Author's Note: Welcome back! Just to warn y'all, this is a hella long chapter, as a lot of time needed to pass between E/C getting engaged and the, erm, stuff going on at the end. Please let me know what you think. The title for this chapter is based on the song "Love Me Tender" by Elvis Presley. R&R, and enjoy!
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Chapter 29 - Never Let Me Go
Christine
We made the majority of the trip back to Schaumburg in a companionable silence, not even bothering with the radio for the sake of maintaining a quiet and reflective environment, the decision stemming from a wordless understanding that we wanted to process everything that had just happened between us. There would be plenty of time in the immediate future for talk and planning and each of the particulars that would need to be addressed, but it could all reasonably wait until later. What followed Erik's proposal was an unequivocal sense of assurance that we shared, and it seemed that neither of us wanted to disrupt the peace that it had inspired within us. Such peace was a long time coming, and neither of us wanted to let it go any time soon.
As Erik drove, the streetlights lining the roadways illuminated the car's interior at intervals, casting odd shadows across his uncovered face for only an instant, one after another. From where I sat, I could see his scarring there clearly, giving me the chance then to think about how it continued down his back and his right arm, nearly ruining the nerves in his hand had the damage been worse - and then that brought me to think about the newer scars that he bore on his chest and stomach. With their images flashing in my mind's eye, I was indescribably grateful for everything he had survived throughout his difficult life. I couldn't imagine what my own life might have become if we'd never met because he had been lost to the war he'd fought through, or because of his trauma from that war; further, I couldn't stand the thought of an existence where he had been taken from me in sweeping gunfire the day of the shooting at the hospital. Sometimes, that horrible day felt like it had taken place in an entirely different life far and away from what we knew now, but then something significant would happen for us - the birth of our daughter, our engagement, countless other moments that had come to define our relationship - and in turn that potential loss would come rushing to the forefront of my mind, and my heart always seized to consider the alternative, to think about what other important occasions might have been stolen right out from under us if the outcome had been dire.
Pulling me from my thoughts - for which I was immensely grateful, when I suddenly noted the pang of anxiety settling itself in my chest that they had caused, an anxiety that had to place following such an important night for us - Erik glanced in my direction and caught me staring, smiling brightly in return when he seemed to realize that my eyes had been drawn to him for quite some time before he'd looked over. Keeping my focus on him as a result, he reached across the center console that separated us and took my hand securely in his, before returning his full attention to the road ahead. He held onto my left hand tightly as he continued driving us toward home, absently brushing his thumb over the emeralds in my ring every now and again, and I was content in turn just to lean back in the passenger seat once more and enjoy the ride. He was there with me, alive and well and safe, and that was all that mattered - he was my fiancée as of that evening, and we now shared that title because of everything that we'd been through, a testament to all that we had overcome together, both within the confines of our relationship and because of outside forces. We had grown so much alongside one another, and that meant the world to me. Testing out the word fiancée in my mind all the while, I considered that as I idly felt the weight of my engagement ring; it was distracting to an extent, unfamiliar, though not unpleasantly so - I was enjoying its comforting presence.
We were a few blocks away from home when Erik eventually broke the silence, his tone light as he ventured, "I'd say tonight went well."
I nodded, smiling, and although I was unsure if he'd seen the smile in the dark, it was likely that he could hear it in my voice, "Thank you for this, Erik. Your plan for tonight was amazing. I mean that."
"I was nervous as hell."
"I noticed. What, did you think I'd say no?"
He shrugged, though his mood hadn't dampened entirely, "There's always the chance that someone great will come along and sweep you off your feet."
"You're crazy. You are the someone great, fool."
"Thank you."
Another smile, and then more seriously, "Did you actually think I would've said no?"
"I think…" he began with a sigh, "I obviously gave you enough reason to hesitate in the past, and a part of me will always be afraid that everything I did to hurt you can't be undone."
I took a moment to consider his words, knowing that this might be a point that bothered him forever, that brought him guilt - especially when we used to fight over it so often - and so I replied slowly, "No, it's more like you said earlier, all of the bad shouldn't influence reality for us. I don't want us to keep dwelling on the past if it's only going to be stressful," I said determinedly, referring both to this present conversation and my thoughts throughout our trip, "I just want us to keep moving on, and that's exactly what we're doing. This is a good thing."
"I agree. But I think you can understand why I was so nervous."
"I do, very much. But you didn't need to be. I'm not going anywhere."
He kissed my hand, and then lowered it between us again, "I know you're not," then, clearly satisfied that we had gotten everything that we needed out into the open, he continued with our former levity, "Honestly, I'm just relieved I didn't forget what to say, or forget to kneel."
"You didn't rehearse your proposal with Nadir?"
"I did not."
"His loss, then," I said, earning a laugh from Erik, before adding gently, "I'm glad we're finally doing this," I murmured, and he squeezed my hand in silent acknowledgement as I recalled how conflicted I had been before about even the possibility of getting married, so long ago now, and continued, knowing that he would understand what exactly I was referring to then, "Thank you for waiting for me."
"We needed the wait. And anyway, like I said, you're worth it."
"I am curious, though," I said after a moment's thought, and that curiosity wasn't an exaggeration - this was a point that I had been wondering about, and interest that I had just referred to was killing me, "We talked about getting engaged months ago. Why the wait?"
His response was simple, as if the answer had been obvious all along, "Residency. The first year of residency is always a cluster-fuck, I didn't want to pile on."
I couldn't help but laugh at his logic, "Ah. Good instinct."
"Good memory. I don't think I could've handled any major life changes when I was a resident, and I had it pretty easy."
"How could a surgical residency have been pretty easy?"
"I wasn't going through it with a toddler at home."
Another laugh, "Erik, you're a man after my own heart," I said, but by then we were pulling into the garage, and our shared amusement quickly returned to seriousness.
Coming home immediately became the celebration that we'd intended. Once we had gotten inside and called Nadir and Sahra to check in on Josie - and to confirm that, yes, Erik had proposed, and yes, I had most assuredly accepted - we'd barely been off the phone for a handful of minutes before we were making our way upstairs, into the seclusion of our bedroom and seemingly thousands of miles away from the rest of the world. That night, we simply wanted to coexist within each other's arms, content at finally making this decision to move forward together, knowing that our doing so was right. This engagement had been meant to happen from the beginning of our relationship, and I believe that we both understood that much as the evening progressed - after our talk in the car, brief though it had been, we were both able to truly let go of the pain we'd shared in the past, of the conflicts that had nearly made this occasion impossible, and step ahead into the future.
After shutting the pets out of our bedroom to ensure that we were entirely alone there, Erik turned around smoothly and leaned against the door to face me where I stood nearby, watching him after I had kicked off the heels I'd chosen for our date in the city. He was absolutely striking in his black clothing, sleeves rolled halfway up his arms, his form tall and powerful as he seemed to wait for me; and when I met the brightness of his eyes, the hunger and intent that I saw there was unmistakable. I half-smiled and raised an eyebrow in response to his expression, a clear challenge in my every gesture for him to come back to me and actually do something about the desire that had ignited between us then. In turn, he gave a smile of his own as he pushed off from the door and approached me in two long strides, before taking me in his arms and kissing me deeply as he released my hair from the clip that, by then, had barely been containing it.
We didn't speak for a time; we didn't need to.
