10. To Let Goto Hold on Tight
ten
To Let Go or to Hold on Tight
Dean
My week went by in the most peculiar of ways. Never had I ever thought that I would make love to a woman, only to fail at looking her in the eye the next day. Or the day after. Or the day after that.
As if she, too, had felt the same way, Emma’s demeanor around me remained extremely professional and reserved.
Yes, on Monday, I had thought it was apt for the two of us. On Tuesday, I had hoped we would exchange any words outside the context of work. By Wednesday, I had given up that hope. On Thursday, our day was so packed with meetings and partner visits that we barely saw each other. When Friday rolled round, Emma had informed me through a text that she was going to visit her mother after work. On Saturday, I had a gala to attend in the morning, and a family dinner in the evening. Although Emma had joined me for both, we didn’t get to spend a single moment alone. Nor did we exchange any private words.
And then Sunday came.
It had been exactly a week now since Emma and I had allowed ourselves the luxury of being so completely vulnerable with each other, without holding back. A week that showed me, without any words, just how much she regretted it. A week of me sleeping alone in bed as per the usual, yet missing something I shouldn’t have had in the first place. A week of certainty that my life now had been touched by something so random, so unplanned, and clearly, so unattainable.
I couldn’t keep thinking of the way I had felt in her arms that night, nor should I keep her here when she evidently wanted to stay away.
In an effort to escape, I spent the entire day in my study attempting to read a book or another. With every page I tried to absorb, my focus failed me, forcing me to go back and read all the way from the start. My mind was absent, attached to Emma and questions about what she was doing now.
Why did it have to be so hard?
Because I lied to my mother… and this was my punishment .
When Emma texted me in the afternoon that she was having dinner with her friends, I felt relief. She was going to be away—physically out of the house. Perhaps then I could focus on anything but thoughts of her.
Instead, I found myself reaching for my laptop and making a transfer to her account—one million dollars.
It was clearly over, whatever it was.
As soon as I saw the transfer confirmation on the screen before my eyes, I had a feeling reminiscent of those I used to get when a breakup was finalized with closure. Folding the device shut, I sat back and reached for the glass of whiskey on the table next to me. It was odd that I thought of it this way, since Emma and I weren’t in a relationship.
“And love can be powerful, even if it lasts for one night.”
Emma’s words came back to me with a new meaning. Perhaps she had used the word love as a way to address glorified lust. In that case, her statement made perfect sense. Yes, I do believe we made love that night. We weren’t in love, but how did people in love do it? I had been in love before, but never felt the way I did with her.
My mind had been invaded by grief, confusion, and the guilt of lying to my mother. Nothing about what we had done was natural… not even that .
I shouldn’t keep lying. And to stop, I had to start by telling myself the truth; Emma had served her purpose in our little charade, and it was time for her to go. As the thought of Emma leaving this house tied my stomach in knots, I took a large sip of my drink, letting the welcome sting in my throat mask the pain.
Selfishness had never been a quality of mine, and it wouldn’t be fair of me to ask Emma to stay any longer. I had to set her free and deal with my own loss and grief alone. None of this mess in my head was her responsibility.
Standing up, I turned and stood facing the window with the glass in my hand. The cold February night sky wept with rain, crashing against the glass with a slant that skewed everything in my view. Everything was hazy and dark, except for the streaks of lightning occasionally lighting up the night.
In silence, I finished my drink and decided to retire to my bedroom, taking the book with me in hopes that I could now face the words with a clearer mind.
And once again, that grief returned in the pit of my stomach, branching out to invade my chest, making reading more of a challenge.
It wasn’t long before I heard a knock on my door.
“Come on in,” I said.
Emma stepped inside, her raincoat dripping as she held up her phone to me. “What’s this? ”
Shifting, I pushed away the sheets and pushed myself to sit up straight. I saw a message confirming her receipt of the money. “You’ve delivered and now, so have I.” My eyes remained on her wet raincoat, watching the few remaining drops of water as they unhurriedly descended along the black material.
“Why didn’t we talk about this?” she asked with questioning eyes.
“What’s there to talk about? It was our agreement, and the contract we signed.” I explained, genuinely mystified by her surprise. When she wouldn’t respond, standing there, staring at me with vacant eyes, I decided to tell her the full truth. “You also have a penthouse in West Chelsea in your name.”
“That wasn’t in our agreement,” she sternly said, her voice monotonous.
“No, and I didn’t know about it until it was done. It was a gift from Pearl.”
