Oliver and Erica

by Desiree Span

And just as Oliver had said in his note, underneath the board was a small package. It was actually a little box wrapped in a brown paper bag. There was also a letter in the bag. I opened the letter first. It was dated 2005 — two years earlier.

  Dear Erica,

  * * *

  I’m happy you’re reading this and I hope this letter finds you well. I have wanted to write to you before, but didn’t know what to say. And now I found out that you had twins and that gives me much joy and a valid reason to write to you.

  But then I realized I missed so many other important events in your life that also need acknowledgement. And that thought makes me sad.

  In all these years that have passed I have come to understand why you had to leave. It would have been unbearable for me if you’d stayed and possibly blamed me for not being able to fulfill all your dreams. So I truly hope you found that what you were looking for.

  In the box you will find my grandmother’s engagement ring. I know how much you loved it and I was going to ask my mother for it and give it to you on your 23rd birthday, but it wasn’t meant to be. But I’m giving it to you now, for I know Nana Rose-Marie would have wanted you to have it. So once more, congratulations with your beautiful babies and I wish you all the best and a happy and full life. Oliver

  I opened the little blue box and there it was. Nana Rose-Marie’s vintage engagement ring. The beautiful stone sparkled in the moonlight, and I carefully took it out of the box and slipped it on my other, bare, ring finger. It fit perfectly. I stared at my hands, one with my wedding band and the other with what was meant to be my engagement ring, but then it all became blurry, for my eyes had filled with tears.

  Dammit, Oliver! My, sweet Oliver. I sighed, swallowed away the lump in my throat and put the ring back in the box. I then put the box and letter in my pocket and shoved the sofa back to its place. Silently I walked out of the treehouse, giving it a last glance and headed back to my parents’ house.

  * * *

  I walked in through the same back door I had left and could still hear my family chattering in the living room. But when I closed the door and turned around, my heart jumped, for there was Jan, leaning against the kitchen counter. Waiting for me.

  “You scared the shit out of me,” I said, startled; holding my hand against my chest.

  “Where were you?” he asked in Dutch.

  “I went for a walk,” I said, thinking that wasn’t completely a lie. “I wasn’t gone so long,” I then added, quasi annoyed.

  “In the middle of the night?” He sounded cool but was upset. I could tell by the way his jaw clenched and the corners of his mouth would turn down.

  “And, what’s his name? Oliver? I mean, how come I have never heard of him before?”

  “Because, I don’t know; it just never came up. Why are you giving this so much importance?”

  “That’s just the thing. I’m not. You know I’m not the jealous type, but you not mentioning a guy that clearly has been very much present in every aspect of your life before we met... I don’t know, it makes it seem pretty important that you chose not to tell me.”

  I rolled my eyes and then sighed. “Oliver and I... never mind,” I said, not knowing how or where to start and I tried to walk by him.

  But, Jan made himself even broader, blocking my passage and looked at me with tilted head, suggesting that I continue talking.

  I stood in front of him and crossed my arms.

  “Okay, if you must know. I grew up with Oliver, we were best friends as kids, then we fell madly in love and then he knocked up another woman and completely broke my heart,” I said bluntly.

  In the past I had only told Jan I had been in love before, but that the relationship had not ended well, and I could tell by Jan’s expression that he had remembered that talk and that finally the big mystery of who this man had been had just been unfolded.

  He squinted his eyes and opened his mouth, but closed it again, trying to better formulate what he was going to say. “So, have you seen him yet?” he then said. “Was he at the bar last night? The man who completely broke your heart?” he continued with sarcasm; which was so unlike him.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. And it’s not like you didn’t have any history when I met you,” I snapped at him and then immediately regretted it.

  “Yes!” he barked back. “But the first thing I did was tell you about it. You knew everything about me! I told you about my ex-wife right from the beginning, and you knew exactly what I had been through and where I was coming from. And it didn’t occur to you once to share anything about your past? Don’t you think it would have been nice for me to know that you too had been through a rough time? That the reason it took you eight months to be able to tell me you loved me, was because you had been hurt and felt betrayed by another man. And then... Olivia? You chose to name my baby after this man?!”

  Jan was shouting now. He was livid and his eyes were firing after that last realization. He had every right to be angry. There fell a silence, and he looked at me and I could see how hurt he was. I felt very guilty.

  “You’re right,” I then said. “I’m so sorry, Jan. I should have told you. But when I met you it had been three years since I had last seen Oliver. And honestly all I wanted was to forget it ever happened and close that chapter behind me.”

  I walked up to him and took his hands into mine.

  Jan looked at our hands but didn’t respond.

  “Please forgive me... it was a very long time ago, Jan. And it really is silly to be arguing over it now. Don’t you think?” I asked and looked up at him.

  He looked away, still upset.

  I then took his face in my hands and forced him to look at me.

  “What I did was all really, really thoughtless. But, will you forgive me?” I asked again and I looked at him with pleading eyes.

  He sighed before speaking. “So, this Oliver, is there a chance we might bump into him while we are visiting?” he asked.

