by Ana Simons
She rests her hand on my shoulder, smiling gently. “Easy, calm down. It’s not what you’re thinking.”
“What is it then? I’m sick and tired of that. Why don’t you all just mind your own business and leave–”
“It’s just another friend coming over, relax. What’s the big deal? You’re making a big fuss out of nothing, really.”
“Your husband didn’t tell me someone else was coming and, frankly, I’m not in the mood for faked smiles and small talk. Maybe I should just go and–”
She raises a scolding finger and looks sternly at me. “My dear, you fake it, till you make it, that’s the only way! We all know pain is a bitch! But you take each day in stride, and with time each laugh will come out less bitter, and pain becomes a far smaller bitch, trust me. And you’d better start believing that sometimes things need to fall apart, so better things can fall together right after. And you go nowhere because Jimmy’s already here, just heard his car.” She comes closer and adds in a hushed tone, “And he’s not alone, so you’d better man the fuck up, you hear me? It’s time to stop sticking your head under the blankets and letting that bitch grind you down!”
My chest goes tight. The cold and fierce force of her words hits me like a blow. She’s right. I need to step back and stop looking at memories that no longer matter. I have to stop examining every inch of my life, looking for a motive, asking myself if I didn’t give her enough attention, if I didn’t love her hard enough, if I–
“Happy birthday, hon! Welcome to England, land of fish and chips, pints and lovely gals and perpetually cloudy skies!” Linda says effusively, at the doorway, and I need to lean against the kitchen counter to balance myself.
32 Leap of faith
Dear Brian,
Either give up on us or still be here in the morning, when you return, to talk and work things out—these are my options, right?
The truth is that I don’t know what to do. I feel I can’t stay, but I’m not sure if leaving is the right thing to do either.
All I know is that I do love you, but I’m also too afraid to go into this downward spiral of hurt and mistrust again. You’re right, we should always leave the past where it belongs and not immediately judge people based on our own bad experiences, letting frustration and anger cloud our judgement.
That’s why I think we need some time apart. I need a break, to focus on myself, to clarify my feelings, to evaluate us.
I’m not saying I want us to go our separate ways, at least not right now. I’m just saying that I need some breathing space, I need time to work things out on my own.
Please try to understand that. Let me be for little a while, will you?
Love, Liv’
Let her be.
It had me going stir-crazy. I’m near insane, about to go into crisis mode, but that’s what I have been trying to do all this time—let her be.
I’ve been reading the note she left me that morning every day, every single day during these past three weeks, already know each and every single line by heart, always wondering if that would be the day we’d get to the end of the long and winding road we’re in.
But it never was. Days and nights went slowly by and no sign of her. All I was left with was that letter and a brief sense of hope that quickly turned into bitter doubt. And the only thing I could do was wait and wonder how long it’d take for her to decide if she was ready to come back or if it was time to strike the final blow.
And now she’s finally here, only a few feet away, and I can barely control the instant shock of adrenaline and panic that has hit my system like an explosion. I sure wasn’t expecting to see her today. Knowing that the time has probably come, and I’m going to find out about her decision is overwhelming, almost unsupportable.
“Brian?” A soft voice calls me from the kitchen door. It’s her, walking towards me with slow, hesitant steps, on her face a nervous smile and an expression I wish I could read.
I force a smile. Hopefully, she doesn’t notice the anxiety that’s inscribed in it. “Liv.”
“Hi. How are you?” Her words are barely audible.
I just shrug, I truly don’t know. “And you? How are you doing?”
She comes closer and tilts her head up to my face. I play my part and pretend I’m a random acquaintance or someone she has just met, and give her a loose hug. But when I try to pull back, her eyes are boring into mine and her palms are pressing into my chest, which aches inside from this urge, this relentless need to pull her even closer and gather her tight in my arms.
Reaching up on her toes, she gives me a long soft kiss on my cheek. And I don’t know what it means and I’m lost and confused and it hurts again. It hurts like hell.
“Jimmy’s just picked me from the airport. Oh boy, I can hardly believe it myself, that I’m actually moving here.” A shy little smile seems to brighten up her face. “I’m so excited.”
And she’s nervous too. Her words come out in a rush and she’s fidgeting with the tip of her scarf, twirling it between her fingers.
“You are?” I try to sound natural and unaffected.
A wave of relief washes over me, though I don’t quite know yet what that’s supposed to mean. It’s not that moving to London wasn’t in her plans already before we met last summer, so it could mean nothing. We’ll see. I need to keep my cool, I keep telling myself.
“Yes. It seems I’m sticking to the plan...”
I feel like asking her about all the other plans we made, but I swallow it hard and try to maintain it casual. “That’s... that’s wonderful.” I say nervously, rubbing my temple with my pointer finger. Stupid tic, really. Now she knows the state of nerves I’m in. “Oh, and happy birthday! I’m sorry, I didn’t get you anything, I had no idea that you’d be–”
“You’re here, that’s what matters. Thank you for coming.”
“You knew I’d be here?”
“I asked them to invite you…” She lowers her gaze and laces her fingers together to keep from fidgeting.
