A Promised Fate (28 page)

Crashing my half-sleeping, tingling hand on
the nightstand, I fumbled about recklessly with my fingers until I
felt the outline of my glasses. Shoving them onto my face, I
stumbled to the bathroom and thrust my dry mouth under the cold
running water from the sink faucet. My dirty hair hung limply down
my forehead and into my tired eyes.

I heard them below. Awake and talking. Max
giggling at something his mom was teasing him about. The house
smelled like fresh blueberries, pancakes, bacon, cheesy omelets and
strong coffee. My stomached was both ravenous and queasy. I went
down the stairs and found Ava and Max perched side by side at the
breakfast bar, leaning over a three-dimensional puzzle the three of
us had been building together.

I felt awkward when I walked into the
kitchen, like a stranger in my own house. Ava didn't glance at me,
and I couldn't bring myself to look at her either. Max was so
enthralled with his puzzle that he didn’t notice my arrival or
acknowledge the kiss I planted on top of his head.

Two syrup-smeared plates were pushed to the
side of the counter top; there were no leftovers for me to even
pick at. Digging out the largest coffee cup we owned, I filled it
to the brim. Steam puffed from it like hot smoke rising from a
house fire. I would have chugged the caffeine if doing so wouldn't
burn the heck out of my esophagus. I stood there in the kitchen and
poked at a hardened bagel for a few seconds, unsure of what to do
or say. I could tell I was not welcome and the feeling was heavy
and depressing.

Giving up on the bagel, I took my coffee,
cupped three Tylenol in my palm and snuck the newest bottle of
Ava’s morning sickness Pepto. I retreated to a chair in the living
room that is meant to accommodate two. It sits squarely in front of
our giant floor-to-ceiling window and is more of a showpiece than a
piece of furniture we actually use. The only other time I had ever
sat there was on the night of my last birthday, the same night Ava
told me she was pregnant. The two of us sat together in the chair
and talked, talking led to kissing, which developed into making out
and then into making love there. The memory is dear to me. Our
nasty fight and the precarious situation it left us in would mar
that memory and tarnish our perfect existence, I knew.

I looked straight ahead at the glass but my
gaze was not on the sea. Instead, I watched the reflection of Ava
as she moved about in the kitchen. I couldn’t take my eyes away
from her. Her hair had been tossed up high in a loose bun. A few
strands had escaped the elastic hair tie and twirled in slept-in
curls down her neckline. She had on a pair of baggy sweats and a
tank top that just barely covered her protruding baby bump. She
looked tired but grinned along with Max as he played. The grin
didn’t even come close to touching her eyes. She was sad, her
sorrow was entirely my fault and I had absolutely no idea of how I
was going to fix us.

At nine thirty, Ava helped Max with his shoes
and I realized suddenly that it was Sunday and that we were
expected at my parents’ house.

Ava and Max left the house without me. In a
hurry to catch up, I skidded across the living room and through to
the laundry room, tossed on a pair of jeans that had been abandoned
in a dirty clothes pile on the floor and paired them with an
equally dirty and wrinkled shirt. I scurried out the kitchen door,
leaving my shoes behind on the mat. Max had noticed the tension in
our house and ran ahead of Ava, up the beach towards my parent’s
home where he could escape us for a while. I straggled awkwardly
behind with my hands shoved in my pockets, not knowing what to do.
Ava reached the deck of the house before I did. I suspected I
wouldn’t see her for the rest of the day. Best bet was that she
would retreat to a corner in the kitchen and busy herself with a
recipe assigned to her by my mother and, if I were at all lucky, I
would score an empty seat on the couch where I would remain until
dinner. The thought was depressing and I refused to allow that to
happen.

“Ava, wait!” I called, jogging up to her. She
pushed through the glass door, sliding it forcefully to the side.
“Please, let’s talk.” I grabbed her hand in mine and laced our
fingers, binding her to me as she stormed into the kitchen. Tugging
on her arm, I attempted to coax her gently into turning around. I
hugged her palm, silently telling her I loved her. Huge
mistake.

She whipped around to face me. Her eyes were
dark and angry. She yanked her hand out of mine and I wrapped my
arm around her waist to pull her to me. My eyes pleaded with her to
forgive me.