Instead, Erik wove his hands through my hair once it had been freed, and I draped my arms over his shoulders as he continued to kiss me. Then, he led me the rest of the way across the room to the bed, pulling me down with him as he settled onto the mattress; without needing to be coaxed any further, I straddled him, quickly adjusting our positions so that we could lie together more comfortably. As I did so, I felt his hands trailing all along my body, exploring and touching as if reacquainting himself with every part of me, and I reveled in the feeling of his hands passing over what parts my dress had left exposed, lost myself in the coolness of those hands against my flushed skin. But when I broke the kiss and shifted away, just enough to look at him, I barely had time to register what he was planning before he took ahold of my arms and rolled us over, quickly pinning me under him; I laughed at the abruptness of it, giddy with the excitement of what we were sharing, simply for the fact that it was so easy to forget everything else when I was with him. That we were getting married, that I'd accepted his proposal only served to make this night's intimate encounter that much more heated. When he leaned down and kissed me, when I tasted him on my lips once more and met his tongue with my own after he'd eased my mouth open, I knew that I didn't want to spend any more time without his body moving over mine, without him inside of me, than I already had.
Reluctantly breaking our kiss again, and ignoring his silent confusion that followed, I paused only long enough to sit us both upright and coyly pull my dress off over my head - tossing it carelessly to the side at Erik's renewed look of understanding and allowing him a glance at my now-exposed breasts. When he met my eyes again, his were burning, and I reached out purposefully and grasped his shirt near the collar, prompting him to join me in removing clothing as well. He didn't hesitate to comply with my urgent, unspoken demand, taking my hands in his to assist him with his belt as he then began to work at the buttons on his shirt himself - I grinned the instant that my hands came into contact with the front of his suit pants, feeling his hardness against my palm as I pressed it there, and so I teased him with one resolute squeeze and received exactly the reaction from him that I was seeking. His sharp intake of breath and the slight stalling of his hands at his shirt told me all that I needed to know about the effectiveness of my touch, further encouraging me to entice him that much more with the promise of what would come once the layers of material were removed completely. He was swift in making that happen, and I felt a jolt of arousal beneath my navel at the thought.
When his shirt was gone, his scars and tattoos bared only for me to see, he wrapped his arms around my waist and shifted me to straddle him again, and once I'd moved into place, he kissed me hard as I made short work of his belt buckle, of the zipper at the front of his pants, until his full length was in my hand. He shivered against me, at that incredibly close contact, when I began to stroke him in firm and rhythmic motions, and in response I felt his tongue parting my lips again, decidedly more forcefully than he had done so many moments before, gliding it against my own as we sank further and faster into the sheer feeling of one another. Then, without warning, he turned me around once more, removing the last few pieces of clothing that we'd had left before pulling me close to him again; I felt the quickness of his breathing as his chest pressed against my back, felt my own breath fall into sync with his, and at the sensation I was barely able to suppress a groan, simply because sharing this space as we were in those moments felt unbelievable. He always managed to pull my mind in a thousand directions. But before I could think on that notion for much longer, he shifted again, and I felt him enter me, one of his hands taking ahold of my breasts as the other steadied me at the hip.
He adjusted to make the position more comfortable, more effective, and then began to move in me, a consistent beat quickly developing and playing out between us that I fought to catch up to as he buried himself to the base, filling me completely; in turn, I forced my mind to focus only on his touch, allowing my head to fall backward onto his shoulder and closing my eyes as he leaned forward and kissed my neck, breaking the contact only in order to whisper to me, to speak soft words of endearment mingled with his pleas to keep going, for me to keep moving along with him. I lost track of time, of sense itself beyond our connection, until I tensed as sparks shot through my entire body, clenching around Erik's length, and in response I felt his hand grasping my hip almost to the point of pain - but I refused to move him away, instead allowing that dizzying effect to overwhelm me, calling out his name once before I was rendered breathless again. When I came down from the height that he'd taken me to, he curbed his movements gradually, with what I could safely assume was a concentrated effort, before stopping altogether, pulling out just long enough to prompt me to lay on my back in the middle of the bed; as soon as I did, I brought him down on top of me, admittedly impatient to continue as I wove my hands in his hair to kiss him, wrapping my legs around him and guiding him back inside me almost immediately.
We made love slowly then, using this change of pace to take our time and to not permit a single opportunity to worry about anything else outside of that room. We allowed our carefully brushing hands to tread over each other's entirely uncovered skin - allowed for long and languid kisses there in the semi-darkness and the initially unhurried movement of his hips cradled in mine. As far as I was concerned, everything that we were doing and saying then was all beyond perfect, and I couldn't have imagined the celebration of our engagement to have unfolded in any other way. As Erik continued to move within me and meet my eyes before both desire and the promise of his commitment periodically inclined him to press his lips firmly against mine - his pace increasing and steadily building toward another climax that was sure to shatter each of us all the while - I was again assured that we had finally come to the right decision in our lives moving forward. We were made for each other, of that I was certain, and if the physical act of lovemaking didn't prove that, then our whispered, utterly sincere I love yous and the distinct sense of gratification that they inspired certainly did.
~~oOo~~
Erik was correct in his claim that our relationship had, overall, been very untraditional - every step of the way had brought some unexpected turn or another that might have gone differently if we had ever been more conventional.
But as such, we were content not to rush into planning the actual wedding after he'd proposed, even after word of our engagement had spread beyond our immediate circle, deciding instead that our engagement could be as long or as short as we needed it to be and to let everything else fall into place as it was meant to. At any rate, it was a relief in itself that the choice to wait came from more stable footing, that it had nothing to do with all of our former apprehensions. We did have some ideas here and there regarding the kind of wedding we wanted, but it was the marriage itself that held priority, and so it seemed reasonable to us both not to worry about a single day relative to the scope of the rest of our lives. The novelty of engagement was enjoyable on its own; quite frankly, we wanted to take our time enjoying that, rather than getting married immediately upon getting engaged. So, with those plans set aside for the time being in favor of processing the milestone that preceded it, we simply allowed our lives to continue on as they were. We had Josephine, had our friends and our interests and our work, I had my residency that continued to challenge me - each of those factors were more than enough to occupy us until we were ready to readdress wedding plans, whatever they'd become and whenever they came up again.
Meanwhile, during the time it took Erik and I to settle on that decision, a month or so had already passed since the engagement before Raoul and I saw each other face-to-face again, an encounter that happened completely by chance, but one whose potential outcomes left me feeling decidedly nervous, regardless of our agreement of mutual civility made when we last saw one another. I would be lying if I didn't admit that I was dreading seeing him again in any capacity, nevermind regarding something so serious. But in our line of work, there really was no preventing that eventual moment of reunion - tense though it was sure to be, all things considered. And yet, whether I had consciously avoided him or not, my main concern was still for how he would react to the news. Past instances told me that anything having to do with my relationship with Erik brought out a side of Raoul that I didn't care to communicate with at length, if at all. And for as long as we hadn't physically seen one another, it had been even longer since we had actually spoken - no friendly conversations in passing, not even any texts, not since I had sent him away from my house after our argument in the hospital the previous year, where his attempt at an apology had simultaneously dredged up more of our past than I would ever have willingly considered on my own.
