Page 62 of Van Cort

RIVER

ONE YEAR LATER

The stale air on the plane is already making my skin itch, but at least it’s cool.

It can’t stop my palms from sweating, though. Maybe it’s because I’m carrying a priceless heirloom in a little gold box in my pocket. A wall of small diamonds protecting a stunning emerald that can only serve as a reminder of the man, no, men, that I love.

Or perhaps it’s because I haven’t seen them – either of them – for a year.

I had to put distance between us. So, leaving was the obvious and only decision that made sense to me. For a lot of reasons. But most importantly, to ensure I could think clearly amidst the revelations they divulged. And then the idea of marriage haunted me, lingering at the back of my mind.

And even when I thought I was ready - although I’d analysed the situation from every aspect and vantage and weighed the outcome against the risks - I still didn’t call.

Petty, perhaps, but I felt like punishing them. Both of them. I wanted them to feel how they made me feel when West walked into Everett’s apartment. I thought I was going mad, and my heart felt ready to burst from my chest, broken and in pieces.

Not calling has been the only way I could rationalise and express my anger, tell them how cross and confused they made me.

My blood would rise and vibrate in my veins when I thought about what they had done.

Space gave me the ability to see the cruel way they played with me.

But it also made me long for them in a way I hated, too.

As the weeks went on – raged on – I did the only thing I could and immersed myself in work.

Work that I loved. I fed off the idea of finally being able to prove myself, of being just as good as I knew I was and being recognised for it.

Proving myself professionally was a goal that I’d sought for years.

And, finally, I reached it. Or at least could see myself accomplishing it.

But no matter how well I was doing at work, they were missing.

Missing from my heart.

So I called.

Everett first. Then West.

Only something had broken. My trust, for one. My ability to believe any of the words they said to me that night at the apartment, or leading up to it, was lost.

And I couldn’t let that be. I couldn’t just forget it and resolve the situation. It wasn’t a business decision; it was my life. Our lives.

So I asked them to do something.

“River.” His voice sounded strained that evening, even to my ears.

“Everett.”

“Are you okay?”

“In the literal sense of the word, yes. Is West with you?”

“He’s here.”

“I’d like to speak with both of you.”

There was a pause that held the weight of all three of us, and I knew he wouldn’t like not knowing my next move. “I’ll put you on speaker.”

West said I needed to work out who each of them were, and he was right.

There was still so much I was in pain over, though.

I couldn’t get past that. But I missed them.

It was like I was trapped, not able to move on, and not able to get over either one of them.

And if I gave into them too early, I’d resent it. I’d resent them.

That fact tore me up more than anything else.

“You showed me your feelings the way you could. You said you’d do it a hundred times over if it meant making me see what you feel for me. Well, I need you to show me again.”

“Gladly,” West answered without a beat. “I’ll fly out. We both will.”

“No. I can’t see you. I don’t think I’m ready to see you.”

“Then how can we show you?” I could hear the confusion in West’s voice.

“I want you to tell me. Write to me. Show me what I mean to you. What this means to you. Each of you. If this is it for you, if you’re both prepared to marry me, then you’ll wait. You’ll give me this time and space. And you’ll do what you said you would. Unless it was a lie.”

The silence after that lingered.

“We’ll show you, Andie.”

It was West again.

Everett didn’t say anything. And I almost feared he wouldn’t write.

But the fact that they both did write was the first step to repairing the wound they inflicted.

West’s letters were easy. They held nothing back. And the man on the island shared another part of himself with me, inked into the paper.

Andie

You know, I haven’t written an actual letter for years.

How are you? How’s New York?

You don’t know how tempted I’ve been to just fly out there to see you and beg for forgiveness.

Rhett said you’d call when you were ready.

And, as usual, he was right. I wasn’t as convinced given the way you were when you left.

Really, now I’m thinking about the situation we put you through, you’d have every right to tell us both to fuck off.

I thought you might. You haven’t, though. Which gives me hope.

I’m pretty sure I should own up to it being me who started that situation.

