I stand in the balcony door, halfway in the hotel suite, starting out over the vineyards of Napa Valley in the spring twilight. The setting sun floods our room with a golden light, tinting its contents in warm hues.
I'm still in the silk night clothes, my half of the matching set he bought us several Christmases ago. The evening isn't cold, but moving air will occasionally send a breeze cool enough to raise goosebumps and tiny shivers.
This weekend, our anniversary, was supposed to be time away from stress. It was supposed to be away from worries. And now this. What am I supposed to think? How am I supposed to react to this? What should I do? What should I say?
I hear him stir, still in bed, my other half of our matching set. He's probably kicking off the covers again. He can't manage to stay under the blankets in freezing cold, and it's almost warm out.
He's always been a night person, though after today it sounds like there's a good reason for that. I didn't know that they could, that they really needed sleep. I thought that people like him just... well, there's a lot that I don't know. Apparently.
Did he not think he could trust me? Is this something he felt that he had to keep secret? What does that say about me? What's it say about us?
He steps up behind me, and I feel his big hands digging in and pulling away my tension. He feels so good. Those strong hands, those toned arms, always there for me, always perfect. Such a good man.
I wish... I wish I had known. He could have told me, didn't need to hide it from me. And now this. I don't know if we can put things back together. Or maybe they were never together to begin with. Maybe this was all just a lie. Maybe this was all a two-hundred-year-old messing with a twenty-year-old, now forty-year-old.
I thought we were going to grow old together. I was convinced. That's how these things work. You're supposed to find someone, someone sweet and caring, someone who you'd be able to make a family with. You're supposed to find someone just like him.
This is the life people dream about. I thought we had it, that I'd won the happily ever after. He certainly seems that way to me.
His hands smooth the tension out of my shoulders, the pain intense but coupled with sweet relaxation. I should turn around, I should yell at him. This should be a fight. But what if he told me something else? What if he said that he knew there was a chance of Alzheimer's? Would I leave him then?
But somehow this is so much more. Somehow this changes more than any waves of forgetfulness that might come with old age or dementia. We'll need to move. A lot. We'll need to disappear, or he'll need to leave me. Maybe that isn't a right now problem. What will happen to my parents? Our friends? What will happen to our kids?
What will happen to our kids? They'll find out, eventually. They'll have to. Maybe they already suspect something, I did. But I suppose it's too late to change that now. We'll need to tell them something no matter what...
He shifts. His right arm crosses over my stomach, so warm. I always thought that people with his condition were supposed to be cold and pale. Ghost white and fanged, like in the movies. They were supposed to be lifeless and cruel, not, not him. His lips brush my shoulders and caress my neck. I sigh, thinking of the beauty of his carved muscles and the gentleness of his touch, letting the electricity of the embrace wash over me.
If my friends find out, they'll say that he seduced me. They'll say that he used me for these past twenty years, that I'm some crutch to let him feel normal, to let him pretend to be normal. But thinking about those times, the life we lead, I can't see how.
If he were manipulating me, then we wouldn't have fights, we wouldn't have disagreements. If he were trying to force me, if he were using mind control, then would it even be possible for him to fake this level of intimacy? Wouldn't it all seem distant, like my life was happening to someone else?
My friends can't find out. They can't. If they do, then he will have to leave. Or, if he stays, that will be the end of him, and I don't want that. I don't want him to go; I don't want to be without him.
He pulls at me, though I don't want to move, not yet. I take one of his hands and hold it, pulling it to my face, feeling the rough texture of his hand against my cheek. I breathe in his scent, and I want to go with him to join him in bed again, to celebrate our time together, all of the happiness, all of the passion we've ever had. I want to join him and spend this time in our perfect intimacy.
I can't though, not yet. I don't want to deny him, but I'm going to have to make a decision. If it isn't something that I need to decide right now, then I'll need to decide eventually. And while taking time to forget will feel good, this decision will be a shadow on anything we might do. It will live in the back of my mind, stealing the joy and replacing it with doubt. Better to choose now. Then this can be our last time before everything changes.
Thinking about the past twenty years, we've been through so much. We've had so much joy. I think of all of the hardships we had together, exploding water heaters, squirrels in the attic, crashed cars, and he was always there. He was always there when things were hard, and that isn't something that can be faked, that can be "mind magic'd" away. I think of all of the joyful times, of the celebrations, of the laughter, and the small things.
There have been countless romantic gestures, so much more powerful than just hearing the words, "I love you." He cares about me: he cares that I am happy.
But if he cares, then why didn't he tell me? Why did he wait so long? Why wait until he was caught? Why not tell me? Why did he keep this secret?
We've been together for twenty years. All this time.
Most couples lie to each other. A third of them even cheat on each other. Was this something that bad? Was this so much worse than cheating? He didn't even lie, not really. Was this more destructive, somehow worse for us than unfaithfulness would be? More importantly: if he had told me he was having an affair but wanted forgiveness, would I say no? Could I say no?
I don't think I could. So, if I would be willing to forgive infidelity, could I be willing a secret like this one?
But this secret isn't like an affair. This secret is more important, isn't it? Infidelity is something that you choose. Did he choose to be changed? I don't even know. There is so much about this that I don't know. Does that matter?
We said, "in sickness and in health," does that cover "unhealth?" Does that cover secrets from before I was even born? Maybe it does. Maybe this is something that I need to give him. I don't need to be changed, but maybe this part of the promises I've made, the vows we took.
If I don't be changed, in a few years, though, we'll still need to leave, or he'll be caught. Then we'll need to uproot again, and again. Every time we move, we'll seem more and more off. Eventually, I'm going to be a ninety-year-old woman who's dating a thirty-year-old. He'd be my live-in pool boy. All of the other seniors would be jealous. I'd be OK with that. I'd be OK.
But I could join him, too. We'd move just as often, but we would be together for centuries.
We would be together for centuries. We'd love, holding each other, keeping each other safe among trials and misfortunes. We'd laugh, and we wouldn't need to worry about the end. There would be no "death do us part": there would be no more death.
I turn and face him, steeling myself to talk through the implications of any decision, ready to go over all of the uncertainty, want to talk reason with him, but I fail. Before I can make the first syllable, my body slips and chooses. Before I can even say a word, I see those gorgeous gray eyes and that kind face, the face which has not changed since before we were together. I see that half smirk, the one that tells me that he's happy for us, and not just him. I see him, and I don't want to fight. I pull into him, pressing lips against lips.
As we reach the bed, falling into the joys of our intertwining bodies, I know what I want, and I know what it means. I want to be with this man forever.