Recalling those tense days before total and indefinite separation - recalling the painful memories of the countless other arguments that came before them - I wasn't entirely sure what we could possibly have to say to each other now after so long, after so much damage had been done. Nor was I sure if he would choose to hurt me when he caught his first glance of my engagement ring, acting simply for the sake of getting back at me once again for the disintegration of our own relationship, or trying to continue a pissing match that, as far as I was concerned, only existed in his mind. By that point, and knowing that we still had many friends in common in spite of our differing specialties, he more than likely already knew that Erik and I had gotten engaged, that my answer had been immediate and without reserve, but had Raoul felt slighted by not being told about any of it directly by me? By not hearing it shortly after the fact? Despite our distance, it was possible; it wasn't as if he and I were close enough friends any longer that I would have called him the first free moment I'd found after Erik proposed to share the good news, certainly not as I had with Meg and Samantha, and the small handful of other friends that were glad to celebrate with me. But Raoul was different, complicated, and while I knew that I would have to tread lightly with this coming exchange, I didn't yet know exactly how lightly the approach needed to be handled.
No small part of me resented everything about the seemingly endless list of our conflicts that made me feel so unprepared for further interactions. As it stood, I don't think that either one of us had expected to see the other that day, and initially, it was obvious that we were both a bit rattled by happening upon each other so suddenly. It wasn't often anymore at all that I had to be in the surgical department during my shifts, but in the middle of that particular shift, I'd needed to hold a consult with one of the surgeons there about a procedure to remove a benign tumor for one of the oncology patients whose case I'd been assigned. All very routine, and at the outset I'd anticipated being in and out of the department fairly quickly. But, as it just so happened, the physician that I had to speak with was the attending that Raoul regularly worked under, and as soon as my meeting was over, I'd run into Raoul, almost literally, as he was apparently heading to speak to his higher-up before I realized just who I'd stumbled upon. We'd shared a stilted greeting then, standing awkwardly side-by-side for a short time afterward, both of us unsure of what to do or say next, before finally deciding to press on and speak to each other at what was generally regarded as neutral territory, the admit-desk.
"So, I guess it wasn't just a rumor," Raoul said softly, almost sadly. Once settled, we were set apart from the people milling around us going about their business, far enough away from the main walkways not to bother anyone with our personal conversation, but still close enough to remind him to behave - or so had been my intention by not straying further past the admit-desk than its outer-borders. It didn't escape my notice that he had barely concealed a grimace when he'd nodded toward my ring, but even so, he'd hidden it well. It seemed that he had finally been able to remember to speak to me without undue criticism for my relationship; I'd hoped as much, at least, until he continued flatly, "You two really did get engaged."
"We did."
"Set a date yet?"
"Nothing definite. We're thinking about next summer, though, when Josie's a little older and she can enjoy the day with us."
He hummed in acknowledgement, but his good manners were clearly feigned, almost scripted; beyond that, though, I was having trouble reading his tone initially - he was being polite, but in his clipped words, something felt off, and so I made a mental note to pay closer attention, to keep gauging his mood, just in case I needed to brace myself for a shift in the wrong direction. It was with that resolve in mind that I heard him speak again, "Well...it looks like I'll have to get used to hearing you called Christine Riley."
Still moving with caution, I chose to react lightly, thinking in that instant that doing so might break up at least some of the tension behind his words, that perhaps we just needed a good kick-start to find some of our old familiarity again, to find common ground somewhere; and anyway, I was able to find a bit of genuine amusement in myself at his comment. Surprisingly, I was actually able to laugh, quickly explaining at his look of confusion, "I'm keeping my last name. I earned my MD as Christine Durant, and I'm living out my career as Christine Durant."
That decision, incidentally, had come about easily enough on my part; and although Erik had been, by his own admission, disappointed at the outset that particular conversation, knowing all the while that I wouldn't change my mind, he also knew that my last name carried my accomplishments along with it, and so it made sense that I wouldn't want to give it up after we were married. And anyway - notwithstanding the impractical nature of taking his name with regard to changing my own on my medical license and everything related to it - the fact was that I had earned my title as Durant, and the sentimental part of me couldn't ignore that it was my father who had inspired my career choice, and so it would be his name representing that career going forward. I couldn't leave that truth behind any more than I could forget that aspect of my past altogether. Explaining as much to Erik, he in turn immediately abandoned his reservations at my choice not to take the name Riley. Once I was able to articulate my motivations on the matter, he accepted them graciously, and I appreciated his understanding more than I could say.
Of course, Raoul didn't need to know any of that. But, thankfully, my shortened version of my decision-making process was enough to at least not invite more questions about any of it.
"Makes sense," he'd murmured, unaware of what I was thinking then and not strictly with disinterest, but rather with something else that I couldn't quite identify - but when he made no further remarks, neither of shared humor nor even a vague offer of congratulations, I realized that what I was picking up from him was some distinct bitterness, carefully concealed by his words, but just barely. And so, I decided to press him for more context. Because I knew him well enough to understand that his distress was only just beneath the surface, and if he didn't receive a chance to speak his mind under controlled conditions, then one way or another he would wind up shooting off at the mouth and saying something that we'd both come to regret.
So I sighed and said simply, unquestioning, "You don't like any of this."
"No, not at all."
His response was blunt, but, if nothing else, I could appreciate his honesty - he certainly never had been one to mince words, regardless of the fact that he was absolutely overstepping his role as a friend, and an estranged one now at that. I had assumed correctly that he was upset by my engagement, the why of it probably due to any number of reasons related to our past and his stubborn distrust toward Erik; I really couldn't fault Raoul for confirming those assumptions when confronted. But still, it did hurt to hear that confirmation coming from him in-person. I hadn't wanted this wedge driven between us once more, hadn't wanted any of the problems that we'd come to face, and yet here we were, going through the same old song and dance. I sighed again, opting to continue on the path of honesty, though lowering my voice in order to prevent anyone from overhearing or from making a scene as I asked, genuinely saddened to have to give voice to the question, "You're not happy for me?"
"Do I need to repeat myself?"
"Why can't you be?"
He shook his head, looking away, "Say what you want about Erik Riley, but the two of you together is a bad match."
"You don't think that's just your own bias talking here?"
"I think it's some bias, yeah," he snapped, facing me again, "I'll admit that. But I also think marrying him would be a mistake for you."
"That isn't fair."
"I just think you can do better."
"You're the only one that thinks that, Raoul," I bit out, but immediately reined in my tone when I realized that several people had looked in our direction with concern; I needed us to both calm down, not only to finish speaking but so that, with any luck, anyone else passing us might simply think that we were disagreeing over a patient, or some treatment plan, or any other of the host of issues that doctors could find to argue about. Since we couldn't disguise our conflict entirely, that was far better than the alternative, to having any aspect of our private lives thrown out into the open. Absently, I found myself appreciating Erik's long-held drive to carry himself in a reserved manner among his colleagues as I lowered my voice and said to Raoul, "I've told you this before, we don't need your approval."
He tensed, opened his mouth once, but seemed to think better about whatever it had been that he was planning to say, shaking his head again and pausing for a beat before saying stiffly, "Alright, alright, I know," he added quickly, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. But even so, he didn't appear ready or willing to abandon this conversation altogether, shifting gears so suddenly that it took me a moment to catch up, "Forget it. I actually have news of my own."
It took me another second to recognize an attempted olive branch when I saw it, so giving him the benefit of the doubt - in spite of my better instincts and experience making me want to lean to the contrary - I gave in, though not without a substantial measure of wariness, "Fine. Good news or bad?"
He shrugged, "That's subjective. Anyway, I'm working on transferring to Northwestern for my last year of residency."
"No kidding?"
"No kidding."
"Interesting choice. What inspired it?"
"Self-preservation, mostly," he began vaguely, and while I believed that there was far more to the story than he was letting on, I chose not to air my suspicions, instead readily accepting his explanation when he continued, "Plus, I think I can finally get my parents on-board with me choosing medicine over business if I go this route."
