Deep Surrendering: Episode Nine

by Chelsea M. Cameron

  “But if you wanted to tell Chloe, I wouldn’t mind. You need to have someone to confide in.”

  “Do you have someone?” I asked. Other than Sapphire, I’d never heard him talk about anyone like that.

  “Well, it used to be Sapphire, but now I guess it’s you. I’m not really used to confiding in anyone.”

  “But you need to have someone other than me to talk to. About me.” I laughed a little. I wasn’t the most eloquent tonight.

  “I know I should. But I don’t get along with that many people.”

  “You need a guy friend. A bromance, if you will.” I took the pasta out of the sink and put it back in the pot, threw in a jar of sauce, and turned the heat on low.

  Fin laughed loudly and I congratulated myself for making it happen.

  “I can’t foresee a bromance in my future, but I’ll give it a shot. Maybe I could be friends with that fellow Rory is seeing.” Now that would be interesting. And convenient for both Rory and me.

  “Well, when you get back we can make the two of you go on a man date or something.” I pictured the two of them getting dressed up and having dinner at a fancy restaurant and maybe playing footsie under the table. Actually, that was kind of hot.

  “It’s a plan.” I could tell he was going to say he needed to go, and then he did.

  “It’s okay. I’m having dinner with my parents anyway,” I said, stirring the pasta and sauce so it didn’t stick to the bottom of the pan.

  “I want to see your face. I’m hoping we can video chat sometime this week.”

  Ooohh, I was definitely looking forward to that. Not even for the potential of cam sex. I just wanted to see his face, his smile. I’d missed it. Fin wasn’t big on pictures. The only physical one I had was from his chubby days in school.

  “I would love that,” I said.

  We said goodbye and hung up. I set my phone on the counter and turned my attention to the pasta. I finally got it hot again and took it to the formal dining room my parents always used. Dad came back leading Mom who was sleep-rumpled and had a grumpy expression on her face.

  “But it’s nine in the morning,” she protested. “We can’t have pasta at nine in the morning.” Dad guided her to her seat and she sat. She had a satin dressing gown on over her nightgown. And she looked old. My parents had had me when they were older, but now I was realizing just how old they were getting. That was a sobering thought. I didn’t want to think about my parents being old.

  “It’s seven in the evening, dear. You’ve slept the day away,” Dad said with forced cheerfulness.

  “It is?” She glanced up at one of the clocks on a high shelf. I could see the confusion on her face as she tried to figure out what time it was.

  “Oh, it is.”

  “Hi, Mom,” I said, putting a smile on my face that felt wrong.

  “Oh, Marisol. What are you doing here?”

  “I came to have dinner with you. Is that okay?” I’d never shown up unannounced for dinner since I’d graduated high school and gone out on my own. And even when I lived in this house I tried to skip dinner as much as I could.

  “Well, I suppose. But you really should have called ahead of time. What if there’s not enough food?” I didn’t get into the fact that I’d made said food. That would just launch her on another tirade about me cooking.

  “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll remember to do that next time,” I said, swallowing my pride. I was going to be doing that a lot tonight.

  “Doesn’t this look good?” Dad asked. He had that tone that people use with children and the sick. I hated it. Mom might be losing her mind, but she was still Mom. Keep things consistent.

  “Why are you talking like that?” she asked Dad, glaring at him.

  He looked at me and shrugged. “No reason.”

  He served all of us and I passed around a salad.

  “Is this it?” Mom said, wrinkling her nose at the plate in front of her. “This is pitiful. What are we paying cooks for if this is what they turn out? I think I need to go back and have a chat with the staff.” She started to get up, but Dad put a hand on her shoulder.

  “The cooks had the night off, remember? Marisol made this for you.” I cringed when he said my name.

  Mom turned to me. “Marisol made it?” She was highly skeptical and gave me that look I’d seen so many times before.

