by Kim Bailey
“That’s sweet.”
“Yeah, it is. But that wasn’t really my confession,” I smile, “I wanted to let you know that you’re not the only one enjoying the private time. As happy as I was to spend time with your kid, I’m still really thankful to get more time alone with you. Even if it’s just to sleep.”
A small smile lights her lips, her eyes, staring hard at me, start to smolder. Drifting her hand up my torso, she softly scores my chest with her nails before reaching my shoulder where she grips me tightly.
“I don’t want to spend all of our time sleeping,” her own confession spills from her mouth, as she dips her head to trail kisses up the same path that her hand just took.
“Are you sure?”
She answers with a slow, deliberate and sensual kiss. We may both be suffering from mental and emotional exhaustion, but my body’s brought wide awake by hers. Sex can’t mend the pain, loss, or fear, but it can at least push them aside for a little while.
Sliding her body over mine, she reaches for the condoms stashed in the bedside drawer. The brush of her breast, the grip of her thighs, the silk of her hair as it slides across my chest - all innocent actions. All enticing as hell.
I’m held captive by the sight of Jamie, ripping the condom packet open with her teeth, before she deftly sheaths my straining cock in latex. I’ve never thought of safe sex as anything more than an act of necessity. But watching her anticipation build as her delicate hands work the rubber down my hardened shaft, seeing the need reflected in her eyes as she grips me tightly, knowing her own excitement is escalating as she prepares to take me – suddenly safe sex is really fucking hot.
Groaning in unison as our bodies join, we let our troubles drop away. We forget about the bad things for a while. We focus on simply enjoying each other.
Nothing on earth has ever felt as good as being inside of my beautiful girl.
Nothing.
I should feel guilty for getting to spend this much of my time feeling so exceptionally euphoric.
But I don’t.
I can’t feel guilty because this moment is so much more than just the physical act. The fact that it feels this good is a by-product of the emotional high I’m riding.
It’s all Jamie. She reads me like no one has before. She anticipates my moves, she understands my moods, she knows what I need. Fucking her is like a goddamn communion of our souls. The ecstasy on her angelic face, more magnificent than any painting in the Louvre. My name on her lips, more melodic than any symphony. When she comes apart, pulling me right along with her, it’s like we’ve discovered a new plane of existence - where all we need is each other to make things right.
This is the moment. The moment I know I’m lost. The moment I know I’m in love.
Fuck.
Caleb was right. I don’t know why I ever tried to deny it. I’m head over heels, one hundred percent, completely, ridiculously, fairytale style, in love with Jamie. It’s pure insanity.
I love her.
Her happy sigh turns to a whimper and suddenly she’s crying into my chest again.
“Oh, beautiful girl. I’m sorry. Was it too much?”
“No. God, no,” she wails, “It was too perfect.”
My already galloping heart leaps straight out of my chest at her words. “Jamie, give me your mouth.”
Her reaction is swift and immediate. Without hesitation she raises her head, connecting her mouth to mine. I kiss her with every part of me. My lips kiss her. My tongue kisses her. My mind, my heart, my soul.
“I thought it was really fucking perfect too,” I tell her, when our mouths finally part.
This time her sigh is fully content, but tired. Her tears have stopped but something about her is uneasy. Have we gone too far in our declarations of perfection?
“You need to go to sleep,” I suggest, avoiding my temptation to make any more ill-timed admissions.
“Right, sleep. Sorry. I know you’re tired …” she pauses on a large inhale, her body going rigid, her fingers digging painfully into my side, where her hand’s been resting.
“Oh my god, Eric! I completely forgot! Tomorrow is Caleb’s transplant. You’re going to want to spend today with him. I’m so sorry. You need to get some sleep - with or without me.”
“It’s fine. I’ve had a bit of sleep already. A few hours more and I’ll be fine. I’ll head to the hospital this afternoon. He understands.”