She snapped at me through gritted teeth. “Get
your hand off me
now
!”

It was harsh. I deserved it. She was right to
be angry with me but it didn’t stop her backlash from piercing my
already wounded heart and bruising my severely deflated ego.

“Ava… Baby…”

“Don’t “
Baby”
me, Ari. I really don't
care if I ever talk to you again!”

She didn’t mean it. I knew she didn’t mean
it, and so did she.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” My mom shook her hands
frantically in the air. “You two,” she snapped her fingers in my
face and then started shouting out commands, “on the sun porch,
now! Andy, get in here! We need to talk with our son and our
daughter-in-law right away. What has gotten into everybody today?
First Rory and now you two! Lauren?!” Lauren poked her head around
the corner. “You’re on Max duty.”

“Okay!”

Aggie wrapped an arm around Ava’s waist, led
her to the sun porch, and then sat her on a cushioned wicker
loveseat. She pointed at the open space next to Ava, silently
demanding that I sit.

“What’s going on?” Andy poked his head into
the doorway.

“That is exactly what we are going to find
out. Sit.” My dad took orders from my mom like a pro and promptly
sat in a chair beside her, across from Ava and me.

She regarded the two of us for a moment, our
arms were crossed over our chests, Ava’s leg was crossed over her
knee and faced away from me. Her lips were pinched like the end of
a tied balloon and she picked incessantly at the nail polish on her
pinkie finger. There was enough space on the two-person loveseat to
squeeze even Rory in between us.

Ava adjusted her hip, drawing her body in
even tighter and in doing so, she caused the furniture to squeak.
The noise triggered a memory of Ava and me on the same soft,
cushion on my mother’s sun porch back when we were dating. The
memory was another good one, another one I was now afraid of
losing.

“Who wants to start?” My mom’s shrewish voice
ripped my thoughts away from the taste of Ava’s mouth and the way
she does this thing with her tongue, kind of circling it around
mine as a sort of tease.

The temperature in the big, open room seemed
to have risen several degrees since we sat down, and it kept
getting hotter. I gathered a teaspoon-sized amount of saliva,
hoping to moisten my desert-dry mouth. Neither Ava or I said a
word. She just chipped away until the polish was totally gone and
all that was left was a clean, white, crescent tipped fingernail.
She moved on to the next finger.

“Fine. I'll start.” My mother sat tall in her
chair and frowned deeply at the display of childish behavior
displayed before her. “Whatever this little spat may be about, I
can tell you both right now, it’s not worth it. You are both smart
people who love, respect, and cherish one another. I think a little
introspection will do you both some…”

“Are we too young to be married? Was this a
mistake?” Ava blurted.

In that small moment, my heart stopped, my
eyes watered and I had my first taste of heartbreak. Her words cut
me deeper than any insult the two of us had lobbed at one another
in the past two days. She doubted us. But she was wrong. She was so
wrong. I know in my bones that she and I are right for each other.
More than just right, perfect. Ava owns my heart, she has it, I
willingly handed the bloody, beating, fist-sized muscle, arteries
and all, over to her on a silver platter the very second I locked
eyes with her. She is my only and we are meant for forever, for an
eternity. We are good together, we are better than good, we are our
very best selves when we are together.

“Ava.” Her sweet name sputtered off my lips
and weaved through the web of my fingers that blocked my shocked
mouth. “Ava. No, don’t say that.” The tears rolled and my throat
tightened around my words until I choked on a sob.

“Juliet was thirteen when she found her
Romeo,” my mother said after struggling to maintain her own
composure.

“Yes. And looked what happened to them,” Ava
said.

“No.” Andy said. “The simple answer to your
question, Ava, is no. You
are
young, but you and Ari are
different. You have an old love. Your love has never been selfish
or unkind. You two look at each other the way very few loved ones
do. You look at each other in awe, in respect and in admiration …
but most importantly, you look at each other as necessary for life.
Your marriage is not a mistake, Ava. You two are a symbol of who we
are.”

He was right. I would want to die without
her. We aren't pathetic, dependent, can’t-live-without-you, lustful
teenagers. Ava and I are united in some deep-rooted, unexplainable
forceful connection. Our isn’t a
want
, it's a
requirement
. Like air, water and food.

