by Roya Carmen
He shakes out the blanket and whips it in the air, letting it fall gently over the wispy grass and flowers. I wonder if we’re even allowed to set up like this in the meadow. I’m sure we’re breaking some kind of environmental law. The blue blanket looks inviting. My mind immediately wanders to all the fun we could have on it, in an alternate reality.
I bite my lip, chiding myself.
Settle down, girl.
I remind myself why I’m here.
The sun is shining down. I plop down my shades. I take off my purple hoodie, grab its arms and tie a perfect knot around my waist.
Weston grabs the picnic basket and sets it on the blanket. I kneel down next to him, my body not quite itself. I feel so awkward, unsure of myself. I’m not quite sure how I’m going to go about this. He pulls on the basket’s belt-like straps and opens it to reveal a nice selection of snacks. He is as methodical as ever as he spreads out a small checkered table cloth over the blanket. I smile as I watch him intently. He sets a plate in the center and puts two cute little matching sea-themed spreading knifes on the plate. He lays out crackers in a perfect line; like fallen dominoes, the goat cheese and the small jar of my favorite fig spread. My mouth salivates at the sight. He ventures a look up at me and I give him a wide smile of appreciation. “I’m impressed.”
He smiles. “I try.”
He plops a bunch of green grapes on the plate, and pulls a bottle of rosé from the basket. “I also brought some Orangina if you’d prefer.”
“No thanks, I’m fine with the wine.”
Finally, he pulls out a pretty little blue velvet box which he sets on the blanket. My breath catches at the sight of it. He looks at me but doesn’t say a word. I try to read his expression but I can’t. I see nothing but a mix of emotions; hope, love, sorrow. I pray to God it’s not what I think it is. Not only will I have to break up with him, but I’ll have to turn down a marriage proposal too.
No, he wouldn’t.
I grab a cracker and spread some of the delicious looking cheese on it, but somehow, my appetite has left me again. It may have a little something to do with the blue velvet box.
He opens the bottle and pours us both some wine.
I watch him without inhibition. I want to drink him in. I realize this will be our last time together if all works as planned. And he’s still as beautiful as the first time I saw him. Of course, he looks a lot more casual today; light brown chinos and a plaid short sleeved button shirt, a silver chain tucked under a white undershirt. He props his shades on top of his head as he gazes up at the sky. Clouds have drifted over us. I look up and pray it doesn’t start to rain. The last thing I need right now is a downpour.
Neither of us say a thing for what seems like a week.
“This is nice,” I finally venture. “Thank you. This was a great idea.”
He smiles without a word. “I wanted to talk. I want to know how you’ve been faring. You can tell me the truth.”
I feel my throat close up. I swallow the lump down. “I’ve been good. Honestly.”
He traces circles along the rim of his glass. “I’m glad.”
“Thank you for not blaming me,” I say. I’ve been wanting to say this for a while, but I’ve never found the right time.
He looks up from his glass. “Of course I wouldn’t. I know it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.”
My eyes well up when I tell him, “I was good. I did everything right. I didn’t drink. I ate right. I followed your list religiously,” I try to explain. “I swear.”
I see sorrow in his eyes. I can see them glisten. He nestles his glass of wine in the blades of grass, the gesture measured and gentle. He sits beside me and repeats the gesture with my glass. Everything seems to move in slow motion, and the world seems to close in on us. He takes me in his arms and holds me tightly.
And I let go. I cry. On his shoulder, literally.
He cries too. I can hear his soft sobs and feel the quaking of his body against mine. I hold on tight and I don’t let go. I feel like I don’t ever want to let go. How can I let this man go? This is so hard.
But I think about Gabe and the girls and I remind myself of what I need to do. I pull away gently and look up at him. I wipe the tear off his cheek with the pad of my thumb. “We’ll be all right,” I say. “We’re both strong.”
