Page 24 of Endless Love

TWELVE

Ryan

Over the course of the next week, I was needed in more ways than one. Well, maybe I wasn’t exactly needed, but I volunteered my services: to help Willow run her dad’s deli while he was convalescing at the hospital. It was a convenient way to spend time with her, but admittedly not the easiest. Making sandwiches and waiting tables. I sucked at hard labor. Mayflower-descended Madewells weren’t made for it.

But as challenging as it was, it was the most fun I had in ages. And the labor-intensive work was validating, a feeling that had eluded me for way too long. Most of all, I loved being with Willow and her father’s loyal, good-natured employees—the counter guys, waitresses, cooks, cashiers, and hostesses, who all embraced me like a son. I admit I didn’t know a new pickle from an old one, but for the first time in my life, I felt like I was part of a loving family. Like I belonged.

I learned from Willow that there was an art to making a sandwich. And Mel’s offered as many varieties of sandwiches as there were books in the New York Public Library. Okay, not that many but still enough to fill an encyclopedia. And they each had their own unique name, some named after sections of New York like The Soho Double Decker, an oversized sandwich made with alternating layers of pastrami, corn beef, and coleslaw, while others were named after famous New York celebrities, many of whom had dined at Mel’s like former Mayor Bloomberg and the late Pearl Bailey. No surprise that no one from my illustrious family was among them…

…Until one night Willow and I were alone, closing up the restaurant. It was almost midnight.

“How’s your dad doing?” I asked, wrapping a huge roasted turkey in saran wrap. She’d gone to visit him earlier in the day, something she’d done daily since his heart attack.

Covering the tray of slaw, she smiled. “He’s doing great. Complaining about the hospital food. They’re going to release him early next week.”

“Is he going to have to be on bed rest?” What I was really asking: Do you still need me to work here with you?

“Actually, no. He can resume working, but he’s going to have to take it easy. No lifting heavy things…a definite nap during the day…that kind of stuff.” She straightened up the plastic utensils bin. “Most importantly, he’s going to have to watch his diet and do some exercise.”

“That shouldn’t be too hard.”

Willow laughed. “Are you kidding? The doctor said he has to cut out pastrami. That’s like telling a little kid he can’t have candy.”

I laughed too.

“And my father’s idea of exercise is going to the bank, which is around the corner.”

“Maybe I can get him to take up running,” I said, still laughing.

“Fat chance. No pun intended.” She adjusted her long white apron, bringing attention to her nipped waist. “I told him how helpful you’ve been.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

“It’s been fun.” That was an understatement; I loved every minute I’d spent with Willow. I hadn’t felt this close to a woman in years. Or so alive.

“My father’s really grateful. He wants me to name a new sandwich after you.”

“Get out.”

“Seriously. Let’s create it now.”

“What should we call it?”

“Duh. The Ryan Madewell.”

“Thanks for leaving out ‘The Fourth’.”

“We can add it if you like.”

“No, please don’t.” I actually hated my pretentious name and the fact that I had to share it with my father and his father before him.

“Let’s start with the bread. Rye, right?”

She knew me well. “Yeah, definitely rye bread.” I watched as she reached for a loaf of freshly baked bread and sliced off two even-sized pieces.

“Watch your fingers,” I urged.

---