20. Far Beyond the Word
twenty
Far Beyond the Word
Dean
From the moment Emma and I were driven out of my calm street and into the city, we could see that New York was celebrating its Valentine’s Day fever with the utmost zeal. The color red covered nearly everything, and the letters ‘LOVE’ and the cartoonish, glittery shape of the heart had taken over the streets.
In the backseat, Emma silently stared out through the tinted window, while I quietly watched her. I wondered what she was thinking, how she was feeling, and what she wished I would have done on this day.
Unfortunately—and the misery of it wasn’t lost on me—I had booked us catering for dinner at the house. That way, hushed words would travel from tongue about how Dean Allen and his new bride celebrated behind closed doors. It gave our little secret an intimate air, without us having to be social or create a performance for the prying eyes of the public. Neither one of us was in the mood to serve their whims; we had our own perplexity to mull over.
Before my first meeting, I furrowed my eyebrows as I read over the cryptic email that our PR Director had sent me the night before. It addressed some ‘scandal’, and I was only halfway through reading it when the door flailed open. It was him, the PR Director, marching in with a concerned look on his face. Emma followed him in only by a couple of steps before he turned to her and said, “Mrs. Allen, I’d prefer if you weren’t here for this.”
“What is it, Jefferson?” I asked. Emma quickly withdrew, closing the door behind her.
“Haven’t you read my email?”
“Barely. What’s going on?”
“Someone put a word out there that your marriage to Emma isn’t real .” He sat down, huffing and shaking his head. “Did you pay her to do it, Dean?”
“What?”
“The teams didn’t sleep last night. They tracked down the origin of the rumor, and it’s from the public account of Kyle Savant. Does it ring any bells?”
I had to admit to myself that I hadn’t seen that one coming. How would Emma’s ex know about this, unless she herself had told him? Blinking quickly, I said, “This is clearly defamation.”
“And the public loves dirt. Do you know that man or not?”
“He’s Emma’s ex. He’s been trying to get back with her, but our marriage clearly put an end to any hopes he might have had.”
“Sure.” He shrugged. “But your marriage came as a surprise to everyone, and the fact that Mrs. Allen passed away within the week didn’t help.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that legal sex for money is frowned upon, even for people like you. I recommend you let our team handle it asap.”
“No.” I sternly said. “ I’ll handle it.”
“ You? ”
“It’s my marriage. My wife. My problem. This has nothing to do with the company, and nobody but me is fit to respond.”
“Y—You’re not a journalist , Dean. With all due respect—”
“I said I’ll handle it,” I insisted. “You’ll have my statement ready for release within the hour.” Jefferson sighed heavily with a look on his face that screamed, ‘I think this is a mistake.’ As a response, I added, “You’re right. I’m no journalist, no writer. Whatever I put in there will be a thousand times more believable than anything your team will come up with.”
“Fine.” He shot up standing, looking away as he adjusted his tie. “Share it with me when you’re done with it. I’ll have them—”
“ No editing ,” I commanded. “You’ll disseminate whatever I send you as is for publishing.”
“For whatever my opinion’s worth… that’s very risky, Dean.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“I really hope so.”
When Jefferson left the room, he left an echoing of thoughts behind him, bouncing off the walls and floating through the thick air around me. Less than forty-eight hours ago, Emma was crying to her mom about having fallen in love with me. She couldn’t have given away our secret to Kyle… or had she, in a moment of weakness and despair? And what did he want out of this? Did he want her back? Did she want him? No. She couldn’t possibly…
Thinking back to all the times Emma was there for me, I knew I had to give her the benefit of the doubt now. Staring at the blank note on my laptop screen, I was aware of the risk I was taking. But then again, wasn’t it the perfect accessory to the scheme Emma, and I had been perfecting so well?
I could think of it as the perfect Valentine’s Day gift, and count my blessings for all the times I had enjoyed with her. If this was the straw that promised to break us, I was willing to take it with my chin up high.
‘Let’s Set Love Aside for Today’
That was the title I chose for my first piece ever written.
If Saint Valentine was here today…
He would tell you that love has become a worn-out word, marketed carefully along with sister concepts like wealth, success, and sound health.
He would tell you that celebrating today is nothing more than a form of ‘Fear Of Missing Out’—FOMO. Couples fear that others would think their love isn’t deep enough. Women worry that their friends might think they’re lonely. Men are concerned about their reputation in terms of their ability to be ‘the man of someone’s dreams.’
He would beg you to stop the pretenses, take a step back, and examine the way you use the word ‘love.’
Or at least, that’s what I would like him to tell you.
That’s because I’ve experienced something much more profound than everything I was taught about good old-fashioned love, to the point where I have decided to refrain from labeling it that way. What I have is far too grand for love.
What would I label it, you ask?