"They're still not over you picking UIC over somewhere with a little more ivy in their legacy?" I asked, though my doing so wasn't necessary - I remembered well just how upset the Chaneys had been by Raoul's decision to come to Chicago with me, rather than going to a more prestigious university for med school. He'd never even bothered to apply to one from their list of ideal options, but they hadn't been aware of that point; even so, they were less than thrilled that we had made it no secret that we'd agreed to only relocate to places that we'd both been accepted to. Looking back, I was immensely grateful that we'd settled on Chicago, because had we gone anywhere else, I'm not sure if I would have built the courage that I needed to break up with Raoul when it was clear that there was no hope for a fulfilling future between us, and I certainly would never have met Erik and had Josie, would have none of the friendships that I'd found...nothing. Any other reality beyond the here and now felt incredibly empty, and so I brushed the notion away as soon as it had taken form. But Raoul's situation was still very much in need of improvement, and I could hardly blame him for trying to rebuild what he could of his relationship with his parents by appeasing their sensibilities. They hadn't wanted him to pursue medicine in the first place, so conceding to giving their blessing to this transfer was significant.
Raoul rolled his eyes at my question, though the expression was made good-naturedly, related more to the circumstances than to what I'd said, "My parents haven't even gotten over having to add 'doctor' to my title when they talk to their friends. I should be grateful that I've gotten this far with them."
"It's definitely a big deal," I offered, then, "Besides, Northwestern's a great school, I really do think you'll like it there," I finished, ready by then to let this discussion come to a close - after our rough start, we'd gotten some positivity out of the exchange, at the very least, and I wanted to maintain that positivity before we went our separate ways again for the day. We were still far from making amends in any substantial sense of the term, and I wasn't sure when I would be ready to receive or initiate contact from him again, but for once, I didn't want to leave our encounter with an all-out fight.
Unfortunately, Raoul just had to push his luck when my patience had already worn thin.
"Anyway, we can keep in touch once I go. We'll talk more about it later," he said nonchalantly, but then he'd lowered his voice, "Congrats on the engagement, but please, still try to think about what I said about Riley," he added, before beginning to turn away and just leave the discussion completely, almost out of nowhere, as if he was satisfied that he'd had the last word and that I should just accept it.
But no, I most certainly would not accept it. I laughed incredulously at his behavior, at his attitude turned abrupt to the point of being challenging.
First, the fact that he would be that presumptuous about what we would do moving forward, both short- and long-term - and moreover, to assume that we would carry on to have any significant involvement with one another just because he said so, not even stopping to resolve our issues or to ask for my input whatsoever - was as absurd as it was insulting in those moments. I shook my head in the wake of his dismissive words; all at once, I was furious. After our most recent argument over Josie and the baby we'd lost, regardless of the long span of time that now separated us from that incident, and now the level of blatant disrespect that he kept showing for my engagement to Erik, to the man himself, I simply couldn't bring myself to trust Raoul to just settle down and be a friend to me, or to not be suspicious of the presence of some ulterior motive placed in any future interactions we might have if we continued to have a place in each other's lives. Beyond that, from the level of discomfort alone that I'd felt while spending this time with him, coupled with the dread that I'd had going into this conversation to begin with, I realized then that this simply wasn't a functional or even salvageable friendship any longer - somewhere along the line, it had turned toxic, and I refused to keep engaging with him. Second-chance after second-chance, on and on, he wasn't going to change.
Enough was enough, and I was honestly embarrassed that I hadn't realized it far sooner than this. And all at once, I knew what I had to do.
"We can't," I began unsteadily, then stood up straighter and forced him to face me directly once more, "We're not going to keep in touch, Raoul, not in the way you're assuming. I can't keep doing this with you - no, let me finish. Do you really think, after everything, especially after what you just said to me about my fiancée, that I'd want to keep you in my life anymore?"
"Christine - "
" - No, I'm done with this, I'm done with you," I said firmly, somehow managing to keep my voice low all the while, "You've hurt me over and over and you've still gotten more chances than you ever should have. And today you've proven that you'll keep wanting more. You'll hurt me again and think I'll just take it. So we need to end this now, alright? You might get a Christmas card or a text every once in a while, but that's all I can give you. Please, I can't do this anymore."
Wholly taken aback by my words - by both the gravity and the suddenness of them - he seemed unsure of what to do or say next. A part of me felt a distinctly petty satisfaction at leaving him that way. Good, I thought, Maybe he'll finally understand what he's done to me all these years. Another part of me almost expected him to continue arguing, to ask to bring back something that should have been allowed to die a long time ago, and so it was with no small amount of shock that I saw him nod before saying softly, "I'm...I'm sorry..."
He walked away without another word, and as the distance grew from where he had just been standing to wherever it was that he'd chosen to retreat to, he appeared to have realized exactly what he'd done to me, both in the span of that conversation and well beyond it - although I sensed that what had taken place between us only moments ago was still settling in his mind. But whether he processed my decision and accepted it that day or long after he went over to Northwestern, that wasn't my business any longer. I'd had to remove myself from the picture, from being concerned about his feelings, because I couldn't stand being treated so poorly by someone that I had known closely and cared about for the majority of my life. Not anymore. And so, our friendship was over, years upon years wasted and shattered in an instant that could have been its salvation, had he only stopped and thought what he was saying through for once before jumping in and speaking so carelessly; and even though I was relieved to have finally made the choice to cut those ties that had only turned out to be harmful and borderline manipulative, though I was relieved to have found the determination within myself to do so at all, in many ways I could already feel grief creeping into my heart just the same.
Shocking me from my thoughts, Belinda spoke up from her workstation a few paces away, "Men like that are usually taught that persistence is the way to win a woman's heart," and then she scoffed, "They were obviously taught wrong."
I laughed, albeit unsteadily, "I couldn't agree more."
She offered an understanding smile, "From what you've told me about your past with him, I think you did the right thing just now. Good for you, Christine."
"Thank you," I responded softly.
But while I was sincere in my gratitude for her support, I didn't say anything else in response. Rather, I hadn't realized exactly how exhausting speaking to Raoul had been until that moment, and I was beginning to feel the weight of the day come down on me, so I quietly excused myself instead of continuing to talk about any of it. I wasn't ready to share this development with anyone but Erik then, and I'd needed to leave the department by that point anyway, needed to head back to oncology and return my full attention to my work. So I left in a hurry with that excuse not to linger, promising Belinda that we would have a better talk later.
Still, once I was away from the surgical service, I took a few moments to myself when I was able to find an empty stairwell, just to breathe and collect my thoughts, before calling Erik to check in and relay everything that had just happened as quickly as possible. It was all that I could do to assure him that I was alright - greatly saddened, but otherwise completely unharmed - and not for the first time it occurred to me that it was fortunate that he was at home, that he'd had the day off and thus hadn't been on a shift with Raoul that afternoon, because he would very likely have witnessed the exchange had that not been the case, and I didn't want to add a fight between them, physical or otherwise, to the mounting tensions that had been shared all around. One problem at a time. Over the phone, Erik listened when I so badly needed him to, even though I knew how much he wanted to interject at times. But he bit back the urge to do so for my sake, joking only once that he would gladly take care of Raoul for everything he'd put me through. The bastard deserves it, and I can make it look like an accident, he'd added, and although I had initially rolled my eyes at the flippant offer, I was able to laugh at it, at the smile that I heard in his voice. But otherwise, he simply heard me out and offered me the outlet that I needed then. And with the promise of more of the same that night when I came home, I finally felt ready to hang up and get back to my shift and just carry on with my workday as planned.
