“They think I’ve had it all my life,” I said. Slowly pulling my hand back from him, despite my reluctance to lose the contact.
“That’s— that’s what’s been wrong all this time? You have AIDS?” he asked, his voice cracking as his normally-tan face turned pale.
“No, not AIDs. I’m HIV positive, but my viral load is undetectable right now,” I said. It felt strange talking to him about my disease. I’d never really discussed this with anyone except Viv and her family before and the conversation felt awkward. Dr. Dunwoody was a physician, at least. I wasn’t sure how much information to share with someone who wasn’t a medical professional.
I watched Kaine’s jaw clench and unclench as he processed my words.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” He muttered, finally releasing my wrist. “Not about it being undetectable but about you having it at all.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled, breaking eye contact.
“So, you got it from your… mom?” he asked.
“That’s what the doctors think,” I responded.
“Is that how she…” he paused, realizing I think, that I might not want to talk about it.
“I don’t know for sure,” I interrupted. “I haven’t talked to the lawyers yet, but I assume so.”
He stared at my hands for a while, and I began to get uncomfortable. I knew he wanted, no needed, answers, but getting them past my lips was something else.
“Lawyers? Why— How—” he started, then stopped. Some thought seemed to occur to him, and he withdrew from me. I could almost see him pull back into himself, the brief connection we’d felt over Bishop’s abrupt departure evaporating like it had never been. “No, it’s none of my business. I don’t need to know.”
When I looked at him, the gulf between us seemed a mile wide, his formerly glittering eyes going dead and dull, the pain I saw there making it hard for me to breathe. It was worse than the pain I’d seen on his face earlier. Worse than anger. He just… didn’t care.
“Kaine—” I began, unable to bear that emptiness but he held up a hand, stopping me.
“Nicki, I appreciate that you came here. I know it couldn’t have been easy, after all these years,” he said. “But I can’t do this. I can’t play a polite game of twenty questions. I’m glad you are okay, really. I’m sorry about your diagnosis. I just have to know… why?”
His voice cracked on the final word, and I nodded, looking away. I got it. I couldn’t blame him, really. My excuses rang hollow, even to my own ears. At some point in the last six years I could have tried to get word to him. I could have reached out for help or advice or just to tell him what had really happened, but I’d chosen not to. I was a coward. I knew that if I told him about my dad, he’d get himself, or his parents involved, and that would threaten my mom’s safety. I’d chosen my mom over our future together. I had loved Kaine, but I didn’t blame him at all for not trusting me now.
I stood, putting my empty bottle of water in the recycling bin, which was in the same spot it always was. I turned and faced him.
“I had to see you. I couldn’t leave things the way they were between us. I just— I just wanted to say… I’m sorry, Kaine.” I said, struggling to control my emotions. “I know I really screwed things up between us, and I can never fix that, or make amends. But, for reasons too long and involved to go into right now, I couldn’t—couldn’tmake a different decision.”
His head was down, staring at his drink, pain and emptiness etched into his face. I had put him through enough, hadn’t I? Six years was long enough. I’d come here tonight in a selfish attempt to make amends. Selfish because I had done it for me, to clear my conscience, without thinking what it would do to Kaine.
“I’m sorry,” I said, then headed toward the living room. I knew the way out. I’d walked about half the distance to the front door when I heard him behind me.
“That’s it?” He demanded in question, astonishment apparent in his voice. I turned around to look at him. I knew there were tears glittering in my eyes, but I didn’t make any move to dash them away.
“What’s it?” I asked tiredly.
“You waltz back in here after six years— sixfuckingyears, Nicki— and you tell me it’s ‘too long and involved’ to explain? That youcouldn’tmake a different decision? What thefuckis wrong with you?” he demanded.
Kaine was standing now, his hands gripping the back of his chair, knuckles white. I froze. I didn’t think Kaine would ever willingly hurt me, but I’d thought the same about my dad at one time, too. The signs of his anger were there, and I was all too familiar with rage.
“You left, Nicki. Youleft! Yousworeyou wouldn’t let the distance separate us. You swore you’d be there,” he yelled, tears spilling over his cheeks. The eyes that had looked so dead a moment ago now sparked fire. “I almost jumped off a fucking bridge, Nicki! I almost killed myself because you couldn’t keep your word.”
His words hit me like a blow to the chest. Kaine had beensuicidal? When?How…? But of course, I couldn’t ask. I had no right. None at all. I had been thecauseof his pain. I had no right to pry. He was crying so hard now, it was hard to even make out what he was saying, but I wouldalwaysunderstand Kaine.Always.
“You should have just told me you couldn’t do it, couldn’t handle a long-distance relationship. It would have been easier. But you told me that I could count on you. Even though we’d be apart, you’d never leave me. That we’d be together forever. You promised. Youpromised!” His last words were almost sobs, and they broke my heart.
Ihadpromised. I’d also been a kid, faced with an impossible choice, and I had no idea what kind of evil could be hiding in even the closest of families.
“I know, Kaine. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you. I’m sorry I broke my promise,” I whispered. “We can’t— we can’t always do whatwewant. I wanted to be here with you,foryou, but I— he—”
Movement out of the corner of my eyes made me stop as I was about to share my shameful secret. The yelling had brought Mama D and Mama K to their bedroom doorway and Bishop was standing at the top of the stairs. They watched us silently, their eyes accusing me, and rightly so. Kaine’s pain was a result of my mistakes, my choices.
