The Price of Desire

by PE Kavanagh

  There was no way I could keep myself from picking up the phone when his number appeared.

  “Can you meet me this afternoon? I can be at your house in thirty minutes.”

  “I can't. I have the girls.”

  “Please, Monique. I really need to see you. Just for a little while. Please.”

  I wanted to lash out and scream at him, all the awful things I’d been thinking. I wanted to say NO, I won't! I am so angry with you I don't think I could even look at your face!

  Instead I said, “Fine. Meet me at the Colonial Cafe on Sutter. You said half an hour?” There was no way I was going to let him in my house.

  “Thank you my darling. I’ll see you then.”

  Was I about to be dumped to my face? What do you wear to a dumping? Or was I about to find out that he was a serial killer? Time moved like cold molasses.

  The girls were fine with my heading out for a little while. In fact, they were a bit frightened by my state of mind, and suggested I take a walk. Brilliant idea.

  The cafe was only around the corner from me, but I walked for nearly the entire thirty minutes, talking to myself, getting stared at by the homeless people, and praying. Praying that the worst that I had imagined wouldn’t come true. It couldn’t.

  Marco was already in the cafe when I arrived. His normally disheveled hair was especially so. He looked tired. And sad.

  He popped up when he saw me and wrapped his arms around me. Funny greeting for a dumping, I thought. He looked at me and tried to kiss me, but I turned my cheek. He lingered there, and then crossed to the other. All the while searching my face, my frozen face, for any signs of what to expect.

  “How are you?” he asked.

  “Well... how I am is not really the subject of this meeting, is it?” Crushed glass poured from my throat. I couldn’t help myself from trying to hurt him.

  He dropped his head and took several deep breaths. It was killing me, waiting for him to say something.

  “Are you going to tell me what's going on?” That sounded a bit hysterical, I had to admit. I was on the verge of bursting into flames.

  “Yes.” Then nothing again. For too long.

  I closed my eyes and breathed. I had to keep control of myself. I wasn’t going to show him my weakness, my hurt, my longing. I was not going to be afraid.

  “There's a situation in New York that I haven't told you about. It's a bit strange, and hard to explain, and I was afraid you wouldn't understand. I know you’ve been feeling… uncertain about me… and us. I didn’t know how you’d react over the phone. I was afraid…”

  His pauses were killing me.

  “But now something has happened. And you deserve to know.” He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to get it out of his eyes. Then he reached for my hand, which I pulled away.

  I couldn’t let him touch me, as that would’ve cracked the whisper-thin container holding me together.

  He looked at me to say something but I stared straight ahead. Cool and composed. Yes, that's what I was.

  “A few years ago, I was in a relationship with someone. We were together for about two years. It was fairly serious, but we broke up. It was-”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” He seemed to not understand my question.

  “Why did you break up?”

  “It was complicated. I knew how I wanted to feel but I didn't. Feel it. And she wanted to get more serious, have children. I knew I did not want to have children. With her. But we loved each other.” He looked at me, perhaps regretting that statement. Did I flinch? I kept building up my container.

  “We separated. It was very hard at first, but eventually we were on good terms again.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “The breakup?”

  “Yes.” You asshole, I wanted to say.

  “Just over a year ago. And then, Carla, that's her name, got sick. She was diagnosed with bone cancer. And it was very bad. They said she only had a few months to live. She was very scared and asked for my help. I agreed.

  So for the past several months, I’ve been spending time in New York, helping her with everything. And she had been doing remarkably well. Everyone thought she would recover. It was a real miracle. And then, this week, it got bad again. The cancer spread everywhere, even though we all thought she was doing so much better. Really it was getting much worse.

  Carla’s in the hospital and we don't know what will happen. It’s not good.”

  I realized I was hearing about another human being's life and death situation, but all I could think of was one thing. “Did you become lovers again?”

  “No. Not in that way.”

  “Not in that way?”

  “We still had love for each other, have love, but it is not in that way... it's hard to describe.”

  “It sounds like you are having an intimate relationship with her.”

  He was growing frustrated at my responses. “Yes, Monique, nursing someone to their death is an intimate relationship. But it is not as you think.”

  This man magically knew exactly what would trigger me – betrayal, half-truths, infidelity. “How do you know what I think?” The seething and toxicity sprayed out of me. I was about to boil over.

  “I don't,” Marco said, the exhaustion spilling from his words and his body. “I don't know what you think. But I know you are angry. And perhaps you have a right to be. I just didn't know how to explain this to you. Do you see how complicated it is? And when we were in Vegas, I still thought that Carla would have a full recovery. Then the situation would no longer be an issue.”

  “So you would have never told me about it?” I was incredulous. The leaking grew faster and stronger.

  “I just knew it would not go over well. I know you were scared about what was happening with us. This would be too much to handle.”

  “You have no idea what I can handle. I’m very strong you know!! And I REALLY don't like being treated like a child, or being lied to.”

  “I wasn't trying to do either of those things. And now I’m telling you everything, in the hope that you can just hear me. It's been very difficult...”

