70. Bertram
Bertram
One of the best parts of sleeping with Helena— yes, like that, now—was getting to openly stare at her all the time.
Bertram wanted to stare at Helena all the time, he always had, but now he could without feeling like he was committing a hypothetical HR violation.
Training Lovey, ignoring her in a ten-second LRS time-out, taking notes, showering, kissing him, naked, dressed, bundled in a snow coat—she was a work of art in any form, doing anything.
Being able to watch her with undisguised want in his eyes made the days go even faster, made the work even lighter and more enjoyable.
And Helena liked being watched too. He could tell from the way she would blush when she caught him staring at her when she was doing something as simple as cleaning up one of Lovey’s shredded projects.
How she could think that she was anything less than perfect, he could not even fathom.
Sure, he had been informed of her laundry list of petty squabbles against her own form—her uneven breasts, her squishy stomach, her stretch marks and cellulite—but he had yet to have a single quality pointed out to him that he did not find utterly endearing.
He made this known to her again and again, through words and actions.
Helena seemed particularly sensitive about the idea of aging, which is why he found himself going back and forth about whether or not to surprise her for her birthday, or if she would prefer to leave the day unmarked.
After much debating back and forth, he decided the safest thing to do was to ask her what she wanted, even though that would ruin the element of surprise.
The real surprise to Helena was that her birthday was coming up at all; she had completely forgotten.
“If you would be okay with it, I’d love to do something for you for your birthday,” Bertram sad. “But I know you used to have a lot of birthday traditions with Gerard . . . since it’s your first without him, if you’d like to just make it a quiet day, I completely understand.”
Helena leaned forward and kissed him.
“You’re so sweet,” she murmured against his lips.
Bertram smiled and tucked a stray piece of hair out of her eyes.
“For my birthday, I think I’d really like to uphold my father’s tradition by going camping, heading out to some remote mountainous or forest area, sleeping in tents, cooking food over a fire . . .” Helena looked around, with mock surprise. “Oh, wait . . .”
Bertram kissed her again and she smiled against his lips.
“I guess since we’re already camping, I’ll have to allow you to add whatever else you were planning into the mix.” Helena flipped her hair. “You’re welcome.”
“You joke, but I will always thank you for the opportunity to make you happy.”
Bertram leaned forward and kissed her again. When Bertram pulled back, Helena’s eyes were still closed. He gently ran his knuckles over the side of her face, and she leaned into his touch.
Gods, he had missed this. Not just the sex. Not just the friendship. But the quiet, simple intimacy.
“There’s no pressure to do anything elaborate,” Helena said. “It’s not like we have a ton of resources—”
“Don’t be absurd. I’ve been planning this for a long time,” Bertram said. “No, well—that sounded—the thing is—I had been planning your birthday before you left. I wanted to throw you a traditional orc-ish sacred number birthday ceremony—”
“Because I was turning twenty-two,” Helena said, and there was a painful wistfulness in her voice. “But you can’t do that now—twenty-seven isn’t sacred.”
“Of course it is,” Bertram said, with as straight a face as he could muster.
“How so?”
“Two-seven is the worst hand in Poker. Very significant, very sacred.”
Helena laughed, but there was still sadness in her eyes.
“I wish I had spent my twenty-second birthday with you,” she said, quietly.
“I wish I had never left for stupid fucking medical school. I just—” Helena shook her head.
“Sorry. You were being sweet, and we were having a nice moment and then . . . I know it’s not something you’re comfortable really diving into. We can talk about something else.”
Bertram hesitated for a moment.
It would be easy to take her up on the offer, to step away from the dangerous ledge they were quickly approaching.
But looking at Helena’s wide, sincere eyes, Bertram knew that wasn’t the relationship he wanted with her. He wanted to be able to talk about all of it—the safe things and the dangerous ones.
Bertram inhaled deeply, chest rising.
“Let’s talk about it,” Betram said.
“Really?” Helena looked surprised, which was fair, because in a way Bertram had surprised himself.