Rhett didn’t know I was back in the US when you and I went on our first coffee date.

He was furious about it, but we’re the other half of each other, Andie.

The same. Inexplicably different, perhaps, but the same.

He had no choice but to allow what I was doing, for varying reasons.

Does that make any sense to you? Can you even begin to understand how the two of us are one in some ways?

Trying to explain what being twins means to someone who isn’t one is impossible, I guess.

He didn’t know I took you to Portland either, until we’d been and come back.

He was playing catch-up.

And yes, before you start spitting expletives over there while you’re reading this, it was all a game of sorts in the beginning.

For me, at least. But not against you. It was aimed at him.

You can hate me for that for a while if you like.

I expect you do now I’ve owned up. I deserve that, and I know I’m going to spend a fair amount of time trying to show you that it was a mistake, and that I shouldn’t have.

The thing is, though, if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you, and I don’t regret a single thing about that.

I don’t regret your lips on mine.

Or your body wrapped around me.

Or your laughter.

Or, more importantly, your sense of self in the middle of our carnage.

So fine, hate me. But love me, too? Please?

Also, just to throw this out there, you wouldn’t have the Everett Van Cort you’ve got now if I hadn’t shown up.

You’d have the uptight version of him, the one everyone else gets to be jealous of with his perfect clothes and his hard exterior and his expensive life.

Not me, obviously. I prefer the one you’ve got now.

For all sorts of reasons. He’s closer to who I once knew.

Albeit different, too. Thankfully. You can enjoy him now in a way you wouldn’t have been able to without me.

That sounds selfish. I don’t mean it to. I want you to have the best of him because his worst is… I don’t know. Abysmal. But he has reasons for that. They’re reasons I could have helped him with. I didn’t. That’s one thing, despite varying factors, that I do regret.

Mainly, though, I want you to know I started it all because I want what has happened gone and done with nothing hidden between us.

We were both in the wrong, but out of that has come something so beautiful I’m struggling to explain it in words.

I want to hold you while I say these things, or touch you to show you how you make me feel.

There was a night we were together, in Vancouver – do you know what night I’m talking about?

Have you worked out how we touch you differently?

Who was who? I hope so. It was the best night of my life.

You were everything to me in those moments.

It all slotted into place, literally, and, again, I don’t know how to explain that, either, but he watched us, Andie.

You should know that. We made love, and he watched.

As if there was you, and us. Do you understand that? Can you feel what that means?

Two men, as one. I feel, he feels.

Jesus, even to my own ears, that sounds terrifying. And I know what I’m talking about. It isn’t terrifying, though. We’re not.

So, that’s me confessing. And apologising. Again.

I wish I could apologise differently somehow, but all I can do is tell you that I love you more than you’ll ever know, that you even considering this gives me more than you know, and that, at some point, if you come back, I’ll show you everything I can to make sure you understand that.

You’ll be the centre of my world, Andie.

I’ll write again soon. Even if you don’t write back, I’ll send you something to make sure you’re still thinking about me. Us.

Love, West.

P.S. Don’t cut your hair. Ever.

West didn’t stop at showing me his love.

He showed me the future he wanted with me - us.

He sent me hope in words, and it was as if those words opened up my heart all over again.

If I could believe their words again was still something only time would tell, but my heart believed.

My heart wanted the picture West painted.

Do you like travel? Other countries? Different cultures?

I do. I spent twenty years in Europe. Learning.

Living. I say living, it was more existing.

I didn’t share it with anyone. I didn’t laugh and love and watch the yachts, wishing there was someone to sail with.

I didn’t fall in love with sunsets and bask in the warm breeze as the night closed in.

I partied, and I woke up each afternoon with no direction in sight.

I want that direction to be you, Andie. I want nothing else but that. Be with me. Us.

Where do you want to go?

I’ll take you. Just you and me. We’ll live in the seconds that come to us and do nothing other than love our way through them. Do you know that’s how I feel? That’s all I want with you. Sunsets and a warm breeze against our skin. Although cold is good, too. Fires, hot drinks. Blankets.