Well, for me personally, I would call it ‘Emma’.
Emma is loyal, intelligent, and oh, so beautiful.
Emma is understanding, aware of our flaws as people, and the frailty it brings along when nobody else is looking.
Emma is fearless, leaping to help someone in need while keeping her needs in check.
Emma is patient, never rushing when it comes to things that beg at her attention.
Emma is supportive, knowing that sometimes people do things she doesn’t understand, with no judgment.
Emma is tender, with hands able to wash away the pain within moments of authentic connection.
Emma is inspiring, a muse for everything that is good and hopeful in a world that is cruel and careless.
And above all, Emma has a heart of gold. She feels so deeply, so genuinely, and so very exquisitely that she touches the hearts of others with no effort at all.
Emma is the music inspiring both our bodies to shed the essence of themselves to come into one another in sweet unison.
Emma has eyes that carry comfort in the midst of a dark, dangerous world.
Emma is the woman I can live with whilst fearing nothing.
Emma is my precious wife, and I know that if I had searched the world, sifting through its eight billion souls, I wouldn’t have wanted anyone else by my side on this harsh and daunting journey we call life. And I would rather say her name, over and over again, than utter meaningless words of affection and devotion that have been used and abused to death.
And speaking of death… it’s till death do us part, my wife.
If Saint Valentine was here, Emma, he would leave behind all the so-called lovers and their tired stories, and would come to you carrying all the fields of roses his shoulders could possibly carry. He would lay them outside your balcony, and sit there praying, waiting for you to bless their blossoming petals until eternity proves unworthy of your beautiful soul.
And if I find it too little, too shallow, too limiting… do I still need to use that word like everyone else today?
I’ll be waiting for your answer tonight, when we’re alone in our home, sitting by the fire, sharing our most intimate moments.
Forever, if you’ll allow me…
Your husband ,
Dean Allen
For fear of editing out my feelings, I attached the file and hit ‘send’ on the email without reading it one more time. Two minutes later, my phone rang with Jefferson’s name blinking across the screen.
“Yes?” I answered.
“O— Wow .” He nervously chuckled. “If you weren’t the CEO, I would’ve hired you in our department.”
“Get your nose out of my ass, Jefferson. I know it’s not the official statement your team would’ve whipped up.”
“No, it’s brilliant, because it has nothing to do with any of our usual PR stunts. With our contacts, we can get this baby live within the hour. Not in the business section, which… I mean, I wouldn’t have thought of a better idea myself.”
“Great. Now, can we get back to work?”
“By all means. Later, Dean.”
“Later.”
Hanging up, I felt my stomach twist in knots. I had just pulled the pin out of a grenade and tossed it into the world. Everyone was going to see it explode, but only Emma and I would really have to deal with the aftermath.
The uneasy feeling followed me throughout the day until I went home just in time for dinner. Emma was behaving normally, which meant that she hadn’t seen the article yet.
Just as the table was being cleared, Emma’s phone chimed with a text and she picked it up. With her other hand, she took her glass of wine and stood up, furrowing her eyebrows.
Someone must have sent her a link to the article.
This was it .
She moved around as if I was no longer there, consumed by reading on her phone, slowly walking toward the terrace .
The breath caught in my chest as I watched her in the dark through the glass. Her eyes widened as she held the wine glass against her cheek, slowly shaking her head.
As I approached the glass door that separated us, she turned to me, her face illuminated by nothing other than the blue glow from her device. The closer I got, the more I could see the tears filling her eyes. When my hand pushed the door open, Emma parted her lips and recited, “Emma is the woman I can live with whilst fearing nothing?”
At the end of her sentence, we were standing an inch apart from each other. Her hands were frozen; one holding the phone, the other holding the glass. Slowly, I took both items from her, setting them down on the table without breaking the bond connecting our eyes. Her gaze begged me to say something. I licked my lips before asking, “So, do you still need to hear me say it?”
Her chest rose and fell, her breathing fast and uneven. For a few seconds, her eyes went everywhere but to my face. Stunned, speechless as she seemed, she shook her head once and then nodded twice. “You’re not like everyone else,” she finally said, softly, but not without hesitation. “But maybe I am.”
My hands found her cheeks, warm and soft, and my fingers caressed them softly, until the tips reached the corners of her lips. Bending down an inch, I let our noses touch. “Don’t you dare,” I whispered. “Say it… think it… feel it…” I paused, drinking in her welled up eyes and parted lips. “If you were, would I be in love with you so desperately that I’m too scared to say it?”
“I thought with me you feared nothing.” Her hands gripped my wrists, fixing them in place.
“Am I?” My eyes searched hers for one last confirmation. “Am I with you? ”
Finally smiling, she kissed the tips of my fingers. “It’s till death do us part , my husband.”