We head into the living room and continue where we left off last night. Since he won’t volunteer what he’s stressing about, I tell him about my day. Nothing major there. Everything’s running smoothly, thank God. When I finish, he tells me about a work issue, then says, “And I might have to fly to New York in the next week or so to sort out thatmess.”
Despite how annoyed he sounds about it, I can tell the issue he’s grappling with doesn’t have anything to do with thateither.
“Would you want me to come with you?” I ask, and it’s not that I think he’d need me there for that, but because if he’s struggling right now, I want to be by hisside.
“No, it’s fine. You have a lot to do to coordinate your fundraiser, and certainly, we can survive a few nightsapart.”
I know that face…every line, every bit of stress that tells me so much more than he’s willing to tell me with his mouth right now. He attempts to fit a piece into the puzzle in one place, but realizing it doesn’t fit, he makes another attemptelsewhere.
He tightens his jaw even more, the veins in his neck pushingforward.
“Quid pro quo,” Isay.
A littleSilence of the Lambsquote that has led to us sharing so many details about our lives with one another, even when they were most difficult toshare.
He’s so tense, I can hardly tell if he’s frustrated with his past, the puzzle piece, or my inquiry into what’s on his mind. “Sorry. I’mjust…”
He quiets for so long, I figure this has to be about something important. I’m patient and don’t push him. I put the invitation out there, and it has to be his choice whether to use it ornot.
“A funny thing happened today, Dr. Lecter. Got a text from someone from my past. Myaunt.”
My thoughts shift back to that day, not so long ago, but which feels so distant to me now. Back in the beginning…in a time where I was grasping for the real Eric and found him one night as I held him close and he sobbed against me, having relived one of the most painful memories of his life. A night when he shared about his inner demons…his uncle, his aggressor, and his generous aunt whom he’d cut out of his life because ofhim.
That image of us, on the floor beside the doorway, me cradling him in my arms, is embedded in my mind forever. Not only because of how horrifying it was to hear him let it out, but because it was the moment I knew I wanted Eric Westright more than I’d ever wanted anything else in mylife.
To be there forhim.
To protecthim.
To lovehim.
“She was checking in,” Eric adds, shaking me from my reminiscing about that evening. “She does that from time to time, and with the holidays coming up, I figure she’s thinking about me. We used to visit her sometimes, when my asshole father could be bothered to do that much. She always had these chocolate chip cookies with pecans. They were so fucking good, my mouth would water even thinking about having some. She always told me the secret was in how she added the cinnamon. Said she made them special for me, when I came to visit with my father. Not sure if that was even true, but it always made me feel so important to someone…anyone. She’s tried to send me some in the past, but I can’t even bring myself to eat them. I’d chuck the whole container in the trash. It’s too difficult. Today wasn’t as bad as it sometimes is, because I’ve actually faced what happened to me…my unclerapingme.”
I can tell he’s making himself speak the word that’s been a struggle for him to vocalize in the past. That he can even get that word past his lips speaks volumes about how far he’scome.
I’m so proud of him forthat.
“I’ve spent all these years ignoring her, not because I don’t love her, not because she did anything wrong, but because I couldn’t see her, talk to her, without remembering him. It’s terrible, and I’m an asshole because she must think I’ve thrown her away even after she tried to be there for me, but I…Ican’t.”
“You’re not an asshole for that, Eric. If she knew why…she’dnever—”
“But she can’t ever find out about what he did, especially now that he’s passed. What kind of asshole would I be to ruin her image of him? Yet how can I see her and keep that secret without it eating mealive?”
“I’m sorry. It’s so shitty that he could do that and then leave you having to sort through such a fuckingmess.”
So manymesses.
“Are you going to try to see her?” Ipress.
“You’d think by now I’d know I need to power through it, but I need to think aboutit.”
“There’s nothing wrong with taking some time. You don’t have to figure it all outnow.”
He nods, but even though that’s what he’d prefer, I can see the discord in him, how it wears onhim.
It’s never going to be easy. There will always be another aspect of his life that he’ll have to find a way to push through, that will revictimize him in entirely newways.
I’m glad we’re at a place where he’s able to share as much as he did withme.
