The Nostalgia Effect

by EJ Valson

  When we turn the corner, I almost smack directly into Michael-who is equally startled.

  "Whoa! Sorry!" he says, while placing his hand on his chest. "Steve asked that I come and find you guys. The delivery truck just pulled up," he explains.

  "Oh, I'll hurry down there," Stacy says and heads off. This leaves Michael and me alone in the hall. He looks down and takes in what I'm wearing. Surprisingly, I feel nervous.

  "You look very nice," he says, smiling. I know that he genuinely means it. Michael doesn't try to flatter people. His compliments are sincere.

  "So do you," I reply. He then offers me his arm to link with mine to escort me. I find this uncharacteristically charming, but I accept.

  As we get closer, we part ways and get to work on the party. Stacy and I end up staffing the large tables that we've turned into a bar. Michael takes his place as the "networker" he naturally is and makes his way through the hundred or so people who have shown up for free booze. I get to see him occasionally when he stops by to get guests drinks and make sure I'm OK.

  After a couple of hours, we open up the bar for self-serve and go out to join everyone else on the small, makeshift dance floor. Michael and I float around the room, making small talk with the guests. Occasionally we touch base and sneak around a corner to steal a kiss, and then return to our separate duties. It's like a well-rehearsed dance, one that we still do in our future life when we're at parties or events. Will we ever do this dance again?

  By midnight, most everyone but a few stragglers have left the party. We clean up as fast as possible and head back to our rooms. Stacy is exhausted and hurrying ahead. Steve has already gone to bed and Michael and I slowly shuffle down the hall, drained from an unforgettable and wonderful week.

  I've resigned to walking barefoot, as my feet can't handle high heels after standing all day. Michael keeps his pace with mine. He walks so close to me we could trip over each other at any misstep.

  "You tired?" he asks in a hushed tone. I am, but I don't want that to stop me from spending the night with him. The last night with him.

  "Not enough to sleep," I answer flirtatiously. "I'll be back soon," I tell Michael, leaving him by his door.

  I follow Stacy into our room. When I get in there, she's already flopped down on her bed, still dressed, but barefoot. "Goodnight," she says, yawning. Moments later I hear her breathing deeply.

  I grab my toothbrush, a change of clothes and my phone, then slip out of the room just as I have each night before. My heart is racing as I quietly make my way back to Michael's room. I lightly tap on the door with my knuckle, seconds later it opens.

  "Hi," he says, then immediately proceeds to pull me in and kiss me before the door closes.

  I take it all in and embrace the moment. I let go of my fears, reservations and everything that has ever stopped me from being in the moment with Michael in all the years we've been together. This could be it. This could be the last night that I ever get with him and I'm not going to waste it on fear or any other ridiculous thoughts that could take this moment away from me. Tonight I'm jumping in and swimming in it.

  CHAPTER 80

  I hear rain tapping on the window. It's early, but I can't tell what the time is. I try to turn over, but I'm tangled in the sheets and entangled with Michael's body. I manage to sit up enough to see the clock on the bedside table. It's only 6:30 a.m. We have three hours until we have to get up and get ready to leave. I rest my head back on his chest and listen to his heartbeat. I get lost in the rhythm of his deep, restful breathing. I wonder if he's dreaming, and if so, what he's dreaming about.

  I couldn't sleep as well as I'd hoped. Even after a wonderful night at the party and spending the night with Michael, I'm restless with worry. All I can do is stare above at the grayish-white ceiling and mentally search for answers on what to do next. Images from the previous night flash through my head. The gentle way he held me. The way he took his time to kiss me softly. Nothing was rushed, and nothing was left unsaid-verbally or otherwise.

  Within twenty-four hours I'll be back in the States. I will prepare to face what could be the end of my life, or a dim continuation of another. Fear and hope battle within me, but I'm not sure which one will win.

  I feel Michael's hand brush the side of my face as he turns towards me. "You're awake early," he whispers.

  "Can't sleep," I respond, careful not to expose my anguish.

  He pulls me into him and I fold instinctively. "What's wrong?" he asks, softly pecking my neck. I shrug, as I'm unable to speak.

  He reaches over my body and nudges me, indicating that he wants me to turn over and face him. I know there are things that must be said. I know this is the last chance I may get to tell him how I feel, but I have to be cautious in my approach. I worry that I'll scare him if I say too much. This younger version of Michael is still emotionally naive. He hasn't yet been through the experiences that will challenge and mature him.

  I look into his eyes. My husband's eyes. He looks back into mine as if they're unfamiliar and new, but his are the eyes that I used to see every day. The same ones that locked with mine briefly when we kissed hello, goodbye or goodnight. And today may be the last time I ever look into them again. I close my eyes and fight back the tears that are sure to come. I'm grateful for the lack of light in the room so he can't see my emotional struggle.

  I place my hand on his cheek. "I need you to listen, OK?" I whisper. His brow instantly furrows with confusion, but he remains still-with his eyes locked on mine. I think back to the first time I met him in my real life. I recall how easy it was to be around him, even though I wasn't interested in pursuing any type of relationship. Within the first few moments that we met, we were naturally comfortable with each other. I just didn't want to give him a chance. I smile a bit when thinking back to how my feelings changed so drastically.