  “No, there is no chance of that. And besides, you’ve got absolutely nothing to worry about,” I said. “I have you and the kids, and nothing else matters to me.”

  I saw how his coldness began to gradually fade.

  “I love you, Jan,” I said and I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed my mouth against his lips.

  Jan hesitated for a moment but then he completely melted in my embrace and he passionately kissed me in my mother’s kitchen.

  * * *

  When we walked out of the kitchen, it appeared that our argument had inevitably been overhead by the rest of the family. And to avoid any more awkwardness Anabel and Bradley had made a quick getaway. My dad had already gone upstairs to get ready for bed. And while Jan excused himself and followed him up, my mother shook her head at me, with a disappointed frown on her face.

  Fred had fallen asleep, so I also tried to rest a little. But it was useless. I watched another movie and then another. And then finally the much-awaited announcement of “no more peeing and fasten your seatbelts, because we’re almost there” mumbled through the speakers.

  Fred and I walked to the luggage claim together and then out of Arrivals, where I already saw Bradley waiting for me behind glass doors.

  “I think I’m too late,” I said to Fred.

  “How so?” he asked, putting his suitcase on a trolley.

  “Well, my brother-in-law is here to fetch me, which could only mean that the rest of my family is already at the funeral.”

  “Or, they are still preparing for it. Maybe you’ll make it just in time,” he said encouragingly. “Well, it was very nice to meet you, Erica. And I wish you the best of luck.”

  Fred smiled and I thanked him and gave him a hug. He gave me a last comforting squeeze in the arms and then I put on my coat and hurried off.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  OLIVER

  2008

  * * *

  In 2008 Claire called it quits. It wasn’t my fault, she had said, it was she who had let me use her as s
urrogate love. It was she who had happily played the role of the puppy given to a child as a consolation price, she had said. There was no plain, straightforward answer to the question of what had gone wrong. I guess Claire and I both agreed that we had lied to ourselves and that it simply hadn’t been right to begin with.

  Claire was an intelligent woman and when she agreed to marry me, she had already guessed that the reasons behind my proposal had something to do with me trying to escape past emotions. But she had believed that she could successfully take it upon herself as a task, or more like a bet, to become that woman who would reconquer my heart. But as with all bets, if the odds are against you, you will probably lose, and Claire wasn’t one to hang around the gambling table and wait for those odds to turn. So she cashed in her chips, so to speak, and left the game we had been playing.

  In those three years, we had lived together more like friends with benefits or incestuous siblings than like husband and wife. Claire’s crush on me had gradually faded and turned into disillusion. And even though I cared for her deeply, the truth was she had just not been able to fill the void in my soul, no matter how hard she had tried. She wasn’t lying when she finally confronted me with the fact that my heart wasn’t into it and that she missed the sparkle that newlywed brides should feel.

  On the outside one would say there was nothing wrong. Our routine was just like any other couple; in the morning we woke up, headed for work, and then we came home to eat dinner together. On the weekends she kept dressing me up and dragging me to her almost mandatory social events to show me off to her friends, and I would go without complaining. And on occasion I would have her put aside her stiletto shoes and we would take a drive to a park, where she would sit uncomfortably on a blanket while frantically slapping away at flies. And she would endure it silently, just to please me.

  We were cordial and tolerant to each other, but somehow she was always in her world and I was in mine. Even when our worlds did coincide and we got to talking and sharing incidents or anecdotes, our conversations felt somewhat artificial, or forced. It would feel as if we were just taking a peek into each other’s lives or like new friends that find out they actually have nothing in common, but still like each other so they keep on talking just to avoid having to admit their discrepancies. I guess that we were so completely different that even our friendship wasn’t enough to make it work.

  As a consequence, she started to lose interest and I didn’t put any effort in it. At night our bedroom was a reflection of this, with me deliberately taking long showers or her faking to have fallen asleep.

  * * *

  We were at a charity event, sitting in silence at a skillfully set round table. The other six guests we had been sharing the table with must have been busy mingling, for they were nowhere to be spotted. I was observing the crowd and Claire seemed to be absorbed in thought.

  “Do you think it would help us if we had a baby?” she suddenly said and took my hand.

  I felt my stomach literally turn.

  “What, now?” I joked, trying to hide the fact she had just freaked me out.

  “I’m serious, Oliver,” she said.

  I looked away. I knew the baby conversation would eventually come up; I just didn’t think it would be now.

  Claire was young and ambitiously career-oriented, and this had always given me a totally unfounded reassurance that by the time she would be ready I would be too. But that wasn’t what scared me; it was the fact that she had openly admitted that we needed help. She had burst our fake bubble, and to keep with the gambling allegory, she had made her final move and laid her last cards on the table.

  “I’m not sure this is the right place to have this conversation,” I said, now serious too.

  “What difference does it make where we have this conversation? Because I for one don’t think a baby will save us, so as far as I’m concerned the outcome of this conversation will be the same regardless of where we have it,” she said calmly and still holding onto my hand.

