The Secret Of Us. Liesel Schmidt

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СКАЧАТЬ at it for a moment, trying to find the words I was going to need. I shook my head at my own foolishness. There was no way I would really be able to prepare for this phone call. I was just going to have to suck it up and do it.

      In the end, it was the best thing. I needed support and advice, and there was no better source for that than my own mother.

      I guess you never really do outgrow that need, do you?

      “Hi, babydoll, what’s up?” my mother said breezily when she answered.

      “Oh, you know. Stuff,” I hedged, wondering how I was going to ease into this one.

      “Stuff?” her voice was laden with skepticism.

      She knew me well enough to read every nuance in my words, no matter how subtle I thought it was. The woman was truly superhuman.

      “Uh huh. Stuff. Lots of stuff,” I said heavily, a sigh escaping unbidden. I closed my eyes and leaned forward to rest my forehead on the steering wheel. “I just dropped Matt at the airport. Actually, I’m still at the airport.” I sniffled and dabbed my runny nose with my already damp tissue.

      “How long is he going to be gone?” she asked.

      She knew how this worked; my parents were no strangers to the military machine. My father had retired after more than twenty years in the Air Force, and she had been with him for the majority of his career. My mother could easily sympathize with my concern for Matt and the feelings that came along with his absence.

      “Ninety days,” I said flatly. “The usual. So,” I breathed, still not ready to dive into why I was actually calling. “How are you and Dad?” I was quite aware that my feeble attempt at evasion was transparent, but I was hoping my mother would take the hint and allow me some room to ease into things.

      “We’re fine, just fine. Your father’s out washing the car, and I’ve just put the meat on for the spaghetti. We’re staying busy, I guess. But never too busy to have you up here for a nice long visit, if you ever find the time,” she hinted.

      “Mama, you’re as subtle as a two-by-four,” I said, laughing.

      “One of the many reasons you love me,” she replied, the smile evident in her voice.

      “Yes, one of the many,” I echoed, realizing that I was going to have to talk.

      Now or never. I sucked in a deep breath and held it.

      “As is your wise counsel, which is actually why I’m calling,” I said as I released the breath.

      “Ah hah,” she said soberly. “So tell me, honey. What’s really going on?”

      I straightened in my seat and shifted my gaze to the headliner of the car, wishing there were words up there to read. It would have made things so much simpler.

      “Matt and I kissed, Mom,” I blurted.

      There was silence on the other end of the line as she processed the information I’d just imparted. I knew she would be choosing her words carefully, but I also knew she would be completely honest with me. She was one of the few people I knew would give me the unvarnished truth, and that was what I needed right now.

      “I was wondering if that might not have happened yet. When?” she asked.

      “Five months ago. It wasn’t planned. At least, not for me,” I replied. “It kind of just… happened,” I finished lamely. I realized how cliché I sounded, but it was true.

      It had just happened.

      “And then?”

      “And then, we acted as though nothing happened. Or, at least, as much as we could. It’s there, now, though, and we both know it’s there. It’s like this big elephant in the room; there’s a palpable difference in our relationship. We do things together, just like always, Mom, but,” I paused, shaking my head. “It’s not the same. We’re not the same,” I sighed.

      “How could you be?” she asked, reasonably. “He knew how seriously you take your relationship, and he knows the way you feel about him. It’s a mighty risky thing to do, Eira, for someone who thought it wasn’t going to go anywhere.”

      I traced the seams on my steering wheel with my index finger, wondering what I was doing, where all of this would lead. I felt like I was on a runaway rollercoaster.

      “I guess I was just deluding myself in believing that maybe we would be able to have a life together. A real life together,” I explained.

      “You were hoping that Matt would open his eyes and finally see you.”

      “Ludicrous, wasn’t it?” I barked out a little laugh of self-ridicule. I knew how stupid it sounded, how childish and naïve.

      Maybe that was my problem.

      Maybe that was the way Matt saw me, as a hopelessly naïve child.

      “No, Eira, it wasn’t ludicrous. It was optimistic and romantic, and both of those things are traits I hope you never lose. Life has quite a way of jading people until they believe that real, selfless love isn’t possible, and that it’s not even worth the risk to try and find it. They won’t even admit it, but they’re afraid of the complications that love will have on their lives. People want everything to be perfectly definable and all wrapped up in a nice little box, and love isn’t like that. It’s messy. It’s complicated. It’s painful. Anything involving other people is like that, and when you open your heart, you make yourself vulnerable. Vulnerability is also a liability in many people’s eyes. A weakness. And so they run from it.” My mother sounded almost sad as she spoke, her insight obviously drawn from experience.

      “Do you think that’s what’s happening now, with Matt? Do you think he’s running away from how he really feels about me, or do you think that he’s telling the truth? That he doesn’t have any feelings for me more than friendship?” I knew the answer I wanted, and she knew the answer I wanted. But I also knew she would be honest.

      “I don’t know Matt’s heart, Eira. Maybe not even he knows what he’s really feeling. But maybe these next months away from you will give him time to figure all of that out.”

      For almost as long as I could remember, my father drove a 1986 Saab 900S – a seemingly immortal piece of machinery and Swedish craftsmanship that wore its battle scars with pride. It was unmistakable – in more ways than one. Its approach was loud enough to hear halfway down the street, a sound that resembled the roar of jet engines, and its curving silhouette was what my father fondly described as “slipper-like.” As it aged, it also ailed, and my father had to find more and more ingenious ways of nursing the car along. Engine turnover required just the right combination of jiggles, wiggles, and cajoling – and even then, it wasn’t always a sure thing.

      The car drew an interesting parallel to life, the way relationships must be handled with a degree of care and commitment peculiar to each person and each situation. Some need just the right sequence of jiggles and clicks, some require holding your head at a certain angle while you stand on one foot – whatever the mitigating circumstances, it all comes down to a decision that all the effort is worth it.

      And then seeing it through.

      Somehow, СКАЧАТЬ