  "When you came into my life, you were everything I didn't expect, and you became everything I ever wanted. You were every dream I ever had, every prayer answered. You saved me," I say, pausing to fight back tears.

  "Hey?" he gently interrupts.

  "Wait...let me finish," I reply, softly placing my finger over his lips. "I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow, or the next day or any day, for that matter. And this may not make sense to you, but I just need to say these things in case I don't get a chance to later." Michael reluctantly nods in agreement and waits for me to continue.

  "I want you to know that there is no one else in this world that I will EVER feel for in the way I feel about you. I know this seems really sudden considering how long we've known each other, but you need to know this," I explain.

  He looks at me in silence. I can see his younger mind struggling to process the seriousness of my words. It's a large proclamation on my part, and I imagine it frightens him in some way. But if I don't make my way back and I drift away, at least he will know how I feel.

  "In every part of my soul, I know that we're supposed to be together. I know that we were supposed to find each other, and I believe that I was put on this earth specifically for you?and you for me. We were born separated, by age, time and distance, but managed to find each other anyway. That's miraculous to me," I say, swallowing hard to hold back my tears.

  My jaw aches with tension, but I force myself to continue. "No matter what happens, no matter where we end up, I just want you to know, Michael, that I love you. And I can't ever thank you enough for every gift you ever gave me by being a part of my life."

  I think of Stella in that moment. I think of how he has been a good step-father to Olivia. I remember all the sacrifices he made to be with me, the life he started with us, and how I selfishly took it for granted. Through all the years that we've been together, I've never been so honest with Michael. It's unfortunate that it took losing him and losing our life, to profess all of this, but I meant it. I take a deep breath and fully exhale. Now there's nothing left unsaid.

  Michael remains quiet. I'm beginning to feel self-co
nscious at his lack of response. I worry that he regrets the time he's spent with me. I am scared that he now thinks I'm crazy or jumping in too soon. Suddenly, he pulls me in close and holds me tight. I'm taken aback by his gesture, but I awkwardly hang on to him, almost suffocating in his embrace.

  "I have to tell you something," he says, his head buried in my neck. I pull away in hopes of him revealing his feelings for me. I found him looking down, appearing to be searching for his words. He swallows hard and takes a breath.

  "I'm moving," he timidly replies.

  "What?" I ask, now confused and disappointed.

  He sits up straight and begins to get nervous. "I was offered a job. It's in New Zealand, and I start next month," he admits.

  My heart sinks, it breaks, and burns. Blood is rushing to my head and away from my body. If I weren't already lying down, I would probably faint.

  Michael can tell I'm in disbelief. "Jen, you have to understand, I didn't think we would get so serious so fast. I didn't think I would get a job offer, but I have a friend who just moved there and he helped me get the position. I would be stupid to pass it up," he says, almost doubtfully. I wonder if he's trying to convince me or himself.

  Though moving for a job isn't the worst thing Michael could have told me, the fact that he's taken his life in a different direction from what he did in his life before makes me doubt that we would have ended up together at all. What changed?

  I take a deep breath and halfheartedly nod in agreement. He would be a fool to not take this opportunity. He just turned twenty-three years old. His whole life's ahead of him, and now I know it's a life that most likely wouldn't have included me after all. Even though I'm a little heartbroken at the realization that our fate would have been different, I am even more certain that deciding to try and go back is absolutely crucial.

  "You would be dumb to pass it up," I concede.

  He pleadingly takes my hand. "Please don't be upset with me. Please don't stop speaking to me. I do love you, Jen. I still want you to be a part of my life," he assures me.

  His life. He has no idea what his life actually was almost a year ago. There have been so many instances where the distance between us was physically vast during our relationship. Yet now, in this moment, it's painfully obvious that even though we still managed to find each other, and once again proclaimed feelings for each other, we aren't just hours and miles apart anymore. We are literally an entire realm away. The gap must be closed.

  I place my hands on both sides of his face, lean in and gently kiss his forehead. "I'm always going to be a part of your life."

  CHAPTER 81

  I'm more than exhausted when I finally get home from England. The flight home was long and no amount of little liquor bottles could get me to sleep. It's after 11:00 p.m. when I walk into the house. I am grateful that Joe's asleep in the spare bedroom and Olivia is passed out in her own bed, as I'm in no shape to be social.

  I gently kiss her goodnight so as not to wake her and tiptoe back to my bedroom to go to bed. I don't even care about brushing my teeth or washing my face. All I want to do is slip under my sheets, forget all of this heartache and let it go.

  After closing my eyes, I keep seeing Michael and the sad look on his face as we parted ways at the airport. I recall the feeling of his breath on my neck as he whispered that he loved me one last time. My young love, so ignorant to the reality of my current life. Sweet and innocent and untouched by hard choices. Unaware of our lost life together that may never come to be.

