Chapter 12

Ian:My one true love

I do not recognise my reflection in the mirror. At first glance, it doesn't differ much from before, but a closer look reveals that my face has undergone some subtle alteration. Especially my eyes have changed. I have no difficulty to diagnose it. I have seen this happen to other people (often women in my close proximity). It means that they are in love.

I am in love. I know I am.

It's a very unfamiliar feeling to me. I had never thought the day would arrive that I would acknowledge the truth of what is said about the state of being in love; the more intense and beautiful colouring of the world it provokes, the light-headedness, the preoccupation, the little shocks at everything that reminds one of the love-interest (and almost everything does indeed).

Being in love with someone differed greatly from wanting somebody, or so I understood from the media. And I agreed. I grasped that the former was for women and sissies (train of thought stops immediately here, smile occurs as a name pops up; his name) and the latter was for studs like me. Many times, have I desired, chased and slept with women. Never it caused me to admire the colouring of the world, or rendered me light-headed or preoccupied. Or repeatedly whispering a name when I was the sole person in the room. (Cedric. Cedric. Cedriccedriccedric.) At 35, I'm in love for the first time. And not even with a woman.

I so much enjoy being with him. To look at him (beautiful and sexy as he is), to talk to him (his earnest makes me smile sometimes, and reconsider my points of view at others), to make love to him (as opposed to having sex. It's sappy, I know, but it's true).

He's happy too when he's with me, I can tell. He's as much in love with me as I am with him. But the trust issue is a persistent bugger. I know he's constantly anticipating my announcement of leaving him. He would have been, even if I hadn't been so stupid as to tell him (in a post-coital daze, that's my only excuse) that I never before have been attracted to a single person for more than a fortnight.

The moment I said it, I realised the effect wasn't that he felt special (as I had meant him to do) but that he braced himself for losing me. I took him in my arms and said that I wasn't planning to leave him, but he wouldn't be reassured. And why should he be? For all he knows I tend to be easily bored with love interests. In college, he witnessed that I'm not the faithful kind.

In the days that followed, I watched him bravely repress his fear of my falling out of love any time soon, until it was barely noticeable. But sometimes I caught him looking at me with melancholy. As he is now. He's looking sad.

I put down the manuscript I have been reading. 'Cedric, I truly love you,' I say solemnly. 'I'm in love with you. I think I can honestly say that you're the only one I've ever fallen in love with. And I think it happened some 17 years ago.'

After a pause, he concludes in a soft tone of voice, 'When we were in college.'

'Yes,' I nod. 'I didn't understand it, of course, or I didn't want to. I just slept with numerous women to keep busy, I suppose. Not to feel what I was feeling.' I catch his eye. 'And it was effective. I liked it. But I haven't been in love with any of those women.'

God, what a jerk have I been.

'And Henrietta?'

Oh, Jesus. Henrietta. I shake my head. 'No. Cedric, I'm so terribly sorry. It's was unbelievably stupid and cruel of me to hurt you the way I did.'

He nods. 'Yes, it was. But not because of her.' He stops to think for a moment. 'I guess I married her because she showed interest in me. No one had done that before.'

(This is true. He chose to be constantly in my shadow, so they couldn't see him.)

'But most of all I married her to show you that I too could have a woman,' he resumes. 'In the end it was all about you. I worshipped you. I think I, too, fell in love the moment I saw you, but I didn't recognise it. It wasn't physical, at least I didn't admit to myself it was. But when I caught you … with her … I was devastated. It was as though a dream was shattered. One that I hadn't been aware of.'

I walk over to the couch and put my arms around him. He leans into my embrace.

'Let me mend it,' I say softly in his ear. 'Please. I want to make you happy.'

He turns his head to look at me – sad. I stroke his cheek and kiss him gently. 'I have no intension of leaving you,' I say. 'I have just begun to taste the joy of making you happy. And I find it very addictive.'

He rests his head against my chest. I comb my fingers through his hair. 'You've changed me, Cedric. You probably did 17 years ago, but I needed nine years of solitude, and a good beating up to realise it.'

'I'm sorry.' He cringes, probably at the thought of our fight.

'Don't be,' I tell him. 'I needed it to finally see things clearly. Just as I needed the wonderful way in which you eased my pain afterwards.'

He turns his head and kisses me. 'But there is still some of it left to ease, I hope.'

'Indeed there is,' I leer.