He smiles, a whisper of a smile. His face is still splotchy, his eyes still red. He pulls away from me. “I want to give you this,” he says, reaching out to grab the mysterious blue velvet box. My heart starts to beat faster as he hands it to me with a shy smile. I bite my lip as I open the lid slowly, not wanting to look.
Relief washes over me when I see it’s not a ring, but a beautiful silver chain and pendant; a leafy tree nestled in a perfect circle. I look up at him. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
He smiles down at the food covered tablecloth. “You’re welcome.” He reaches for the chain around his neck and pulls out a matching pendant — it’s identical to mine.
“You have one too,” I say, not quite understanding. “They’re gorgeous.”
“They’re olive trees, and the circle symbolizes infinity, as you probably know.”
My eyes prick as it finally dawns on me.
“Little Oliver will be in our hearts for eternity, won’t he?” he says.
I wipe my eyes with the sleeve of my hoodie. “Forever.” I bury my face in one hand. The other still holds the blue box. “Stop making me cry, Weston. I’m so glad I didn’t wear mascara today,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “I must look like hell.”
He smiles and takes my tear soaked hand in his. “You look lovely, as always.”
I stare down at the glimmering silver tree pendant nestled on the white velvet pad. “Thank you so much. I’ll wear it all the time.”
“It’s white gold. You can bathe and swim with it.”
“I will,” I promise. “I won’t let it leave my heart.”
He takes the box from my hand. “May I?”
I nod and watch him as he pulls the delicate chain out of the box. The pendant dangles from his long fingers. He works the clasp, his gestures soft and precise. I lean into him, and he sweeps my ponytail to the side. “I like you with a baseball cap and pony,” he whispers. “Very sexy.”
I close my eyes, not wanting to hear the word ‘sex’ in any form. He wraps the chain gently around my neck. The gold feels slightly cold against my skin. His fingers graze the back of my neck, sending shivers through me. I close my eyes, craving his touch. He clamps the clasp, his fingers tickling my spine. I turn to him, desire pooling through me. I bite back the feelings I’m experiencing — it’s almost painful. “How does it look?”
“Beautiful,” he breathes, and his eyes seem to darken.
He pulls me into his arms again. I can feel his heart beat hard. I pull myself closer to him, tighter, and bury my hands in his hair. He presses his face against my neck, and trails his mouth along my cheek. His mouth searches for mine. I close my eyes. Every inch of my being wants to be kissed.
One last kiss.
Weston’s mouth finally finds mine. I catch my breath at the sensation of his soft wet lips on mine. His tongue teases. His kiss is sweet, gentle, coaxing. There is a strong need within me, but it’s not desire or lust. It’s a powerful need to be as close to him as I possibly can, to be tied to him forever.
Although, it takes every iota of strength I possess, I manage to pull myself away. He looks at me as if he understands I can’t kiss him.
“That was a goodbye kiss, Weston.”
His face falls. Any joy or hope there was there, has evaporated into thin air. All there is now is sorrow and pain and emptiness.
I trail my hand along the edge of his jaw, his five o’clock shadow rough on the pads of my fingers. “I’m sorry. You know I had to choose.”
He can’t seem to quite look at me when he says, “And you’ve chosen Gabe.”
“Yes, I have. And I think you should try to make a
go of it with Bridget again. You two have a beautiful family.”
The tears stream down his cheeks again. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man cry so much. And to think, I used to believe he was cold, without feeling. I was so wrong. He’s the most sensitive, most passionate person I’ve ever met — which is what got us into this mess in the first place. Logic doesn’t prevail with two hopeless romantics. Our love story was always doomed to failure. And I think we both knew this, but we still wanted to live it.
I wipe another tear. “Don’t ever think, for one second, that I didn’t love you, Weston.”
He ventures a look up at me. “Did you?”
“I did. I still do. I love you, Weston. I probably always will.”
He clears his throat, his voice still a little shaky. “You don’t know how I longed to hear those words. I know I’ll always love you, until the day I die.”
