Love in the Present Tense

by Catherine Ryan Hyde

  “Now I can play games on the laptop,” he said. “Now I can play with Zonker and not get Pebbles by mistake. Are you sure you could afford them, though?”

  But I was somewhere else completely. “What?”

  “Are you sure they didn’t cost too much?”

  “Don’t even worry about that. Just enjoy them.”

  “Yuh,” he said. “I do. Already. Mitch? Does Bar like me?”

  “Well, of course she does. Everybody likes you. You’re Leonard. How could anybody not like Leonard? I mean, what’s not to like?”

  “Know what the best thing about these glasses is? I can see Pearl in a lot more places.”

  I opened my mouth like I was about to say something. I think I was about to ask what the hell he was talking about. Then I closed my mouth again and didn’t even bother.

  She had me flat on my back, half draped across me. I was trying to get my breathing back. Maybe Cahill was right. Someday when she was done with me I’d end up six feet under. I still figured I was getting a good deal.

  When I could breathe enough to say it, I said, “When I dreamed about the time you would actually sleep with me…”

  “Yes?”

  “I thought there’d be some sleeping involved.”

  “You can sleep tomorrow night.” I got the impression that she thought we weren’t done yet. I tried to think of a polite way to correct her. “I need a drink of water,” she said.

  “Don’t go yet,” I said. “Don’t go for a minute.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. Just don’t.”

  I rolled on top of her and held her for a minute, up on my elbows to spare her the bulk of my weight, the full length of our bodies pressed together.

  Somehow I never seemed to end up on top. Well, not never. But not often. Only in the most intense states of abandon. And she always had to go when it was over. If only to get a glass of water. Somehow I thought it could be different just this one time. Somehow I thought we were breaking new ground, or that we could, if I just pushed a little harder. But I doubt I had admitted all that to myself at the time.

  She ran her hands through the back of my hair for a moment. Kissed me on the forehead.

  “Minute’s up,” she said. “I’m thirsty.”

  She rolled me off her, threw back the covers, and stood. I lay with my hands clasped behind my head, taking her in. Thinking this night would last weeks if it had to. I hoped it wouldn’t have to.

  The moon was strong that night, one or two days before or after full. I was amazed she would stand there in front of me naked in so strong a light. She had ways of avoiding these things.

  Then she grabbed my red corduroy shirt off the chair back and put it on. Maybe she heard me thinking. Maybe she saw me taking her in, memorizing her to hold in store for the lean times, like those survivalists with six months’ worth of dried food secreted away in the garage. Maybe she just liked to wear my shirts. I had this theory that it was her way of getting closer, getting into my skin, but safely. Of course that theory supposed that she wanted more of me, so perhaps it was too optimistic. But somehow I don’t think so. There was another level to her. Just because she didn’t give it away for free didn’t mean it wasn’t under there somewhere.

  “Don’t kill yourself walking around down there,” I said.

  “I nearly did, on the way up here. What is all that stuff?”

  “We’re cleaning out that extra room. That storage room. It’s all going into a rented storage space, and then we’re going to fix that room up for Leonard.”

  She was buttoning the shirt as I explained this, but she stopped. Just stopped with a button in one hand and a buttonhole in the other, freeze-frame. Then the film began to roll again, but I knew I’d seen what I’d seen. I wanted it to go away; I wanted to think it meant nothing, to forget it. But it didn’t feel like something destined to go away on its own.

  She walked over to the window, opened one slat of the blinds, and peered out, kind of aimlessly, not like she really expected to see anything. A band of light from the street-lamp fell across her face; her hair was beautifully disheveled, that just-ravished hairstyle.

  “Why?” she said.

  “Boy should have a room of his own. Besides, it makes his social worker happy.”

  “Why should he have it here, though? He’s not your boy.”

