I Married a Master(77)
Author: Melanie Marchande

I swallowed hard. "Really? That doesn’t seem…"

"Fair," she finished for me. "No, it doesn’t. Seeing as it would’ve had a pretty profound effect on my life. I only found out about the Huntington’s through some pretty clever investigative research. I didn’t tell him right away. When I finally asked him, he admitted it ran in the family – and that he knew. He knew whether or not he was going to get sick. But that was all he’d tell me. He was angry, but I never asked about it again. I think that was when I knew it was over. The fact that he’d hide something like that from me. I kept trying to make it work, but I just couldn’t forget. It was as good as a lie, to me. You don’t think to ask someone – when you first start dating, you know, ‘oh, by the way, do you have a neurodegenerative disorder that you’re not telling me about?’"

I exhaled softly. "Maybe he doesn’t."

"Maybe," she said. "Then why hide it? Don’t tell me you haven’t wondered the same thing."

I had. Of course I had. I hated that I had, that me and Daria shared so much in common. I wanted to snarl at her for invading his privacy like that, for trying to involve herself in something so deeply personal. But I was on the verge of doing the same damn thing. How could I possibly go on, not knowing?

"I’ve noticed you two together," she said. "I think Ben expected me to turn tail and run to another city when things fell apart, but I wouldn’t be smoked out. We still pass each other on the street, and he always sees me, but he always pretends not to. He loves you, Jenna. And I can tell you love him. I just want you to know, that’s not always enough." She blinked heavily. "Some things can’t be repaired."

"Is that a threat?" I demanded.

"No," she said. "It’s a statement of fact." She exhaled, slowly. "A regret, if you will. We both did a lot of things out of spite, but I hope he came out of our relationship a better man. He thinks everything I do is for some evil ulterior motive, because that’s the story that suits him. But if I could see him be happy, I’d sleep a little easier at night." She smiled, faintly. "I know I seem like a stalker. If you don’t know the whole story, it certainly comes across that way. But we were obsessed with each other, at an age when that means something. It’s hard to disentangle. I might have been the one who walked away, but he was the one who left. Long before we were ever apart, there was nothing left between us. But we had to cling to the only thing we knew."

I stared at her, trying to understand. She wasn’t exactly stable, but she wasn’t completely off her rocker, either.

"I’ll leave you alone now," she said. "Just know that whatever he tells you, I wish you nothing but the best."

What was the meaning of that? Was she just trying to put me off my guard, or had I really fooled her so well?

Of course, with the way I felt about him, maybe it was that obvious. Maybe it showed on my face every minute of every day.

If someone had asked me, a week ago: do you believe in "one true love?"

Of course not. It’s such a stupid concept. Out of all the millions of people in the world, the idea that there’s just one person with whom we can be truly happy – is there anything more absurd?

But I felt like I’d found it, in the strangest way possible. The only problem was I didn’t know how I could possibly hold on.

***

I was pacing my apartment, trying to wrap my head around the reality of all this. Daria’s voice echoed in my head, her unwanted questions and advice making my brain ache with the impossibility of accepting it all.

My phone buzzed with a text from Ben.

Got your something blue?

I answered him, quickly.

I’m not superstitious.

A moment later, my doorbell rang. The man himself was standing there, with a roguish smile, and as soon as I stepped back to let him in, he whipped out a box from behind his back.

"I’m going to go ahead and guess this is blue lingerie," I said, taking it from him.

"A gentleman never tells," he said, with a flourish. He was in a playful mood, and he probably expected a little stress-relieving quickie, but I was in no mood – a fact that he quickly noticed, as I brushed past him to rummage aimlessly in the fridge.

"What’s wrong, sunshine?" He followed me, slowly, letting me keep my distance.

"I wish you wouldn’t call me that all the time," I muttered.

He leaned against the counter. "Sorry," he said. "I’ll try to save it for more special occasions."

I sighed, wanting to apologize, but not knowing where to start. My encounter with Daria was just too damn weird. I needed to process it first myself, before I foisted it on him.

"Nothing," I insisted.

"You know," he said, with a hint of a smile, "there’s a little something they call stress relief spankings. I could…"

"No," I said, flatly. "Thanks. I appreciate it, really. But no."

"Come on, Jenna." He leaned forward, earnestly. "Just tell me what’s wrong. It’s been ever since the Finger Lakes trip, and I thought you just didn’t want to leave. But something’s eating at you."

I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling too raw and vulnerable to keep hiding it.

"I saw your paperwork," I said. "The Huntington’s. It was your mom, wasn’t it?"

His lips drew into a tight line.

"There’s a reason I don’t talk about it," he said. "And I think it’s actually a pretty obvious one."

"Sorry," I said, well aware that I didn’t sound sorry. "But I thought it’s something you would have told me. Even if we weren’t…" I shook my head, vigorously. "I know it’s none of my business. I know that. I really, really do. But you wanted to know what’s been bothering me, well, that’s it. I hate the thought of you getting sick. I hate the thought of not knowing. I hate the thought of you not knowing."

"I took the test," he said. "If the outcome had any effect on you, I would’ve shared it. But it doesn’t, either way. So drop it."

I’d never heard him sound so harsh. Instantly, guilt pooled in my belly. I had no right to pry, no right to ask invasive questions about his illness. Or lack thereof. He was right, it had no effect on me. I had no right to be upset.

Because it wasn’t real. I just had to try and remember that.

"I’m sorry," I said, softly, unsure if he was even hearing me. He was lost in his own world, absorbed in some kind of deep anger and resentment that I’d triggered with my stupid nosiness. "You’re right. It doesn’t have any effect on me. I was just worried about you, but I should’ve kept my mouth shut. It’s just…"