“I want to be there for you tomorrow. On Day Zero. I want to make sure I can hold your hand while you wait. The same way you held my hand last night.”
“Beautiful girl, there’s nothing that would make me happier. But, I’m afraid that just won’t be possible.”
“What? Why?” She looks stricken, like I’m rejecting her.
“Well, they don’t allow anyone in the operating room, and I’ll probably be too doped up to hold your hand anyway.”
“Am I really this sleep deprived?” She questions, her head shaking in confusion. “I don’t get it, Eric. Why will you be doped up?”
“Because I hear it hurts like a son-of-a-bitch to donate bone marrow. So, I’m going to want to be really well drugged.”
“What?” Her confusion morphs to disbelief. “You’re Caleb’s donor?”
“Yeah, beautiful girl, I am.”
“Oh my God, Eric. This is huge! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“That’s exactly why I didn’t say anything. It’s not a big deal to me.”
“Are you insane? How can you not think that’s a big deal?”
“Because, it was just dumb luck that I was a match. An extremely fantastic stroke of luck - but still just luck. There was no question about me being the donor. Just like there would have been no question if it were Marc or Cece who matched. Caleb needs the transplant to save his life. All I’m doing is lying on a table while the doctors pop a couple of holes in me and take out a bit of bone marrow. It’s the right thing to do. Hell, it’s the only thing to do.”
Aiming for sincerity, I try to avoid Jamie’s look of incredulity. But I’ve clearly fucked this up.
Of course, she’s right. Hunter was right. Caleb was right. Every-fucking-one was right. I should have told her sooner. I should have told her when I was explaining Caleb’s procedure to her the first time. If I wasn’t so reluctant to talk about it, if I’d been up front, I could have avoided her look of suspicion. I could have avoided the look of hurt I see hiding behind her vexed glare. I could have avoided the ache I feel in my heart at the thought that this one innocent omission could mean the end of something amazing.
The end of something that hasn’t even really started.
Is it too late to tell her that I think I’m in love with her?
Would it make any difference now if I did?
* * *
When I’d stumbled across the small safe in my dad’s bedroom, I wasn’t expecting to be able to open it. It really shouldn’t have surprised me that the combination was set to my mother’s birthday. He’d used it for all of his passwords and combinations when I was a kid – I don’t know why I thought that might have changed.
As unprepared as I was for the door to swing wide on that first try, I was even more unprepared for the items I found inside. His will left everything to me, with some very clear provisions for Hunter as well. I cried when I read that my father had set up an education fund for Hunter, and that monthly contributions have been made every year, from the time he was born. My tears continued to flow when I found the older documents - my parents’ marriage certificate and Trina’s birth record. When I finally understood the meaning of the business license that had been folded between the pages of his will, I dissolved completely.
So much crying. I feel like I’ve spent half my time here, in tears. I’ve cried more in the past few days than I have over the past ten years.
And, I’m sure I’m not done.
Tucked away, in the back of that tiny little safe, was a sealed letter. On the front of that envelope, my name, writ
ten in my father’s messy scrawl. Opening that letter seemed impossible, the thought paralyzing me. I’d set it aside, thinking I’d need a new fortified strength to deal with the feelings his words are sure to evoke - good or bad.
That’s when Eric walked into the room. I didn’t hear him, or see him - my eyes were too flooded and my own jagged breathing too loud in my ears - but I knew he was there. A feeling of serenity, sweeping over me. The warmth that spread through my body, an uplifting feeling, reminding me - I can do this. His presence alone, a shield to my hurt and sorrow.
We didn’t need words. I don’t think we’ve ever needed them. In that moment, our connection felt ethereal, like we’d been drawn together by magic. Or perhaps, our entire meeting has been divine intervention. Maybe God saw two people who needed each other in this time and space and decided to throw us together, like an experiment, or a celestial set-up. Whatever the answer, it’s a connection I’ve felt from the beginning but only fully recognizing now.
