3
Evan Ruiz
The night Tom left for his annual trip, leaving me with an empty heart and an emptier apartment, I called my mom after prepping myself with a few beers. My mom is a therapist, and I try not to use her for free therapy sessions, since that’s what everyone in her life tries to do. But on this night, I couldn’t hold back. We caught up for a few minutes before I took a breath and went for it.
“Mom? I need to ask you something.”
“What?” she asked. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” I said, drawing it out. “But…this might sound weird, but how does a person know what true love is? Like, what does that feel like? How do you know it’s for sure? How do you know you found your…your person, your soulmate, whatever you want to call it?”
“Easy. When you are no longer alone inside your own mind,” she said simply, and I remember rocking back a little.
“Whoa. Explain that?”
“It’s simple. When you’re single, when you’re without someone you love, you live alone inside your head. Your day is just about getting up, putting food in your stomach, workout out your body, maybe reading a book to fill up your brain with good things. You are the main thing on your mind. When you fall in love, all of that changes. You are no longer your own biggest priority. Someone else is there with you. Always.”
“Oh, God,” I said, thinking of how I woke up every day thinking of Tom, and fell asleep with his name in my head.
“Okay, then. I may have found someone,” I said, careful to keep the pronouns gender-neutral. “But it’s…complicated.”
“Mommy’s listening,” she said with a new seriousness, and maybe something even like excitement.
“Okay. What would you do if you were in a situation where you think you might love someone, but it’s not the easiest situation ever, and you’re scared?”
“Is this person mean to you?” she asked. “Are they…are they mistreating you in any way?”
“No, no, God, it’s nothing like that, they’re amazing. I just…okay, we’re good friends, and I’m afraid that if I put it out there, I could damage things and put things past a point of no return…”
“Look. I know I don’t talk about your dad,” she said soon. “It’s…it’s tough stuff, kiddo.”
“I know it is. Well, not on your level, but…I sensed it.”
“Yes, and let me tell you, nothing about my love story with that man was easy. But let me tell you, when that man was at his best, he shined like the sun…”
After that I heard the ghosts swim into her voice, the ghosts that always appeared whenever the subject of my dad was brought up. My father essentially drank himself to death when I was nine. He was an alcoholic, and when his doctors told him he was nearing liver failure and would die if he didn’t stop, he only started drinking harder. He was dead eight months after their ultimatum.
I can’t claim to have had a Lifetime movie of a life after he died. I didn’t spin out of control; I didn’t descend into depression. I was too young to really even remember much of the period, and I don’t think the trauma really sank in enough to leave a lasting mark – well, besides the everlasting void of having to grow up without your dad, obviously. But my mom never got really over it. I think that’s why she got her therapist’s license and started practicing – she understood pain in a way nobody else I’d ever met.
“How did it start?” I asked, taking advantage of this rare window into my mother’s heart, which she usually kept under lock and key – and for reasons I understood.
“Oh, it started the first day I met him,” she said, a smile in her voice. “The first time I saw him. When I met him, I knew there were things that haunted him. His father had been emotionally abusive, and…yeah. He’d had a hard road. And I knew it. My mom warned me about getting involved with someone who was depressed, my friend Barbara even threatened to boycott the wedding…anyway. None of them understood, and the situation was never easy. But by God, the way that man loved me…he treated me like nobody had ever treated me before. The love I felt from him, I hope everyone gets to feel that way for once in their life. The love notes, the gifts, the comfort…and it wasn’t just that, either. To be loved is great, sure – but to be understood, to be seen – that’s the most profound thing of all. He was my best friend. Ah, those days with him…”
Her voice broke.
“Mom, you don’t have to go there…”
“No, Evan, I want you to hear this, God damn it. For once.”
She put down the phone. In the background I heard a tissue being blown. When she returned, she was quieter.
“The whole thing was a mess, and I don’t regret a second of it,” she began. “Loving him made no sense, and I could’ve chosen five other guys who would’ve given me an easier life – but love is never a choice. I made some missteps, but his soul was just so darned beautiful, and I…I don’t regret one second of loving that man, Evan. Not one second. If I could just go back and get one more hug, one more hour…”
I just stayed silent and let her cry into the line.
“I’m getting ahead of myself,” she said soon, sniffling. “That was my life, not yours. Anyway, back to you. If this situation isn’t like that, and if this person treats you well, I don’t see why you shouldn’t at least put some feelers out there and see what happens. Sometimes you find a love you’ll never get back. If this could be that love story, go for it, even if it’s a little messy. Hold your breath and jump. Why not?”
“Mom?” I said soon. “You know I love you forever, right?”
“Of course,” she responded. “And don’t ever think I regret any of this. He gave me the love story of a lifetime. The things we regret are the things that stay alive in us. And by the way, speaking of living without regrets: I’m talking to the biggest gift he gave me right now.”
“And what’s that?”
“You, Evan. You,” she says. “Love was what gave me you. So if you trust love, trust it all the way. That’s my advice.”
~
The conversation rattled me more than I anticipated. Something she said in particular stuck out at me like the Empire State Building – love is never a choice.
Nothing in my story with Tom ever felt anything remotely like a choice. I never chose to have the air blown out of my lungs the first time our eyes met; I never chose to become so attached to him I felt sick whenever he left. Whether I was gay or bisexual or just confused, my love for Tom wasn’t going anywhere, and things were starting to fall apart.
So that’s what I did. I listened to my mom, and I jumped. I sat down that day and wrote that stupid article, and then it exploded, and here I am.
It’s New Year’s Eve, the day of Tom’s return. I just texted him, telling him we need to talk. When he walks in from his trip, I am going to lay it all on the line, before he possibly finds out from the Internet. I have no other options.
If he says no, if he’s shocked or disgusted, if he rejects me, I will never get over it. I’ll never tell my mom this, but the pain in her eyes terrifies me. I don’t want to grow up looking at the past. And if I lose a figure in my life like Tom, I’ll never get over it.
As I sit there sinking, sometime after nine, I hear a rustling at the door. A terror spikes into my chest that I’ve never felt before.
He’s here. There is no going back now, and everything has led to this.
I take a breath and turn around.