57. MAGDALEN
57
MAGDALEN
The museum has been converted into a beautiful venue for Lucia and Maio. Long tables draped in lace tablecloths nestle elegantly between the giant sphinx statues. Papyrus paper name cards sit at each person’s chair, along with hundreds of candelabras, dripping with wax, placed perfectly at each table. A cellist sits next to one of the mummies in the adjoining room, where the middle has been cleared to create a dance floor. Lucia and Maio glow as they say their vows, cut their cake and dance for the first time as a married couple. I am so proud that my sister has been brave enough to find the love of her life, and I feel blessed to welcome Maio into the family.
I spend the whole night talking to strangers I’m supposed to know. They ask me a million questions and I don’t remember a single one of my answers. By the time I sit down, a large portion of the guests have already left. Thank god I wasn’t the maid of honour. My stomach growls angrily, reminding me I haven’t eaten since yesterday, during the rehearsal dinner, sans Theo. And while I knew he was here during the ceremony, I refused to look at him. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t see him. He was wearing black and ignored me the entire time. I try to be proud that I walked away. He waited until after I had given most of myself, but at least I had the nerve to stand up before he took the rest of me. Still, a part of me wished that he would have stood up, too. Maybe even took a step and whispered for me to stay.
I shake the thought away. It’s too late for yearning. In another week, I’ll be back in rainy Oxford. Anika has bought a ticket to visit me in October, so my two sisters will finally meet. I came to Chivasso a virgin who did not believe in love. And I’ll return to Oxford with a ravenous ache for someone I might only see in my dreams. My stomach growls again, but when I look down at the food I feel nothing. No desire to reach my hand to the fork. The thought of chewing is tiring.
Nestling myself into one of the chairs near the dance floor, I’m happy to be alone for a moment. Dexter stands off in the far corner with a shorter man, his face sweaty as he talks aggressively close to him, and it’s now so obvious that he’s on something. I glance at Cinzia Sinclair, who chats on the other side of the museum with a cousin of Maio’s, and I wonder if, the entire time she’s speaking to this woman, her mind is on Dexter. How exhausting it must be to not trust your person. To wonder if their eyes will wander, even after two kids and decades of marriage. Then I look over at my own mother. She stands underneath the moss-covered tombs with one arm draped lazily over my father’s shoulder as he points wildly at the Ancient Book of the Dead papyrus hanging on the wall. This is how I will always remember them, lost in their own world of ancient Egypt and loud laughter. But now a secret hangs over them alongside the pretty moss.
I sip the champagne and close my eyes as the cellist begins a new song and my mind drifts to Theo. If I had known leaving him that night would lead to unplanned absences and active avoidance, would I have ever asked him to kiss me? Anika claims it was because he wasn’t feeling well but even she couldn’t hide her disappointment. Less than three months home and I’ve cleaved our family’s bond like chopping firewood. Hacking away until the pieces of us are unsalvageable, too small to even burn. But I think about a tiny Theo, having to endure his father’s humiliation, and I feel selfish for even considering him having to hold that secret alone. I wish it were me who had seen them in the attic. Is that love? Wanting to endure someone else’s pain? It’s a scary thought. To realize I would cut my wrists and bleed out if it meant that Theo would never be hurt again is a heady revelation. Would I do the same for Dante? I know the answer, but I brush it away before it lands.
Downing the last of the champagne, I hear a fantastic laugh and turn to watch Anika hastily grab one of Maio’s many cousins, dragging him to the dance floor. Her dress is tangerine orange with intricate beading of pinks and yellows, making her glow in the dim candlelight of the museum. The cousin’s face is bright red as she takes his hand and places it on her lower back. When she readjusts it so that he’s cupping her ass, I snort with laughter to myself. The combination of expensive champagne and Anika’s eternal confidence makes it impossible not to smile.
‘Hello, Magdalen.’
My eyes close. Immediately the smile slips. I would know it was him by the shape of his shadow, by the echo of his footsteps against the granite floor, but I blink up to be sure. When our eyes meet, my breath catches in my throat. Cold grey eyes stare intensely at me, his gaze lingering over my body, my face, my hair, and I know mine do the same as I take in the sight of him in a tux. Yes, he’s wearing all black, but he dominates the colour, looking tall and broad in the fitted jacket. My hand stings with the desire to fix his bowtie but I remain seated, my knees shaking underneath my dress.
His casual hello is disturbed by the clench of his jaw and how tightly his fists are shoved in his pocket. His lips. Impossibly soft. I reach for another glass of champagne, downing it in three sips, willing myself to remember what else I thought about before Theo Sinclair.
‘Hi.’
‘You’re beautiful.’ He exhales harshly. ‘It shocks me every time I look at you. How beautiful you are.’
Now it’s my turn to exhale, completely caught off guard by his confession. I want to lie down on the table and sob. Beg him to take it back. To say it again.
‘Thank you. You look beautiful, too.’
‘So Anika tells me you’re going back to Oxford next week,’ he says dejectedly.
‘Our own little Cupid. She tells me you bought your plane ticket for New York.’
‘Yeah, they’re quite worried about the state of my thesis.’
‘Who’s they?’
‘My fucking father called his friend at Columbia and told him about my lack of progress. I think my presence here makes him nervous.’
‘You must be tired.’
‘I’ve had seven years to rest. It shouldn’t still surprise me.’
‘Will you talk to him before you leave?’
‘No.’ His lips thin. ‘No, there’s nothing more to say. I’d rather spend my last days talking to you. Anika. Dante. Who needs fathers anyway?’
