Oh yeah, all right
Are you going to be in my dreams
Tonight?
And in the end
The love you take
Is equal to the love
You make
Marisol smiled as she looked around the dining room table, happier than she'd been in years. Her entire family, along with her best friend Donna, were all here for Melody's first birthday. The only thing missing was Paul. At least Melody was too young to remember her father missing her first birthday.
Paul had already visited California twice since they'd reconnected in February, and Marisol and Melody had returned twice to London. They had seen each other every two weeks and their relationship had never been better, but now they were gearing up for a rough summer. Next week the Beatles would begin another massive world tour. Three months on the road with barely any time off.
"There's one more present for the two of you, dear," Marisol's mother said. "Jack, bring in your daughter's early birthday gift."
"The big one?"
Her mother arched a brow and pointed at the doorway to the living room. "You know the one."
"Is it a horse?" Lucy asked, her face brightening.
"Lord, I hope not," Mrs. Hemingway said. "We've trotted down that road enough times already."
"I want a horse for my birthday," Lucy said, clapping her hands.
"Our birthday," Sophie said. "Two horses."
Marisol smiled innocently at Nick and Margo in turn. "If your parents really love you maybe they'll let you have all three horses out in the barn for your birthday."
Lucy clapped and squealed. "Really daddy?"
"You are the devil's child," Margo said to her sister, taking a swig of wine.
"I resent that remark," their mother said.
"That's not happening, Luce," Nick said with a frown. "Maybe when you're older."
"Keep working on them," Marisol stage whispered to her niece. "And get your sister to nag at them too. That's how we always got what we wanted."
"Nice," Margo said. "I'll remember this in a few years when Melody is their age."
Marisol's father returned with a large, flat, square package wrapped in brown paper, clearly some sort of artwork. He laid it in the middle of the table in front of Marisol.
"Oh my goodness, what is this?" Marisol reached for the paper.
"Just a minute, Jack." Her mother reached over and stopped Marisol's hand. "This isn't the one. I meant the BIGGER gift. The one for both Marisol and the baby."
"What?" Marisol eyed her mother. "If you guys got Melody a horse, I swear I'll--"
Mrs. Hemingway scoffed. "I certainly didn't get either of you some sort of animal I'll end up caring for in my old age."
Mr. Hemingway stood by the door. "Now which gift are you talking about, Laura?"
"Oh go on, Jack, stop acting silly and get it."
Marisol's father gave her a wink and left the room.
One-year-old Melody stared after her grandfather, crestfallen. Any time her beloved Papa left the room she looked as though her heart would break. She had the most expressive brown eyes. And those perfect dark eyebrows. She looked more like her daddy every minute. Marisol watched her daughter, her heart filling with pride.
Doors opened and closed, conversation around the table rose and fell, and suddenly Melody's face lit up like a Christmas tree. A wide grin showcased four tiny white teeth. "Dada da da da!" Melody said, squealing with glee.
"See, Papa came back, didn't he birthday girl?" Marisol moved Melody's sip cup out of the way before it ended up on the floor with all of the wrapping paper and bows. Melody was trying to launch herself out of the high chair. She was certainly getting attached to her Papa.
Footsteps sounded behind her and hands settled on her shoulders, just as Marisol heard a low, familiar Scouse voice in her ear. "'Ello, Beauty. Sorry I'm late."
"Oh my god!" She leaped out of the chair, practically turning it over in her haste to be in Paul's arms. "You...you...how did you...?"
Paul was standing there, looking gorgeous, in her dining room. Her heart pounded, and her grin was from ear to ear. Now the day truly qualified as the happiest of her life.
They hugged, then they kissed, and then Paul let Marisol go and pulled Melody out of her high chair so they could coo at each other.
"Who's daddy's girl?"
"Da da da da!"
"Who's a big birthday girl?"
"Aeeeeee!" Melody squealed while Paul covered her face with kisses.
Marisol looked around the table, unable to stop smiling. "Did everyone know he was coming?"
"Not me," Donna said, a sour look on her face.
"I keeped the secret!" Lucy shouted.