“Yes,” he said. “The things that happened, well, they happened. We can’t make them un-happen. And yes, we could just avoid the topic forever. But the truth is—”
“Yes?” Helena looked up at him with her wide eyes, so sincere and open.
“I don’t want there to be anything we can’t talk about. Things are too . . .” Bertram trailed off. “Real” was what he wanted to say. Things were too real between them for there to be embargoes on any topic of conversation. They deserved better than that, as individuals and as a pair.
But all of that was too much to say in one fell swoop.
“Medical school was a huge accomplishment on your part, whether it’s ultimately what you wanted to do with your life or not.
And yes, it broke us up but ignoring that won’t change things.
And yes, I still don’t fully understand why you went.
And maybe you explaining won’t change anything, for either of us.
But if you want to try to explain, I want to listen. ”
“Okay,” Helena said, softly. “If you change your mind, let me know.”
Bertram nodded. He wanted to tell her that he wouldn’t, but he didn’t want to make promises he couldn’t keep.
Until the death of his father—and then hers—Helena leaving him had been the worst moment of his life.
He wasn’t sure how much of her story would tie back into that night, and if it did, how much he would be able to take.
Helena hesitated. “It’s—it’s hard to know where to start. I—I don’t want you to think any less of me. Or . . . more importantly, I don’t want you to think any less of my father.”
Bertram wrinkled his nose. He wasn’t sure where he was expecting this story to go, but it definitely wasn’t in this direction. “Your father?”
“It feels unfair to share things that may paint him in a,” Helena struggled for words, “less flattering light, when it’s not like I can tell you about a time he sorta messed up, but then you’ll see him tomorrow, and he’ll make it all seem small in comparison.
This is . . . he’s frozen in time. I don’t want this to cast a shadow over how you remember him. ”
Bertram pulled Helena closer against him, so that her back was flush against his torso.
“Helena.” He kissed her on the head. “Gerard took me to baseball practices. He drove three hours to pick me up from summer camp when I got sick. He made me soup, orcish soup, even though he didn’t know how.
Unless you tell me that he was a serial killer, then you’re not going to erase my love and respect for him.
And even if you do tell me he was a serial killer, I’d wait to hear an explanation, because I know him, so he may have had a damn good reason. ”
Helena took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay. Well. You know my dad had me when he was seventeen. My mom wanted nothing to do with me—”
“Her loss,” Bertram said firmly, unable to hide the immediate anger in his voice.
“So, my dad had to take care of me all on his own. Which means he lost his scholarship and dropped out of school. I ruined his dreams of being a doctor.”
Bertram shook his head. “You didn’t ruin anything—”
“I did,” Helena said. “It wasn’t my fault, obviously, but I did. He would have been a brilliant doctor. And he didn’t get that opportunity, because he chose to raise me—”
“He loved you a lot, Hel. If he had the choice between being a doctor or being your father, he would have chosen you a million times over.”
“I know that,” Helena said, quietly. “Any time I felt bad, when I asked if he regretted me, he always told me that I was the only thing in his world that mattered. My whole life, he did everything he could to assuage that guilt. To make me feel like his dream of being a doctor didn’t mean anything to him.
But I knew it did. Dr. J knew that, too.
She could hear it in his voice when he talked about having been pre-med. ”
Helena took a deep breath.
“I overheard them, when they thought I was asleep. Your mom told my dad that she would pay for him to go back to school. And my dad said he appreciated that she paid for my education, but he couldn’t possibly ask her to do the same for him.
It was the first time I realized there had never been any Titania scholarship, that she invented it just for me.
Dr. J said nothing would make her happier than to help him finish his education as well.
And my dad . . . I could tell that he was, you know.
He was very grateful, and flattered, but also . . . a little . . .”
“Insulted?” Bertram offered, without judgment.
Helena blushed. “Not insulted exactly, but it was hard for him. He wanted me to have everything, and he was sad that he couldn’t give me that.
But his pride wasn’t bigger than his love for me.
So, he accepted whatever your mom could give me.
But accepting her money for himself, even for education . . . that was a bridge too far for him.”
Bertram stayed silent, simply rubbing Helena’s back as she spoke. She steadied herself.