From the moment Eric entered the hospital cafeteria, interrupting my conversation with his brother, I’ve been spellbound.
That was the moment my soul looked up and said – You! Yes, you’re the one!
When he sat with me through my father’s death, caring for me as I fell apart – my soul spoke up again. When he continued comforting me, despite having troubles of his own, despite being sleep deprived and weary – my heart took notice. When he wiped away my tears and looked at me with a deep understanding, a knowledge of me that no other man has ever had – that was the moment when my heart and soul finally connected.
That was the moment my brain woke up and said – Yes, heart. Yes, soul. I hear you. He’s the one.
Back in bed, laying my head on Eric’s chest, listening to his steady heartbeat, I felt at peace. Despite the whirlwind of confused emotion and life-altering events, I could see the good things that had resulted. Despite knowing that, for Eric, the worst could still be around the corner, I felt that there was a possibility of overcoming it.
Optimism overwhelmed me again. In my mind, I started piecing together a future where Eric and I could conquer it all, united.
When I moved over him, and he moved inside of me, it felt like we were making those plans together. Our physical connection, strengthening the emotional bond my heart was secretly holding. No amount of grief or pain could shadow my desire for him. He was my comfort, my balm.
The affinity I held as our bodies joined, banishing any whispered doubt remaining.
Yes, he’s the one.
Then, as we lay in our post-sex, blissed out comfort - me in tears from the overwhelming beauty of it all - he looked me in the eye and innocently shattered my heart and soul.
The connection we shared. The wordless communication. The alignment of souls.
Had I made it all up?
Maybe in my bereaved state I’d grasped at finding a kinship that simply didn’t exist.
Eric is Caleb’s donor. I simply don’t understand. He’s explained it. And I still don’t get it. Although, it’s not the procedure that I don’t understand - it’s his hesitation in sharing it with me that has me confused. And angry. Should I be angry? Or should I be sad? Or should I simply have expected this from the very beginning?
“So you’re going to be operated on tomorrow. Like, put under anesthesia. And the doctors are going to do what? Stick a giant needle in you and take out your bone marrow?”
“It’s not really an operation. It’s actually a pretty easy procedure on my end of things.”
“Easy?” Maybe he can tell from my tone, or maybe it’s the look of disbelief mixed with anger that has him pulling away. Eric shifts out of my hold, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and turning his back to me as he sits.
Connection? His physical distance matches my emotional removal. Whatever connection we might share, feels like it’s breaking. “Was it easy to keep it all to yourself?” I accuse, “Easier to not share the details with me? Easy to just put it all out of your mind when you had me as a distraction?”
“Jesus, Jamie!” His own anger boils over as he turns back toward me. “This isn’t about you. Why don’t you get that? This is about me! It was easier to put it out of my mind and not think about it because considering all the fucked up, horrible ways that things can go wrong, it’s just too fucking much for me to deal with. Okay?
“I don’t want to think about my little brother dying. And I sure as hell don’t want to think about it being my donated cells that could help kill him.”
My anger deflates - like a forgotten balloon, long after the party’s over - leaving behind feelings of guilt and regret. Those damn feelings are going to take up permanent residency, I’ve lived with them for so long.
My quick, emotional reaction has once again hijacked everything, turning Eric’s heartfelt, honest confession into something ugly and deceitful. But even though I feel like an asshole for my thoughtless reaction, I’m still hurt by his lack of disclosure.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, afraid my voice may falter. “That was selfish of me. I didn’t mean it that way.”
“No. You’re right to feel the way you do. I wasn’t honest about it. I should have been.”
“Maybe. But I think I get why you weren’t.”
“Actually, no. I don’t think you do.” His sigh hits me heavily, leaving me breathless in a way that feels like the room has no air. It’s shock, and it’s hurt, and it sucks. “I say all that shit, about not wanting to think about it but that’s not even the whole truth,” he admits.