“Why? She didn’t know, did she?”
I smiled, running my fingers through my hair as I looked away. “She—uh… to her, you’re family. She wanted to give you something of your own.”
“I can’t accept it.”
“And I can’t undo one of the last things she did before she passed,” I argued. Looking into her eyes, I hoped she would understand. “It was her decision, not mine. And I owe it to her… after what I did. I can’t do anything about it.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“No, I won’t , Emma,” I raised my voice an octave.
“She gave me that because of the lie that’s eating you up inside right now,” she said. The harshness of her words pierced through my heart like a heated spear. “If you don’t undo this, you’ll feel even worse. She gave me something of hers that I don’t deserve, and you know it. ”
No longer able to tolerate my seemingly relaxed position, I shifted and lowered my feet to the floor, resting my elbows on my knees while placing my face in my hands. From between my fingers, I stared down at my feet. “Emma, I can’t talk about this right now.”
“If not now, then when? Do I pack up and leave in the morning? Should I hand in my resignation?” She paused. “Dean, there’s so much we haven’t talked about, and now… you gave me all this—the money, the condo.” Pausing again, I felt her take a few steps closer and squeezed my eyes shut. “Suddenly, all these decisions have been made for me. Don’t you think that’s a little unfair?”
“ Unfair? ” I repeated, finally looking up at her, my eyes glaring.
“I—I mean…”
Gritting my teeth, I drew in a sharp breath while keeping my eyes on hers. I didn’t know what senseless thing I wanted to say at first, but the longer I looked into her eyes, the softer everything inside of me became. Finally, I realized what it was—I simply wasn’t ready to say goodbye yet. Sighing, I said, “I really don’t mean to sound cold right now… but I’m exhausted. I need to get some sleep. Can we talk about this tomorrow?”
When she dropped her hand holding the phone next to her thigh, her shoulders slouched down a bit, while her gaze remained fixated on my face.
As if afraid to miss a second with her in the room, I kept looking at her, secretly questioning the reason for her standing there motionless. She then took off her raincoat, and in slow, unhurried movements, turned around to place it on a hanger by the door.
And then she closed the door.
I froze in place, mentally going over everything I had just said, trying to find a hidden invitation that I might have missed. There was none .
Yet, here she was, making her way around my bed until she disappeared from my field of vision. I felt her sit on the opposite edge behind me and heard her shoes drop to the floor. I then heard the faint sound of her body rubbing softly against the fabric underneath us.
Without moving, I tilted my head ever so slightly and furrowed my eyebrows, wondering what she was up to now.
She was right behind me. I could feel the heat from her body weighing down on the air against my back. When her hand landed on my shoulder from behind, I closed my eyes.
No, I wasn’t going to repeat that same mistake. I wasn’t going to indulge whatever she thought she wanted from me tonight. If we were on the verge of saying goodbye, then—just like an addict—taking another hit was the last thing I needed.
Emma didn’t say a word. Instead, she let her hands do the talking. They pressed gently against my shoulder, in a direction urging me to lie down. And so I did, without turning to face her.
Lying on my side, I placed my head on the pillow, sliding both my hands under it. As if my hands didn’t earn their freedom. As if, if I were to let them go, they would instinctively reach out to find her.
Just like hers found me.
My wife slid one hand under my pillow, reaching to hold mine, interlinking our fingers beneath the comfortable weight of my head. Her other hand laid softly on my side, while she came closer, so close that she spooned me. With her arm now around my waist, she placed her palm on my stomach and kept it there, motionless, only ever so gently pressing.
I should have asked her to leave, but I couldn’t.
I could have pulled away, but I didn’t.
I might have even kept my eyes open in anticipation of what she could have wanted to do next. But instead, I closed them .
A rare serenity took over me as I focused on my heartbeats, keeping rhythm with hers against my back. Silently, we laid there, as if again… the words didn’t matter at all.
Fully clothed and hardly conscious, I tried to regulate my breathing as I felt the hot air of her breath against the back of my head. Warmth soon took over me, as if her arms were the real shelter from the raging storm outside.
Every time I was about to fall asleep, I would urge my mind to remain present, feeling for any movement she might make.
But she didn’t move.
In fact, nothing happened.
Nothing at all.
Just us existing in this place together, barely fighting off sleep.
Why did I do that?
Why was I so afraid of falling asleep like this?
It didn’t matter now, since I could no longer fight the comfort that was taking over me, inch by inch… every part of me fell asleep.
In my wife’s arms.