  I didn’t answer right off. I fought a coldness inside, almost a mild shock. I remembered Leonard’s voice when he asked me if “Bar” liked him. I think that was the first moment I realized Leonard knew more than I did. The first of many, believe me.

  “Why not here?” I said.

  “Why not? Think, Mitchell. Think where you are in your career. Think of all the responsibility that’s just been laid on your shoulders. Who do you think told him you could handle it? This is a hell of a time to suddenly decide to become a single father.”

  “I can handle it,” I said. “You told him that because you knew it was true.”

  “I don’t think you know what’s involved in parenting.”

  “I’m sure I don’t,” I said. “But I can handle it.”

  She just stood there, staring through the blinds at nothing. The tension in the room felt palpable, as if it might materialize into some recognizable form at any moment. In a calm, dispassionate sense, this was a fight. We’d never had one, and I hadn’t seen this one coming. Leonard had.

  “I’m not sure if I can,” she said.

  “What?”

  “I think you heard me.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying I raised two of my own, it was damn hard work, and I feel I’ve earned the right not to hassle with kids anymore.”

  I swung my legs over the side of the bed. I was headed up and across the room in her direction, but I realized I was angry, and I didn’t want to come off as aggressive as I felt. I didn’t want to come at her that way. So I just sat there on the edge of the bed, naked, trying to fathom what had shifted between us.

  “You act like you fucking live here,” I said. “What could you possibly have to hassle with? You come in the middle of the night, you stay an hour or two, and you slip away. He’s asleep when you come and when you go. I should be so lucky that you’re here enough to be burdened by my actual life.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way,” she said. She took off my shirt and dropped it on the floor, then gathered her own clothes and began to dress. I knew she was leaving, and I felt deeply cheated, because just this once she was supposed to have stayed the night. “If this is falling so short of your expectations, you should have told me.”

  “Oh, Christ, Barb, don’t. Don’t do this. I can’t believe you’re leaving.”

  “Well, I am,” she said. “Believe it or not.”

  I had the awful feeling that she was leaving in a more permanent sense. That she was telling me this was it. It was over. I sat there watching her dress, thinking of a dozen different ways to ask, but none of them panned out right. No matter what the phrasing of the question, I sensed the danger that she might answer.

  “Give me some time to think about this,” she said and headed down my ladder-stairs for the door.

  I just sat frozen for a moment. Then it struck me that she was leaving, really leaving, and I had so much more fight in me. So much to ask, so much to say.

  “Barbara!”

  I yelled it out, risking waking Leonard. Then I hopped around trying to get both legs into my jeans at once. No answer. I suddenly felt as if my sanity depended on not letting her get out that door. Then I heard the door snap shut. I took the ladder two steps at a time, a kind of Russian roulette for a broken leg, but it worked. I ran to the door, threw it open again.

  “Barbara!” I shouted again. Then silence.

  I stood staring out into the moonlight. I couldn’t even see which way she had gone.

  “Damn it!”

  I slammed the door hard, then kicked it even harder. Not toes first, I’m not th
at stupid. Kicked it with the flat of my foot, leading with my heel. But I didn’t feel any better, so I threw my body against it, yelling “Shit” at the same time, then slid down into a sit with my back against the door. Everything had drained out of me, there was nothing left to kick, and I didn’t feel one bit better.

  I looked up to see Leonard sitting up on the couch, with his new glasses on, watching me.

  “Mitch?” he said. “What happened, Mitch?”

  “Nothing. Nothing happened.”

  “Yuh, it did.”

  I promised myself I would never thoughtlessly, automatically lie to him again.

  “You don’t have to put anything in the cuss jar for that,” he said. “I understand.”

  I lay on my back on the bed with just my jeans on, with Leonard by my side.

  “Light a candle?” he said, and I did.

  He curled up against my arm, hugging it the way an adult hugs a whole human being, a kind of miniature spoons position. “Thanks,” he said. “I’m sorry you’re sad.”

  “It’s okay.”

