Now and Forever

by Maxwell, Megan

  We’re quiet for a few seconds, and then I can’t stand it anymore.

  “Marta, I’d like to respond to what you’ve just said, but it may bother you. I’m not anyone to offer my opinion on this subject, but if I don’t say something, I’m going to explode.”

  “Go on,” she says, grinning. “I promise I won’t get mad.”

  I take a drag on my cigarette and exhale.

  “From my point of view, the boy is focused on Eric because he’s the only one who has never abandoned him. And, before you say anything, I know neither you nor your mother has abandoned him, but what I’m trying to say is that maybe Eric is the only one who interacts with him emotionally, who gets angry with him sometimes and tries to make him reason, and, on important dates, for example, New Year’s Eve, stays with him. Flyn is a child, and children only look for love and security. And if he, because of what happened with his mother, is reluctant to love a woman, then it’s up to you two to do everything possible so he’ll realize that although his mother is gone, you two women are still here, that you have never abandoned him.”

  “Judith, I assure you Mother and I have done everything possible.”

  “I don’t doubt it, Marta. But maybe you should change tactics. I don’t know . . . If something doesn’t work, try something else.”

  The silence that follows gives me goose bumps.

  “Hannah’s death broke all our hearts,” Marta finally says.

  “I can imagine. It must have been terrible.”

  Her eyes get teary, and I take her arm.

  “She was the center of the family, the engine that kept everything going . . . She was vital, positive, and . . .”

  “Marta . . . ,” I whisper when I see a tear come down her cheek.

  “You would have loved her, Jude; I’m convinced you two would have gotten along very well.”

  “I’m sure of it.”

  We each take several drags on our cigarettes.

  “I’ll never forget Eric’s face that night. That day he not only had to deal with Hannah’s death, but he also lost his father and his girlfriend at the time.”

  “Everything happened on the same day?” I ask, curious.

  I’ve never talked about this with Eric. I can’t. I don’t want to make him have to remember.

  “Yes, the poor guy, when he couldn’t get ahold of his father to tell him what had happened with Hannah, he went over to his house and found him in bed with that imbecile. It was terrible. Absolutely terrible.”

  I get chills.

  “I swear I thought Eric would never be whole again,” says Marta. “There were just too many bad things in a matter of hours. We didn’t hear from him for two weeks after Hannah’s funeral. He disappeared. We were very, very worried. When he came back, his life was in chaos. He had to confront his father and Rebeca. It was awful. And then, to top it off, Leo, the man who lived with Hannah and Flyn, another imbecile for sure, told us he didn’t want to take care of the boy. Suddenly, he didn’t consider him a son. At first, the boy suffered so much, and then Eric said he’d take care of Flyn. As you’ve seen, he’s doing that. In terms of New Year’s Eve, I know you’re right, but the person who broke that tradition was Eric. He took Flyn to the Caribbean that first year. The next year, he told Mother and me he didn’t want too much celebration that night, and so that’s what we’ve done these past few years. That’s why she and I always make our own plans.”

  “Seriously?” I ask, surprised.

  Just then, Flyn comes through the kitchen door and looks at us, apparently amused. An instant later, he turns and disappears.

  “Goddamn it!” says Marta. “Get ready.”

  “Get ready?”

  Leaning on the glass doorframe, she smiles. “He’s going to snitch to Eric that we’re smoking.”

  I laugh. Snitch?

  “Eric is going to get pissed we’re smoking.”

  He’s going to get pissed? Please, we’re adults.

  But before I can even count to ten, the kitchen door opens, and there’s my German, followed by his nephew, walking toward us with an alarmed look.

  “You’re smoking?”

  Marta doesn’t respond, but I nod. Why bother lying? Eric looks at my hand. He makes a face and takes my cigarette. That makes me angry.

  “Let that be the last time you ever do that.”

  The coldness in Eric’s eyes cuts right through me.

  “Let that be the last time you do what you’ve just done.”

  We could cut the tension with a knife.