  “Yes, I made it, Mom. It’s nothing fancy, I know, but I did make it.” My mother looked down at her plate as if it was going to bite her. Fine, if she didn’t want to eat it, she didn’t have to.

  I dug into my salad and Dad started eating as well. Mom picked up her fork, but only to be polite. She would always try a bite of something so she didn’t seem rude. That woman never changed.

  “So, Marisol, how was the chat with Fin?” Dad asked, sipping from his water glass. Actually, it was a wine glass filled with water. My parents always had wine with dinner, and I guessed he wanted to keep up the illusion, but wine might interfere with some of my mother’s medication.

  I really wished he hadn’t mentioned Fin, but I knew why he did.

  “He’s fine. Really busy with work.” And that was all the detail they were going to get about Fin and what he was currently doing.

  “Hmm,” Mom said, pursing her lips as she speared some of the pasta with her fork. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

  “Well, that’s nice. Isn’t that nice?” Dad was trying to keep the conversation going, but if Mom didn’t want to talk, nothing was going to make her into a Chatty Cathy.

  “So he works for his father, does he?” she finally said, putting down her full fork without eating anything. I finished my salad and moved on to the pasta. It was fine. Nothing fancy, but edible.

  “He does.” But not, I hoped, for much longer.

  “His father is a very ambitious man,” she said, and got that faraway look on her face like when she’d seen Fin for the first time.

  “I hope Fin shares some of his father’s ambition.” I hoped not, actually. I searched for some way to change the subject.

  “I’m on the committee to organize the gala to support victims of domestic violence.” Okay, it wasn’t the greatest topic change, but it was the best I could come up with at the moment.

  “Marisol, please. Let’s talk about this later,” Mom said, and I had to grind my teeth to keep from saying something back.

  “I was just making conversation,” I said with another fake smile. Usually, I’d invite them to come to such events, but that didn’t seem like the thing to do right now.

  “This is really good, Marisol,” Dad said. This was going south fast. I started shoveling the food into my mouth.

  “Thanks,” I said. Mom still hadn’t had any. So much for trying to feed her.

  I finished my plate in record time and drained my water glass.

  “Well, I should really, um, get back. Homework and so forth.” That made Mom look even more disapproving. They were never going to get over the fact that I valued my education more than, say, money.

  “This has been nice. Hasn’t this been nice?” Dad asked. He was trying way too hard.

  “Yes, very nice,” Mom said in a way that was anything but nice.

  “Well, I’ll, um, be in touch,” I said, pushing my chair out and standing. Dad stood with me, but Mom stayed sitting. Fine. I walked around the table and gave her a kiss on the cheek anyway.

  “See you soon, Mom.” She ignored me. Awesome. I’d done something to piss her off and she wasn’t going to tell me what it was. I couldn’t count the number of dinners that had ended this way.

  Dad gave me a hug and a sympathetic look. “I’ll try to get her to eat something,” he whispered in my ear. “Thank you so much for dinner. It was really sweet of you.”

  “Let me know how everything goes tomorrow,” I whispered back, and Mom cleared her throat to break it up. God, that woman made it hard to love her.

  I headed out the front door and called for a taxi. I waited on the front steps instead
of waiting inside. The cab finally came, and I got in, feeling like I’d just run a marathon.

  The days went by with sporadic and short phone calls from Fin, daily updates on Mom, and her antics with Glenna from Dad. I guess Glenna was sassier than I gave her credit for. The first time Mom had gotten mouthy with her Glenna had just smiled and ignored her. Mom apparently couldn’t get the idea that Glenna wasn’t her maid out of her head. She even tried to get her to polish the silver. Why people even kept silver was beyond me. It always needed to be polished, and that was such a tedious job.

  Things with Fin were . . . stagnant. That was the only way to describe it. We’d talk and he’d give me as little detail as possible, and I’d tell him about my day, but I didn’t have much to say either. For the first time, it felt like we didn’t have anything to talk about, like there was something blocking us from being able to really talk the way we wanted to. The distance, the thing with his father, I didn’t know which.