  We were quiet for a while, and then he said, “Do you know what forever love is?”

  “I don’t think so.” I couldn’t really think. But if I had been able to think, I don’t think that would have helped. I think I really didn’t know.

  “Pearl taught me. It’s when you love somebody so much that no matter what happens that’ll never change. Like even if you’re gone. It’s still the same. Even if you die. You die, but not the love. Not forever love. Know what I mean?”

  I thought he was trying to refer to something between me and Barb, because that’s where my head was, and in that context, no, I wasn’t sure what he meant.

  He reached out and put his hand on my chest, feeling around for a heartbeat. Pearl must have done this with him, I thought. A kid this young doesn’t make these rituals up on his own. Or does he? I wasn’t sure.

  When he was sure he had my heart, he held his hand still, and it felt warm against my skin. “That’s how much I love you, Mitch. Okay? Do you feel better now?” Then a second later he said, “I didn’t mean to make you cry, Mitch.”

  “No, it’s okay. It’s a good thing. Thank you. Thanks for the forever love. It helps.”

  “Yuh,” Leonard said. “I know.”

  When I was sure he was asleep, I reached for the phone. Managed to inch over slightly to get it without disturbing him.

  I dialed her cell, because I knew she couldn’t be home yet.

  Two rings. She answered by saying, “Hello, Mitchell.” Then, “Just got him back to sleep, did you?” We were both silent for a beat or two, and then she said, “I guess I don’t understand why you feel the need to keep him.”

  I could feel the weight of him on my arm. The candlelight flickered across us and made us look like all part of the same being somehow, a complex but single organism. I wondered if I could answer without crying again.

  “I’m lonely,” I said. “Can you understand that?”

  Silence on the line and I thought maybe I’d lost her, in more ways than one. Maybe she’d gone out of range.

  “Of course I can,” she said at last. Her voice sounded soft. Softer than usual. “I just can’t fix it for you.”

  Then the connection broke up, and I lost her completely, so I clicked off the phone and just lay there, hoping she’d call back. But of course she never did.

  I lifted Leonard’s new glasses away from his face, carefully angling the earpieces off from around his little ears. I held them up to the candlelight, to see them better. The lenses were clear, new, unscratched. So light compared to the old ones. So much more like what he deserved. I set them on the bedside table and watched him sleep for a while.

  He’d put his hand on my heart and vowed to love me forever. And all I’d done was taken him to an optometrist and bought him a decent pair of glasses. I still owed him big-time.

  After a while I blew out the candle and rolled in his direction. Threw one arm over him so I was more or less hugging him back.

  Forever love.

  I said, “I pledge you back, buddy.” That probably wasn’t fair, to tell him while he was sleeping, but at the time it was what I was able to manage. I said, “You’re not going blind on my watch, buddy. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

  Before I could even finish the last sentence, I’d fallen back into wondering what all this was going to cost. In any number of different currencies.

  The moment she walked in the door of our little work-place, everybody fell quiet.

  Nobody knew she had been “gone,” not really knew. Except me, and possibly Leonard, though we hadn’t discussed it out loud. But there was some kind of tension in that room, she’d brought it in with her, and it ran through everybody like electricity, and nobody made a sound.

  Cahill made a point of trying to catch my eye, and Hannah made a point of avoiding it.

  My stomach felt all cold and shocked inside, a kind of prehistoric flight response, and I was thinking how awful it would be if she had just come on some business-related matter, and wasn’t feeling one bit warmer toward me. I knew this was when I would find out if it was really over. I felt dizzy.

  She strode through all that silence with her confidence intact. Came around behind my desk and put her hands on my shoulders. Very quietly and close to my ear, she asked if she could speak to me privately for a moment. We took it in the kitchen. The loft would have been a lot more private, but it’s my bedroom, so that might have seemed a little weird.

  I leaned back on the counter, and she came within one step of me. I could smell her perfume and her shampoo. Please don’t let this hurt, I was thinking.