"Kept the secret," Mrs. Hemingway said. "Indoor voice, please."
"You are such a good girl!" Marisol said, hugging her niece.
Sophie pressed her tiny hands against the brown paper package on the table. "Open it!"
Marisol peeled off the brown paper wrapping. It was indeed a painting, face down on the table. Donna stood and helped turn the painting right side up.
Marisol's hands flew to her mouth and her eyes instantly filled with tears. It was a beautifully rendered oil painting of her grandma's back garden. The lavender bushes, rows of geraniums, the fruit trees lining the curving path that led to the creek, and the weeping willow tree that Marisol had played under every summer of her childhood.
"There's my bench!" Marisol cried, not believing her eyes.
"You dragged it under there yourself back in '55 when you were ten years old if I recall correctly," Paul said.
"You remembered!"
"Are you crying because you're happy?" Sophie asked with a worried frown.
Marisol gave her niece a squeeze. "Yes, sweetie. So happy." She looked back at the painting. "I love it. So much."
"You said Melody wouldn't ever see that tree. Now she will," Paul said quietly.
"This is from you?" Marisol stared at him, her eyes widening with surprise.
"Your boy there had it commissioned." Marisol's father hooked a thumb at Paul.
"Your parents helped, a lot," Paul said.
"This is truly the best birthday present since Jet." Marisol wiped at her eyes. This day.
"I helped too," Sophie said. "I never told."
"You are a wonderful secret keeper."
"Me too," Lucy said.
"You too."
"Thank you Mom, Dad." She looked at Paul. "Thank you," she said, wrapping an arm around his neck and kissing his cheek.
She stood back, smiling from Paul to their baby. "I can't believe you're here," she whispered.
Shifting Melody to one side, Paul made a show of patting his pockets. "Wait, wait. There may be something else in here." He pulled out a tiny box wrapped in robin's egg blue paper and handed it to Melody, who immediately brought it to her mouth.
"Put Melody back in the high chair, Paul," said Mrs. Hemingway. "We're having cake."
"Yes, Grandma," Paul said.
Mrs. Hemingway arched a brow.
"That's not Grandma, that's Mimi," Lucy said.
"She prefers Mimi," Margo explained, "because Grandma sounds like...somebody's grandmother."
"I hope I live long enough to hear you called Grandma and see how you like it," Mrs. Hemingway said.
"Is this from Tiffany's, Paul?" When Melody was back in the high chair, Marisol extricated the box from her daughter's mouth and put it on the tray in front of her. "You'll spoil her rotten."
"That's all right," Paul said matter-of-factly. "Your parents spoiled you rotten and look at you now."
She gave him a shove and he caught her arms, laughing.
Sophie was beside the high chair, helping Melody unwrap her gift. Inside the Tiffany's box was a delicate gold chain holding a tiny gold heart engraved with the letter M. "M is for Melody," Sophie announced.
"And McCartney," Paul added.
Melody was more interested in the box. Sophie held up the necklace. "What's that say?"
Marisol examined the back of the heart. "Daddy's little girl," she read, and turned to Paul with a huge grin. "So sweet. I love that you spoiled her."
Paul patted his pockets. "Oh, I almost forgot." He fumbled in his pocket a moment and pulled out a second tiny blue box and handed it to Marisol. "For the mommy of the birthday girl, who has a birthday coming up herself, if I'm not mistaken."
Marisol's hand flew to her mouth to cover her gasp. Her eyes moved back and forth between Paul's face and the ring box. "Paul. This isn't...you didn't--"
He quickly cut her off. "It's not what you think," he said, hastily opening the box to reveal a gold key.
Across the room, Marcus snickered. "You thought it was an engagement ring, didn't you Herman?"
"Shut up, jack leg." Marisol turned her back on her brother.
Paul pulled out the key and flipped her hand over. His fingers seemed to shake a little as he placed the key in her palm.
"This is the key to a beautiful little country cottage in Sussex, halfway between London and the seashore, with a lovely willow tree in the back garden that our daughter will love to play under."