  I don’t understand his anger, but I do understand my indignation. Nobody treats me like that. Without giving it a second thought, I pick up the cigarette pack on the table, pull one out, and light it. Take that!

  Flabbergasted, Eric stares at me as Marta and Flyn watch. An instant later, he takes the cigarette out of my mouth and throws it in the sink. But no. That won’t stand. I pluck another cigarette and light it. He repeats his actions.

  “Wait, are you going to go through all my cigarettes?” protests Marta as she snatches the pack.

  “Uncle, Judith’s done something wrong,” says the boy.

  His child’s voice touches my heart, but, seeing that neither Marta nor Eric is saying anything, I turn to him. “And you, how can you be such a snitch?”

  “Smoking is bad,” he says.

  “Look, Flyn, you’re just a boy. You should stay quiet and—”

  Eric cuts me off. “Don’t pick on the boy, Jude. He did what he had to do.”

  “Get you pissed off is what he had to do?”

  “Yes,” he says quite confidently. He turns to his sister. “I think it’s disgusting you smoke and that you encouraged Jude to smoke. She doesn’t smoke.”

  Oh no! I smoke whenever the hell I feel like it.

  “You’re wrong, Eric,” I say angrily. “You don’t know if I smoke or not.”

  “I’ve never seen you smoke in all this time,” he says, ill-humoredly.

  “If you haven’t seen me smoke, it’s because I’m not a habitual smoker,” I say. “But I assure you there are times when I like to smoke a cigarette or two. This isn’t the first cigarette I’ve ever had, and it’s not by any means the last. No matter what you think.”

  He stares at me. I stare back. He’s daring me. I dare him back.

  “Uncle, you said there was to be no smoking, and both she and Marta are smoking,” insists the little monster.

  “Flyn!” I say, seeing Marta’s passivity.

  Eric looks at me very seriously and says, “Jude, you will not smoke. I will not allow it.”

  Oh my God, did he really just say that?

  My heart is beating so fast, I know this won’t end well.

  “C’mon, stop kidding around. You’re not my father, and I’m not ten years old.”

  “Jude . . . don’t make me mad!”

  That “don’t make me mad!” makes me laugh. Marta is incredulous.

  “Eric . . . you’ve already made me mad.”

  “What’s going on?” says Eric’s mother as she steps into the kitchen and sees the four of us. She spots the cigarettes in Marta’s hands and exclaims, “Oh good! Give me one, love. I’m dying to smoke.”

  “Mother!” protests Eric.

  “Oh, Eric, a little bit of nicotine will relax me,” she says, wrinkling her brow.

  “Mother!” Eric protests again.

  “Vichenzo’s insufferable wife is driving me out of my mind,” she says, and I can’t help but smile.

  “Sonia, there’s no smoking!” exclaims Flyn.

  Marta and her mother communicate with a look. No longer willing to stay in the kitchen, Marta grabs her mother’s arm. Sonia tugs on Flyn, who resists leaving with them.

  “Let’s go get something to drink . . . We need it.”

  “Don’t ever talk to me like that in front of other people,” I say once Eric and I are alone in the kitchen.

  “Jude . . .”

  “Don’t ever tell me what’
s prohibited.”

  “Jude . . .”

  “Stop saying my name!” I say, incensed. “You’ve made me feel like a child in front of your sister and that little snitch. Who do you think you are to talk to me like that? Don’t you see you’re falling for the trap Flyn has set so you and I will get mad at each other? For the love of God, Eric, your nephew is a little demon, and if you don’t put a stop to his behavior, he’s going to grow up to be a horrible person.”

  “Watch it, Jude.”

  “I am watching it, Eric. That boy is already an old man, and he’s only nine years old. I . . . It’s just that in the end . . .”

  Eric cups his hands around my face. “Listen, love, it’s just that I don’t want you to smoke. That’s all.”

  “That’s fine, Eric. I can understand that. But how about if you tell me when it’s just you and me in our room? Or is it necessary for Flyn to see you scold me over something he’s pointed out? Fuck, Eric! You’re so smart; it’s incredible he can play you for a fool like that.”