Although it had been one of the more painful choices that I'd found myself faced off with when it came to the friendship, I was still proud of myself for standing up to Raoul, for finally cutting ties with him. It had taken too many years and far too much pain in between, but it was necessary. For the both of us, it was necessary. In time, I truly hoped that he would come to understand that as well.
~~oOo~~
For better or worse, the several months of separation that Raoul and I had experienced before that last day together ultimately made the silence of the end of our friendship substantially more manageable. In many ways, I did miss him - or, at the very least, I missed what we'd once shared as friends - but altogether, I truly didn't regret my decision. My only real regret surrounded what had led to that decision, and as ever, I knew that Raoul's contribution to it was well beyond my control. It was heartbreaking to have lost our years'-long friendship the way we did, such a loss tinged with so much animosity, but in the end, I sincerely believed that he had given me no other option. I could only give so much before reaching my breaking point, and I had made Raoul well aware of that fact more than once. But the more time went by, the more I thought about it, the less bitter I felt about the situation, and eventually a life without my childhood friend presently involved became the new normal. He never tried to reach out to me again, and in turn there were no moments spent second-guessing myself, no attempts at justifying what I did; whether I was too harsh or had acted rashly didn't matter - I'd made a healthy, responsible choice, and then I simply moved on.
Otherwise, my life continued on in much the same manner as it had been without the added drama that Raoul had brought into it. Residency in oncology and helping to keep myself and my friends there treading water in the program, parenting an incredibly active toddler, navigating the ever-changing dynamics of my relationship with my fiancée as we narrowed down a date for our wedding - everything that I did and experienced as the year wound itself into its closing months kept me more than reasonably busy at the best of times. But, somehow, that was always in a way that was consistently fulfilling all the same. That in itself was something that I was honestly grateful for on its own, largely for the fact that it kept me confident whenever my line of work turned difficult, heartrending in the stark reality that not everyone I treated could be saved; but to still be able to see hope was something that proved especially important to keep in mind when those inevitably stressful days managed to catch up to me once again. Overall, though, fulfillment brought a normalcy that had an unexpected way of showing itself and keeping me - keeping Erik and I together - alert and engaged in the day-to-day; normalcy held the most attention, and it was a quality of life that was very much welcomed when so much of the past had been anything but for so long.
I was content to just live, and so that's exactly what I did. And before I knew it, we were celebrating Thanksgiving - insomuch as we were able to at the hospital, at any rate - and then as if in the blink of an eye we next celebrated Christmas and New Year's in the same untraditional fashion, now after so many years used to doing so within the confines of having to divide the holidays between home and family and medicine. Then another seemingly endless and unwaveringly cold winter steadily gave way to the warmth of spring, and then Josephine's third birthday and my own began and ended the month of May respectively, and in the middle of that summer, Erik and I had officially, finally, set our date to get married - July 13th of that year. Our wedding was considerably small by choice, the marriage itself almost an elopement of sorts that took place in Tennessee for Gene's sake, since he was unable to travel at all by then. Because, from the moment that we had announced our engagement, he'd wanted nothing more than to attend, to be present for his only grandson's union to me that he had been in favor of for so long, and Erik and I both valued the elderly man's sentimentality such that the decision to get married away from our home, regardless of the distance, came easily.
At our courthouse wedding in Memphis, only a handful of people had come along to stand as witnesses; Nadir, Sahra, and Zach, as well as Samantha and Meg, had joined our family on the journey from Chicago, smiling for the occasion alongside Gene as he held Josie on his lap, remarkably able to direct her usually-fleeting attention forward from his wheelchair like an expert, even in spite of still feeling like a first-time grandfather himself. We'd been down to visit him with our daughter several times since she had gotten old enough to travel extensively, but missing out on Erik's childhood had made a lasting impact on Gene, and at times I believe that he often felt out of place in his role as a grandparent. Still, he happily took charge of his great-granddaughter during the ceremony, and I was grateful that his doing so had proved to be another experience that he could share with her. Growing up, I'd adored my own grandparents, clung to their memories fiercely when they were gone, and I wanted Josie to have that crucial familial connection in her childhood as well.
Although I'd opted out of wearing a traditional bridal gown, none of us had chosen to be casual when we dressed, either, instead acknowledging the seriousness that should be directed toward the occasion without being too outwardly overt, and the decision seemed to lend that much more gravity to the day. Erik and I held fast to each other's hands as we stood before the county officiator, our shared grasp tight and reassuring between us, silently reminding one another that every last one of these moments were real - that this was finally happening for us after so long looking forward to it, and all of the pain and the doubt and the near-misses that had led us here had been as worthwhile as every instant of the good that we'd experienced together in the preceding years of our relationship. We were settled at the head of our small audience, and it was there that we simply existed, there that we reveled in our undeniable bond; we stood respectfully, spoke our vows with practiced clarity, exchanged our wedding bands, and kissed when the officiator indicated that this specific rite was all that was left for us to do. The kiss lasted perhaps longer than was necessarily polite, but when we parted, we were both smiling, genuine expressions to punctuate this latest and decidedly momentous step in our lives, accompanied by the soft applause and words of congratulations from our family and friends.
On the whole, our wedding day was fairly subdued - but as such, it was suited exactly to the both of us, neither very interested in the extravagance that was expected of us from those of our peers back home that hadn't known us as well as our invited guests. For Erik, that drive toward simplicity stemmed from his long-standing preference to maintain his privacy, to keep the important moments of his life close to his heart and those he cared about, rather than having to share them with so many people that they lost their meaning altogether. And while I understood that, agreed with the notion almost entirely, my motivation to keep the wedding small had more to do with my father's passing than anything else. Since his death, I had always sworn that if he could not walk me down the aisle himself - if he couldn't press my hand into that of my future husband as he looked on with his gentle pride - then I wouldn't walk down the aisle at all. Losing him, in time I'd come to decide that a small wedding was by far better than such a sharp reminder of his absence. Discussing the choice with Erik to essentially elope hadn't required much convincing on his part, but when I described my father's role in my decision, he was quick to assure me that he would do whatever I wanted - whatever I needed - to get through my own wedding without a father that had loved me beyond reason. I wasn't sure if I could ever explain my gratitude to Erik for that, but I certainly never missed an opportunity to try.
Once Erik and I had returned to our daily lives and responsibilities from an intentionally brief honeymoon - to be exact, a week or so spent driving along the Pacific Coast Highway from Huntington Beach in California and up a ways into Oregon, stopping as often as possible to check on our daughter back home with Nadir and Sahra in Schaumburg - so much seemed to shift between us once we were married, and yet it felt as if nothing had changed at all.
It was impossible to describe, even in the simplest terms, but the dynamics of our relationship, steady though they had become over the years, had been altered once again; and even though we couldn't quite fit a name to it, whether to each other or to inquiring friends, that alteration was distinct and impossible to deny. We were told that this was a normal phenomenon, and to be honest, it was one that neither of us minded - rather, we embraced it for what it was and enjoyed the novelty of it while it lasted, and perhaps even beyond that unseen moment. There were instances, though, I noted - starkly mirroring the beginning of our relationship - that I would catch Erik in a distant state, seemingly wondering at our good fortune and, a new habit, turning his wedding ring around absentmindedly on his finger as he did so. But although he never voiced the concern, the reasoning behind his thought process, I knew him well enough to understand that he feared losing everything that we shared, everything that we had built between us, just as much as he continued to marvel at it. I often fell in love with him all over again for that mindset. He was exceedingly more at ease than he had been at the beginning, but I sensed that a part of him would always hold onto his fears, and I respected him all the more for fighting against them and allowing our relationship to continue to thrive.