Marisol felt lightheaded. She looked around at her family, at the huge grins, at the shock on Donna's face. She glanced at the painting of her grandmother's house and back at Paul, afraid to believe what it sounded like he was saying.
Her father filled in the blanks. "We told you how your grandmother's house sold the first day it was on the market." He nodded his head at Paul. "You're looking at the new owner."
"Actually, your daughter is the new owner," Paul corrected him. "She holds the key."
Marisol's mouth opened in shock. New tears filled her eyes. She looked quickly at Sophie. "Happy tears!" she said, and wrapped her arms around Paul's neck. "I love you," she whispered. "So much."
Behind them, Melody squealed, wanting to be part of the hug.
Paul pulled away, an anxious smile on his face. "Your family has been a huge help in letting me surprise you. Are you happy?"
"Oh my god, yes, so happy!"
She felt Lucy beside her and dropped a hand to her head. "Thank you, everybody. This is...I am so shocked..."
"Good," Paul said, nodding. He gave an anxious little cough and rolled his shoulders before continuing. "Because I put a lot of thought into what a one-year-old baby girl would most want for her birthday, and what I came up with was...a house in the English countryside with both of her parents." He reached into his pocket again and pulled out a diamond ring, holding it between his thumb and forefinger.
"Oh hell no," Donna moaned, dropping her head onto the table.
"Language!" Mrs. Hemingway warned.
"Oh my god," Marisol said, staring at the ring. She was frozen, unable to move.
Paul smiled down at her, his eyes misty. "It may seem a bit fast, but I knew from the first minute I saw you almost three years ago that I wanted you in my life, and I don't want to say goodbye to you. Ever again."
Marisol's hands flew to her face. There was no hiding the sob this time, or the tears. "You're killing me," she managed to say, before flinging herself into Paul's arms.
"Happy tears!" Sophie yelled, grabbing Lucy's hands and twirling with her sister around the room.
Paul leaned back to study her face. "Will you marry me, and end all these goodbyes?"
His beautiful face was blurry through her tears. "Of course I will," Marisol said on a sob.
They parted, both of their hands shaking as Paul slid the diamond solitaire onto Marisol's finger.
"It's about time," Margo said. She pushed her way between the couple, practically elbowing Marisol out of the way. "Let me be the first to hug my new favorite brother-in-law." She wrapped her arms around Paul's neck and swayed with him for much longer than Marisol thought necessary. Paul was looking a little flushed by the time Marisol grabbed a hunk of her sister's hair and pulled.
"Ow! Relax! I'm just welcoming him into the family!"
"Have some more wine, Gogo," Marisol muttered, wiping at her tears.
Everyone crowded around the couple, offering congratulations and congratulating themselves on how well they'd all kept Paul a secret.
Nick hovered at the edge of the crowd, snapping away with his new Nikon. Marisol's father uncorked a bottle of the family's finest reserve Sauvignon Blanc and glasses were passed around, followed by plates of birthday cake.
Marisol turned to see Donna standing in the corner, tears glistening in her big blue eyes. She immediately went to her. "I'm so selfish," Donna moaned. "I don't want you to go."
"I know, girlfriend, I know," Marisol said, pulling Donna in for a hug. "You'll visit though. You'll stay as long as you want. All summer even." She held on to her best friend, trying to think of what would make their separation bearable. "We'll find you a British lover."
"Yuck." Donna sniffed. "Maybe a French lover..."
"That's it!" Marisol smoothed Donna's hair and smiled through her tears. "France is so close! You won't believe how close it is—"
"I can read a map, dingbat."
Laughing, Marisol hugged her tighter. "You'll come visit and we'll do Paris."
Donna pulled away. "Pinky swear?"
Marisol nodded solemnly and they hooked pinkies.
"He's what you want, and I'm happy for you," Donna said.
"We'll always have Paris," Marisol told her. "Don't you dare forget me."
"That's not going to be possible. Honey, your face is going to be everywhere."
The thought hit Marisol like a punch to the stomach. Her life was about to get very, very loud.
She looked around for Paul. He was trapped by her father, who was saying something about fishing and Idaho. Over her father's shoulder, they locked eyes and Paul gave her a little wink.
