“It’s our song,” Bambi remarked.
“I almost forgot!” Peter ejected suddenly. “Bambi . . .” He took her hand and led her to the living room. The moment felt heightened; if they were not already married, Bambi would have expected Peter to propose. The pianist extended the song a little so that they could sway together. “Bambi, I . . .”
The faint sound of multiple pops through the double-pane glass windows. Over Park Avenue, in the canyon of co-ops, just outside the Von Bizmark living room window, a sprinkling of tangerine crystals in the night sky. Bambi practically ran to see.
“You didn’t!” she squealed. Ever since her father had gotten her a fireworks display for her fifth birthday, they had been her favorite sort of uncomplicated joy. There was nothing Bambi liked more, and nothing could be better than that someone knew this about her.
“Apparently, I did . . .” Peter joined her by the window. Outside, bright floral explosions. A few giant pink bursts were followed by smaller green and purple irises. It’s perfect, Bambi thought. Exactly what she wanted. She watched, transfixed, until the very last sparkle had extinguished itself.
“But Peter, what about the . . .” Bambi didn’t want to spoil the moment with something as gauche as discussing money, especially when she had known all along that things would work out, hadn’t she? But Bambi also wished to demonstrate the depths of her thoughtfulness and empathy, her abiding concern for her husband’s well-being. “Business ‘issues’?”
“Oh yes,” Peter said, smiling. “You were right. The mayor agreed to a meeting. I think we have things back on track.”
Bambi took his hand and squeezed it. “I knew you would fix it.”
Chef served a bowl of perfect, luscious, tiny wild strawberries, another food on Bambi’s “unlimited quantities” list. Bambi popped one in her mouth, and even that was like a small sweet blast. “Oh, Peter, these berries! Are they from Puglia too?”
He pulled out an index card. They were both enjoying the evening so much more than they had expected. “Brazil!” he said as if joking, only he wasn’t, and they both laughed in astonishment at their own good fortune. Peter took both her hands in his. “Bambi, I . . . I’m sorry about how things have been.”
“Oh, Peter,” Bambi said, her lower lip trembling.
“Never mind about the opera. I know how important it is to you.” Bambi was left speechless; there could be nothing better than this. Because of course, she felt the slightest bit guilty about how it had all played out, but happily it was water under the bridge now, and she would never have to think about it again as she went through the next five years of gift cards.
“Let’s forget about those silly clauses in the will. Now that the deal’s almost done, we don’t need them. An autopsy! What was Avi thinking?”
“Oh, my!” Bambi said. Peter wrapped his arms around her, their noses inches apart, two smiles, and then an actual lip-to-lip kiss. In Bambi’s mind, the swell of an orchestra played. Nothing had ever been this romantic before in her entire life. Their lips locked for a full six seconds, an eon, leaving everyone shocked: Bambi, breathless with lust; Peter, ready to skip the carriage ride; as well as Nanny and Peony, who had quietly slipped into the room and stood slack jawed by the door.
“Oh my goodness, Peony!” Bambi said, astonished as always to see her youngest child there in her nightgown. Wasn’t it . . . late? A school night? Something? She reached out to inspect Peony’s hands before allowing her near her new gown.
“Hello there,” Peter said, quaffing away.
“Happy anniversary, Mommy. Happy anniversary, Daddy.”
“Thanks, love!” Bambi said, casting an uncertain glance at Nanny (How long would this visit last? she wondered) before bestowing upon Peony a loose hug. Peter pulled out the index card again and studied it.
“Would you like a strawberry?” Bambi offered. Peony’s eyes popped with appreciation when she sank her teeth into the firm but tender Brazilian wild berry Chef had plucked herself about twenty-two hours prior. “Isn’t that the best berry you’ve ever had?”
The moment Peter looked up from his agenda, Cristina came into the dining room and handed him a large heavy rectangle wrapped in turquoise with a lovely tangerine satin ribbon. Bambi allowed Peony to unwrap it, and when it fell open to the first page, she sighed. Her favorite picture of the two of them, when Peter still thought she was so . . . everything.
“Who’s that?” Peony asked.
“That’s Mommy and Daddy a long time ago,” Bambi said, looking up, and there it was, that same expression of—dared she think it?—adoration. Her eyes blurred with tears. She flipped to an early candid shot of Peter whispering in her ear on their first date at the opera. Their cheeks pressed together, conspiratorially naughty, and they were completely engrossed with one another. “Oh!” An actual tear escaped Bambi’s eye, and she pressed a napkin into her lower lid. “I just can’t believe that you did this.” She flipped through the pages quickly, marveling. “How did you even find all these?”
“I had some help,” Peter admitted vaguely, grinning.
Incredible, she thought, that they should have a staff who could accomplish something so effective and personal on her husband’s behalf. “I’ll cherish this. Thank you, sweetheart.” Bambi kissed Peter again, eager to keep up the physical contact. “I think it must be past your bedtime!” Bambi remarked at Peony while looking to Nanny, who quickly ushered her out of the room.
“In fact, darling, there is one more activity tonight.”
“My goodness, Peter, you’ve already bowled me over. And I know how hard to impress I am.” She tittered again when she heard these words come out of her mouth; suddenly she felt she had a great sense of humor about everything.
“You?” Peter said, pulling out her chair and offering her his arm. “No! Not you. Not my Bambi.”
The wrought iron double doors of their building framed the horse-drawn carriage that awaited them on Park Avenue, and the Von Bizmarks strode out arm in arm. “Oh, Peter!” Bambi exclaimed. How incredibly long it had been since she had felt this thought of, cared for, and pampered. How marvelous to be impressed by something again. How unexpected to feel loved. She looked up at her husband, his flexed jaw, his satisfied smile. Her captain of the universe.
Waiting on the seat of the carriage, a navy leather jewelry box. As the driver flicked the whip and hooves clopped along the pavement, Bambi gazed upon a sparkly cluster diamond bracelet, the stones like little flowers. Not bad, Florence, she thought to herself without a grudge. The credit from exchanging this bracelet would complete her budget for that necklace she’d been eyeing for years. And just in time for the ball . . .
How many people, she wondered, had had a hand in the evening? No matter that Peter had thought of none of the details himself and that likely no part of this had been his idea; the fact remained that he had known when to delegate and to whom, and this was the most efficient use of his time.
Bambi took Peter’s hand in her own and pulled him closer as they turned west. Riding under a canopy of trees in Central Park, bathed in moonlight, Bambi made out with her husband as if it were the end of the nineteenth century and love had never died.