More than anything, I wish Matt were here. I feel the safest with Matt. I have to face the fact that there is a more than even chance I am going to die in Palm Coast without ever seeing my husband or my children again, without telling them how much I love them, how happy they have made me. How much of my life would be missing without them. I desperately need to talk to Matt. I turn my cell phone back on. But there is no signal. I’m cut off.
There is nothing I can do about that now. But there is something I can do to correct my past mistakes, to make things right, to clear my conscience before it’s too late. If I am going to die in Palm Coast, I need to make peace with my past by finally coming clean with Manny about Josh. I wonder if I can even trust him with the full explanation.
Restart. To give it a test drive, I imagine how the conversation will go.
“There was a reason I left to go to Italy,” I’d begin. “There’s something you didn’t know then. That you still don’t know. That I never wanted you to know.”
“So tell me what it is I don’t know about you. I used to know everything about you.”
“Yes, I’m an open book where you’re concerned,” I’d say sarcastically. “Only some of the pages are missing.”
“You’re not making any sense,” he’d reply, flustered.
“When I went to Italy,” I’d say hurriedly, before I lost my courage, “when you lost touch with me, it wasn’t accidental. My mother sent me out of the country to get me away from the baby’s father, to erase that part of my life forever.”
“Why didn’t you just tell Matt about the baby to begin with?” Manny would reason, because of course he still believes the baby is Matt’s.
“Are you totally dense?” I’d raise my voice above the din of the wind and the rushing water, exasperated. “I never slept with Matt. You were the first and only person I’d ever slept with before I married Matt.” Then I’d look directly at him.
“But I thought you said that you—I mean all those Italian lovers you had,” he’d sputter.
“Aren’t you listening to me? There were no Italian lovers. It’s only ever been you.”
He’d just stare at me for a minute until he got it.
“You mean I’m Josh’s father?” He’d look genuinely stunned. “Josh is my son?”
“Yes,” I’d say quietly, folding my hands with the grace of an angel, carefully choreographing my tears to stream down the landscape of my face. “Matt doesn’t even know. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. It happened that night at Opal Weekend. Now do you finally understand?”
I’d listen for his answer but would hear only the sound of the wind slamming against the windows and more glass breaking. I’d huddle under my duvet cover, frightened to death. I envisioned Manny gathering me closer to him, but reluctantly, because he wouldn’t trust himself to be near me right now.
“Say something,” I’d coax.
“Damn you, Julie,” he’d hiss, glaring into my eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would have married you. You didn’t have to run away from me. I wanted to marry you.”
“Because you would have had to, don’t you see?” I’d finally have the opportunity to explain. “I didn’t want to pressure you. I was too embarrassed to tell you. I didn’t think you really wanted me. And we were so young. Besides, you were dating Nita after we—”
“There was never anything between us, then,” he’d say defensively. “I had just finished college. I wasn’t ready to get married, not to her anyway. You cheated us, Julie,” he’d say. “Things could have been so different if you had only trusted me.” Large tears would start streaming down his face. Embarrassed, he’d hide his head in his hands. He was right. I hadn’t trusted him then and I didn’t trust him now.
Reality check. In all the years I’d known him, I’d never seen Manny Gellar cry. Touched by his sincerity, I would smooth my hand over his head in calming strokes. At this point, we’d both be crying and clinging to each other.
Outside I could hear more glass breaking, what sounded like walls buckling, trees snapping, furniture crashing as the condo cracked and imploded around us, rain rushing through the outer rooms, stray rooftop tiles sailing through the “hurricane-proof” windows like deadly projectiles. But that was nothing compared to the storm brewing between the two of us.
Then he’d stop being mad and become, at once, tender and protective.
“I’m so sorry I put you through that,” he’d apologize.
“I wanted to keep your baby,” I’d confess, trying to make him understand, and the tears would keep flowing. “It was so hard. I was so alone. I needed you so much. I wanted us to get married, but I couldn’t hold on to you that way.”