Oh, but he was worth it. Being with Paul, finally, was worth everything they'd gone through in the past and everything they would go through in the future, together.
Hours later, when Paul and Marisol were able to get away, she tossed him the keys to her father's beloved Thunderbird Convertible. They sat in the driveway for ten minutes while Paul raised and lowered the roof, marveling at all the parts required to make the roof automatically open and tuck itself into the trunk.
"A technical wonder of American engineering," he enthused.
"It's kind of a nightmare," Marisol said. "Always breaking down."
They drove up the Bohemian Highway, through towering redwoods, serene pastures, rocky ravines, and tiny scenic hamlets. With the top down, they blasted music from the radio. They cheered madly when they heard the Beatles' brand new release, Paperback Writer. They laughed and pumped their fists and sang along with the Beach Boys: "and she'll have fun fun fun till her daddy takes the T-bird away..."
"God, I'm living inside an American pop song right now!" Paul yelled.
"Right side of the road!" Marisol shrieked, pointing at a pickup truck coming directly at them.
They turned the volume down when they reached the village, and Marisol pointed out the historic home where Bing Crosby and Fred Astaire filmed Holiday Inn. Paul waited in the car with a San Francisco Giants baseball cap pulled low on his brow, fiddling with the automatic steering wheel, while Marisol dashed into a bakery for sourdough bread and locally made cheese.
Near a scenic bridge they parked and walked along the Russian River until they found the perfect spot to sit in the grass with their picnic, swigging from a bottle of wine, holding hands, and making plans.
Marisol leaned her back against an oak tree with Paul's head in her lap, unable to stop looking at the shiny diamond on her left hand. She was halfway convinced that she would wake up soon, with a smile on her face, from this very lovely dream that couldn't possibly be her life.
"We've been somehow flying under the radar, but we'll have to make an announcement to the press soon, and then, look out. You'll be hounded by reporters," Paul said, adjusting the brim of his cap so he could look up at her.
She nodded. "My father will take care of them."
Paul laughed. "American rifle power. Maybe he should come back to London with us."
He saw her looking at the ring and took her hand and kissed it. "I want us to be married as soon as possible. I want Melody to have my last name. As soon as this tour ends."
She groaned. "The tour."
"Yeah." He was quiet for a moment, then he sighed. "Everyone's fed up. George hates to fly, John says we've sold out. No one can hear the music anyway. We're not even motivated to rehearse. We'd all rather be in the studio, creating music. Performing it, for us, is getting to be impossible."
"But you'll always have to tour, won't you?" Marisol was trying to imagine what it would be like next summer and all the other summers, alone in London, waiting for him and worrying about him.
"I dunno, we'll see. Depends on if the fans will still buy our records, I suppose." He untucked her blouse from her shorts and kissed her stomach, making her giggle. Making her mind wander to the night ahead. Making her want to groan.
"I love performing," he continued. "I still get the same rush. But the others are fed up with the craziness. George thinks we'll all be killed."
Marisol stared down at him wordlessly. She rarely considered how dangerous it was, the constant flying, the racing around in limousines or jammed in the back of bread trucks, the threats from deranged fans.
"The final show is in San Francisco, and then you can come to England." He lifted his head and sat up, removing the cap and scratching the back of his head. "I found some land a mile from your grandmother's house in Sussex. There's a barn and pastures. We can bring your horses over."
She framed his face with her hands, thrilled with the news. "Are you serious? We can really do that?"
He smiled, tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. "Of course. The horses, the dogs. And whatever or whoever else you think you need."
"I don't need anyone else," Marisol said, leaning in and kissing his perfect lips that tasted of wine.
Back in the car, they joined another highway heading west as far as they could drive. They held hands while they hiked the rugged Northern California coastline. Just past Tomales Bay, they sat at the edge of a cliff with their legs dangling over the edge. "You drove us across the San Andreas Fault," Marisol told him. "Now we're on a different tectonic plate than the rest of North America, the same tectonic plate as Hawaii."