  “How can you not like Leonard?” I said. I thought it was brave of me to just come out with that.

  “I do like Leonard. Of course I like Leonard. He’s a great kid. How could anybody possibly not like him?”

  “That’s what I wanted to know.”

  She glanced over her shoulder to the open kitchen doorway. “Do they know enough not to come in here?”

  “Absolutely,” I said.

  And she walked right in and put her arms around me. Rested her head on my shoulder. I held her in return, strangely aware of my hands on her back. Strangely aware of my breathing. I worked at swallowing but it wasn’t the usual piece of cake. I actually had to work at it.

  After a while she lifted her head and pressed her cheek against mine. It put us nearly ear to ear. “I don’t want it to be over,” she whispered.

  I tried to say something back, but it was all such a jumble inside me. Trying to find one single thing to say was like trying to unwind fifty feet of tangled rope without any backtracking or hesitation.

  “I can’t go back to the way it was before I met you,” she said. “I can’t. I need this.”

  I tried to pull my head back, to look at her, but she stopped me. Stopped me with one hand on the back of my head. “No,” she said. “Please. It’s hard for me to say things like this. So don’t say anything and don’t look at me, okay?”

  A moment of silence which must have passed as my assent. It had to. I wasn’t allowed to say anything. Her body, pressed up against me like that, was driving me insane. Not even so much a sexual thing; there was too much on the line for that. It just drove me to get even closer, like I could climb inside her skin and lose this damn separateness that threatened to implode me.

  “I’ve been behaving like a spoiled child,” she said. “And I just hope you can forgive me. I still think you don’t know what you’re getting into, but it’s your business. I reacted the way I did because…” Breathe, Mitch. Swallow. Don’t say anything. “I guess I was enjoying being everything in the world to you. Don’t even say it. Don’t even tell me how selfish and unreasonable that is. I know. I’m sorry.” A long moment of her breath against my ear. Then she said, “You’re not saying anything.”

  “You told me not to.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Well, say something.”
<
br />   But that was harder than it sounded.

  I wanted to say, Well, you’re human. Imagine that. I wanted to say, How incredibly wonderful that you were jealous. I wanted to say, You’re back, nothing else matters. I wanted to say, My God, you actually told me something real.

  But I never got the chance. Just then we heard Cahill’s voice bellow in from the front room. I had never heard Cahill say anything so loud.

  “Hey! Marty!” he shouted. He sounded like he might have learned the voice from Harry. “Marty Broad! How ya doin’, Marty?”

  Barb jumped back a step and I let my hands fall.

  I heard Marty say, “Uh…I’m fine.” Obviously confused by Cahill’s enthusiasm. As anyone would be. Anyone who knew Cahill knew he had no enthusiasm.

  I looked up, and Leonard was standing in the kitchen watching us. I thought about all the things he might possibly say in front of Marty.

  I made a mental note to have a serious talk with the kid.

  LEONARD, age 5: what love isn’t

  Later that evening, when everybody was gone, Mitch said he wanted to talk to me. It sounded kind of serious.

  “Yuh,” I said. “Okay.”

  “It’s very important,” he said, “that you never talk to anybody about Barb. About seeing her over here, about anything that you might see while she’s here. You must never tell anybody that she’s here at night. Especially never say anything in front of Harry or Marty or anybody from Harry’s office, but I think the best way to not make a mistake with that is to not say anything to anybody at all.”

  “Cahill and Hannah and Graff already know,” I said.

  “Yeah, they do. But they know better than to say the wrong thing to the wrong person. And I just want to make sure that you do, too. Do you understand?”

  “No,” I said. “But I won’t say anything.”

  “What don’t you understand?”

  Why would love be a secret? That’s what I didn’t understand. It was pretty confusing. But I didn’t really want Mitch to explain it to me. I didn’t really want to talk about this anymore.