“Oh, there you are!” Jimmy joins us with an open bottle of wine in one hand, two glasses in the other. “Here, let me pour you some wine. The finest reserve from Sainsbury’s petrol station!”
In fact, it’s a fine Rioja, one of Olivia’s favourites, but she doesn’t respond to the small jest. She only shakes her head no and pushes back her hair in a nervous gesture. “No, thank you.”
“Oh my God. No. No. Shit. Shit.” Linda storms into the kitchen, cussing while taking the roast out of the oven. “I can’t believe this! I get sidetracked five minutes and this disaster happens! But did no one else here smell this?”
She shoots a very brief, deadly side glance at all of us. No sir, she’s not pleased. In fact, now that she mentions it, it does smell a little like someone might have to end up the night scrubbing a pretty badly burnt tray.
“How bad is it, babe?” Jimmie rushes to open the window, waving the smoky air with a kitchen glove.
“Rescuable, I think.” She sighs in frustration and a huge commotion starts around the counter as we all, between loud laughs, do our best to save our dinner.
*
“You sure you weren’t holding a grudge against me that day? Come on, admit it!” Linda squints inquisitively at me and then throws me a pillow from the sofa where she’s half-sitting, half-leaning against Jimmy while we’re watching their wedding film.
We’re having a very pleasant evening together indeed. Well, dinner didn’t go horribly wrong and we did save it. Sort of. In the end, we still cracked a few good laughs because of the crazy rescue mission we set for ourselves when Linda panicked and Olivia had to lead a rather delicate procedure that took place in the improvised ER kitchen.
‘Hurry, let’s transfer this poor bugger here to a clean pot! Linda, tongs! Jake, spatula! Brian, hold the tray, add water to it.
‘Or don’t. Throw it in the rubbish bin and buy them a new one.
‘Guys, come on, come on. This looks like shit, we’re losing it…
No, no, not on my watch, goddammit!’
Back to our evening, it’s true, Linda’s right. I was looking rather annoyed and bored stiff that day. No excuses, but at the time I was pissed off at life in general, and at events where I’m asked about a hundred times when it’d be my turn to tie the knot, in particular. And, sure, the fact that I’d drunk a bit more than I should have the day before, hadn’t helped either. Sorry.
Olivia points at the large screen and begins to laugh insanely, inadvertently tapping on my leg. “Look at you! You look like the three stooges. Hilarious!” It’s Jimmy, Pete and I talking to my father before the ceremony.
Damn, we’re all making these weird faces, she’s right, we look like three perfect morons. Fast-forward, please.
“Get a grip, woman! You’re laughing like a crazy hyena!”
“Bugger off!”
My eyes look down and find her hand, still resting on my leg.
I gently lay mine on top of hers.
She doesn’t take it away and a feeling of warmth invades me and my heart begins to pound faster.
I begin to brush my thumb gently against her hand.
She smiles.
Despite the whirlpool of emotions stirring within me, I try to focus on what’s playing on the screen again. It’s the DJ, announcing the floor now belongs to Linda and to the first man she fell in love with, her father. A soft and slow I’ve Had the Time of My Life quickly turns into a vibrating Everybody Dance Now and a long medley of other cool and funky beats and everyone breaks up into crazy laughter.
Olivia opens her fingers slightly.
Next, the newlyweds are now having their first dance. Linda is beautiful and gracious, the face of happiness, Jimmy is trying not to mess up the steps he had learned that very week.
My fingers slide through hers.
It’s our turn now, it’s us dancing on the screen. Her dress is floating, her body moving, spinning and dipping, her hips swivelling, her quick steps following mine, my eyes following hers until we end up slow dancing in the middle of a frenetic crowd.
Her fingers interlace with mine.
I hold them tightly.
She squeezes them even tighter.
I glance at her out of the corner of my eye and find a flicker of a smile on her lips. A feeling of relief mixed with hope rushes through me and without conscious thought, I lift my hand to tenderly press my lips against hers.
She closes her eyes and smiles, a soft but nervous smile, and then leans closer to whisper against my face, “We need to talk.”
My heart sinks. We-need-to-what? These fours words invariably only mean one thing and we all know what it is. I need air.
“Can we go outside? Please,” I ask in a hushed tone.
“It’s kind of rude to leave now, no?”
We both look at Linda and Jimmie. They’re so caught up in each other and in the film, they’ve already watched for the thirtieth time, I’m certain they wouldn’t notice if we left, but it’s okay.
“Right after this,” I keep whispering, “want to go out and have a drink?”
She shakes her head. “I came straight from a 24-hour shift, I’m sorry. I need to get some sleep. I can hardly keep my head upright on my neck... I think I might even have dozed off for a few seconds already.”
She has. Twice.
“I was thinking, breakfast tomorrow? Maybe at your place?” she suggests.
“You serious? You want me to wait another night?”
“What I have to tell you is really important,” she says under her breath. “We’ll need quiet and time and–”
I catch her eyes with my gaze and force her to look at me. “You want me to go insane, is that it?” The sound barely leaves my throat.
She looks at me with sorrowful features and breathes out a faint ‘I’m sorry’.