We weren't always perfect by any means, weren't always sure of ourselves, but we were patient. As husband and wife, I knew we were well-matched, simply because we had learned to look past our imperfections and truly see everything that we'd accomplished together, to use those accomplishments in our favor; so much had shifted upon exchanging our wedding vows and everything that followed those pivotal moments, but still, never once did I look back and believe that what we had, what we continued to build, was anything less than ideal.
~~oOo~~
Back when I was very young and knew the distinct nostalgia related to the holiday season by feeling only, when it was an abstract concept that I could not readily identify by name, I couldn't recapture or recreate that feeling entirely on my own. But as an adult, especially once I'd become a parent myself - for my daughter's sake, if not for my old sense of sentimentality - I was determined to try. And even though Erik would shrug and say that he had no strong urge to jump in quite as headfirst as I had, he was admittedly happy - if not wholly amused - to give me free reign over the house from November into January, with more space than I'd ever had in my undergrad and med school apartments, and in turn the effort was always well worth it in the end.
I could easily recall the memories that I held onto from the holidays when I always baked with my grandmother when I was growing up, doing so every year from Thanksgiving night until Christmas Eve without fail until she and my grandfather passed when I was in high school; because for all my father did to try to ease the fact that I didn't have a mother to share festivities with, he wasn't domestic in the least himself, and so it fell upon his own mother's shoulders to teach me the basics of maintaining a household, especially during the holidays when sentiment had all but demanded perfection. Otherwise, I'd think fondly, absolutely nothing would have gotten done. It was old-fashioned, in many ways, but also a role borne of necessity. Dad was a fantastic teacher when it came to car maintenance or self-defense, but if placed solely in charge of anything having to do with Christmastime, we would have been left with bake-at-home pizzas and cookies that met the title in name rather than substance, and my grandparents refused to allow that. Thus, as Josephine got older and started to become more aware of and excited about the approaching holidays, and knowing that Erik and I could easily slip into old, pre-parenthood habits of letting ourselves to become too busy to go all-out on decor and activities, I made it my personal mission not to let the season pass our child by without properly observing it.
In particular, and bearing my new goals in mind all the while, Thanksgiving the year we'd gotten married was something I'd looked forward to ever since we had started putting tentative plans for it into place.
It was significant enough knowing that this would be our first as a married couple - an intangible yet important milestone all the same - but adding Josie's innocent anticipation of all things wintertime spurred me on that much further. That year, after shifting around our work schedules and making arrangements for Rex to stay behind with Nadir and his family, Erik, Josie, and I were ultimately able to spend the holiday and the following weekend in Tennessee with Gene. Although we had travelled with our daughter in the past to see her great-grandfather in Memphis, making the journey whenever possible ever since she was a baby, besides our wedding this would be the first trip that we spent a substantial amount of time away from home with her. While we were there, I truly loved our time with Gene, talking with him and Erik for hours while either visiting with him in his assisted living facility, or taking him out to the nearby parks and his favorite coffee houses when the weather allowed. Knowing him now for several years, I felt a grandfatherly affection from him that I was sorely missing before, and it was nice to witness my daughter's growing bond with him as well. Returning home always took some convincing on her part, but it was heartening to know that she cared enough to miss him between the visits; Erik and I knew they would need to increase in frequency from then on.
Then, as she had gotten old enough to participate in the process by that point, as a three-year-old Josephine could also be trusted at the kitchen table with the baking supplies and cooling racks that always piled onto the countertops as soon as Thanksgiving finished up, and by the time another year had passed and she was four, I could allow her to drift closer to the kitchen itself whenever Christmas cookies were going in and out of the oven. In turn, she approached each task that was given to her with an air of seriousness that kept Erik and I exchanging amused glances, always careful to do so when our daughter wasn't looking in order to ensure that her sense of accomplishment wasn't insulted. Over the years, we'd gotten ourselves into a fairly productive routine, but I had to admit that there were some days that we went overboard, and even the neighbors and the friends that Josie had made nearby couldn't handle the extra plates we would end up with. And so, as time went by and the idea settled in my mind to use the hobby as a means of spreading positivity beyond my own family, from Thanksgiving through New Year's, it became a tradition for me and Jo to bring as many baked goods as we could possibly churn out of our kitchen to the hospital - namely, to oncology.
This new gesture was, in part, to give some treats to those patients either not yet going through chemo and still had appetites at all, or to those that were just coming off their treatments and slowly regaining their appetites; I kept the recipes as simple as I could for that reason alone. But doing all that baking was also to bring a measure of normalcy, of empathy, to the families that were dealing with what would likely be the most difficult and painful experience of their lives. I remembered how defeating it felt to spend time in the hospital with my father at any given time, but that trying to celebrate Christmas there with him specifically was more distressing than either of us could have imagined. It was physically and emotionally draining, and though he had only lived through one Christmas in the hospital, even just that much was more than enough; it was bittersweet, but I took a vague sense of reassurance in the notion that, God willing, I would never be in that position again, and had it not been for the doctors and nurses stubbornly attempting to bring cheer into those halls back in San Diego, I know that Dad and I would've felt so much worse in our circumstances. I wanted to share that kind of comfort with my own patients and their loved ones, and therefore brought that practice to my work with me as soon as I had enough seniority as a resident, and later as a fully-fledged physician, to do so.
At any rate, although there was a part of that endeavor that was entirely self-serving as much as it was for the sake of others, it had allowed me to share the holidays with my daughter in a way that meant a great deal to the both of us - for her, as time spent with me, time spent with parents that adored her, and for me, a way of breaking away from my own mother's absence from my childhood. Josie would never have to fear that willful detachment from me, of that I was absolutely certain, and my silent promise to her reflected in our experiences. The holidays now were markedly different from the relatively low-key ones that Erik and I had spent together in the past, before our daughter was born and our priority for the season was largely just to survive as we took over as many shifts at the hospital as we could, relieving our colleagues from the least desirable schedules in the process. Back then, we genuinely enjoyed the holidays in our own unorthodox way, combining our work with stealing time alone in each other's company, only to leave Chicago and come home to close out the exhausting days lost in one another's embrace.
But, as in so many other aspects of our lives, having a child had drastically changed our approach, although I was grateful when I came to realize that these changes were for the better; if anything, we learned more about the work-life balance when Josie was little than ever before, which was as shocking as it was amusing when considering that Erik and I had both gone through medical school. Putting that balance into practice, the year Josie was four I'd arranged to work an evening shift on Christmas Eve, and Erik took the following night, ensuring that both of us could spend Christmas morning with our daughter and some of the afternoon with the Khans. Even though they didn't celebrate Christmas themselves, they had taken to observing points of their heritage combined with many other religions over the season, and anyway, our children enjoyed that time together as much as we had - they were our family in every way that mattered, and despite the age difference, Zach and Josie always got along well. That year, Josie was eager to share what she had learned in preschool from the Methodists, and even though I had screened her beforehand, once again I was satisfied that the spiritual aspect of the lessons she got during the week were far more mellow than I would have expected from a religious institution, and in the end it had turned out to be an enjoyable day for all of us.
