Oliver and Erica

by Desiree Span

  Then she stood up, and while I was still chewing on my grapes I watched her walk over toward the crowd and then disappear.

  Four months later Claire and I were married and everybody thought we were either insane or pregnant.

  “Why the hurry?” Brandon had inquired.

  “Because, Dad, it just feels right. So why wait?” she had said, literally repeating what I had said to her after she had asked me the same question. I didn’t know for sure about Claire, or why she had agreed to marrying me in such a hurry, but I am well aware of why I proposed to her in the first place.

  I had asked Claire to marry me after exactly two sleepless nights of finding out Erica had given birth to twins.

  * * *

  We were visiting my parents for about a week and it was actually the first time Claire had gotten to meet my whole family. My father had organized another one of his BBQ events where practically anyone we were related to in some way or other was invited, which of course included Erica’s parents; Mr. and Mrs. Johansson. And while I was enjoying a beer and turning over the well-marinated steaks on the grill, I overheard Mrs. Johansson tell the very good news to Mrs. Charles, an elderly woman whom as kids we had disrespectfully nicknamed “The Werewolf,” her hairy appearance being way too serious of a case for us to be able to ignore.

  And while Claire waved at me from a distance and I winked back at her, I strained to follow the conversation between the two women. Mrs. Charles had started the topic by inquiring about Erica, and from the moment I heard her name drop I was concentrating, trying to not miss a word of what was being said. In bits and pieces I made out that the pregnancy had been rough, or so I assumed, because there had been several trips to hospitals. I also picked up that she had given birth prematurely. She had given birth to twin girls. Yesterday she and her husband had called. The twins were doing very well and were allowed to go home. Erica was extremely happy. She had cried on the phone.

  I instantly felt somber, as if a “cartoonesque” dark cloud hovered above me and solely I was getting wet in the pouring rain. But it was mostly the upsetting effect the news had upon me that concerned me. Why and how could this still unsettle me in such a severe way after so much time had passed? I turned away, but still caught the culmination of their conversation, which informed me that Mr. and Mrs. Johansson would be taking a plane to visit their brand new grandchildren soon.

  * * *

  While I tossed and turned that night, and the next, I analyzed the situation and came to the conclusion that only a drastic change in my life would make it possible for me to erase Erica from my mind forever. I simply had to find a way to force myself to move on. And the only way I could think of was by finding love again, having a family and filling my life with so many people that there would simply be no more room for her in my heart. And therefore I made a choice.

  I turned to Claire. She was wearing elegant evergreen pajamas, a color she wore regularly to match her pale skin and flaming hair. She was sleeping peacefully beside me, her petite body lying next to mine.

  Claire was a handful and she continuously put up a fight. With her, things were never easy and never went smoothly, but watching her sleep, she looked harmless, even adorable.

  And I realized this woman was exactly what I needed. She kept me engaged and my mind occupied, and she distracted me. Claire’s presence filled up any room and I needed her to do the same for my heart. So I decided to follow the advice given by the Scottish novelist and poet Robert Louis Stevenson; according to him you should always keep busy at something, for a busy person never has time to be unhappy. And if there was one thing I was sure of was that Claire would keep me busy.

  Besides, in recent months I had really come to care for her. She was sweet to me, loyal and supportive, and I enjoyed her wittiness and her particular sense of humor. I admired her strong will and independence. And I liked the fact that she was brutally honest, spoke her mind and was clear about what she wanted and determined to get it. Plus, who has ever been able to resist an authentic redhead with enchanting green eyes?

  In spite of her straightforward, take-it-or-leave-it personality, she was surprisingly shy and in bed even a bit prudish, and though we did have chemistry I have to admit there were no real fireworks in that area. Many times I would try to encourage her to be a little more experimental, but she felt uneasy and embarrassed, so I stopped trying to spice things up and kept the sex in her more traditional comfort zone, so to speak. She wasn’t the cuddly or holding-hands type either, and kissing in public was revolting, according to her.

  I confess that I missed the sexual passion and intensity, but after a while it was fine by me. I learned to be content with what she gave me — the way she believed in me and always stood by me. She had become above all a good friend and someone I could always rely on.

  My decision was made; I would propose to Claire and that would be my liberation of Erica.

  I kissed her on the mouth, waking her softly, for I was afraid that if I waited until the following morning I would come to my senses and reconsider.

  She woke up with a sigh.

  “I’ve been thinking. I know this will sound crazy, but what if we got married?” I said quietly.

  She blinked a couple of times, still sleepy and now confused. “What is going on? What are you talking about, Oliver?” she whispered.

  I jumped out of bed and my jolting movement made her sit up. And then, standing there in only my underwear, I went down on one knee and took her small, perfectly manicured hand into mine. “Claire Anette Frey, will you marry me?” I then said.

  She was wide awake now. “Are you drunk?” she asked.

  “No,” I said.

  She then thought of something and put her other hand to her mouth, shocked. “You’re not dying, are you?” she whispered with big fearful eyes.

  “Of course not,” I said. She seemed even more confused now.