The burn in my chest intensifies.
“What’s the whole truth?” I choke out, barely finding enough oxygen to speak the sentence. It feels like I’m gasping for air as I wait for his reply. I wait. And wait. With no air to breath, I may pass out before he answers.
“People have a way of romanticizing this kind of thing. They turn it into an act of bravery.” He cringes. “I didn’t want you to look at me that way. I’m not just the guy who’s saving his brother’s life. If you fell for me, I didn’t want it to be just because you think I’m some kind of hero. I wanted you to see me. Just me.” His green eyes hold mine, imploring me to see him still.
“I did see you. I do. And I would have, no matter what.” I would have fallen for you no matter what. I think to myself, afraid to say it out loud. “You promised me no more pretending. I trusted that. I told you everything. All my secrets. I trusted you.”
“And now?”
“Now? I still want to trust you, Eric. But I feel like you didn’t give me your trust. That hurts. I don’t like that feeling. I don’t know what to do with it.”
“Jamie, all the things I said to you at the hospital - I meant them. I want you. I want us. I want it for more than just right now. Nothing has changed.”
“But Eric, everything has changed. My whole world’s been turned upside down and I’m still waiting for it all to stop spinning. You say you know what you want. But how can you know, when nothing in our lives is normal? We’ve both been through so much shit - you’re still going through it. How can you trust what you’re feeling? How can you know what you want? How can I trust it too?”
“You want normal?” He demands. “I’ve had normal. Normal fucking sucked. That wasn’t living.” His intensity doesn’t waver. “Things right now may be chaotic. They may be messed up and, who knows, maybe things will all change again tomorrow. Maybe they’ll get better, or maybe they’ll be worse. But honestly, if none of this had happened - if I hadn’t experienced all of the bad shit - I don’t think I’d have been open to experiencing all of the good that I’ve found with you.” His voice breaks with sincerity, “This is life, beautiful girl. This is truly living and feeling. Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes it hurts a fuck of a lot. But that’s only made me appreciate it more when it doesn’t.”
God, this man. He’s poetic and romantic and perfect in every way imaginable.
Even though he hid this from me - I want to trust him. I want to be
lieve that he has some mystical way of knowing that everything will turn out alright. I want to have confidence that I can do the right thing for once in my life and not turn the potential of me and Eric into another disaster. I want to have faith in the future. But faith can’t be forced. I need to find it.
I need to find it on my own.
My aching chest squeezes tighter and tighter as I make excuses to end our conversation, leaving it completely unresolved. I tell Eric that I’m too tired to think, too worried about Caleb to talk, too upset over my father to make any decisions.
Who knows if he actually buys into any of the bullshit I sling his way.
He doesn’t question it. He simply accepts what I tell him, wrapping me up in his arms as we lay in the stupid double wide bed made for a child. My back turned to him, I continue my lies by pretending to fall asleep. With my eyes closed, my breathing even and Eric’s tight hold engulfing me, I contemplate everything that’s happened over the past eight days. I think about the things we’ve told each other, and all the things we haven’t. I think about the things Eric’s made me feel. I think about the way I’m still feeling, now. And as I think, I wonder …
What the hell am I going to do.
Today’s the day.
Day Zero.
The day Eric’s been trying to hold off, fearful of the perilous toll it may exact. The day so foreboding, the truth of it was hidden from me. The day that could make or break it all.
As apprehensive as Eric’s been, there’s still a sense of hope underlying it all. But it’s that hopeful anticipation that may be the hardest part to cope with. It’s the unfulfilled promise that holds all the potential to let you down. Hope can lift you up so thrillingly high, you’re faced with a death drop if it gets taken away. It’s the spiral down if things don’t work out that has the ability to ruin you.
Eric doesn’t say much before he leaves me in the waiting room with his family. A kiss on the forehead and a murmured, “Thank you.” That’s all I get. What he’s thanking me for, I haven’t got a clue.