  I was silent and looked at her hand, thinking of how to respond.

  She used my silence to continue her argument. “I could give you a child. In fact, I could give you a bunch of children, sweetie, but I’m afraid I would once more be trying to fill a hole that you just won’t let anyone else fill.” And then she said it. “I do love you, Oliver, but I just deserve better. And so do you.” Her voice broke.

  I looked her straight in the eye now and then softly wiped away the one single tear she would ever shed over me.

  “I’m sorry, Claire,” I said. I lifted her hand to my mouth and planted a kiss on it.

  Claire took a deep breath and then quickly recomposed herself, as she was so good at doing. She gave me a sweet smile and said, “This wasn’t your fault, so don’t apologize. I let those beautiful baby blue eyes of yours cloud my good judgement.”

  She then gave my hand a little squeeze, stood up, straightened her back and walked over to the first person who would be able to engage her in a pleasant conversation.

  * * *

  That evening she wanted me to drop her off at her father’s. She would give me a call in the morning to talk about how we would go about this. I drove home alone, and I was supposed to feel sad or at least something resembling failure, but I felt strangely calm. It was late, but I fished my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed my dad.

  “Hey, is everything okay?” his sleepy voice said on the other end.

  “Yeah. Listen Dad, I don’t think this will really come as a surprise to you, but I’m just calling to tell you that Claire and I have decided to end it. I’m sorry for calling you so late with this, but I didn’t want you or Mom to find out by someone else. You know how fast these things travel.”

  He remained quiet.

  “Are you there?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he quickly said. “And how are you doing, kiddo?” he asked.

  I was thirty-four and my dad still called me kiddo; that thought made me smile. It was comforting.

  “I’ve been through worse,” I said, and I could hear my dad sigh.

  “It’s moments like these that a parent feels useless. I wish I could spare you all this heartache,” he said sadly.

  “I’m fine. Really,” I reassured him. “Go back to sleep. Give Mom a heads-up in the morning and tell her I’ll call as soon as I can.”

  “Okay, you should think about coming to visit us. Your mother and I really want to see you,” he said. “And Olly?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I love you,” he said.

  “I love you too, Dad.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  OLIVER

  2015

  * * *

  My father died at exactly 6 p.m. It was a Monday afternoon and he was looking for something in the shed — I don’t recall what — when he fell to the ground... and that was it... he was gone. A vigorous, strong man. It was one of those things that can’t be explained and are then defined as unfair, bad luck and it wasn’t his time.

  I have tried but cannot remember many of the details of his death. I mostly remember the image of my mom... inconsolable; crying, sobbing, weeping.

  His funeral was as all funerals are — a gathering of friends and family dressed in black trying to give their support, then eating your food, drinking your wine and saying good-bye. And anyone who has lost someone they loved profoundly recognizes the agonizing feeling that hits in when everybody has left and all that remains is silence and an indescribable feeling of surrealness.

  After the funeral Claire and Brandon kept us company for a while longer. Their plane would leave the day after, so they were spending the night in a hotel. As soon as they left, my mom buried herself under her sheets in bed and didn’t even bother to take her clothes off. My brother and his wife stayed to help me clean up the place and when they had also headed home I turned down all the lights.

  Even though it was pouring, I went for a very long walk. When I came back it was already dark. I was soaki
ng wet so I went upstairs and changed into a black long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans. I checked on my mother but she had cried herself to sleep. I felt very restless, and wandered about in the house until I found myself standing in the treehouse.

  I flipped on the desk lamp and stared around without actually looking. This place, which my father and I had built together. The place where we had shared many beers, where most of my memories where marked and where he was present everywhere. Standing there, I felt almost as if the treehouse was cradling me and sharing my sorrow.

  I don’t know how long I had been standing there when suddenly her voice shook me up. I was completely stunned and couldn’t move. I had missed that voice so much and had longed to hear it again for so many years.

  “I’m so sorry,” she had whispered.

  I slowly turned around and there she was, wet, dressed in a red coat. She hadn’t changed at all. Her face had matured, but her eyes were exactly as I remembered them, warm and youthful and her mouth, still soft and beautifully full. She wore her hair in a thick, long braid that lay across one shoulder and she was looking at me with dark, sad eyes.

  “I came as soon as I heard but couldn’t get an earlier flight. I just couldn’t get here faster. I’m so, so sorry, Olly.”

  I looked at her, staggered, and couldn’t say a word. I felt too overwhelmed by it all; by her. She was actually here.

  “All the lights were out, but I saw that the light in the treehouse was still on and thought it might be you. So I jumped over the fence... just like in the old days,” she said and smiled weakly at the memory.

  I just stood there as if I was looking at a ghost, still silent, my eyes welling up.

  She slowly walked up to me, took my hand and wiped away a tear that I had tried to hold in but couldn’t. And when she put her arms around me and hugged me tightly, I couldn’t keep it together anymore. I fell apart and cried for all my losses — for my child, for my father and for my Erica.