  “You didn't go to New York on business at all, did you?”

  “Monique, that’s ridiculous. Listen, I don't know if I can handle any more but I have to go back in a couple of days. I just wanted you to know.”

  I took this as a personal offense. He should have been groveling at that point, begging me to take him back. Instead he was basically telling me to back off and let him do his thing with his dying girlfriend. I couldn’t stand one more minute of it.

  “You don't have to worry about me. I’m fine. You don't owe me anything either. Best of luck with your situation in New York. I hope Carla gets better. And don't worry about leaving. There's nothing more for you here.”

  I walked out the door, giving a brief glance back through the glass in the front of the cafe. Marco sat, mouth wide open, like a little boy who had just lost his puppy. I wished him nothing but suffering.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lockdown

  My phone began to ring before I even walked in my front door. I didn’t answer it.

  I kicked myself that I didn’t follow my first instinct that this man was too good to be true. He belonged in the same category as all the others – liars, cheaters, the ones who claimed to love me but never did.

  I went into full lockdown, beginning a period of survival living, taking care of only what absolutely needed to be done, for myself, for my career, for my family. It was nose-to-the-grindstone time, with clear goals always in sight, and the fortress fortified. I would not let this destroy me.

  I had to tell my sisters and Sam, so that they would know not to ask about Marco. They couldn’t understand what had happened and I couldn’t explain it. I forbade them from talking about it. I had a feeling that Lizzy was getting information from Esteban, but it didn’t matter. The subject was closed.

  The reality was that I was so ashamed at ho
w I behaved in front of them, when we were in Las Vegas, like a lovesick teenager. It was embarrassing to completely lose myself like that. I would not let it happen again.

  Marco continued to call and text and email, and I refused to respond. My anger grew a life of its own as his messages accumulated on my phone. I was determined not to be felled by this monster again.

  Until the nights, when I listened to his messages and cried myself to sleep. Every night. I thought I’d never reach the bottom of my sadness. I wanted to be swallowed whole by the darkness of what had been lost. I could find no way out of it or through it, so every night I just sat in it.

  I listened to his false protestations of love for me and his insincere apologies for not telling me what was going on. He became more and more angry as I refused to talk to him. His messages became more desperate and accusatory. And finally, there came resignation. He sounded desperately sad, and it made me happy. I wanted him to feel even just the smallest part of the agony I’d been through.

  Time passed because it had to, not from any will on my part to move on. I went through the motions of my life, working day and night, taking care of my family, not taking care of myself. I felt empty and broken, like scraps of garbage floating on a dirty stream after a storm.

  My body carried me around, but other than that held no use for me. It was cold, dry and empty. Maybe I looked the same on the outside but it was just the shell of me. I felt both untethered and heavily weighted down. There was no place that didn’t hurt.

  I relived our moments together over and over until I wasn’t sure if the memories were real or rewritten. I’d been betrayed in the most poignant way for me and I couldn’t let it go.

  Looking at my own behavior, how irrational I was, made me feel even worse. I’d only just met this man and spent a few days with him. That was all. It wasn’t the ending of a ten year marriage, or the loss of a beloved brother and parents, all of which I’d survived. But this felt impossible to transcend. I couldn’t decipher the intensity of my response.

  The day finally came when I was brought face to face with something behind the impenetrable wall of my anger. With the help of a friend, my own bad behavior was revealed.

  Emile did not ever spare me the truth, no matter how difficult, and this situation was no exception.

  “Monique, you are behaving like an insane woman. You must put your head back on if you want to get anywhere.”

  “I’ve just been deeply hurt, Emile. Give me a break. I think I'm actually doing pretty damn well, considering.”

  “You are wrong. You are not doing well at all. You look like shit. Are you even sleeping?”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “What did this man do that was so wrong? He exhibited his humanity? He revealed that he is just as flawed as the rest of us? I don’t understand why you won’t even speak to him. I think you are being ridiculous. You are a grown woman, for god’s sake. Start acting like it.”

  I was actually shocked by Emile’s accusation. “I can’t believe you’re not supporting me here, Emile. Especially you. Especially after what happened with us.”

  “Marco is not me, Monique. Don’t blend all your relationship experiences into this one situation. It sounds like he’s trying to be a good guy. Don’t punish him for the mistakes the rest of us have made.”

  I‘d been so mired in my own suffering that my pettiness and cruelty were invisible to me. Until I heard what Emile said to me, then my anger turned into shame, and I realized how badly I behaved.

  My disgrace, instead of creating an opening, kept me even further from any possibility with Marco. My deep humiliation at making a situation that must have been grueling for him all about my own selfishness and insecurity now pointed to my current unworthiness. This was the final turn of the sword.

  I couldn’t find my way around this new set of emotions, so I kept pretending he was a monster - a liar, cheat, manipulative, deceitful, terrible person. This story kept me just within the line of complete collapse.

  I had big work to do and couldn’t afford to be taken down by another failed love affair. I’d gathered more and more evidence that the world of the heart was not a safe place for me. It was best for me to stay in the world of logic and work, not feelings and emotions.

