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“A visual artist.”
“Then it’s your own fault for expecting me to say anything of value.”
Edwin sighed. “P-please don’t do that.”
“I’m joking.”
“You’re not, though, are you? You always s-say you are. But you’re not.”
It was embarrassing to discover, so many years after the dissolution of a relationship, that the person you were with had known who you were all along. “I wish,” I started, before realising I had no idea how to continue, let alone finish.
“Me too,” Edwin agreed. “B-but I don’t think it would have changed anything, would it?”
I shook my head. Then scraped up some generosity from the dregs of my heart. “I’m glad you met Adam, though. I like who you are with him.”
I caught a fleck of light in the depths of Edwin’s eyes, like the flick of a comet’s tail. A piece of private joy. “Me too.”
“So stop with thelove isn’t enoughstuff, okay?” I nudged my knee into his in a point-making kind of way. “You’ve still got my love. You’ll always have my love. It’s just now you get to have someone else’s love as well. Someone you can actually live with and spend your life with.”
I thought I’d finally got over myself enough to say the right thing for once. But Edwin gave a little shudder. “You’re making me feel bad for how much I’ve wanted you to be the villain here.”
I shrugged. “I was the one who left.”
“That still doesn’t make you a villain.” His eyes, just then, were excruciatingly kind. “It just makes you s-someone who left.”
“Edwin, you don’t have to—”
“Have to what?” he asked.
“Make it okay. What I did.”
“Oh, Marius.” He put a hand on my arm, as careful with me as he was with his damaged and beautiful books. “You aren’t to blame for the whole of us. Sometimes I think I w-wanted all the things I wanted so badly that it never crossed my mind they might be things s-someone else didn’t want.” His eyes flicked back to mine. “Thatyoudidn’t want.”62
I had told myself for years I didn’t need Edwin’s understanding or his forgiveness. I had told myself I didn’t deserve them. That it was only right he should hate me. But, of course, it had all been lies. Lies so transparent to Edwin, he had barely even noticed I was telling them. And now it was my turn to shudder, half-irritated, half-relieved by Edwin’s newfound, old won, long-nurtured knowing of me.
“You built a beautiful home,” I protested.
He shook his head. “I built you a prison.”
“Well,” I tried helplessly, “at least it was…a really nice prison.”
At that he tipped back his head, laughing, tears spilling freely from his eyes.
“Fuck.” I made a useless attempt to staunch his weeping with my fingers. “Don’t. Please don’t. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
He batted me away. “It’s not b-bad crying. I’m just happy to be laughing with you again. Happy to be talking again. Happy we have something after, um, everything.”
“And Arvo’s going to be okay with that?”
“Why wouldAdamnot be?”
“I don’t know.” I tried to strike as sexy a pose as it was possible to strike after several hours asleep on a sofa. “I’m hot and fucked up and you loved me first.”
“I still love you. S-same as you still love me.”
It had always been strange for me to think of myself as loved, perhaps because I was so bad at loving in return. And this was no exception. I gave an awkward squirm.
And Edwin, perhaps predictably, refused to let it go. “You do believe me, don’t you?”
