51. Theo
FIFTY-ONE
THEO
It’s not easier in person than it was in my head.
Standing in front of Marcy’s house, my hand poised against the door and ready to knock, I think of the countless hours I’ve spent preparing for this. My decision was made weeks ago but things had to be tied into neat bows before I could make my way here to Smallville. It’s not that I’m thinking of running, but the reality of what I’m about to do has hit me like a ton of bricks. A myriad of thoughts swirl in my head, some louder than others, and all those real valid doubts keep popping up.
Matteo might have left the church but does that mean he still wants me? Is it smart to abandon the life I’ve spent a year building to chase a man that should stay in my past? Am I really prepared for the consequences—good and bad—of my decision?
But then I think of him. Of his chocolate brown hair, his deep dark eyes, and his smirk that always sent my heart racing. Of the way he always made me feel like a superhero. Of the dreams I’ve had of what our life can be like together.
About how, after everything, it’s finally the right place and the right time.
I knock before I can think anymore. Immediately, the door swings open, and I don’t know if I’m relieved or disappointed it’s Marcy who answers. Clad in her baking apron and covered in a fine layer of flour, her eyes widen in shock. “Theo?”
“Marcy,” I say, confidently and smoothly, not letting it show how nervous I am. “May I come in?”
She blinks at me as her jaw drops. “Come in? Come in ? That’s what you have to say after damn near a year? Sugar, get your ass in here!”
I have no choice but to fall into the steel hug she traps me in. She shakes me a bit, covering my nice outfit with the evidence of her baking, and finally lets me go after a few seconds. She pushes gray strands of hair behind her ear, still completely overwhelmed. “Oh, goodness. How have you been? You know, I’ve been prayin’ for you. Every night. I ask the Lord for good health and peace for you.”
“That’s very kind,” I say sheepishly, scratching the back of my neck. “I’m actually here to see?—”
“Marcy, what time is Clara bringing Billy back?”
I can hear the question, but my brain doesn’t register the significance of it. All it zeroes in on is the slightly accented voice behind me. Distracted, like he’s in the middle of doing something. Concerned just a touch, maybe because it’s getting late. So perfectly normal and commonplace.
The voice that whispered its love to me again and again. The voice that murmured filthy things in my ear. The voice that I always think of in the deepest parts of the night when I’m seeking comfort.
I turn.
Matteo is walking down the stairs, halfway through putting a hoodie on, and time stops when he sees me. His smoky eyes widen, and fuck me, the happiness I see for a split second is enough to make this entire ordeal worth it, even if it doesn’t go the way I want it to. He trips over his feet, tangled in the hoodie, and I’m already racing towards him before anyone registers what’s happening. I catch him just as he’s falling and pull him against my chest, holding him safe and secure as he gathers his bearings.
“ Theo .” It’s a choked rasp, almost like a wounded animal in pain, and it brings tears to my eyes. “What are you…”
I pull back and meet his questioning gaze. I can’t help it. I smile through watery tears. The relief of simply being near him makes me overly emotional. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he breathes back through a chuckle. “You’re… What are you doing here?”
“Actually, I—” Sensing we have an audience, I turn to see Marcy practically eating popcorn by the entrance of the kitchen. I clear my throat, reluctant to let Matteo go, but I do so anyway. “Can we talk outside?”
“It’s freezin’ outside!”
Thank you, Marcy.
Matteo must sense my mild irritation, grabbing my hand and guiding me up the stairs. “Here, we can talk in my room.”
“Just remember, Matteo. You may not be a priest anymore, but you still have to save some room for the Holy Spirit!”
Both of us chuckle and maybe I’m just a little grateful that Grandma Marcy is doing her best to lighten the tension. Her attempts fail, however, as soon as Matteo leads me into his room and closes the door behind him. We stand next to each other awkwardly, both unsure of what we’re doing, and he coughs as he makes his way to the window.
“It looks like it’s going to snow,” he states, so polite and diplomatic, talking about the damn weather. “I hope you changed into your snow tires.”
I don’t want to talk about snow tires right now. Shit, I never want to talk about that. Old Theo would have indulged in the distraction and gone on for twenty minutes about winter vehicle safety, but I’m not him anymore. So, I sit on the edge of the bed and tap the spot beside me. “Why don’t you sit, Matteo?”
Fussing with the curtain, he clears his throat and shakes his head. “I think it’s best if I don’t.”
Seeing him like this is unusual. Matteo is many beautiful and incredible things, but tentative and unsure aren’t him. His avoidance causes my insecurities and self-doubt to rise, thinking that maybe this was a mistake. Maybe his letter really did mean goodbye and I’m here like an idiot to?—
No .
Those are the intrusive thoughts talking. New Theo is strong and confident. Even if it hurts, and even if it’s scary, I’m going to try.
“Okay,” I say simply, continuing to sit as I watch him look out the window. “I?—”
“Where do we even start?” Turning quickly, I can see the anguish on his face. I can’t quite decipher what it is that’s eating at him right now.
I let out a deep breath and say the only thing I can think of. “From the beginning.”
“What even is the beginning?” Shaking his head, he snorts. “Was it the first time we made love? Was it when we lied and cheated to get what we wanted?” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he turns to me. He collects himself for a moment and breathes deeply. “I’m sorry. I truly don’t mean to make this any more difficult. I’m just confused.”
I wrinkle my nose, standing when he starts to pace. “Why are you confused?”
