All You Could Ask For A Novel - By Mike Greenberg Page 0,76

to his songs. And the lyrics, if you do not know them, are beautiful, more like poetry than music.

We sat on the ground in the middle of it all and I closed my eyes and breathed deeply in the mountain air, and then I opened them and Stephen’s face was an inch from mine and he kissed me without asking permission. And I grabbed the back of his head and kissed him back, as hard as I could. We made out right there on the grass, with just enough sunlight left to see and the sound of the stream in our ears. And I thought to myself that I’d never had sex in a public place, but if that’s where this was headed I was in. I absolutely would have done it right there. I would have done anything he wanted, with no concern at all for what anyone might see.

But that wasn’t what he wanted. He kept kissing me for a while and then he scooted closer and wrapped a big arm around my shoulders and squeezed me. He felt so strong, so very good. His hands smelled a little of ketchup and his breath smelled a little of beer, and his shirt smelled as though he had sat in front of a whole lot of campfires in it, and he just held me that way until it was too dark to see the lyrics carved into the stones anymore, and then he kissed me again and popped up to his feet.

“What do you think of it?” he asked, looking around, and I knew he meant the sanctuary but I was referring to absolutely everything when I responded.

I said, “I think it is perfect.”

He smiled. “Shall I take you home?”

I surprised even myself with my answer: “You can take me anywhere you want.”

He took me all right.

He lives in a stunning house on Red Mountain, with startling views, immaculate décor, and a fully lived-in vibe. When we entered, he excused himself to go to the bathroom and as I waited I decided I wanted to marry him. I ran at him the instant he came back. There was never any chance we would make it to a bed.

I was still floating when I left in the morning. Veritably floating. It was almost ten when we piled into his jeep and went back into town, and he dropped me off with a long kiss and said he’d call me late in the afternoon and I knew he would.

I picked up a warm chocolate croissant and café latte from the Main Street Bakery and savored them as I floated back to my room, where the moment I had most been looking forward to was waiting for me. My girlfriend, who was traveling and staying with me, had not heard from me since I’d texted her the previous afternoon that I had a date.

She’d replied: IF U DON’T CUM BACK 2NITE I’LL KNOW U’RE EITHER GETTING YOUR HEAD CUT OFF OR YOUR BRAINS FUCKED OUT!!!

My apologies for the language, but she texts that way.

Well, I threw open the door as loudly as I could, hoping she’d be exactly where I found her, seated in the living room, reading a trashy magazine.

“I’m back, sweetheart,” I said, loud and sassy, “and my head is still on!”

I told her the entire story, and I think she was even happier for me than I was for me. And, really, is there anything better than that? If there is, I can’t think of it. I can’t think of a single time in my life that I was happier than I was right then, telling my friend Marie every detail of the fabulous sex I had just enjoyed, while drinking the last of my latte and tasting the butter and chocolate on my lips. What more could you ask for?

May I be filled with loving-kindness

May I be well

May I be peaceful and at ease

May I be happy

That is a meditation I have taken great comfort in over the years. I have strived to live by those words, used them as a beacon during my dark moments, but I had never really felt I had achieved them until that day. That was the day everything would change, because finally I was filled with loving-kindness, I was peaceful and at ease, I was happy. The only trouble was I wasn’t well. I just didn’t know that yet.

I went back to New York to quit my job, tidy up my affairs,