Page 105 of I'll Look for You, Everywhere
What do I say? Yes, I’ve learned to forget. To shut up and listen to Dr Savoy explain the origination of monogamy, of giving your soul to another human, even when it’s with the woman who has stolen away my childhood. How do you interrupt and say, ‘Excuse me, but your wife has been giving her soul to my father while taking yours.’
She has taken out parts of him so slowly that it’ll be too late before he realizes he can’t stand straight if she doesn’t remind him how. Dr Savoy, for all of the accolades and discoveries, would crumble without sitting down with Vittoria at the kitchen table every day when he gets home. So you don’t say anything. You stay silent and hope you’ll eventually forget seeing the black mascara smudged under her eyes, and how she rocked herself sadly.
‘We all have to forgive eventually,’ I say lamely. ‘It’s easier than carrying this shit all the time.’ Do I believe this? In theory. But knowing about Vittoria’s abuse of Magdalen makes it difficult to keep my promise of forgiveness. My hands ball into tight fists until the wooden bench scrapes the skin of my knuckles raw.
Magdalen whirls her head. ‘This is bullshit.’ Her voice is barely above a whisper, but the weight of what I’ve told her is heavy in every word. ‘I don’t see you forgiving your father ever, right? But just because my mum can cry a little, it doesn’t make her any more redeemable than him.’
‘My father and your mother are not the same.’
She dips her head and pulls at her hair. ‘You don’t know anything about my fucking mother,’ she says harshly. ‘All these years of us claiming to be these successful families, here we are. Selfish, broken, abused.’ The last word slips out and I know she regrets it by the way her body tenses, as if feeling the aftershock of her admission.
‘I am so sorry for what you had to witness, Theo. But to know that my father has been living underneath the shadow of her mistakes all these years...’ She shakes her head. ‘And that you knew.’ She angrily wipes away the tears that have resurfaced and I can feel her leave me before she even says the words. I don’t try to wipe the tears away, because this is the end. I should let myself cry at the end.
‘You knew and you ran away.’ To think that I found the love of my life. I should have known it could never be that easy. I say goodbye in my mind before she does, and this time I know she cannot read my thoughts. Connection severed. A limp string lying between us.
‘You knew and you fucked me.’
‘I know.’ I knew every time I kissed her, touched her, breathed her name and thought of being inside her, that it would eventually end because I knew and continued to want her anyway.
‘I should go inside.’ Magdalen stands up. I want to scream.
‘I should, too.’ I stay seated, my body unable to process such a heavy loss. It happened so quickly, no time to mourn. I try to stand up but it’s like my bones have been hollowed out. They’re still here but they’re less.
‘You should hug your mum,’ Magdalen says.
‘Will you tell anyone?’ I ask dumbly. How could I lose you before I even told you that I love you?
‘I don’t know,’ she says and sighs. ‘The wedding is in two weeks. I don’t want to ruin everyone’s excitement.’
‘Of course. I understand.’
‘I’m going to leave now.’
‘Sure.’ Stay.
‘I’m sorry for you, but I have to go.’
‘Stop apologizing, Magdalen.’
‘Sure,’ she says in defeat. ‘I’ll see you at the wedding.’
All the years of panic attacks are nothing to the emptiness of watching Magdalen go back inside her house, away from me. Because of a secret from seventeen years ago. If I had known that this is what Dr Savoy spoke about, I would have come home to her every weekend. I would have read her favourite books and sat next to her at dinner. We could have had time. I used to think that the more time between me and that awful memory meant it would consume me less. But now? My hands clasp tightly together, my muscles shaking in exhaustion. To think, people get lifetimes of this love, and all I have to cherish are a few summer nights.
56
MAGDALEN
The wedding comes. Two weeks without exchanging a smile, let alone a word with Theo. Marta drops off my dress. It’s pale green, she says, to match my eyes.
Oxford mails the course catalogue for next semester. Am I excited to go back? Excited to be alone, yes. To stay in the bathroom for two hours and not have anyone knock on the door. I’m excited to drink heavily without someone asking if I’m okay.
I consider dying on Monday. Anika pats my shoulder when I start crying at the tennis club. I told her that things just didn’t work with Theo and she didn’t probe me for more, probably suspecting that it would end quickly. I drink four beers on Wednesday. When I see Theo at the cafe in Torino on Friday with Dante and two other guys, he just stares at me through the glass. No half smile, no frown, nothing. I feel like I’m at the zoo, watching Theo through this clear cage between us. I’m not sure which one of us is the animal but I suspect it’s me. Except, I realize I crave entrapment. I desire confinement. So we’d be forced to coexist. Surrounded only by the strong smell of freshly ground coffee and his beautiful mind.
I want to forget that I know what he knows and curl around him tightly until we can both push out this memory. I stare back through the window and continue walking down the street.
On the day of the wedding, my mother ignores me and I spit at her heels when she turns around. She cries when Lucia comes down the stairs into the kitchen, wearing a robe, holding the silky white dress in her hands. Lucia’s gaze goes past my mother and she smiles at me. She looks radiant. I smile back. My mother yells for my father to get the camera and my mind spins.
I look down to see I’m standing in the same spot my mother hit me all those years ago. How funny. Should I remind her about that? Remind her how she used to poke fun at me for being shy around boys. When she rolled her eyes because I said I was scared to kiss Romeo on stage. I rush to the bathroom, pretending to need my lip gloss, and close the door behind me. My fingers curl around the basin. Just breathe. My father’s footsteps, in his brand-new shoes, click loudly against the tile of the kitchen floor.