“Don’t cry, all right?” he’d soothe, doing his best to calm me down. “It will be okay. It is okay. You know it means a lot that you kept our baby. You scored big points with me.”
“Points?” I’d ask, confused through my tears. “This isn’t a game.” Something was seriously wrong with his reaction, like he wasn’t firing on all cylinders. But I dismissed it. After all this was only a dream, my dream.
“A picture, do you have a picture of my son? Of Josh?” he’d ask and grab my hand. “He’d be about twenty-five now, right?”
I’d nod beatifically.
“What’s he like? Tell me about him. Did he play sports? Is he smart? I hope he’s smart. He’d have to be, wouldn’t he? You’re smart. What was his major? What are his favorite things to do? Does he have a girl? If he does, is she pretty and sweet, like you? Are they in love, really in love, really happy?”
I’d laugh and put my fingers across his lips to slow him down and keep them pressed there until his mouth stopped moving.
“I have twenty-five years’ worth of things stored up to tell you if you’ll just give me a chance,” I’d say, smiling. And he’d answer, “I’m not going anywhere.”
I’d try my best to close the gap, to tell him every little thing I could think of about Josh. Important things, unimportant things. They’d all be significant to Manny. He’d want to learn everything he could about his son. He’d want to know if I thought Josh looked like him.
“You’d be so proud of him, Manny. He speaks fluent Spanish. I made sure he learned so he’d be comfortable with his heritage, even though he doesn’t know about it. I can’t believe you never noticed the resemblance. He looks exactly like you. He has all of your good qualities and none of the bad. He had a fantastic father.”
Manny would flinch at the insult because he’d know I was referring to the man who raised Josh. But that would be the truth. If there was ever a time for honesty, this would be it. Did I want to punish him? Yes. While I did love Manny on one level and probably always would, I was beginning to realize that maybe a large part of his current charm’s potency was a combination of my sexual frustration, my ever-present anger at Matt bubbling to the surface, nostalgia, and the enormous strain of the secret I’d been keeping from him and from Matt for so long.
When it came to the kind of man I wanted to raise my son, Matt had done a fine job. Better than fine. He had taken such good care of us. Admittedly, things hadn’t been right between Matt and me for a long time, but despite the problems, I think we’d made a pretty good life for our children and ourselves. I had to admit I had been happy. Maybe the fact that Matt and I had the power to hurt and even annoy each other meant that some strong feelings still existed between us. Feelings we could build on if we could just communicate honestly with each other.
What did I seriously want? In the past, that question had always been defined by my feelings for Manny. But now I was sure of what I didn’t want. I didn’t want to tell Manny the truth about Josh.
Because here’s what I knew would happen if I did.
“I don’t want to tell Josh about you,” I’d say slowly. “He thinks Matt is his father, and that’s the way I want it to stay.”
Manny would be visibly disappointed, and then he’d grow surly.
“Did you
enjoy playing God with all of our lives?” he’d ask cruelly. “He’s my son, too, Julie. I want to know him. I want him to know me. There are so many things I could give him, that I want to—”
“You didn’t earn that right,” I’d reply harshly, cutting him off.
“You didn’t give me a chance to.”
“You had plenty of opportunities, but you pissed them away,” I’d say bitterly.
At the first sign blame was being laid at his door, Manny would be contrite.
“I’d like to see him.”
“You can spend time with him, as a family friend. I don’t want to upset him. He’s about to get married.”
Manny’s eyes would light up.
“She’s a beautiful girl,” I’d say, my eyes filling with tears, my heart shining with pride. “Really beautiful inside and out. I already love her as if she were my own daughter. Her full name is Zenaida Suarez, but everyone calls her Zandy. She’s Latina, so in the end I think it’s so right. She’s everything you’d ever want for him. She’ll make him very happy.”
That’s the way it should have been. But that’s not the way it is going to be.
