51
This Saturday, sex, kisses, and caresses reign over all. Every time we try to talk about our relationship, we end up naked and panting wildly. Eric is my addiction, and I realize I’m his. We can’t be together without touching, and since we want each other, we just let ourselves go and give in to our unfettered lust. Sunday, it’s more of the same.
But then, as we’re both making the bed, Eric says, “Jude . . . I need to talk to you, remember?”
“Yes.”
I’m really scared of whatever it is he feels he needs to clarify.
“It’s important; I owe you this explanation.”
“You owe it to me?” I ask, surprised.
“Yes, love . . .”
His gaze is unsettled again. He’s having a hard time looking me in the eye, and that bothers me. Eric sits beside me at the foot of the bed.
“Listen, there’s something you need to know and which I haven’t shared with you yet. But I want you to know that if I haven’t told you, it’s because . . .”
“Oh Lord, you’re not married, are you?”
“No.”
“Are you marrying Betta? Marta?”
“No, love,” he says, surprised by my questions and the panic in my voice. “It’s nothing like that.”
I sigh, relieved. I wouldn’t have been able to take news like that.
“Who are they?”
Seeming resigned, Eric lets out a long breath.
“Betta is the woman with whom I shared my life for two years and with whom I ended it a while back,” he says. “Our relationship died the day I found her in bed with my father. That day, I severed ties with both of them. I hope that, without my having to get into it more than this, you’ll understand why I never want to talk about my marvelous father ever again.”
My composure just crumbles when I hear this. I could have never imagined a story like that.
“Betta’s never been able to accept our breakup and is always trying to get close to me. She’s asked my forgiveness in all sorts of ways, and though it’s cost me, I’ve forgiven her; but I don’t want anything to do with her ever again. That’s why she’s always texting. That day on the beach, when I got mad and went back to the chalet—insisting that you not go back with me—I was furious because she’d left me a message saying she was right outside Andrés and Frida’s door. I didn’t want you to go back with me because I didn’t want you to experience the inevitably disagreeable scene that would have no doubt ensued. But I wasn’t honest. I was trying to avoid a problem, but the way I handled it, I only made it worse.”
“You should have told me. I . . .”
He brings his finger to my mouth, so I’ll keep quiet, and then traces the shape of my face with his finger.
“You’re beautiful, Jude . . . I love only you.”
I lean into him and kiss him, but he pushes me back to where I was.
“Marta is my sister.”
His sister? That surprises me. Miguel told me Eric has only one sister.
“Remember I told you my sister Hannah died in an accident?”
I nod.
“Hannah had a son whom I take care of. She was a single mom. His name is Flyn, and he’s nine years old. Since Hannah died, he’s been increasingly difficult and is always causing us great worry. In July, when I had to return to Germany and put off the visits to the regional offices, it was because of something that came up with him. My sister and my mother can’t really exert control over him—that’s why Marta texts so much. I’m the only one whom Flyn respects, and so my sister needs me to go back to Germany.”
Hearing that, I’m on high alert.
“Listen, Jude, I love you, but I also love Flyn, and I can’t abandon him. I can be with you here for a few days, but sooner or later, I have to go back to my day-to-day life in Germany. I can’t change my residency. The counselors don’t think another change would be good for Flyn, so though it’s probably nuts and too early to talk about, I’d like it if you’d come live with me in Germany.”
My eyes open scandalously wide.
“I know, sweetness, I know,” Eric says. “I know it’s madness, but I love you, you love me, and I’d like you to think about it. OK?”
I attempt to process all this new information. When I try to say something, Eric again puts a finger to my lips.
“I’m not finished, Jude. I have more to explain.”
He surprises me.
“Jude . . . I have a problem, and even though I don’t want to think about it, it’s only going to get worse over time.”
“A problem?”
“Do you remember the meds you saw in my toiletry bag?”
I nod, scared.
“It’s related to something you like about me and which I’ve told you on several occasions I hate. It’s my eyes, and when I explain, I’m sure a lot of things will start to make more sense.”
“My God, Eric, what’s happening to you?”
“I have glaucoma. A condition inherited from my marvelous father, and even though I’m being treated, and I’m fine right now, it’ll get worse as time goes by. Unfortunately, it’s irreversible. Who knows, but it’s possible I could, sometime in the future, go blind.”