He squinted at the endless expanse of dark blue ocean, sparkling under a cloudless, azure sky. "So if we have a major earthquake right now, you and I will just drift away."
She smiled at him. He looked utterly adorable in his American baseball cap. "I wouldn't mind. As long as we could take Melody." She leaned over and kissed that spot behind his ear that always made him flinch like she was tickling him. As they watched the sun set over the Pacific, Paul told her he'd watched the sun rise over the Atlantic from his airplane window that morning.
"You must be exhausted. But I'm so glad you're here."
"Pure adrenaline, baby. But I wouldn't have missed this day."
The house was quiet and dark when they got back. They stood in Melody's room for a few minutes, watching her sleeping. Paul rested his hand on her back, smiling down at her until Marisol pulled him away.
"Where am I sleeping?" he whispered.
"My room, of course. You're my fiance. And I think my parents figured out a long time ago that we're doing it."
"Thank god," Paul said. "Because I don't know when I'll get to wake up with you again."
They brushed their teeth side by side. Paul had brought a small duffel bag with him, and it gave Marisol an idea.
"I'm going to rinse off real quick," she said.
Paul nodded and stretched and stepped into her bedroom.
Marisol turned on the shower, and as the water warmed up, she reached in her purse and took out a packet of photographs. She smiled when she found the one she wanted. Her hair was a mess in the photo, as usual, and it looked like she was holding a mini female version of Paul. Their daughter was mostly blocked by the record album she was clutching. Hopefully Paul would recognize it as the album he had given her on the day they met, almost three years ago. The day that changed both of their lives. She searched her bag for a pen and wrote on the back of the photograph:
You are the love of our lives. Come home soon. XO
P.S. We liked the album.
Then she tucked the photograph in a side zippered pocket of Paul's duffel bag, hoping he wouldn't notice it until he was off in a hotel room somewhere on the other side of the world, feeling maybe a bit homesick and missing his fiancee and baby daughter.
Still smiling, she stepped into the tub and took the quickest shower of her life. She dried off equally fast and practically sprinted into her bedroom.
Oh my god. Paul was naked in her bedroom. In her bed. The bed she had lain in as a little girl, dreaming of a mysterious brown-eyed boy in her future who would dream with her and scheme with her and always love her.
"About bloody time." Paul watched her drop the towel and pull her damp hair into a high ponytail. His eyes moved down her face, her neck, pausing at her breasts.
"Do you sleep naked when you're home?" he asked, sounding hopeful.
"With you I do."
Her stomach tightened from the way he was watching her. She pulled back the sheet and stared at him, biting her lower lip at the wonder of it. He was going to be all hers. No other girl would see this body, hear that voice whispering in her ear, lick that ticklish spot behind his ear. It was almost too much to believe. And worth every goodbye and every tear.
He held her hips as she climbed over him. "Mind your knee."
She laughed as he eased her down on the other side of the bed. "I'm not going to hurt your family jewels."
"They'll be your jewels soon," he said, reading her mind yet again. He reached over a hand to cup her breast. "I can't believe I'm going to come home every night and find you in my bed. I'll get bedtime Marisol and sleepy morning Marisol and damp-just-from-the-shower Marisol—"
"—and cranky pants, crying PMS Marisol," she warned.
His thumb slid across her nipple. "We'll muddle through somehow. Right now, I just want to be the first to make love to my fiancee. And the last."
Warmth flooded her body, and she leaned in for his kiss. Their lips locked as he rolled on top of her, settling between her legs. She closed her eyes, barely able to focus any longer on the conversation. He was so warm, so rigid. He felt so right.
"I love you, Marisol Rose Hemingway McCartney," he whispered against her lips.
Her eyes flew open.
No one else will hear him say I love you.
"I love you too, James Paul McCartney. You are the love of my life."
His eyes met hers, and his smile grew. "Finally."
Number of times Paul McCartney had told her he loved her using her soon to be married name: 1
...and that was just the beginning.
(fade to black)
THE END
Author's Note: Paul and Marisol's story continues in the now complete sequel, Above Us Only Sky 💕