Love could be so simple. Josh had fallen in love with Zandy the moment they’d set eyes on each other, and there was never any doubt that he’d marry her, offer to share his life with her. There were no complications or problems with commitment. In that way Josh was not at all like his biological father, whose love affair with the remote won’t even allow him to make a commitment to a TV channel. Luckily, the recessive commitment gene that seems to have skipped a generation is deeply embedded in my son’s DNA.
Matt is Josh’s real father in every way that counts. Remembering how proud Matt is of his son, all of the beautiful father-son moments come tumbling back.
“Matt, sweetheart, guess what? Fabio, Jr. made the highest grade in his math class. He’s a genius.”
“Julie, honey, isn’t it great? Fabio, Jr. made quarterback on the football team.”
“Matt, sweetie, you’re not going to believe this. Fabio, Jr. is the high school valedictorian. He just got his acceptance letter from Johns Hopkins.”
“Fabio, Jr. studies rocket science,” I mused.
“Fabio, Jr. wins Nobel Peace Prize,” Matt stated.
“Prince Fabio crowned king,” I joked.
“Fabio, Jr. wins Olympic gold medal,” Matt continued the illusion.
“Fabio, Jr. rules the world.”
“Fabio, Jr. wins Academy Award.”
“Fabio takes a bride.” I laughed.
“Isn’t that great about Josh and Zandy’s engagement?” Matt glowed.
“You might want to remind The Leader of the Free World that he needs to take out the garbage.”
“Hey, son, do your old man a favor and take out the garbage, would you?” Matt called out. “Your mother and I, uh, have to get busy on a project in the bedroom.”
I remember just the way Matt looked at me then, before he pulled me into his arms and thanked me for Josh. God, I miss Matt and the way we were then.
“It seems inadequate to say after all this time, but thank you for keeping him, for having him, and for raising him,” Matt said gratefully. Something Manny should have said to me. Is that what I’ve been waiting for all this time? To hear that gratitude, that sense of validation from Manny? Maybe that acknowledgment is all I really ever wanted from him. But I know enough to separate fantasy from reality. If we’d really had that conversation about Josh, all I would get from Manny would be recriminations.
“I want my son to know I’m his father,” Manny would insist. “You can’t stop me from seeing him.”
“The bottom line is I don’t trust you with my son,” I’d answer.
“Then why did you tell me about him?” he’d say.
“For my own selfish reasons, I guess. I wanted to stop all the lies.”
Suddenly I can see the full implication, the consequences of my actions if I tell Manny the truth. I will have to share my son with Manny for the rest of my life. Because I want to shed my secret, I’d essentially be taking my son from his real father, Matt. Manny would be a disruptive element in our lives forever.
“What do you want to do, about us, I mean?” Manny asks.
“Us?” I am puzzled, and finally back in the here and now where I belong.
“We’ll keep seeing each other, of course,” he states. “This is a very cozy setup. I can get away as often as you’re available.”
“Available?” I can’t believe what I am hearing. Does he think I am some kind of call girl? Yes, Mr. Gellar, I can squeeze you in next month.
“What about Nita and Matt?” I ask. Do I really have to point out the obvious to him? Even Manny couldn’t be that dense.
“No one has to know,” Manny responds. “That way, no one gets hurt. No regrets.”
I am already regretting my error in judgment, sorry I have come so close to cheating on my husband with this slimy serpent and deliriously grateful that I haven’t spilled my precious secret to him.
“I can’t believe you just said that.”
“Julie, you don’t understand,” he says, when he sees how angry I am, but I can tell he really doesn’t get why.
“Oh, I understand perfectly. You want me on the side. Well, I deserve better than that, a lot better. I’m just sorry it’s taken my whole life to realize it.”
Something wild and wicked has blown in on the winds of this hurricane, shaking my world to its very foundation, uprooting palms and shaking loose relationships like so many coconuts, loosening the ties that bind. The ties that bind me to Manny are breaking apart, finally freeing me from him. The hurricane and my near-death experience has somehow cleared out the cobwebs in my mind. I finally rid myself of my rose-colored memories that are more bitter than sweet, pull my head out of the sand, and shake it until my mind is no longer muzzy.
