Page 50 of Forbidden Fruit

“It was.”

I’m not in a hurry to end the call, but it’s past midnight and sleep is slowly creeping in. I yawn and Vanessa does too.

“It’s time for bed,zitella. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I tell her. There’s more for us to figure out, but we’ll take it one day at a time.

“Good night, Daddy.”

“Good night, baby.”

I hang up with the biggest smile on my face, ready to open the festering wounds of my heart to her. Her sunshine will heal them.

TWENTY-SIX

OKAY GOOGLE, “WHAT DOES HOPE FEEL LIKE?”

Icome home a few days later to find Vanessa and the kids bouncing up and down, waiting for me.

After our conversation that night ended with one of the best nights of sleep I’ve had in years, I insisted again that I wouldn’t touch her until I figured myself out. And for someone who hasn’t felt in a long time, it’s a process.

It’s pure torture to keep my distance. The desire to be close to her doesn’t abate. If only it was simply carnal, I could take care of it, but I craveher.

I smile to myself when I see that she seems as expectant as Anton and Livia are. Kids think they are smart when they try to hide something, but they’re very obvious about their desire to show me or give me something. Vanessa’s shining eyes, the colour of bark when it’s just rained, sparkle with mischief.

My heartbeat a drum against my ribcage, I let my smile show, waiting with excitement.

“Vivi got a gift for you,Babbu,” Anton exclaims, incapable of holding his secret any longer, and he jumps as Vanessa reaches behind her and hands me a wrapped package. The paper shineswith glitter and I open the gift delicately, careful not to rip the paper. I plan on keeping it as a reminder of her.

I pull the small rope away while I look at her and she blushes, our minds connecting to the moment when I tied her up in her flat. I suppress a groan and move on to my gift, finding a finely made leather-bound journal with a metal lock inside the wrapping paper. Blank pages greet me and I frown, but Vanessa speaks softly.

“I read that journaling is good for working through your emotions.”

“And she got us one, too,” Anton says and proudly raises his own journal over his head, Livia copying every movement.

I can't speak. My throat clogs as a rush of a new emotion comes up.

Vanessa just watches and smiles at me with understanding that makes my eyes slightly wet. The tears don’t fall, but they form at the corners nonetheless and I wonder if that isn’t the gift after all. My capacity for feeling anything good is new and precious.

I’ve had the journal for two weeks now. There are fourteen entries in it. One for each day since she gifted it to me. And she was right. It’s helping.

I don’t really know how to use it. I just start the same way tonight as I open it before going to bed.

My dear Vanessa,

Thank you for being so patient with me, just as you are with Anton and Livia. You never make me feel pressured or like I need to come to a conclusion faster when it comes to my feelings for you.

Day after day, I watch you and I don’t think I can ever stop.

My children need you, but I think I need you more. And for the first time, I want to be selfish. I want you for myself.

I’ve never been a believer, but you’re becoming my preacher and my creed.

When I can’t sleep, I run scenarios in my head. What if you stopped working for me and just studied and lived with us? In my home. What if I just hired someone else? It would work, wouldn’t it? And you’d make it work with me? As a partner?

For once, it’s not the worst-case scenarios running the show. It’s good ones.

I had to Google ‘what does hope feel like’ the other day because I wasn’t sure this is what I felt, but I think it is. And it's exhilarating. Like I’m running a rollercoaster. I’m high on hope. I’m afraid I’ll crash when I come down.

Yet it’s still you I see as I think about it.