I sigh, knowing he will love me until the day he dies. It may not be love. It may be infatuation…lust, but whatever it might be, he feels it passionately and always will. My stomach drops knowing we both need to let go soon. “Can I lay with you?” I ask, “Just for a little while before we go?”
He wraps his arm around me and pulls me to him, a soft smile on his face. We lean back on the blue blanket and look up at the sky which has cleared up, the clouds dancing across the bright blue. We lay in silence. I listen to his beating heart, knowing this is the last time I will ever hear it.
I suck in a breath. “There’s something else I wanted to tell you,” I say, turning to look at him. I know he won’t like what I’m about to tell him. There is finality about it, like I’ve written ‘The End’. I’ve made a life-changing decision, which was decided, in large part, because of him. This is how serious I am about breaking from him, making my own way — a new life, a new chance for Gabe and I. “We’re moving.”
He jerks up. “What? Where? Since when?”
I swallow hard. “We’re moving to Phoenix. Gabe has a work opportunity there. We just decided not too long ago.”
His face falls. “Why now?” he asks.
When I don’t answer, he fixes me, his gaze intense, his eyes a darker shade than I’ve ever seen them. “It’s about me, isn’t it?”
I hesitate a little. “Yes, it’s mostly about you…about the two of us.”
He rubs his face hard, almost as if he’s trying to chafe the pain away. “Tell me one thing,” he says. “If what we have is so powerful, you need to move miles away, perhaps it’s strong enough to take a chance on it?”
I close my eyes, thinking about his words. “But what Gabe and I have is also strong,” I say, not opening my eyes. I don’t want to see his face when I tell him this. “It’s even stronger. It’s nurtured and cemented by years shared together, children brought into the world. First love.” I open my eyes, and all I see on his face is hurt. His mouth is a thin line, and his eyes are wet, he doesn’t want to hear this. “And what you and I have is magical, love at first sight, inexplicable chemistry, the stuff of romance novels, but it’s not quite real, is it?”
“It is to me,” he says softly.
“But it’s not, really. It’s complicated… fragile.”
We’ve started this for all the wrong reasons. I was looking for excitement and he was looking to escape, to forget.
He looks up at the sky. “What about you?” he says. “What about your work? You love your job.”
I swallow. I have tried not to think about that, about leaving my work, leaving my best friend. “We’re leaving after Christmas break, so they’ll need to find a replacement by then. I’ve already told the school. And I’ve already started to look for another teaching position, although it’s going to be a hard endeavor, it’s pretty competitive out there. But I’m pretty open to anything. As long as I’m working with kids, I’ll be happy.”
He smiles at me. “I’m sure you’ll have no problem. You light up a room when you walk into it,” he tells me, with that familiar smile in his eyes. “As long as you can land an interview, the job will be yours.”
I laugh. “I wish I could be as confident as you.”
He takes my hand in his. “Remember what I told you once, don’t ever sell yourself short.”
“I remember.”
He doesn’t let go of my hand. And I think about all the times we’ve broken up. And somehow he found me and brought me back to him.
I look up at him, study his features one last time, and mark them to memory. “Promise me one thing.”
“Yes, anything.”
“Promise me you won’t come and find me.”
He tears his gaze away from mine. “You know I can’t promise that, Mirella,” he says softly. “That’s like asking an addict to promise he won’t ever touch drugs again. He may have good intentions, but in a moment of weakness, he may falter and he knows this, so as much as he may want to, he can’t make that promise.”
My heart sinks at the realization that I’ll never truly be free from him. He’ll never let me go. And the worst part is, I can see he wants to. He wants to not love me. Loving someone you can’t have is torture; an invisible, unassuming, soft agony, a constant feeling of longing, a void.
“Well, at least tell me you’ll try your best,” I finally manage.
He leans his arms on his knees and buries his face in his hands. “I can’t believe you’re running away.”
“I’m not. I’m not running away. I’m making a new life.”
He sits, buried in himself, for the longest time. I watch him, not quite knowing what to say. I know anything I could come up with would sound trite. He doesn’t want to hear apologies or excuses.
