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Yes, I am possibly saving my relationships in the process.
Yes, I am taking the biggest gamble of my life.
I love them both too much to do anything else.
I pour two glasses of wine slowly, watching the dark burgundy liquid as it sloshes into the crystal. Through the open glass sliders, the wave of ocean wind is crisp in the dark evening, and out there, on the wide balcony, Brant waits for me. On a normal evening, we would discuss our future plans, the events of the day, memories from our past.
Now, as I walked through the open doors and took my place on the outdoor couch next to Brant, I wondered if those nights were gone from our relationship forever. Handing him his glass, I try to figure out where to begin.
* * *
Out above the water, the moon sits, half full, its reflection stretched over the rippling water. Small birds have made their nests in the rafters of this porch, and they coo and trill at odd intervals in the night. I watch as he settles back against the dark navy cushions of the outdoor couch, the tips of his fingers resting on the top of the wine glass. Every few moments, he takes a sip, and this is his favorite—an expensive merlot that we discovered at a charity tasting and now had a case delivered twice yearly, the bottles placed in the climate-controlled wine cellar below the kitchen.
His wine is half gone by the time I finally speak. "I've been keeping something from you." I set my glass on the table and twist on the cushion to face him.
He follows suit, setting down his wine, his attention on me, the clench of his jaw the only sign of his tension. I stare at that tightening muscle and wonder about it, the tic one that I rarely see in Brant.
I swallow and try to find the next sentence, my hands knotting together nervously as I attempt to pull together a path of intelligent thought. All of my preparation, the hours I contemplated this moment, and yet every thought had left my mind.
"Is this about the other man?" His voice is deadly calm. A calm I have never heard from him but would have expected if I’d ever envisioned an angry version of Brant. Calculated, controlled, and angry.
I tried to follow the path of his question. “What do you mean? What other man?”
"The other man you've been seeing." He says the words casually, but I see the tightness in his face, the stiff line of his mouth.
"What are you talking about?” I stall, but of course he knows—he must have known. I was stupid to think otherwise. The man is brilliant. He can spot minute changes in a hundred pages of code. I haven't exactly hidden my behavior. I was naive to assume that an absent man couldn't catch someone who—in his mind—didn’t exist. But that was my mistake. Brant wouldn't think that Lee didn’t exist, he would just not realize that Lee was him.
"We're both intelligent adults, Layana. Don't play stupid." His voice is harder than I've ever heard it, yet still quiet in volume.
I swallow. "Okay. Yes, in part this is about him. Just bear with me for a minute. I'm getting there."
"I've been waiting for you to explain what I’m not providing for you." There is a tremor in the words, and this is what hurt sounds like. Hurt that I caused, in trying to maintain our future. The hint of the anguish is small, easily missed, yet in the structure of Brant's voice I hear them as loudly as if he is screaming.
"It's not what you think. I—"
"How long have you been with him? Five months or is it longer? I suspected before but didn't know for sure until we lived together." He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes intent on mine. Analyzing. Searching for truth among so many old lies.
"Two years."
That hurts when it hits. I see the flinch in his features. The swallow of his throat, the brim of moisture that comes to the edges of his eyes. He drops his head to his hands. “Two years.” He swears under his breath. “Is he why you won't marry me?"
"Not in the way you think." I hadn't intended for my relationship with Lee to be the catalyst that started this conversation, and I itch to move on—past my betrayal.
"Do you love him?"
I move closer to him on the couch and lift his head, forcing him to meet my gaze. "I loveyou. Everything about this has been about you."
He yanks away. "Stop talking in riddles and tell me why."
"I need you to look at me. I need you to listen."
He does. He turns back to face me, looks me in the eyes, and focuses. He drops his ego, his hurt, and focuses on my words. He does what Brant was built to do. Analyze and interpret.
I give up my hunt for the perfect words and dive in.
"His name is Lee. I met him in Mission Bay. He does odd landscaping jobs out there for cash. He was dating another girl for a large part of last year. I've been sleeping with him off and on for two years. I used to do it at my house, now I do it in the guesthouse. Lee is not his real name, it's an identity that he's adopted." I swallow, then go in for the kill. "Brant, his real identity ... it's you. He's a personality that your brain created, an identity that you adopt at times, mostly during times of stress. You have a condition called dissociative identity disorder. It's what used to be called multiple personality disorder. I haven't been cheating on you. The other man … it's you. It's just a different side of you, one who has his own personality."
His expression doesn't change when I stop talking. He just stares into my eyes.