The day before our two-week's anniversary, when we both get into our respective cars to go to work, I realise that I want it to be a special evening (and night). I decide that I need flowers and a reservation at a fancy restaurant to start with. I grin at the thought of wooing him.

When I drive passed the building where Geraldine Brady works nowadays, it occurs to me that I need to do something else as well. I'm a changed man. A changed man who has to make amends.

At five o' clock, when she's leaving work, I'm waiting for her with a bunch of flowers.

She looks away when she sees me, and walks right passed me. Then she reconsiders. 'What do you want, Ian?' she asks hostilely.

I give her the flowers. 'These are for you.'

'This is a really ridiculously expensive bouquet,' she notices. Then she eyes me suspiciously. 'Why?'

'I'll tell you in a minute,' I promise. 'But first, read the cart, please.'

'Dear Geraldine,' she reads aloud. 'We offer you our sincerest apologies. We're aware of the fact that we owe you a lot. Many thank and much love from Ian and Cedric.'

I'm pleased to see she looks surprised.

'What does this mean?' she asks.

I redeem my promise by telling her that I did some thinking after Cedric battered me, and that I concluded I had to talk to him. And that I didn't go home, the night I paid him a visit.

Her jaw drops. 'You … slept with him?'

'Yes,' I nod. It feels strange to tell a third party about this, but joyful as well. I feel a smile creeping up my face and I hear myself starting to ramble. About Cedric. His beauty, his eyes, his wonderfulness, basically. In every detail. I seem not to be able to stop.

When I finally do stop, Geraldine looks flabbergasted. 'Gee, Ian. I've never before heard you talk about anything or anyone with such enthusiasm, not even about a book or a manuscript.'

'I've … I've changed,' I say.

'You certainly have,' she agrees. 'What did he do to you?' Without waiting for my reply, she adds, 'No, don't tell me. It's just a rhetorical question.'

She smells the flowers. 'They're lovely. So … is he happy?'

'I think he is, yes.'

'Are you planning to keep him that way?' Stern, interrogative tone here.

'Yes, I am.'

'Good.' She steps back. 'Well, then …'

'Geraldine. I'm so sorry about it all,' I blurt out. 'I was … I was wondering if we could see you sometime, perhaps.'

She thinks about this. Then she shrugs. 'Sure. It might not be a girl's dream scenario to have two of her former boyfriends fall in love with each other, of course, but at least I can say that I was instrumental in bringing them together.'

'You were,' I put in.

'And besides, where room is for one gay, there's room for three, as I always say.'

'Matt?' I say. As she nods, I venture that I indeed thought he fancied me, the one time we met.

She laughs. 'Well, Ian, apparently it hasn't been a complete change after all.'

He's happy to see me. He's also very disinterested in the flowers I'm holding when he opens the door for me. He takes them from me, and lays them on the little table in the hall, even before he pulls me inside to kiss me.

I take off my coat and nod at the flowers. 'They're for you. And they are very expensive.'

He's still not interested. 'Are they indeed?' Somehow, I think he's playing with me.

'Oh, yes, they are,' I say. 'Fortunately, I bought two of them, so I got a discount.' If this was meant to invoke his curiosity and suspicion (and it was) it isn't working.

'Oh, really?' he says casually. 'And you gave the other one to one of your lady-friends, I gather?'

'How did you know?' I blurt out. Damn.

'Geraldine called me yesterday,' he explains. 'We had a long conversation, mainly about you. She thought you had changed. She also told me she'd like to add us to her circle of acquaintances. The more gays the gayer, she said, or something to that effect.'

He looks at me, and leans in to kiss me. I gesture vaguely at the bouquet. 'They're anniversary flowers,' I mumble to his lips.

'I know,' he sighs. 'I'd rather not have them.'

What? 'Why not?'

'I'd rather you gave them to me in the morning.'

Oh. Now I see. By that time, we will have crossed that dangerous fortnight's threshold he fears so much.

I catch his eye. 'I know my resume doesn't speak for me,' I say solemnly, 'but I truly love you, Cedric. Besides, now, I've tasted the advantages of being faithful to you. And I intend never to lose them.'

He puts his arms around me, holding me tight. 'Don't ever leave me,' he says in a muffled voice. It's the expression of a wish, not an order.

'Never,' I respond. It's not a guarantee. It can't be. But it is a way of telling him that I know we hope for the same.