Earlier today Manny and I talked a little about what-ifs. What would our life together have been like? But it was just talk. We spoke mostly about the past, which is where we exist, frozen in time. Our world is a static one. We never move forward. In our language, past present is a comfortable place, but there is no future tense. It does no good to talk about a future that can never be. We aren’t going anywhere, literally or figuratively. Even in my wildest dreams about Manny, I think I know inside my heart we will never be together. And I am finally weary of living in a dream world.
Of all the times I fantasize about seeing Manny naked again, I’ve never dreamed I’ll wake up to a scene from “The Emperor’s New Clothes.” Suddenly he is exposed, and I am scrutinizing him with a critical eye for the very first time. Manny’s love for me has never been genuine. I have no trouble spotting fake diamonds at Stones, so why has it taken me so long to recognize that Manny is just an imitation and I had the real thing all along? I am fifty years old, and I haven’t learned anything. Well, better late than never.
Over the years, I have only played a minor walk-on part in Manny’s drama, where he mostly took center stage. My role was to come when he called and perform on command like some submissive spaniel. Going along is what I do best. Looking back, I know that being with him would have been too much of an effort. He is exciting in spurts, but living with his colossal ego would have been exhausting. Manny gets along with everyone, but he loves himself more than anyone, prefers his own company. If we had been married, I might not have survived the union. With Manny, I would have been eternally fragile, never truly certain of his feelings for me.
Matt, on the other hand, makes me feel strong. He isn’t nearly as hard to figure out. What you see is what you get. And that is more than enough for me. At times, Matt seems too good to be true. But the truth is, his claims live up to their billing. He is a good man. Better than I deserve.
Even though my choice about who to marry was impulsive, it was instinctive. I realize I don’t want this man in front of me. That I have been blinded by the memory of who I thought he was. I also realize I made the rig
ht decision in marrying Matt. That my relationship with Manny was toxic from the beginning. That our love was lopsided. That Manny never loved me as much as I loved him. I conveniently blamed Nita for ruining my life, but she didn’t hold a gun to his head when he married her. Like my father almost literally did to Matt.
However our marriage came about, I realize I do love my husband, truly. I fought it for a long time, but in the end I can’t resist Matt’s loving ways. Matt has done everything for me, will do anything for me. I’m remembering that now. Over the years, love somehow snuck up on me, bound me to Matt, safely and securely.
“Thank God I didn’t marry you, you unworthy rat bastard,” I utter to Manny, morphing into the mouse that roared. “I guess I came here looking for some signs of emotional maturity. You’re still unwilling to commit to anyone. You’re cheating on your own wife, even if it is with me. I don’t know how many other women there have been. And I’m not convinced there won’t be others in the future. I guess it all boils down to whether or not I can really trust you. I realize I don’t even know you, who you’ve become.”
Manny is getting mad. He is unused to my honesty where he is concerned. When it comes to relationships, he prefers his sugarcoated, and that’s what he usually gets with me.
“I’ve been having problems in my marriage, and I was susceptible to you when you got back in touch,” I explain slowly. “I always have been. The truth is, I don’t think I ever got over you, and I don’t think I’ll ever shake you completely.” Having Josh will be a constant reminder. “I love what we had then, and we recaptured some of that today. And no, I’m not sorry we got together. Today was beautiful. It was exactly what I needed. Honestly, it was very cathartic.”
“What you needed?” Manny was incredulous. “Cathartic? Do you know how that sounds?”
“Why don’t you enlighten me?” I prompt, stifling the urge to giggle.
“What do you want me to say, ‘I’m glad I could be of service?’ It didn’t go that far, but what I want to know is, were you just looking to get laid?” he accuses, laughing harshly. “To scratch an itch?”
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