  I turn away and look out the window. I’m angry. Very angry. For a few seconds, I curse every living thing until Eric comes up behind me. He puts his arms around my waist, hugs me, and puts his chin on my shoulder.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I hope so, because you’ve acted like a dickhead.”

  That makes Eric laugh.

  “I love being your dickhead.”

  I want to laugh, but I contain myself.

  “You’re right. I’ve acted badly, and I let Flyn manipulate me. Will you forgive me?”

  What he’s saying and, especially, how he’s holding me, relax me. Let’s face it . . . I’m a softie, but I love him so deeply that just feeling how much he needs me to forgive him does away with my anger and everything else.

  “Of course I forgive you. But I’ll say it again: Don’t ever prohibit me from doing anything, and much less in front of other people, OK?”

  I feel him moving his chin on my neck, and I turn around and kiss him passionately. He lifts me up in his arms and imprisons me against the window as his hands look for the hem of my dress. I want him to go on, but I pull away slightly and whisper into his mouth, “Love, we’re in your mother’s kitchen, and there are guests behind the door. I don’t think it’s the time or the place to continue with what we’re thinking.”

  Eric lets me drop to the floor. I fix the hem of my dress, and, hand in hand, we head back toward the living room.

  “For me,” he murmurs, “any place is good if I’m with you.”

  We get home at dawn. It thunders and storms, and in spite of my incessant desire to make love with Eric, I restrain myself. I know that Flyn will end up in bed with us because of the storm.

  19

  The alarm goes off at nine o’clock. Like always, I’m alone in bed, but I’m happy because it’s Epiphany. What a wonderful morning! Dressed in my pajamas and robe, I pull out the gifts I hid in the closet and go down the stairs, ready to pass them out.

  I make a quick stop in the kitchen and ask Simona and Norbert to join us. I have gifts for them too. When I come into the living room, Eric and Flyn are playing Wii. As soon as he sees me, the boy makes a face, but, excited, I stop the music using Eric’s control and make my announcement.

  “The Three Kings have left gifts with me for all of you.”

  Eric grins.

  “Wait until we finish the game,” says Flyn.

  His complete lack of innocent anticipation always stuns me. My niece, Luz, is surely screaming and jumping up and down with happiness on seeing the gifts under the tree! But I have no intention of paying any attention to him. So, when Norbert and Simona come in, I nudge Eric off the couch.

  “Come on, let’s sit by the tree. I want to give you your gifts.”

  Flyn complains again, but this time Eric scolds him. The boy quiets, gets up, and sits with us by the tree. Eric pulls four envelopes from his pants pocket and gives one to each of us.

  “Happy holidays!”

  Simona and Norbert thank him and, without opening the envelopes, put them away. I don’t know what to do with mine, but I watch Flyn open his. “Two thousand euros! Thank you, Uncle Eric!”

  Incredulous, dazed, astounded, and stunned, I stare at Eric.

  “Did you just give a check for two thousand euros to a boy for Three Kings’ Day?”

  Eric nods.

  “There’s no need for all that silliness with gifts,” says Flyn. “I already know who the Three Kings are.”

  That explanation doesn’t convince me.

  “For the love of God, Eric! How could you do such a thing?”

  “I’m practical, sweetheart.”

  Just then, Simona hands Flyn a small box. The boy opens it and screams with delight on seeing a new game for his Wii. Happy to see him so thrilled, even if it’s over another game that’ll keep him glued to a screen, I give Simona and Norbert my gifts—a wool jacket for her and gloves and a scarf for him. Neither stops thanking me and apologizing for not having a gift for me. The poor souls, they’re so embarrassed!

  I keep pulling gifts from my big bag. I hand one to Eric and several to Flyn. Eric quickly opens his and smiles at the blue scarf I bought him and the Armani shirt. He loves them! Flyn watches, his gifts still in his hands. Determined to make peace with this kid, I look at him lovingly.

  “Come on, dear,” I say. “Open them. I hope you like them!”