“We want to help. Marriage is stressful. Your
mother and I can attest to that. We've been together, living
together and sharing a bed, a dinner table, finances -- you name it
and we’ve shared it -- since we were sixteen.”

He squeezed my mom’s knee and she smiled
sweetly and said, “We know how you feel, Ava. We know it's hard.
Ari has a demanding job, Max is a child that needs a special kind
of attention and love. Your family is growing fast considering you
haven’t even seen your first anniversary. The first year is always
the hardest. But you handle it all so well. I have always been so
proud of you two. Why do you feel this way all of the sudden?
What’s been happening next door that we don’t know about?”

Neither of us spoke.

“Ari, tell us now,” said my father. My
parents were beginning to show some impatience. I gathered my
breath to answer him.

Instead, Ava spoke. She turned to face me,
only me. She looked me in the eyes, her green eyes burning into my
gaze. Her chest rose with a full breath and her rosebud lips
parted. “Who
are
you?”

I stared back. My stomach somersaulted. Sweat
pricked at my open palms. Nervous, my vision blurred and one Ava
turned into two Avas. My emotions jumped fast and furiously from
major anger to fear to guilt mixed with insecurity and then
doubt.

“I’m, uh...” I stuttered.

“
You haven’t told her?
” My mother
demanded, looking at me with shame in her eyes.

“No. At least not entirely. I mean, not
yet…”

The skin around my father’s jaw was white as
he clenched his molars and crowfeet lines forked away from his
narrow stare. He was furious with me.

“You’ll tell her. Take her home now. Do
it.”

“I’ll do it here. She’ll have questions. Mom
can answer some of her questions … ” A shameful coward, I could not
meet anyone’s eyes.

“Home. Take her home.” He stood and towered
over me.

The walk home in the sand was excruciatingly
uncomfortable. Neither of us knew what to say to each other or how
to act. Ava pushed ahead of me, deciding that a walk alone was far
better than a walk beside me. The strain between us was thick and
palpable. It was difficult for me to take in the smallest of
breaths. In ten seconds, I would bare myself to her and she would
question us, our marriage, and our love.

In the house, she turned to me. Waiting for
me speak.

The weight that bore down on my chest was
stifling. Blood flew through my veins and whooshed loudly in my
ears.

“Okay.” A heavy breath pushed from my lungs
and blew out of my tense lips. We stood on either side of the
kitchen island. The hard marble counter was a visible manifestation
of the invisible, icy wall that had formed between us. “Okay.”

I prepared myself for what was to come.
Twisting, lurching knots churned in my queasy, hungry stomach. The
caffeine buzzed around my nerves, adding more unnecessary jitters.
A quick and heavy surge of adrenaline made me dizzy.

“Hear me out, okay?”

She didn’t say a thing.

“I am Ari. Uh, descendant of Adonis.” I had
done this so few times in my life, that I was not sure if I could
remember it all.

I caught a quick blink from Ava and then she
composed herself with narrow, disbelieving eyes. She was right to
doubt me, right to think I would once again just brush her off and
give her no more information than she already had.

“Uh…” My hand rubbed uncomfortably at my
unshaven cheek and I adjusted my weight from foot to foot. “Adonis
is the god of beauty, desire and fertility. He is renewable – a
life, death and rebirth deity. He belongs to women. Two women to be
more precise.” I looked at her and her face gave nothing away. She
didn’t say anything, so I mustered up the nerve to continue.

“Aphrodite fell in love with him. She found
Adonis as a baby after his mother, Myrrha gave birth to him. Myrrha
had deceived her own father and he punished her by turning her into
a myrrh tree, leaving Adonis orphaned. Aphrodite became his
surrogate mother and she became his lover. She cared deeply for him
and took him to Hades in the Underworld to keep him safe. There he
was entrusted to Persephone. Persephone is known as the maiden and
as the mistress woman. She is the queen of the Underworld. Under
Persephone’s eye, Adonis grew into a beautiful man. When Aphrodite
returned for him, Persephone had already fallen in love and she was
unwilling to return Adonis to the goddess.