  Being with Fin suddenly felt like work. Hard work with very little reward. But then I got a bonus when he told me we could finally video chat on Sunday. I put on my sexiest lingerie, lit some candles, and made myself all up. I even did my hair like I was going out to a fancy dinner, instead of just chatting with Fin. I wanted him to remember me like this. Not in sweatpants and a ponytail.

  I waited for him to call. And waited. And waited. I’d posed myself to be as alluring as possible, but I got tired and lay back against my pillows. The screen stayed blank. I started surfing around and watching funny cat videos to pass the time. When two hours had passed, I gave up. I texted him asking if everything was okay, but I got no answer.

  He wouldn’t stand me up if something wasn’t seriously wrong. I went into panic mode and started calling his phone instead of texting. Nothing. Straight to voicemail, which meant his phone was either dead or off. I paced around my bedroom in my underwear, trying to think of some way to get in touch with him.

  Carl! I hurried to call him and he picked up right away.

  “Hi, Carl. Have you heard from Fin? We were supposed to talk today and he’s been MIA. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay.” My words came out in a rush, but I couldn’t help it. I was officially in a full-scale panic.

  “Hello, Miss Marisol. Yes, I’ve heard from him. He’s very busy with business right now. I’m sure he just got caught up with something. I could contact him and make sure, if you’d like.”

  My heart sank. He’d forgotten about me? I hadn’t even considered that.

  “Um, sure. That would be great.”

  “No problem. I’ll call back as soon as I hear from him.” He hung up and I put a robe on.

  This was getting to be too much and not enough. Too much stress and not enough time. I loved him so much, but I didn’t think this was healthy anymore, for either of us. Unless something changed drastically, I was considering asking him for a break. A hiatus, at least, until things with him were more stable. Or at least until he could tell me what the fuck was going on. I couldn’t live in limbo anymore, no matter how much I loved him. I needed to focus on me and school and Mom. I couldn’t keep giving and not getting much in return.

  I got a text message from Fin before Carl called back.

  I am so sorry, Marisol! I can’t video chat tonight, but I’ve sent you something. Look for it. I hope it explains everything. I’m fine. I miss you. We’ll be together soon.

  I reread the message several times. He was sending me something? Maybe a letter. Why hadn’t we thought of that sooner? Letters could be burned so there was no evidence. But would letters be enough? Many a couple had survived on them in earlier times.

  I typed out a response to Fin: I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Why didn’t you text and let me know?

  I was a little pissed he couldn’t find the time to, you know, text me and tell me that he couldn’t talk. I’d been waiting around for him. I’d been waiting around for a while.

  I should have. There’s nothing I can do but tell you how sorry I am and promise to do better.

  I really couldn’t take this.

  Please. For my sake. I need you to stay in contact.

  My phone rang. It was Carl.

  “Hello, Miss Marisol. I have just spoken with Fin and everything is fine. Have you heard from him?” He’d spoken with Fin? As in a phone call? So he could talk with Carl on the phone but not me? The fuck?

  “Oh, well, thanks. I appreciate that. I’ve heard from him and everything’s fine.” It wasn’t fine. Far from it.

  You’re right. I’m so sorry.

  I spent the rest of the night thinking about Fin and our relationship, and how it had started so good. The chemistry was there, he was funny and sweet, and I adored him right off. Then the sex was off the charts and interesting and amazing. And then I’d fallen for him and he’d shared some of his darkest secrets and we’d gotten so close. But now? We’d drifted apart. He was busy and I was always waiting. I couldn’t wait anymore.

  I cried all night, thinking about it. Even if it was just a break, it was a step backwards. A pause. But I needed it. I really needed that from him.

  Deciding to wait and see what I got in the mail from him before I did anything, I finally got to sleep just as the sun was coming up, and I needed to get ready in a few hours. To say I was miserable was an understatement. All I wanted to do was lay on the couch, watch movies, and eat cake.