  There's only one week left until I do the "procedure." I feel like there's so much to do, as if I'm moving or taking a long, dangerous trip. But what can I do? I can't prepare a will, or pack, or stop the mail. I can only worry about Olivia. What if I don't make it over to the other side and I slip away mentally? I haven't given Joe any clue as to what's about to happen. It's now occurring to me that I owe him that. But how? How do I present this information to him? How do I tell him goodbye without saying goodbye?

  All this time I've been thinking about myself and what happens if this does or doesn't work, but the one person I really haven't considered is Joe. If it does work, I wouldn't have told him "thank you." Even though he won't remember if I do. I have to keep in mind that when I get back to my real life, Joe and I won't be the way we are now. We don't even speak much in my other life. And now that I know him in this way, I'm sad that I'll lose that relationship. I'm sad that Olivia will be caught in the middle again.

  If I don't get back, I still want him know how much I appreciate everything he's done for us-done for me. I want him to know that I care. And I need to know that he will take care of Olivia and make sure she remembers good things about me and how much I loved her.

  "Screw it," I whisper loudly, sitting up in bed. It's going to be a long night. There will be no rest for me. I flip on the bedside lamp and grab a piece of paper and pencil from the nightstand drawer. I try to think of what to write and what approach to take, but end up doodling circles instead-a perfect representation of my life.

  After thirty minutes of hesitation, I finally jot down the things I think are important, like bank account numbers and authorization for my mother to withdraw those funds if I'm incapable of caring for myself. I write my parents letters filled with words of gratitude and love.

  Then I write Olivia a letter. I tell her how much I love her and that I'll ALWAYS love her. And if someday I should disappear and be unable to tell her myself, to know that I carry that love within me. I find a picture of the two of us that was taken at Christmas and place it in the letter. I tell her to always remember the feeling of that moment, of her sitting on my lap with my arms wrapped around her, happy and smiling at the camera.

  Finally, I write Joe. I tell him how thankful I am that we've become friends and raised a wonderful daughter together. I tell him that he's a great father and to always let Olivia know how much I love her. And last, I tell him to find his true love and enjoy every minute of the time he has with her.

  I seal each envelop with the names boldly scribbled on the outside and tuck them in the drawer in the nightstand. I remind myself to leave them on the dining table before going to Astrid's on Sunday. And then I pray that they will never have to be opened.

  CHAPTER 82

  It's a rough start to the morning, as I only manage to get three hours of sleep before Olivia runs to my room and smothers me with hugs and kisses. Joe wakes up shortly after that and kindly makes coffee before redirecting Olivia to the kitchen for breakfast so I can sleep in.

  After lying in bed for thirty more minutes, I force myself to get up and into the shower. All of the nerves and anxiety I felt the night before have awakened inside and are ready to play with my head again.

  Once I'm somewhat ready, I shuffle to the living room, kiss Olivia on the head while she eats and get myself some coffee. I notice Joe in the backyard getting out the lawn mower to cut the grass I've let overgrow.

  I watch him as he moves methodically in rows until he's satisfied with the job. He puts the mower away, waters the grass and flowers and heads back inside.

  "I should take off," he says, stepping into the house.

  "Oh, OK. Thanks for taking care of that," I reply.

  He nods and lets out an "mmm hmm."

  "Hey, do you think we could get together later this week and talk?" I ask him.

  He pauses for a minute. I can tell by his body language this request stresses him. He probably thinks it's more divorce talk, and that tends to put him on guard.

  "What about?" he asks.

  "Don't worry, nothing major. I just wanted to go over a few things," I reassure him.

  He sighs. "OK, how about Wednesday after work?" he suggests.

  We agree and he departs a few minutes later, leaving me and Olivia alone together. I watch from the kitchen as she sits on her knees on the couch, enthralled by her television show. I study her round little face, perfect rosebud lips and big blue eyes. She will only get prettier wit
h age. And by the time she's in middle school, she will almost be taller than me. We will start sharing clothes at age twelve. Even though she'll be in her "tween" phase, she will occasionally cuddle with me, letting me know that she's still my baby. But today, at age five, she doesn't know these things. Olivia has no concept of the relationship and life that we have somewhere else. Just like all the other people I love.

  I put my coffee cup down and walk over to her. I sit down beside her and wrap my arms around her. She willingly moves into my lap and places her arm across me. "I love you, Mama," she says. I close my eyes and take it all in. Her scent, her warmth, the weight of her small body.

  I look down at her and notice she is looking up at me, smiling. "I love you too, baby," I respond. I see the depth in her eyes, the sweet soul behind them. I think of Stella, who may never be. I squeeze her again tightly and close my eyes. And I love you too, Stella?.wherever you are.

  Hours later I get enough energy to tidy up the house, unpack and start laundry. Olivia plays in the back yard with bubbles and her big pink ball. The house is quiet, which I prefer as I complete my mundane tasks. My senses are over-heightened as I make my way through the day. Every time I eat something, I smell it, and try to enjoy the taste-savoring what could be the last time I smell or eat that particular food.