I blink. “What’s glaucoma?” I ask in a thin voice.
“It’s a chronic eye disease. It affects the optic nerve and sometimes produces blurry vision, pain in the eye, or a headache, nausea, or vomiting. Now that you know, I think you’ll understand a lot more about what’s going on with me.”
I’m paralyzed, except that I blink and blink. I don’t give a royal shit about Betta. The matter of his nephew and of my moving are things we’ll later have to talk out at length. But Eric’s just revealed he has a serious eye problem, and I can’t seem to react. I go back and reconstruct all the signs, over these past few months, that I didn’t know how to read. I suddenly understand many things. His hurry about everything. His fears. His trips. His mood swings. His headaches. But most of all, why he always demands I look at him when we make love. He’s observing me now. He wants me to say something, but I can’t. My breathing becomes irregular, and my hands let go of his: one goes to my heart and the other to my head.
I stand up. I pace. And when I can finally unstick my tongue, I look back at him.
“Why didn’t you tell me all this before?”
“What? About Betta? Or Flyn? Or my eye disease?”
“Your disease, your condition.”
“Jude, it’s not something I want people to know.”
“But I’m not people . . .”
“I know, love, but . . .”
“That’s why you always want me to look at you when we . . .”
Eric nods.
“I want to imprint your face, your expressions, on my retina, so I’ll remember them the day I can’t see.”
The look of pain on his face is unbearable. What am I doing? I sit next to him and take his hands again.
“You stubborn jerk, how could you keep this from me? I’ve . . . I’ve gotten angry with you. I’ve reproached you because of your absences, your mood swings, and . . . you . . . you didn’t say a word. Oh God . . . Eric . . . why?”
Tears begin to fall. He hugs me and comforts me, though it should be the other way around. Finally, I pull away and stare at him.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” I ask.
“Like you feel sorry for me.”
Moved by his words, I hold him.
“My love, don’t be foolish. I’m looking at you like that because I love you and I’m hurting for . . .”
“See? I’m already doing you harm. I never should have let this go on.”
“Don’t do that, Eric, please.”
With a gesture I’ll remember my entire life, he takes my face in his hands.
“Being by my side means suffering, love. I’m a man with too many responsibilities. A business to run, a problematic child to raise, and—as if that weren’t enough—a health problem. I think we’ve arrived at the moment in which you have to decide what you want to do. I’ll accept your decision no matter what it is.”
I listen to him, my mouth agape; and suddenly, I just want to slap some sense into him. What stupid shit is this? My confidence returns. I pin my eyes on his martyred blue ones.
“You’re not saying what I think you’re saying, right?”
“Yes, Jude.”
“You’re an idiot!”
Eric grins.
“You’re a beautiful young woman, a wonderful person, with your whole life ahead of you, and I . . .”
“And you, what about you?” But I don’t let him answer, and I begin to yell at him like a woman possessed. “You may be a man with many responsibilities—your nephew and your condition and all—but you’re also the man I love. And if I wasn’t scared off by your sour face and your bad moods before, they’re not going to do much to me now. And you know why?”
He shakes his head.
“Because I’m not going to leave you, no matter how much you ask me to. Because I love you. Get that through your goddamned thick German skull. I don’t care about the rest. And if what needs to happen is for me to leave everything and go live with you in Germany, because I love you, I’ll think about it.”
“Jude . . .”
“How can you even think I’d leave you because of your illness?”
Moved, Eric shakes his head again, and for the first time, I see him crying.
“Jude, when my illness gets worse, the quality of my eyesight will be very limited. There’ll come a time when I’ll be a burden to you and . . .”
“And?”
“Don’t you understand?”
“No, I don’t understand,” I say, breathlessly. “You’ll still be by my side. You’ll still be able to touch me and kiss me and make love to me, and I’ll do the same to you. Why do you doubt me?”
“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he murmurs, “the best thing.”
I want to cry, but instead, I take his hands from his eyes and dry his tears.
“Well, if I really am the best thing that’s ever happened to you, then don’t ever talk about my leaving you, not even in jest, all right? Now tell me you love me and give me one of those kisses I like so much.”