get us as well as the glistening backdrop of the skyscrapers peering over the trees. I’m reminded suddenly of what my dad has always said about the John Constable painting of Hadleigh Castle hanging on the wall back home in Leigh-on-Sea. ‘It’s a man-made structure deferring to the power of nature.’ Then I think of Ryan and me and how I took something strong that had been built carefully over time and I nearly destroyed it too. And then I remember how Ryan tried to bring me to New York before. . .

A rogue tear falls and I swipe it away. Ryan and I have sworn to not bring all that up again.

‘I’m so sorry, Ryan . . . ’ I sob, pulling him into a hug.

‘What?’ Ryan sounds confused, then concerned. ‘Hey, why are you crying?’

‘I’m sorry, it’s just that I was thinking about how perfect this is and that I’ll be sorry forever for what I did . . . ’ I’m properly crying now and Ryan takes me in his arms and holds me.

‘Hey, hey, hey,’ he murmurs. ‘Please don’t cry, Molly. I thought we agreed all of that stuff is in the past?’

‘I–I know,’ I sniff into his shoulder, ‘but I can’t help . . . ’

He pulls away and gazes at me, a smile hovering over his lips. ‘Our relationship is better and stronger than ever, Molly, you know that. We needed to break up to appreciate how much we want to be together. I’m
glad
it happened. I am, honest! Please stop looking back. I want this trip, this moment, to be about our future. And it won’t be if you keep beating yourself up like this. We were both at fault and we didn’t know what we had till it was gone. I’m just glad we realized in time.’

We begin to walk again and Ryan slips his arm around my shoulders, reassuring me how much he loves me, making me smile and then laugh. We’ve been walking for a few minutes when he pulls me towards him and kisses me.

‘There!’ he exclaims. ‘That’s better. Now, I don’t know about you, but I can’t possibly walk another step without a coffee. I saw a stand over there . . . will you be OK for a minute while I go and get us some? Latte, yeah?’

I nod and sniff and lift up my camera to indicate that I can keep myself busy.

He hands me his rucksack and blows me a kiss as he walks backwards then breaks into a run, streaking across the park like some kind of action hero.

I turn around, snapping furiously as I try to capture the colour and beauty of this pretty pocket of the park. The sun is disappearing behind the silhouetted treetops, creating jewel tones of coral, amber and ruby in the sky. I focus my lens on a sign to my left and suddenly realize that I’m standing at the entrance of Strawberry Fields. I shiver, as much with the sense of musical history as the wintry chill. I glance down and notice the ‘Imagine’ mural on the ground ahead, laid in honour of John Lennon after he was shot in 1980. I walk up to it and gaze at it. My dad would love to see this. He loves The Beatles.

I hate that I’ve tainted a single moment of this perfect trip with bad memories from the past. I want to put it right, focus on today –
that
should be my motto. Just focus on how good life is right now. Suddenly I have an idea. I put down the rucksack and, giggling to myself, I quickly pull out all the ridiculous novelty souvenir items we’ve collected over the past couple of days and put them on one by one.

I feel pretty silly standing here alone like this, but it’ll be worth it for the look on his face when he appears with those coffees. I adjust the foam Statue of Liberty crown and wave at some passers-by who are looking at me out of curiosity. I can’t believe I’m the strangest thing they’ve seen in this city. I look around. Ryan’s been gone for ages. Where the hell is he?

I busy myself taking photographs of the scenery surrounding me, finally pointing my camera down and photograph the mural for dad. My red Converse are just poking into the picture and I’m still looking down when I hear Ryan’s voice.

‘Close your eyes, Molly.’ His breath warms my forehead as his hand suddenly covers my eyes. I can hear the amusement in his voice. ‘Nice to see you’ve dressed up for the occasion.’

‘What occ—’ he puts his finger across my lips to silence me. ‘Ryan?’ I whisper through his finger. ‘Have you got my latte?’

‘No, Molly.’

‘Hey!’ I protest, opening my eyes momentarily. ‘I’ve been waiting ages!’