‘You’ll always have mine.’
He taps his foot impatiently, eager to stop talking about this, and glances nervously at the dance floor. And I know before he asks. Yes.
‘Dance with me?’
‘I’ve never slow-danced with anyone. I might step on you.’
Theo bends forward to take the glass out of my grip and some of his hair falls in front of his face. ‘I’m sorry I keep taking these firsts.’ I can feel his breath on my neck and I struggle not to close my eyes at his nearness. I can smell the clean laundry, the sandalwood, the last night in Alassio. If I lean forward just a little, his hair would brush against my cheek.
‘Why are you sorry?’ Why did you let them get away with it? Tell me again, so maybe this time, I’ll understand.
His fingers wrap around mine, pulling me up, and immediately his hands are around my hips, gripping tightly. ‘Because I want them all.’
After his first night back, it was clear I had been waiting for him. Waiting to give him all my firsts. The truth is easier than trying to deny my feelings. ‘I think you already took all I have to offer.’
His eyes search mine painfully and he takes a step closer so we’re almost flush against each other. He dips his head so that his lips brush against the high point of my cheekbone and he sighs sadly before whispering, ‘He knows.’
Frowning, I try to look at him, to understand what he means, but he turns his head and leads me to the dance floor.
‘What are you talking about?’ There are three other couples on the floor, so he chooses an empty spot before whirling me around, snaking one hand around my waist while the other takes my hand and places it behind his neck.
‘I should have told you in the backyard.’
‘What? Dexter knows that I know?’
Theo shakes his head. ‘No, no. Your father.’ He looks towards my papa, who sits at the head table, watching us while eating a slice of cake. When he sees us both looking at him, he drops his fork and waves, smiling happily. ‘He’s known for some time.’
If it wasn’t for Theo’s arm guiding me as we dance, I’m not sure I’d still be standing up straight. The lights of the candles begin to blur and I’m aware of a faint ringing in my ear. He’s known. He’s known. He has known.
‘What do you mean, he’s known?’
‘I lied when I said you’re the only person I told. I told him, the night... remember the night I got these bloody tattoos in Egypt? I told him everything. About the attic, Vittoria, E.T. I said it all to him. At this point, the guilt was consuming me and that trip was the first time I had stepped out of Chivasso – it finally felt like his hand wasn’t around my throat any more.’
I swallow the tears as I look to my father again, still staring at us with smiling eyes. ‘And what did he say?’
‘He said don’t worry. And that he was sorry. He apologized to me – I couldn’t believe it. This man’s business partner and wife are fucking behind his back and he’s apologizing to me.’ Theo shakes his head, his voice far away, and I know he’s back in Egypt, next to my papa.
‘How special it is that I love her enough to forgive the both of them. You will not understand. My children will never understand. But as long as she and I can still sit side by side at the kitchen table, I am happy to be loved this way.’
The song ends, and another begins.
‘That is not love.’ My voice is hoarse, ruined.
‘To him it is.’
‘So I’m not supposed to say anything?’ How devastating. To know my one example of true love was doomed from the start. I think back to being a child and watching them kiss on lazy Sundays, and it makes me want to scream. Deep down, did I know their kisses were poisoned?
‘My sweet girl.’ He lets go of my waist and cradles his fingers around the base of my head to look at him. ‘Our parents’ mistakes don’t have to bleed into our choices, right?’
I sniffle. ‘Are you quoting me?’
His thumb brushes against my upper lip and he smiles crookedly. ‘I’ve spent most of my days thinking about things you’ve said this summer.’
If love is the kitchen table, a bowl of softening fruit, knowing when to hug instead of kiss, then it seems obvious that I must confess. Even if he’ll never reciprocate. It’s time to be brave.
‘I love you, Theo.’
His face crumples and he tries to look away, but I bring my fingers to his chin, keeping him looking at me.
‘No.’ Theo blinks rapidly a few times and lets go of my neck. His eyes instantly fill with tears. Our gentle dance comes to a pause, just us now standing on the dance floor. ‘Magdalen, no. I mean, fuck. I have done nothing but hurt you. I’m really not worth loving.’
‘How can you say that?’ I step forward where he has stepped back, determined to show through the trembling of my fingers in his hair that this is love .
‘You have changed summer for me,’ I whisper. ‘Instead of sunlight, I’ll now think of you.’
‘Magdalen.’ He breathes out my name, dipping his forehead to rest against mine. ‘Since the moment I saw you in the grass.’
‘I know,’ I smile. The cellist drags his bow softly against one of the strings a final time. I look back to Theo, who stares at me, desperate, frozen. And I know he loves me.
‘One day, I’ll come back to this museum, and I’ll see you here.’ His voice shakes, and he clears his throat. ‘And I’ll know it’s you because of your stupid overalls and faded old T-shirts. I hope by then I’ll have finally talked to my dad, sat him down and told him what that day fucking did to me.’ I let the tears spill out of me, not caring that I’m crying at my sister’s wedding. I know he loves me, yes. But I can feel the end coming.
‘But maybe then I’ll be whole. Less afraid of him,’ he laughs, and a tear falls down onto the white shirt underneath his jacket. I watch it expand and settle in the fabric. My palm comes to his cheek, tears falling between the divots of my fingers.
‘And there will be so much room for you in here.’ He takes my hand and lays it on his heart, pressing hard. ‘There will be so much room. For you.’
‘One day,’ I whisper back.