It was Chloe who broke the silence. “I’ve been a mess waiting for you to call. Wondering if you even would. So, I can’t imagine how hard it must be for you, Nick. I am so sorry... about so many things.”
“Are you?” The question slipped out, dripping with a level of anger and sarcasm that surprised even me. Still, I let it stand. Mads’ advice about not getting off on the wrong foot rang in my ear, but I was desperate to find my feet in the conversation and anger came easiest.
Chloe’s answering sigh was soft and even penitent. “Yes, I am. I don’t expect you to believe me and neither should you. I’ve given you no reason to, after all. I wish I had the right words on the tip of my tongue to make everything better, but we both know it’s way too complicated for that and there’s a lot to talk about. A lot of pain and hurt. But if that’s what you want, to talk about it now, then we can do that. I’ll do anything you want, Nick. How this moves forward... or doesn’t... is entirely up to you.”
It sounded good, thoughtful even, but it wasn’t true. Because Chloe held nearly all the cards. She had the information I wanted. The answers to all those questions circling my brain. And to get them, Ihadto engage with her. There was no other way. In person, by phone, or through email, I had to deal with her, and just the thought of that power imbalance enraged me.
Trying for a little less antagonistic, I said, “What if all I want is for you to write everything down and mail it without us meeting at all, and then get out of my life? Would you agree tothat?” Okay, so a fail on the less antagonistic effort.
Chloe drew a sharp breath, then whispered almost desolately, “Yes. If that’s what you want, I’ll do it, and you won’t hear from me again. I promise.”
An answer, which really didn’t get me anything except the dubious satisfaction and shame of hurting her and making myself feel guilty in the process.
Jesus, what a mess.
Maybe I should’ve taken Mads up on his offer to sit with me. What point was I trying to prove? We were supposed to be a team and here I was cutting him out... again. Still trying to control my life without needing anyone. Without accepting help. Still that eight-year-old boy doing it on his own because he had to. Because no one was there for him. Because no one cared.
“My partner was desperate to be with me when I called you,” I spat, the admission sour on my tongue. “I turned him down. Told him that I wanted to do this on my own. He’ll be beside himself with worry. He won’t admit it because he doesn’t want to burden me.” I took a deep breath and counted to five.
Chloe remained silent, but her tension bled through the phone, her slow breathing shifting up a gear.
I went on to explain because she needed to know.Ineeded her to know. “I turned down his offer because I hate relying on other people. I don’t want to need...anyone. I have trouble trusting people. Trusting they’ll do what they say. Trusting they’ll be there for me. Trusting they’ll stay. And I have trouble believing them when they say they love me.” I pressed my palms to the tears running down my cheeks, furious at the obvious catch in my voice. “And all of that is down to you, Chloe. To what you did.” I let the indictment sink in. “Forty-seven years and I still don’t trust that the people I love won’t just up sticks one day and fucking leave me.” My words broke off on a choked cry and Chloe had the sense to not respond or explain, or sympathise, or do anything except remain silent.
To her credit, she also didn’t question my use of the pronounhewhen referring to my partner, which indicated she likely knew I was gay—maybe from the newspapers. That was some relief, at least. The slightest whiff of homophobia and I’d have ended it all there and then.
I sucked in a breath and tried to gather myself. “But Mads will be with me tomorrow. That’s non-negotiable. So, if you have a problem with that, you better say now.”
“No,” she answered evenly. “No problem at all.”
The relief I felt at her acquiescence made me feel pissy. Her acceptance shouldn’t have mattered, and yet, it did.
“Good,” I snapped, annoyed at the little boy’s tone in my voice. I shook it off. “You’re right. It’s complicated. And you’re right about there being hurt and pain, much more than you’ll ever understand. And no, the truth is, I reallydon’twant to see you.” I paused and let that sink in.
The silence on the other end of the line was electric.
Feeling back in control, I continued, “But I am going to meet you, because I want answers and because you’ll give them to me, such as they are. Just don’t expect too much in return. You were in my life for eight years. I’ve been on my own for forty-seven. I have good people around me and a good life. I don’t need you fucking that up, Chloe. So, whatever you hope to get out of this, you’ll likely be disappointed.”
For a long time, the only response was the soft in and out of her breathing. Then, finally, Chloe cleared her throat. “I understand. As I told you earlier, where this goes or doesn’t go is up to you. I’m just grateful to have the opportunity to talk. As for being disappointed, I’ll take note of your warning and not get my hopes up. Or not show it, at least.” The emotion finally broke through in her voice and she sounded so much older than she had just seconds before. “What time should I expect you? I’m free today and tomorrow, if that helps.”
My brow creased. We’d already agreed the last time we texted that we’d meet tomorrow at eleven. My call to her now was merely to confirm that I hadn’t changed my mind.
Was she messing with me? Pretending she’d forgotten? Ugh. Dammit to hell. Why was this so hard?You know why,an irritating voice replied, sounding suspiciously like Mads or my therapist, or both.
“We already agreed on eleven tomorrow?” I prompted.
“Oh.” Pages rustled in the background. “Yes. I can see it now.” Chloe hesitated.
“Is that still okay?” I checked.
“Yes, yes,” she answered hastily. “I’d written it in the wrong week, that’s all.”
I was reminded that the woman was seventy-three and told myself to calm the fuck down. “Great. It’s an hour-forty drive from Nelson, give or take. We’re staying in a vineyard cottage not too far away from your house.” One that would hopefully live up to Mads’ eye-wateringly lofty standards.
Chloe murmured, “That sounds lovely. Then I’ll see you both tomorrow at eleven.”
I ended the call and chucked my phone onto the passenger seat. Then I covered my face with my hands and released the dam of pent-up tears.
Anger and bitter relief mixed with the tiniest thread of hope for something I thought I’d given up on decades ago. A hope I didn’t want because hope sucked. Hope fucked everything up. And hope in this particular woman had died a long, slow death along with my childhood. I wasn’t sure there was any life left in it worth saving, but my stupid, stupid heart seemed to have other plans.