  “Then why this sudden rush? I mean it’s very sweet and all but I don’t understand the hurry here,” she said.

  “Look, I know it seems fast. But what more is there to know about each other. To me this is it. It just feels right. Don’t you feel that way?” I asked, still holding her hand.

  She then took my other hand and lifted me up and I sat on the bed next to her. “Yes, I very much do,” she said and smiled.

  “Well, then let’s do this, Claire. I mean what’s the point in waiting any longer?”

  She looked up at me, her emerald eyes sparkling. She then hugged me tightly. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll marry you.”

  I took her face in my hands and kissed her lips, and for the first time in as long as I could remember I felt a burden lifting off my chest; a strange sensation of relief.

  The next morning we announced our engagement to my parents during breakfast. My parents didn’t know quite well how to react at first. Of course they were wondering what was behind this sudden decision, but Claire assured them that this was a choice we had made for ourselves and that there was no other reason making us speed things up. I could see my parents slowly turn from skepticism to enthusiasm, and my mother even wiped away a little tear of joy.

  * * *

  After breakfast Claire and Dad went to the living room to enjoy another cup of coffee there, while my mother asked to speak to me for a second in the kitchen. Claire examined us with slight suspicion, and I myself was also curious about the meaning behind my mother’s secrecy.

  Once in the kitchen she poured us another coffee and motioned me to sit at the kitchen table.

  “I have something for you, honey. Well actually it’s for you and Claire,” she said, and she opened my hand and placed a little blue velvety box in it. I opened it and in it was Nana Rose-Marie’s vintage engagement ring.

  “Oh wow, mom... this is too much,” I said, shaking my head and returning it to her.

  “Oliver, now you listen to me! When your brother got engaged he wanted to have it, but I had to refuse for Nana had given me strict instr
uctions for it. Timothy accepted that. And now that the time has finally come for me to give it to you, you are sure as hell going to keep this ring in the family by placing it on the finger of your bride.”

  I was going to protest again but she shushed me.

  “Nana was very clear about this. She wanted you to have it, and for you to pass it on to the woman you love, Oliver! She literally stated it in her will!” she scolded.

  I took the blue box from her hand and opened it again. The ring was simply beautiful.

  I sighed and couldn’t possibly tell her that I knew, almost certainly, who Nana had in mind when she left it for me to give to the woman I love. Nana was no fool; she had known even before Erica and I had figured it out.

  So I simply nodded and slipped the box in my pocket.

  My mother smiled with satisfaction and gave me a tight hug.

  * * *

  Claire didn’t want a long engagement, so she did what she does best and moved the earth and sky to get her perfect wedding realized in an absurdly short time. I wasn’t actually involved much in the preparation, which was fine by me, for I could just as well have gotten married in a barn. Besides, Brandon insisted on paying for most of the wedding, which gave Claire a free hand to orchestrate it as she wanted, without us having the typical couple quarrels over the financials; something that usually goes hand in hand with these kind of events.

  The wedding was over the top, but still elegant and sophisticated. To tell you that the whole thing was covered in the centerfold of the socialite section of the regional newspaper would say enough. Claire was a vision, dressed in the most beautiful gown, and I didn’t look too shabby myself; she made sure of that.

  And while we opened the dance floor with our first dance, she held on tight. “You’re beautiful. Inside and out,” she whispered, and I lifted her face and kissed her.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ERICA

  2015

  * * *

  “So this is the first time you’re returning to the States since you left in ‘97?” Fred asked.

  “No,” I said. “Jan and I returned and visited my home when the twins were about two years old. It was in 2007, so yes, the girls were about that age...”

  “Have you got the passports?” I asked Jan again.

  “Got them,” he said.

  “Okay,” I said and shifted nervously in the passenger seat.

  After two seconds. “Did you grab the bag with extra diapers... you know... those I separated for on the plane?” I asked.

  “Got those too,” Jan said. He patted my knee while steering with the other hand. He looked at me and gave me a warm smile.

  I smiled back, then turned my head to check on the twins in the back seat. Laila was sleeping, her head slightly turned to the side; her mouth had fallen open. Olivia, on the other hand, was wide awake. She was sucking on her thumb and looking out the car window.

  I shifted again in my seat and tried to relax, but couldn’t. It was the first time we were flying such a long distance with the girls. My parents had come to see us two years earlier when they were born and now we were visiting them.

  We decided to make it a three-week vacation and were first traveling to Clearwater Beach in Florida for a week and from there we would get a flight leaving from Tampa International Airport, to stay with my parents the remaining two weeks. I felt excited. I loved the idea of going back home after so many years, and I realized how much I had missed it. But there was also a big knot in my stomach, and I just couldn’t ignore those butterflies fluttering around in it.

  What if he was there? What if I ran into him? The thought of a possibility of me seeing Oliver again was the main cause of this nervousness that lingered in my gut.

  “The girls are going to be fine,” Jan said. He sensed my anxiety, but being completely in the dark about Oliver, he thought it had solely to do with traveling with the toddlers.

  “I know. I just worry Laila will throw a fit on the airplane or we’ll run out of diapers on the way. You know, silly stuff,” I said with a weak smile.