That winter had heightened our continued attempts to form new traditions - especially as Josie grew older and her personality settled into itself more and more clearly every day - rather than simply observe the simple passing of time and seasons. And even after New Year's, I continued to see our lives play out contentedly, our family coming into its own.
~~oOo~~
Josephine and I were close, sharing a distinct bond by the time she was nearly five - by the time she was old enough to look forward to her birthday, to recognize the significance of the "graduation" ceremony that her preschool had hosted at the beginning of the summer and the fact that she would be starting kindergarten in September. It was a bond that I myself had missed out on entirely as a child without a mother of my own present, and I was as determined as ever to not allow Josie to feel even a shred of that kind of neglect. In turn, she clung to me in a manner that was incredibly heartening; I was so proud to call myself her mother. Coming home from even the most challenging days at the hospital, I looked forward to the time that we would spend together throughout the afternoons and into the evenings before her bedtime. Aside from my time with Erik - our much-needed moments dedicated to uninterrupted intimacy or simply just unwinding as two adults - or the time that we spent together as a family, interacting with Josie one-on-one was my favorite part of each day.
She had, in particular, a keen interest in crafts - more so, I learned after much trial and error, for hand-made things rather than just paints and crayons, though there was plenty of each to go around of those as well. It got to the point that I would scour YouTube for new ideas for child-friendly projects, many of which were left in various states of completion on our kitchen table, and whose supplies eventually overwhelmed much of the available storage in the office by the living room. Before Jo was born, and even when she was still a baby, I had never really imagined that so much of my spare time would be dedicated to pipe-cleaner butterflies and little cardboard- and construction-paper flower baskets, but I had to admit that I enjoyed their creation - noticing that some of our finished products were actually a bit impressive - and we genuinely had fun in the process. Where Erik had shared his music with her, teaching her the basics on the piano when she was old enough, I shared what I could of my creativity, and I loved the experience of getting to know her as her own person as a result. But with Erik, she was the absolute embodiment of a daddy's girl, exactly as I had been growing up with my father. She'd always had him wrapped around her finger, but as she got older and her personality became that much further defined, it was impossible to tell which of them lit up the other's world more.
Gene had been over the moon with that revelation, though entirely unsurprised by it all the same, after I'd attempted to describe the latest changes and updates in our family unit when we had gone down to Tennessee to see him just a handful of weeks after Josie's birthday.
There had been a recent surge of unusually agreeable weather in Memphis the day after we'd arrived to visit Erik's grandfather, and so we had decided almost immediately to spend some of the afternoon out in the assisted living facility's communal courtyard before we ventured out into the city for dinner. For the majority of the occasion, we had stayed seated around one of the many picnic tables that were surrounded by trees and flowering shrubs, comfortable under the wide umbrella and talking easily, shifting between discussions carried on by the three adults and input or questions posed every now and again by the child we had in tow. Josie was polite even when the conversations were likely boring for her, and her patience was rewarded often by the stories that Gene would interject to share about his childhood, or about his reckless years between high school and going into the Army himself, at one point describing the attempt that he and his friends made to build a diving-bell out of scrap materials and nearly drowning themselves for their efforts. We thought we were goners, he'd recounted with a laugh, amused and encouraged to continue at Josie's wide-eyed expression in response to his words, The damn thing was heavier than we thought, we couldn't move around underwater, and then to try to pull each other out of it! And then he had trailed off with another deep laugh, preparing to answer the questions on the topic that Josie had just barely been containing.
That line of questioning was interrupted when another family arrived to visit their grandmother, as Gene had explained when the abrupt squeal of the courtyard gate directed his attention elsewhere. Upon recognizing the group and returning their familiar waves in greeting, he'd pointed to a kennel that one of them was carrying, informing Josie that they had a Himilayan cat that they brought along each week for the grandmother to see, her most loyal companion, and that if Jo asked nicely, the cat would very much enjoy meeting her. Erik volunteered to take her across the courtyard to do just that, and presently they were still over at another table with the family - Erik speaking, though with his usual measure of hesitance, to the adults as the harnessed Himilayan wound himself around Josie's legs and demanded attention, which she was more than willing to give, likely reminded of Willow back home and missing her own cat's company. It was then that Gene and I chatted, simply enjoying sharing the space with one another, and after I'd described everything we were learning about life with a five-year-old, and the way that Erik fawned over his daughter at home, clearly evidenced now as he glanced at her smiling and petting the cat's offered belly, Gene had leaned back in his wheelchair with a mirthful, contemplative expression.
"He'd had a hard life for so long," Gene spoke after a span of thoughtful silence, nodding toward his grandson before continuing, "I know how happy he was to have met you, and when we got little Jo. It really is a night-and-day difference...You're good for him."
I smiled at that, glancing toward my husband and daughter as I nodded slowly, considering before I responded, "We're good for each other, I think."
It was with that gentle reminder of my good fortune - of everything that Erik and I were to one another and had been from the beginning of our relationship - that we spent the following day at a nearby park with Gene. It was warmer then, but not enough to dissuade us from going out; Josie and I walked at a slow pace while Erik steered his grandfather's wheelchair along one of the paths, all of us chatting amongst each other as we went. We intended to find the playground somewhere around there that the family with the Himilayan cat had told us about to be able to give Josie a real chance to burn off some of her excess energy. She had done exceedingly well with her behavior the day before, but she was still very much a young child; we didn't want to invite any trouble by constantly expecting only stellar behavior from her without also giving her an outlet for a bit of her anticipated wildness. She was generally easy-going, but she still had her limits like any other five-year-old, and we knew those limits well.
The playground was in sight just ahead when Josie stopped abruptly, hopping on one foot as she declared dramatically, "Wait! I got a rock in my shoe!"
"You have a rock in your shoe," Erik corrected patiently, almost absentmindedly.
"I have a rock in my shoe," she repeated primly, by then used to such corrections and still taking on a limp to avoid the object in question.
Looking around to a bench a few yards up the sidewalk, Erik had me take over handling Gene's wheelchair, and then held out his arm to Jo, "Climb up."
She did so without hesitation, hanging off his arm like a monkey and giggling the rest of the way to the bench. She dealt with the little pebble that had gotten into her shoe sometime after arriving at the park, likely a piece of gravel from the unpaved parking lot, and as she worked on retying the laces - having to halt her progress more than once to start over, or to look to one of us for guidance with the skill that was still relatively new to her - she asked Gene conversationally even as she focused on her task, "Grandpa, what's your favorite color?"
He thought for a moment, exaggerating the gesture and treating her question with the utmost seriousness, "You know, honey, I'll have to say blue," he said, adding in a manner that, probably unintentionally, highlighted his accent, "Yup, definitely blue."
Josie nodded sagely, then, "Daddy, what's your favorite color?"
Moving to sit beside her on the bench, Erik responded, his own similar accent uncannily more apparent than he usually allowed, as it always seemed to be when we visited Gene, as if they inadvertently reflected one another in that sense, "Ah, purple, I think. Really dark purple."
Another nod, then to me, "What about you, Mama?"
"My favorite's green."
Once again disrupting her shoe-tying, her eyes lit up as she met my gaze, "Green just like your necklace, and your ring!"
I smiled, "That's right. Because it's our birthstone."
"I love green," she continued, more to herself than to us as she chattered on, eventually getting her shoe tied successfully and standing up to lead our group once more, "All my favorite things are green. Mommy's ring and the grass and the trees - "
" - What about my car?" Erik interjected.