  For a few seconds, the boy contemplates the packages and the box before him. He focuses on the big box wrapped in red. He looks at me and at the box and then again at me and at the box, but he doesn’t touch it.

  “I promise it won’t bite.”

  Suspicious as always, Flyn picks up the box. Simona and Norbert encourage him. He looks at it as if not knowing what to do with it.

  “Rip the paper; come on, just rip it,” I say.

  He does, and he begins to unwrap the gift as we all watch. Once he takes the wrapping paper off, though, the box is still sealed.

  “Come on, open it!”

  When the boy opens the box and sees what’s in it, he exclaims, “Oh!”

  Yes . . . he likes it!

  I know it. I can tell.

  I smile triumphantly and look over at Eric, but his face has changed. He’s not smiling anymore. Neither are Simona and Norbert. They all look at the green skateboard with such solemn faces.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  Eric takes the skateboard from the boy’s hands and shoves it back in the box.

  “Jude, return this.”

  Just then, I remember what Marta told me.

  “Return it? Why?”

  No one says a word. I take the green skateboard out of the box and show it to Flyn.

  “You don’t like it?”

  For the first time since I’ve known him, the boy looks at me expectantly. The gift has impressed him. His eyes give him away, but I know he doesn’t want to say anything because of the hard look on Eric’s face. I’m ready to go to battle for him, but I set the skateboard aside and urge him to open the other gifts. After opening everything, he now has a helmet and kneepads and elbow pads. I pick up the skateboard.

  “What’s wrong with the skateboard?”

  “It’s dangerous,” says Eric, refusing to look at it. “Flyn doesn’t know how to ride it. Instead of having a good time, he’ll just get hurt.”

  Norbert and Simona nod in agreement, but I can’t give in to this.

  “I bought all the accessories necessary to minimize harm as the boy learns how to use it. Don’t get overwhelmed, Eric. You’ll see, he’ll master it in a matter of days.”

  “Jude,” he says in a very tense voice, “Flyn is not going to ride that skateboard.”

  I’m incredulous. “Come on, it’s a toy for him to use to have a good time. I can show him how to ride it.”

  “No.”

  “I taught Luz how to ride a skateboard, and you should see how well she does on hers.”

  “I said no.
”

  “Listen, my love,” I say in spite of his negative reaction, “it’s not hard to learn. It’s a matter of getting the swing of it and keeping your balance. Flyn is a smart kid, and I’m sure he’ll learn quickly.”

  Eric gets up and takes the skateboard from my hands. “I want this far from Flyn, understood?” he says firmly and clearly.

  My God, when he gets like this, I just want to kill him! I get up too and take the skateboard from his hands.

  “It’s my gift to Flyn. Don’t you think he should say whether he wants it or not?”

  The boy doesn’t talk. He just looks at us. Finally, he speaks. “I don’t want it. It’s dangerous.”

  With her eyes, Simona begs me to be quiet, to let it be. But no, I can’t. “Listen, Flyn—”

  “Jude,” says Eric, cutting me off and taking the skateboard from me again, “he just told you he doesn’t want it. What more do you need to hear?”

  Livid, I take the damned skateboard back from him.

  “What I’ve heard is what you wanted to hear. Let him respond for himself.”

  “I don’t want it,” insists the boy.

  Holding the skateboard, I lean down to him.

  “Flyn, if you want, I can teach you. I promise you won’t get hurt, because I won’t let it happen and . . .”

  “That’s it! I said no and it’s no!” screams Eric. “Simona, Norbert, take Flyn out of here; I have to talk to Judith.” When the two of us are finally alone, he continues. “Listen, Jude,” he hisses, “if you don’t want us to argue in front of the boy or the staff, then shut up! I said no to the skateboard. Why do you insist?”

  “Because he’s a kid, goddamn it! Didn’t you see the look on his face when he took it out of the box? He liked it. Didn’t you see that?”

  “No.”

  “He can’t spend all day hooked up to the Wii or PlayStation or . . . What kind of kid are you raising? Don’t you realize, this way he’ll grow up to be shy and fearful?”