  I couldn’t ignore all the love around me and all these nearly perfect couples - Nora and Sam, now Lizzy and Esteban. I was the only one who kept failing, who couldn’t find the love I wanted. Or singlehandedly destroyed it.

  But I did have my daughters. I told myself that maybe that was the love I would experience in this lifetime. Maybe it wasn’t for me to be loved by a man in the way of my dreams because I received so much love from my children.

  Every day there was a new theory as to why I’d ended up in that situation, alone. With Marco, I experienced something completely different. It was nearly impossible to admit that now, as I tried my best to discount the experience. I used my intellectual prowess to explain my feelings away. I’d succeeded before in my life by turning off the feelings that were too much, or not right. I could do it again.

  This went on for weeks, until the tears became less frequent. The shell I had built was getting stronger. I made good progress in my work at the restaurant, feeling confident again. Marco’s calls came less and less frequently, allowing the wound to heal. Or so I thought.

  I received an invitation from Nora. I wasn’t strictly in the mood for a family dinner, but I supposed it beat sitting at home alone. My social life had shrunken back to nothing after the debacle with Marco. Even thinking his name brought sharp pains to the base of my throat, as if I was being drowned. Still, being with my family could be nice. They were worried about me and I wanted to show them that I was just fine.

  I entered the house, tired and defensive. “Hey, girls. I’m here.”

  I heard voices in the living room and headed that way. Everyone was standing up, and as I scanned the room I noticed an extra person. Marco.

  It took a minute to compute what was going on.

  “Monique...” he said softly.

  “What the fuck? What are you doing here?” And then it dawned on me that my sisters had set me up. Again. They had invited me over to trick me into talking to him. Rage filled my body.

  I looked right at Nora. “Are you kidding me? You are doing this to me again? I can't believe you.” I turned around for the door. Sam and Marco ran right behind me. The girls were too scared, I supposed.

  Sam caught my arm first. “Listen here young lady,” he said in that fatherly tone he sometimes adopted with us. “You aren't going anywhere. You are going to sit your ass down in there and listen to us. If you don't want to listen to Marco, you're going to listen to me. This has gone way too far and it's time that somebody did something about it. And that somebody is me.”

  He brought me back to the room and sat down next to me on the couch, holding my hand the whole time. Marco sat across from us, sandwiched between Nora and Lizzy.

  “I’m so sorry, Nik. I know this is really hard for you. We didn't want to make it so hard. But we didn't know what else to do. We just want you to be happy again. I want you to be happy. Like me.” Lizzy spoke between deep sobs.

  I prepared my response to my sister. Something angry and accusatory. Even insulting. The words were brewing, but Nora cut me off. She wasn’t nearly as soft or kind as our baby sister.

  “You can't keep running away every time something important happens to you, Monique. Your life will continue to be a series of things you did not do and did not try. You can be with him or not. It really doesn't have anything to do with me, with us. But you can't just hide and pretend that you’re done. Just listen to him. That's all we're asking.”

  “Really Nora? I thought it was just a good fuck!”

  I didn’t let her answer as I continued.

  “I know you're always so interested in demonstrating to me how shitty my life is, but you didn't have to do it in front of him. Since when did shame and ridicule become part o
f the plan to make someone's life better? I can't believe that you would do this to me. I’ve been taking care of myself all along here. You act as if I’m a child that constantly needs to be redirected. What gives you the right? I get to choose who I want to be with. Not you!”

  Nobody spoke. They knew I was right. But Sam still held me in my seat. I was not allowed to go.

  Softly, quietly, Marco spoke. “I asked them to help me. I begged them. I was desperate and didn't know what else to do. I know how close you are with your sisters and Sam. You trust them. And they trusted me. Maybe I could convince you too, if I had a chance. That's all I wanted Monique. A chance to be heard.”

  “They trust you because they don't really know you.”

  “Do you really believe that I am some sort of monster? That nothing was true?”

  I couldn’t answer that.

  “Regardless, this is not about you. It's about my family's need to interfere in my life. And now to humiliate me.”

  “They are not here for YOU Monique! They are here for ME! I am the one who needed the help, whose life is in a shitpile right now. Don't you get it?”

  “No, I don't get it.”

  “You wouldn't talk to me.”

  “That's because you're a fucking liar and I don't talk to liars.”

  Marco’s head dropped and the air left his body. “I’m sorry,” he said just above a whisper.

  Looking up, he said it a bit louder, “I’m sorry. I fucked up. I should have told you from the very beginning. But how? It’s just such a strange situation and I was sure you wouldn't understand and I was right. I was so fucking scared Monique that you would do exactly what you did - walk away from me.”

  “I didn't walk away Marco. You abandoned me.”

  And there it was, the steaming hot mess of my fears, stinking up the middle of the room. My weakness, my neediness, my shame.

  Sam looked at me understandingly, nodded, then stood up. “We're leaving now,” signaling to the girls. “We'll be upstairs. Please take all the time you need. We love you very much, Nik.” He kissed my forehead.