‘I said, close your eyes,’ Ryan repeats firmly.

‘I don’t know why you’re being so bossy, Cooper . . . ’

‘While you’re at it, can you please close your mouth too?’ The restrained laughter is evident in his voice.

‘Charming!’ My eyes ping open.

‘Are you ever going to do anything I say?’ he asks, clearly exasperated now.

‘Probably not,’ I laugh and he looks pleadingly at me. Reluctantly I squint my eyes shut.

I sigh as I’m cloaked in darkness. ‘Now what?’

‘Well,’ he says, the warmth on my neck disappearing and his voice sounding more distant. ‘I want you to open your eyes and look down at your feet.’

I do what he says and see the mosaic again.
Imagine.
It strikes me what a beautiful word it is, full of hope, possibility and belief.

‘Now,’ he says, his voice sounding strange. ‘Imagine for a moment that we’re here alone. Imagine that it is just you and me, like this. There’s no one else here. Just you, me, the earth, the sky and the sun, stretching out before us endlessly . . . ’

‘Sounds lovely,’ I sigh, opening my eyes briefly. He’s not there. I go to turn around. ‘Now what?’ I close my eyes again and I hear music start playing, the opening chords of a song. I start humming along.

‘Now imagine that I am right beside you . . . ’

I stop humming. ‘But you’re not, you’re behind me . . . ’

‘ . . . all the time,’ he continues determinedly. ‘Beside you all the time. From now on. Always.’

I open my mouth and close it again. ‘That sounds nice,’ I say quietly, trying to block out the voice in my head that’s saying,
Is he about to do what you think he’s going to do? Oh my God! He is! He is!

It’s then that I realize the song I’ve been humming along to is John Lennon’s ‘Imagine’
.
It is playing somewhere nearby. And not on an iPod, it sounds like a . . . like a . . . string quartet. I open my eyes but I don’t turn around. A small crowd of people have gathered and are all looking at me, smiling. Some of them have cameras. I blink and swallow. I want to turn around, I desperately want to, but something tells me to wait for Ryan’s next instruction.

‘Now,’ Ryan says softly, ‘imagine that I am behind you, telling you, Molly Carter, that I love you, that I always have and always will, and that right here, right in the heart of Central Park, I want to ask you if you’ll accept
my
heart, look after it forever and let me take care of yours. You can turn around now . . . ’

I put my hand over my mouth as the tears stream down my face, for once my camera is forgotten as I spin around to see the smiling faces of the string quartet, but still no Ryan.

‘I’m down here,’ he laughs, and he’s there, on bended knee, his arm stretched out and one hand cupping a velvet box, the other hand hovering over the closed lid.

‘No!’ I gasp.

He laughs. ‘I’ll be honest, that’s not quite the reaction I was after—’

‘No! I mean! No, look at me – I look ridiculous! How could you do this!’ I kneel down and pummel him in the chest, openly sobbing now.

‘I think you look gorgeous,’ Ryan laughs, pinging the Statue of Liberty G-string.

‘This is not how I planned to look at such a big moment!’ I wail.

‘You can’t control everything, Molly,’ Ryan smiles, ‘sometimes you have to just roll with it . . . ’

I look at him and there is a look of quiet determination that I recognize from when he is battling a wave, shooting a goal or when he’s gripping on to the sail of a boat and guiding it back to shore.

‘Molly Carter,’ he says, slowly, ‘will you marry me?’ He opens the box and there is a beautiful ring, a cluster of small diamonds on a gold band glittering like a constellation of stars.

‘Yes! Yes!’ interrupting him as I laugh through my tears. I swipe away my tears quickly and sink to my knees and I grasp Ryan’s face and he cups mine and we kiss and there is laughter and tears and it feels familiar but different. So, so different.

Because this is the kiss to end all kisses. It’s the kiss that I didn’t even know I was waiting for. I close my eyes again and press record in my head, to internally capture the moment that Ryan Cooper puts an engagement ring on my finger. And it is the best present in the world.