Chapter Thirty-six
Something in me changed after the experience with my mum that day.
Like a shifting in the tapestry of who I was, the fibres loosening, easing, such that it felt like my heart sat a little further out in the world, a little softer and more exposed.
It was as though I’d already tested it with Abel, a gentle stretch out and return, that had left me braver.
But it was the first time that, out of the safety of the space he’d created, I had let myself go.
It felt like my whole self was expanding into the world.
As soon as I walked out of the ICU ward, I called Abel.
I’d been so focused on compartmentalising my life, needing to sort each part out before I could consider putting them together, but all of a sudden it seemed impossible that I could keep them separate.
I didn’t even know if he’d be working or out of range and I half-expected him not to answer, but when his voice spoke in my ear, I felt my whole body rush with longing.
‘Mary.’
‘Abel.’
I could almost hear the relief in his voice too, mixed with a certain apprehension.
‘I’m so sorry I just disappeared.’ I leant against the wall of the hospital corridor, watching as the doctors in scrubs marched past in important strides. It was so different on this side of the experience, the emotional family member, the charged phone calls, the lack of filters.
‘I’ve missed you,’ he said.
‘I’ve missed you too.’ It felt so raw, so raw and exposed. ‘I freaked out. It’s all just been completely overwhelming and I didn’t know where to place anything. But I’m sorry I didn’t call. I didn’t even have the head space to look at your messages.’
‘It’s okay,’ he soothed, and I wondered how it was possible for any human to be so tender and accepting of me. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yeah.’ I felt the wetness on my cheeks again. I was full of emotion, but not just sadness; in fact, more than sadness, I was full of love. It was hard to speak. ‘Mum’s in ICU. She’s been unconscious – encephalopathy. It’s been really bad. But she woke up today for the first time.’
‘Oh, Mary.’
It was so nice to hear his voice, so nourishing. How could I have possibly thought this was something I could do without? Of course there was no logical way in which he could be in my life, but right now, I wasn’t even thinking about that. It was just so good to talk to him.
‘Would you like me to be there with you?’ he asked and it nearly sucked the air from my lungs.
Yesterday I would have still been stuck in practical, survival mode, and I would have said no, absolutely not. But today, with my heart wide open, it spoke louder than any part of my logical brain.
‘I would love it so much, Abel.’ I tried to keep my voice steady but it cracked.
He exhaled with almost a laugh of relief and tenderness. ‘Okay. Great.’
By the end of that day, he was on a flight and I was meeting him at the airport.
Whatever work or trips he’d had planned rearranged themselves, the way they do when huge life events are occurring.
And when I stood at the gate and watched Abel stride towards me, I could have been in a movie.
There could have been an emotive song like ‘Spiegel im Spiegel’ playing.
And just like in the movies, everyone else blurred, and all I could see was this beautiful man that I loved with all of my heart who was here for me. For me.
When he reached me, he paused, his hands on my cheeks, and then, with all of the tenderness in the world, he kissed me and I kissed him back.
We didn’t say much on the train ride back to my mum’s house, where I was now staying.
We sat tightly side by side on the seat, our hands twined together, my arm twisted through his and my head on his shoulder.
‘Thank you for coming,’ I said for the twentieth time.
‘I wouldn’t be anywhere else,’ he said for the twentieth time.
When we arrived at the house, I showed him around and he smiled fondly. ‘Looks like Mary’s magic cleaning wand has been in action.’
I covered my face with my hand. ‘I’m such an OCD freak, aren’t I?’
‘I love it,’ he said. ‘Show me your room.’
I took him to my childhood bedroom, showed him the double bed with its starry doona cover I’d got for my thirteenth birthday. It had been a good birthday. Mum had been well and it’d been a happy day. And the stars had made me think of dreams and possibilities.
I watched him take it all in. The framed photos of Mum and Ebony and me. The collections of treasures, neatly arranged, everything in its place. The journals filling half of a bookcase. Promises to work hard. Hopes of happiness.
He turned to me, his eyes full of affection. And then, like a joyful observation, a delighted admission straight from deep inside him, he said, ‘I love you, Mary.’
My eyes closed. The final parts of me unravelled and bloomed.
His fingers were in mine and when I opened my eyes again, he was looking down at me, strong, confident and tender.
‘I love you so much, Abel.’
He kissed me and as his arms wound around me, I melted into him.
Melted into his embrace as he lifted me onto my bed.
And as he peeled my clothes away like he was unwrapping a present, I truly felt like a gift, in the same way he was a gift to me.
My body belonged to him, it ached for him, it arched for him.
Our bodies were like instruments of our hearts. I was all sensation and emotion. My executive brain hadn’t even come into the room with us.
His mouth on my nipple, his touch inside me, his breath in my ears and his love in my soul.
My gasps tangled with his, our cries twisting together.
‘I love you.’
‘I love you.’
‘I love you.’
‘I love you.’
And still I soared higher, unafraid to let go now.
‘I’m with you, Mary.’
Did he say it or did I think it? Or maybe I just knew it. I had never felt such a trust in a person, or in myself.
And as we came apart like fireworks, like stardust, like universes beginning, I knew nothing in my life had ever been more beautiful.