“If it’s that important and you already know what you want to say, I really don’t see why you can’t do it right now!” I’m trying to make my voice as quiet and low as I can, but inside my head, I’m screaming.
“I’ll be there before eight, I promis–”
“Come with me.” I don’t even wait for her reaction, I stand and pull her to the kitchen. “No, Olivia! I’m done waiting. I can’t continue like this, day after day, not knowing what the hell you want to do with our lives!”
She looks up at me, pale as if she might faint, and says in a small voice, “Brian, it’s not that simple.”
I grab both her arms, making her look at me. “Of course, it’s simple! You either love me or you don’t. You either want to be with me or you don’t. You either take that leap of faith or you don’t. You either believe that I’m more than ready to commit to you or you don’t!”
With trembling hands, she takes something out of her jeans back pocket and hands it to me. “And for this? Are you ready for this too?”
I look down and my heartbeat flies up into my throat. “Oh, my God.”
33 Infinity
Hold the baby? Yeah, I can do that already. Check.
Prepare bottles? Check.
Feed and burp the baby? No problem.
Ready for the wild ride? Huh... Next?
“Dammit, Brian! How much longer are you going to stand there and say nothing?” Olivia asks, her eyes fixed on mine, looking for some reaction, her nervous fingers fidgeting with her scarf again.
But I keep staring at the pregnancy ultrasound photo she’s given me, half overwhelmed, half in shock, trying to put together the many thoughts that are spinning around in my head.
Change diapers? Sure, I’m a pro by now. Check.
Get the baby to sleep? Check.
Install baby seat in the car? Easy. Check.
“Brian? Please...” Her warm hand touches my arms.
I’m such an idiot. I should have taken her into my arms and let her know I wouldn’t want anyone else to be the mother of my child, but I haven’t yet. I’m frozen. After these past three weeks my nervous system was already on the fritz—and now this?
Just give me another ten seconds.
Until it all sinks in.
Or I collapse and begin to cry.
For some reason, I can’t bring myself to look at her. I suspect she’ll come up with some emancipation theory and then wants me to have little to no involvement in it, and the idea is simply daunting.
“Sorry. It’s just that it caught me completely by surprise and... and nothing. Of course, I’m ready for this, Olivia.”
She steps back and looks sternly at me. “But you feel stuck now. It feels like a burden, doesn’t it? And if you had the choice, we wouldn’t go forward with it, right?”
I take one step forward. “And you say that because?”
“Because look at you! You look like this is some sort of karmic punishment or something. The universe has just screwed you up and now you don’t know what to do.”
“What?” I pull her to me, leaving a long kiss on the top of her head. “You’re wrong, Liv. Because I am ready to sign up for this. As ready as I can possibly be. I mean, I don’t think anyone is ever actually ready, but the idea of diapers, bottles, your hormones going ballistic 24/7 and being thrown into a huge cosmic loop doesn’t send me into a dreadful cold sweat!
“I’m ready to be there, at your side, to listen and help you because you’re tired, your feet are swollen, your nipples are sore, the bloody stretch marks don’t go away, your old shape doesn’t come back, I don’t know. Apparently, the list can be quite long, just ask my sister. All I know is I’m willing to do my best, so I guess that makes me kind of ready.
“And if you don’t shut me out, I’m ready to be part of it all, to be there at the birth and take care of you when you come home. You’ll probably think your life is over, that I’m the ultimate jerk and you a bad mother, and all you want is to cry. And it’s okay, I’ll look after both of you and it’ll pass.
“And I’ll learn to walk straight at three in the morning. Or I won’t. But I’ll still stumble to the crib because he’s
crying and I’ll walk him until he falls back to sleep. Or I do. And when half of my sanity is already gone, I’ll check on him too, in the middle of the night, several times, not because he’s crying, but just to check if he’s breathing...
“I’m ready to be awake for a month straight and just doze standing or sitting up and then go fully mental in the process—like everyone else does. But that’s not all bad news, apparently, they all seem to survive. And we will probably fight sometimes, mostly out of exhaustion, but we’ll also make it work because the little fella is ours and he was made with love.
“Now, am I scared? I am, I’m scared stiff. Shit, he’s just a tiny, little thing and it already feels I’m heading down a roller-coaster! What am I not ready for... is to lose you. Again. That’s the only truth.”
She stares at me for several beats, then asks, “Why do you keep saying he?”
What? I just bared my soul and poured out my heart, and this is her reaction?
I drag in a long breath, pushing both hands through my hair. “Please, tell me we’re in this together.”
“Why do you keep saying he?” she asks again, fighting back the tears that are already rolling down her face.
Honestly? The idea of having a girl leaves me all funky, it really scares me out of my wits, what else can I say? But that’s the least of my problems now, really. My real problem is that I’m seriously losing it and–
And I crack. Unable to control the emotions, I drop to the floor and press my head against her belly. “He, she—what does it matter? What matters is that I want to be his dad. I want to see your baby bump grow, I want to stroke it, talk to it, see it when he starts moving. Oh boy, in my sister it looked like a scene from Alien...” I let out a laugh—so I won’t cry. “Oh, never mind, I don’t know what I’m saying anymore, I’m talking rubbish.”