  Jan took my hand and planted a kiss on it. “Just relax and try to enjoy the trip,” he said.

  We found a spot at the Long Parking area, unloaded luggage and kids, and headed for the shuttle bus that would drive us the 1.2 miles toward the Departure hall. We tried to keep the hassle to a minimum, and basically had one suitcase for the kids and one for us. And while Jan maneuvered our luggage, I pushed the stroller for twins.

  The flight progressed without major incidents, except for Olivia leaking through her diaper and wetting both our pants, Laila “accidentally” spitting her food on Jan’s T-shirt and both girls wailing nonstop for forty-five minutes. So after a change of clothes for everyone, a bottle of milk for each girl and an alcoholic beverage for us, we were doing just dandy. The rest of the passengers hated us, though.

  And then finally, after twelve hours and thirty-seven minutes, we reached our destination.

  As soon as we arrived at the hotel and got settled, I stripped off my clothes, put on my bikini, hauled the kids into their tiny bathing suits and went searching for the beach. Jan decided he needed a nap first and would come find us afterwards.

  My plan would have been to drop myself on a stretcher and not move until dinnertime, but the thing about having a toddler is that you are either feeding it, wiping its bottom, trying to put it to sleep or simply chasing it to keep it from harm. In any case it will not just let you sit on your ass and work on your tan while sipping a piña colada. I happened to have not one but two toddlers. Two beautiful whirlwinds whom I adored.

  So instead, I found a shadowy spot and spread two big beach towels on which I sat while watching over the girls playing with sand. After a while I took their hands and we walked to the shore, where we played with water and made mud pies.

  After some time they grew tired and we walked back to our towels. I laid them down next to each other on one towel and, sitting beside them, I tried to convince them to take a nap. In no time jetlag and simple exhaustion from the sun, sand and wind defeated their will to stay awake, and sure enough they fell asleep. And then I too finally lay back.

  The week flew by and my parents came to pick us up at the airport. After many hugs, kisses and handshakes accompanied with pats on the backs, we drove off in their SUV.

  As soon as I walked in the house I couldn’t help but smile. Everything had stayed exactly the same. Over the years my mother had bought a new sofa and the curtains were also new, but besides that I could walk around blindfolded and still find everything precisely where it had been ten years earlier.

  Jan and I slept in my old bedroom and the twins in the room that used to belong to my younger sister, Anabel. While I was unpacking our stuff, Jan and my dad had taken Laila and Olivia outside in the backyard. Grandpa was giving them piggyback rides and I smiled at hearing their laughter.

  When I was done I joined my mother in the kitchen, where she was preparing a late lunch for us. I was cutting tomatoes for the salad when the phone rang; it was Anabel.

  “Hey, you!” she greeted me excitedly.

  “Annie! When are you coming? I want to see you guys so badly,” I said happily.

  “Bradley and I were actually thinking of going to O’Brian’s tonight. Why don’t you and Jan join us? It’s going to be fun,” she replied.

  “You guys still go to O’Brian’s?” I laughed.

  “Of course. We all do! Fridays are still for the youngsters, just like back in our days, but Thursdays are karaoke night and until 9 p.m. drinks are two for the price of one. They know how to keep us town folk happy and coming back for more!” she chuckled.

  “Okay, let me check with Jan and I’ll call you right back,” I said.

  “Sure, and tell Mom she’ll be babysitting all her grandkids tonight.”

  I could hear her grinning.

  When she hung up I went looking for Jan and told him about the evening plans.

  He liked the idea of se
eing what the town’s favorite hangout place was like, for anyone between eighteen and sixty years old.

  I gave Anabel a call back and she told me they would be picking us up at around eight o’clock. They would drop their four-year-old Micah off with no problem, for he loved spending the night at Grandpa and Grandma’s.

  While I was putting on my favorite tight jeans and a red halter top, I started feeling nervous. I felt strangely excited about going to a place where I might meet people I hadn’t seen in ten years. But mostly I felt uneasy about the existing possibility that Oliver might coincidentally be there. I knew he wasn’t actually living around here anymore, but I didn’t know exactly where or how often he came by. All I had overheard during these years was that after living abroad for a while, he had gone home and had started working for his father. But I didn’t have any details, for back then it was me who had forbidden everyone to ever mention him again, and seeing how distraught I had been, nobody dared to afterwards. And even after all these years I never dared ask.

  As agreed, Anabel and Bradley came around 8 p.m.

  “Phew, you look smoking hot, sis,” Anabel said while hugging me tightly. Bradley blew me a kiss, for he was carrying Micah, who had already dozed off. They carried him upstairs to my parents’ bedroom and put him on a rollaway bed my dad had bought for when he spent the night. The twins had fallen asleep right after dinner, so as soon as Anabel and Bradley came down we were good to go. For us all to be able to drink, my father gave us a ride to the pub and we would find a taxi back.

  * * *

  After Dad drove off, we walked toward O’Brian’s and before even opening the heavy door I could already hear two men singing some upbeat duet song, although the word “singing” might be a little too optimistic here.