Finally, he shakes his head. “We should get going,” he says as he starts to pack up the picnic without a single glance my way.
“Weston,” I plead. “Don’t be like this.”
“Like what?” he says as he hooks the leather belts on the basket. “Isn’t this how you want me? Aloof? To not give a shit?”
I’m taken aback by his use of foul language. “But you do give a shit, that’s just it.”
He grabs the blanket and folds it without care, not methodically in the least, as is usually his way. “Let’s go.”
His strides are so long and hurried, I can barely keep up with him.
“Weston,” I call out, wanting him to slow down and talk to me. I don’t want to end things this way. But he keeps going, fast and furious, without a glance back. I run to catch up to him. “Weston, please stop!” I yell after him.
I try to make my way around the roots and bits of log. But this trail is not meant to be hurried, and it finally catches up to me when I do a rather glorious nose-dive over a small moss covered log. I curse as my body makes contact with the ground in a pretty thunderous display, of the most embarrassing kind. I wince as my brain registers the pain. “Someone should really be on top of clearing this damn path,” I mutter under my breath.
I see Weston off in the distance, closing in on me. The anger on his face has morphed into concern. He kneels down when he reaches me. “Are you okay?”
I wince. “Yes, I’m fine,” I tell him, cataloging the damage.
“You have a pretty nasty scratch on your wrist,” he says, pointing out the obvious. “Does it feel broken?”
I study the dirt covered bloody scratch as I rotate my wrist. “I think it just might be a little sprained, definitely not broken.”
“Here,” he says, pulling me gently to him. “Let’s get back to the car.”
We walk in silence side by side. I might be in pain, but I like this much better. I didn’t want our last goodbye to be so full of anger and drama.
When we finally reach his car, he pulls out a first aid kit from the glove department.
I laugh out loud. “Only someone like you would have a first aid kit in their ultra-cool sports car.”
He smiles as he pulls out some rubbing alcohol and a large Band-Aid. “You know me, I like to be prepared.”
It stings at he
cleans the scratch, but he’s so gentle, I hardly feel it. All I can feel are the butterflies scattering all across my insides. His eyes are still so beautiful and kind when he asks me, “Does this feel okay? Doesn’t hurt too much?”
“No,” I say, the word barely a whisper.
He presses the Band-Aid gently on my skin, with the care of mother who’s soothing a child’s injury. And it occurs to me this is why I feel so safe around him, so loved. He takes care of me like no one ever has, not even my own mother. My eyes start to prick and I close them and swallow hard.
I lean into him and press my lips to his for one last kiss — a sweet chaste kiss. He doesn’t try to turn it into something else. He knows it can’t be more. Instead, he takes me into his arms and holds me tight.
And here it is, our proper beautiful goodbye.
When I get home, I fall into pieces on the sofa.
Gabe instantly drops by my side. “What happened?’
There is no sense hiding the truth from Gabe at this point. He knows I had very strong feelings for the man. He knows that I loved him. I almost had a child with this man. I shared the most intimate parts of myself with him. And I’ve never been great at goodbyes. No, there’s no sense in hiding my pain.
Gabe takes me in his strong arms. “You said goodbye?”
“Y-yes,” I tell him, the word buried between sobs. “You…know how I hate…goodbyes.”
He rubs my back softly. “I know. I’m sorry you have to say goodbye to so many people. But it’s for the best.”
I wipe my nose with the heel of my hand, drenching the large Band-Aid on my wrist. “I know. It’s best for us…for our family.”
He rests his chin against the top of my head. “I wish I could save you from this. I wish we could go back in time and not go to that uppity restaurant. Then we would have never…”
“I know.” I say, not wanting him to say the words. For all that has happened, I no longer wish to take back the past. I don’t want to change a thing. Every moment I’ve shared with Weston; every kiss, every smile, those moments filled the pages of my book, just like the ones I’ve shared with Gabe and the girls, the kids from school, and Gwen.