  I wouldn’t let myself wallow. I would not wallow. I would keep going, keep moving because I had to. I had a lot of responsibilities and other things I needed to be around for. I couldn’t break down and collapse.

  It took another week for Fin’s package to get to me. One. Long. Week. When we talked on the phone, my heart ached the whole time. I felt like I was lying to him, and it woke me up in the middle of the night.

  I spent a lot of time at my parents’ house, helping Glenna and sitting with Dad. For the most part, I avoided Mom when she had her lucid moments. It was a lot easier to get along with her when she wasn’t criticizing me.

  Between school and my parents, I kept myself as busy as I could, mostly so I had something to say to Fin to fill the air when we talked. The weirdness was still there, and the distance seemed to continue to grow. I was pulling away, but he was pulling away too. Neither of us wanted to give in, or give up. We’d fought so hard, were still fighting so hard. It had been so good.

  Every day when I checked the mail, my heart fluttered with hope that there would be something for me. Finally, there was. A package covered with international postage.

  I ran back up to my apartment, grateful it was Saturday and I didn’t have to wait until I got home from class to open it.

  Using a box cutter to get through the tape, I tore the thing open. On top were several folded sheets of paper with Fin’s perfect handwriting on them. I set those aside to read in-depth later to see what else there was inside.

  A rubber duck. Lilac essential oil. A printed-out coupon for the local shop that sold gelato. A beautiful silver picture frame. A book of Russian poetry, translated into English. A black ribbon. A DVD of Sleepless in Seattle.

  I started to cry again as I pulled out the items and set them on the table so I could look at them. It was as if he’d condensed our relationship to these things, and they all carried memories with them. I’d never be able to look at these objects again without thinking of Fin and our time together. Even if we ended things, I’d always have that.

  Once I’d inspected all the items and reminisced about the moments they represented, I turned to the letter.

  Dear Marisol,

  I don’t quite know how to start this letter, other than to say that I love you. I love you. I know I’ve never said it out loud, but here it is. I should have said it. I should have said it the first time I felt it. I’ve loved you since Rory introduced us at the bar. I’ve loved you since we went on our first date and you let me kiss you. I’ve loved you since you trusted me enough to let me play in the bedroom. I’ve loved you
since the first time you told me you loved me. I’ve loved you every moment we’ve been together, even though we’re technically apart. You’re always with me. I hear your voice in my head and swear I can smell your perfume. I look for you around every corner and wake up every morning hoping you’ll be in bed with me.

  I know I’ve told you I wish a lot of things. I wish, more than anything, that I wasn’t Fin Herald. I wish I was someone else. Could be someone else for you. But I can’t. I am who I am, and that’s why we can’t be together anymore. I don’t want to end this, but I don’t know what else to do. How else to handle this. You want me to be free. I want you to be free. Be free of me. Free to fly.

  I can no longer let you be a part of this. I have to let you go. Maybe not forever, but definitely for now. I don’t know how long I’m going to be here, and I can’t keep you in the dark. I hope you understand that I’m doing this not because I don’t love you, but because I love you enough to know when I need to let you go.

  You don’t need to call me or answer this letter if you don’t want. I’ll take your silence as agreement to what I’ve written here. But if you want to talk, I am always here, and I will always contact you back. I don’t take this decision lightly, at all. And I love you. Now and always.

  Sincerely,

  Your Fin.

  My eyes blurred with tears, and it took me a few tries to actually finish the whole thing because I was crying so hard. I didn’t need to end things with Fin. He’d done it for me.

  I felt like someone had died. This wasn’t just a relationship that was ending. It was so much more than that. He hadn’t just been someone I’d loved, he’d been a friend. I’d looked forward to seeing him and talking to him and going out with him. I loved his presents and his smiles. Yes, it had gotten too hard in the past couple of weeks, but I didn’t want that to taint the rest of the relationship. It had been good. So good.