“Because you and Clara are divorced,” he states, taking a careful step away from me. “Because you were supposed to live a great life together and move past what we did. Because I ruined it.”
I shake my head, somehow so serenely calm despite the situation. I don’t even bother asking how he knows about the divorce. It doesn’t seem to matter right now. “You didn’t ruin anything. Clara and I split amicably.”
“Did you…” He hesitates and curses under his breath. “It’s so selfish of me to ask this.”
“Ask,” I whisper, finally within touching distance of him, but I keep my hands to myself. “Ask me anything.”
He peeks up at me, still reluctant, but gives in. “Did you split up because of me?”
To this, I shake my head. It’s an easy answer. While some might think Matteo was the problem, he was just a symptom of the beginning of the end. “No.”
“Okay.” He looks relieved and his shoulders drop from their tense position. “Thank you.”
“We were already broken,” I say with a small shrug. “Clara and I were over before you ever moved to Smallville. Our marriage was wonderful, but it was built on a type of dependency that wasn’t sustainable. It had an expiration date, and I think we both knew that.”
He nods and I wonder if he believes me. When he doesn’t say anything else, I dare take a step forward and reach for his hand. The fact that he doesn’t pull away is encouraging. I bring him close—it’s almost like a type of magnetism—and tip his chin up. Using all the courage I can muster, I breathe against his mouth. “Ask me why I’m here.”
“To say goodbye,” he rasps, his hand tight against mine. “One last time.”
I should, shouldn’t I? Wouldn’t that be penance for the pain I’ve caused? Losing my love as a punishment for my horrible deeds?
But life doesn’t work like that. It’s never black in white. It’s beautiful shades of gray and charcoal, all merging, brush stroke over stroke in an infinite and ever-growing tapestry.
“Matteo, do you still love me?” I ask, breath hitching when he shudders. “Do you?”
He pulls away quickly, almost in a panic. My heart cracks as he begins to pace. He’s muttering something under his breath and nodding to himself. “I thought you moved on, Theo. I was okay with you moving on.”
“And now?”
“Now, I—” He throws his hands in the air. “Now I don’t know what the fuck to think.”
I don’t know what to make of that. I open my mouth to tell him why I’m here, to confess my undying love, to see if we have a chance, but he doesn’t let me get a word in.
“I thought I was okay,” he continues, marching purposefully to the dresser. “I thought I accepted reality.” He starts throwing shirts and shorts over his shoulder, growing more agitated by the second. “I thought I was fine, Theo!”
“Matteo—”
When he turns, there are several papers crumbled in his hands. He looks like a madman as he starts reading them off in quick succession.
“ I miss hearing you call me baby .”
I gasp. “Matteo, are those?—”
“ I don’t think I’ll ever stop being yours. ”
“ I pray to God that you’ll come back. ”
“ I never stopped loving you and I never will .”
There are tears in my eyes now, fully shedding, and slithering down my cheeks like sinful serpents breaking my resolve. “Matteo…”
“Letters to you, Theo. To mi precioso .” His voice cracks as his own tears fall. “One letter for every day we were apart.”
I almost don’t believe it, but when I walk to the dresser, I see the proof right in front of me. It’s full to the brim with letters. Some are on full pages while others are scribbled on napkins or neatly written on torn sheets of paper. I dip my hand in and run my fingers across every single one I can reach. It’s a beautiful mess. It’s him, all his love and glory turned into bumbling madness.
It’s us.
It’s what gives me the resolve to spin on my heels and grasp his face, pull him close so our noses touch, and breathe against his lips. “I love you, Matteo. Now and until the end of time. No matter where we are or who we become, I want everything with you. You are the person I’m meant to spend the rest of my life with. It wasn’t a mistake letting you walk away, but it would be the stupidest decision on the planet to not beg for you now.”
I won’t let him answer me. I can’t. It’s incredibly selfish, and Emily would say unhealthy, but fuck it. It’s been a year. A whole life cycle without him and I’m done.
I slam my lips against his.
And, just like that, all is right with the world.
We come together as if no time has passed. We take from each other all our fears and our hopes. He doesn’t need to break the kiss for me to know that he wants this too. Even if he did, the letters are already proof enough. The fact that he thought of me each day, the fact that he accepted reality but still wanted me, it’s everything.
I taste the salt of our tears when I pull back, but he’s reluctant to let me go. As if this is just some dream he’s conjured up. As if I’ll disappear into the dust and have just been a memory.
“How can we do this?” he mumbles, rubbing his nose against mine. “ Mi precioso , you don’t know how much I want this, but it doesn’t seem possible. The way our lives are?—”
I shake my head. I don’t mean to dismiss his words, but I need to assuage his doubts. I need to make something clear. “I’m in this. Forever. I understand reality, but I also understand life doesn’t always conform to what we thought we needed. All I know is, life is too short to not live it to the fullest.”
He blinks at me, wondering, wondering, wondering… “Even if that means abandoning what you know? Leaving it all behind?”
I chuckle through a sob and nod. “If that means I get you, there’s nothing that’s being left behind.”
He laughs, a full-bodied and relieved laugh, something that brings so much joy to my ears. A sound I never thought I’d hear again. “So, what do we do now?”
I tuck a strand of dark hair behind his ear. I move my hand down his stubbled jaw and take him in. Beautiful. Perfection. The kind of thing I could only ever wish upon a star for. The kind of love that makes people jealous.
And I smile.
“Now, we move on.”