"And Daddy's car, and Christmas trees and Grandpa Gene's watch…"
We had reached the playground by then, and after confirming with Erik and I that she was allowed to venture out into the sunken area filled with wood chips surrounding the metal structures of the playground equipment, Josephine ran off excitedly to explore the new space, instantly forgetting her train of thought related to colors in favor of calling out to Gene to watch her take on the monkey bars, one of her favorites from home. He laughed at her enthusiasm, giving her his full attention without any need for further prompting. In his nineties, he couldn't join her as I'm sure he would have liked to, but it seemed to be enough for him to share these kinds of experiences with her at all; and as he leaned back in his wheelchair with the same air of contentment that he'd taken on the day before - as he began to chat again with Erik and I again while still taking the time to respond to Josie's cries for everyone to look at whatever trick she was performing at the moment - I was grateful that we were able to make this trip, to add it to so many now behind us, because I knew that they meant the world to him. As Erik held my hand or draped his arm over my shoulder as we three continued our winding conversations, I was certain that he felt that same brand of gratitude, and even though he'd worn his surgical mask for the trip to the park, I could see the smile in his eyes.
Altogether, Erik and I were sincerely happy in our small family, with the way our lives had ultimately unfolded, probably the happiest we'd been after so many years of knowing each other and going through all that we had - whether that was considering the time before or after the beginning of our relationship, whether that was considering the marriage itself, it had all worked out in the end. We were doing so well, and moments like this, I could honestly feel that we were invincible, the two of us, our daughter and our friends back home, the grandfather that we looked forward to seeing as often as possible - we were invincible, untraditional though we might have been, and we were a good family. Everything was seemingly perfect.
That was, until later that summer, when our marriage encountered its first real tragedy.
~~oOo~~
Over time and after countless walks around our neighborhood, I'd made connections with the nearby parents that had children around Josephine's age, and as we all got to know one another, playdates were made and many of our littles grew from toddlerhood and throughout preschool together, and that ultimately proved to be for the best as far as Josie was concerned. Erik and I had determined long ago that we did not want any more children after our daughter, and although many points of unsolicited advice faulted us for depriving her of the companionship of a sibling, in the end she truly was never without friends and socialization. As she grew and became more sure of herself, she continued to be a ball of energy, regularly joining in games along the sidewalk and in the front yards of her friends as the parents looked on. She vied for time with Erik and I, of course, experienced separation anxiety just like her peers, but otherwise she always wanted some kind of activity, and if that couldn't be provided, she tended toward an impatience that even crafts or her favorite Disney movies couldn't diffuse. Simply put, even though she was mellow and well-behaved more often than not, she was an incredibly willful child as well. And, especially whenever she was cooped up for too long in the house, particularly as the warm weather drew her attention, her usual good behavior could prove to be fleeting.
The worst exhibit of that happened late one morning near the end of the summer, when Erik and I both had the day off; between the unpredictable downpours and the oppressive humidity that followed, I'd had to make the decision to stay inside until the conditions dried up again. But to be honest, I was grateful that the rain kept us indoors that day - I truly didn't want to go out in that weather. When the rain stopped, the clouds stayed low and heavy, and the air seemed to follow suit. Walking through that kind of humidity felt like swimming against a tide, and it just wasn't worth the effort or the annoyance - there was no upside to leaving that I could see. Our house, however, was air-conditioned, and after growing up along the West Coast relying on window-air and ceiling fans for relief against the Southern California year-round warmth, regardless of living so close to the shore, I had since gotten nicely spoiled by the amenities of my current home. As a young child, however, Josie didn't quite appreciate the luxury as much as I did, and her frustration at being barred from going outside grew with each passing hour, no matter what I did to try to keep her entertained. I felt guilty that I wasn't even willing to venture out into the backyard to work out some of her energy, but not guilty enough to cave. Hell, even Rex wanted nothing to do with anything happening beyond our back deck, settling himself instead on the cooled off tiles under the dining room table.
"Why are you in such a bad mood today, Beanie?" I asked while I washed the breakfast dishes when Josie stomped through the kitchen restlessly, already knowing the answer and not looking away from the task in front of me, but hoping all the while to distract her from her irritability just the same.
"Because you promised we'd go to the park today!"
"I said maybe. That is not a promise, and you know it."
"But you said - "
" - We said we'd go if it didn't rain," Erik interjected suddenly, startling me when he appeared from the office at the end of the short hallway beside the staircase, as he nodded to the window off the dining room, "What's it doing outside right now?"
"We can still go!"
But before either of us could reply or try another approach at reasoning with her, Erik's phone rang. Shooting me an apologetic look, clearly for leaving me alone to handle our incredibly agitated, incredibly bored five-year-old on my own - at least for the duration of this phone call - he stepped just past the threshold between the kitchen and the living room to answer before the next round of ringing began. I never caught who was calling him, didn't have the chance to see the screen of his phone as the caller's information lit it up, but between the look of disdain he leveled at the device and the clipped tone in his voice that he'd adopted immediately when he began speaking, I knew instantly that this wasn't going to be a pleasant conversation.
Josie, however, wasn't nearly old enough to pick up on such subtleties, and instead continued to rage against the perceived unfairness of her situation. She kept nagging at her father, mostly repeating an imploring Dad - Daddy! while grasping at his hand in her drive to bring his full concentration back to her, and only to her, until she achieved her freedom once again; the whining in her voice rose that much more as she did so, even in spite of my reprimands and warnings from across the room. She would need a time out soon, at the rate she was going, and I had just shut off the faucet and began drying my hands with the intention of giving her one final warning to calm down when everything came to a head. Turning away from her and moving into the living room, Erik had then put a hand over one ear in an attempt to hear his phone call better - but, unsurprisingly, that attempt at focusing solely on the call didn't work. Even from where I stood, I could see the frustration rising in him as he listened to the person speaking on the other end of the line, could hear him questioning or asking for clarity in a rushed uneasiness, before a flash of shock then filled his eyes. All the while, Josephine had followed, had kept up the yelling, steadily increasing her volume and still quite indignant that she wasn't gaining the attention she sought.
And finally, Erik's underlying anger got the best of him.
"Goddamnit," he muttered, then nearly shouted, "Josephine, cool it!"
I was absolutely shocked to hear his tone then, to hear the edge in his voice that Josie likely hadn't even recognized. But Erik didn't normally yell at her that way - he wasn't above disciplining her by any means, and every now and again he'd needed to raise his voice to assert authority, or had lost his temper and scolded her more sharply than he'd intended, but he'd always realized and acknowledged his mistakes; this, whatever had inspired it, was entirely different. What I'd heard in that moment came from a place well beyond simple irritation about a child's tantrum. And while Josie still did what she was told, her compliance was not without an attitude to match; as she made to stomp away and have her meltdown elsewhere, I gestured to Erik to keep talking, that I would handle our daughter. He didn't respond to me directly, to my dismay, instead walking back into the kitchen to continue his conversation, asking his caller to once again repeat themselves as he moved, while I passed by with our daughter and led her to her bedroom to sit her down and have a serious talk with her.
Once I had returned downstairs after setting Josie up for her long time-out, I knew that something was very wrong. Erik was off the phone and leaning heavily against the eating bar, looking more dejected than I'd seen him in quite some time; he wasn't crying when he looked up at me, but it was clear that he was about to let the tears that shone in his eyes fall freely.
"What's wrong? What happened?"
"That was Nick...Gene died this morning."
