October 2018
Boston, MA, USA

After my morning jog and calisthenics, I stretch my shoulders until they give a loud, satisfying crack.

The sound makes Helena stir in the adjacent room. "Christ, are you made outta broken Lego bricks?"

Leaning against the doorframe that separates our two bedrooms, I cross my arms and grin. A romantic man might have sat on the edge of her bed and brushed a few golden locks from her face. Or planted a gentle kiss on her lips. But we've never felt that way about each other.

As always, I simply smile at Helena. A kind gesture that she returns.

"Gimme those stats," she demands.

"Three-point-five-seven miles at thirty-one minutes and fifty-eight seconds," I report without needing to check my watch. "Average heart rate one forty-two. Calories burned four hundred and seventy-six."

"Nice!" Helena stretches and hops out of bed. "Now get ya ass outta those clothes and shower with me. You need one, and we've gotta hit the rails in half an hour."

Without a hint of self-consciousness, Helena strips naked and tosses her nightwear into the laundry basket. "Let's go, Ace."

There's no arguing with Helena. Commander is her default mode.

Personally, I like it.

After I step into the shower, she vigorously rinses the conditioner out of her long golden waves while I lather my body.

"Turn around," she orders me like a drill sergeant. "I'll get your back."

When she soaps me down, I can't help how Sylvia flashes before my mind's eye, taking her place. My body reacts. Decisively.

Really? Now? Fuck a doodle doo.

"Ya sure about that whole no more sex thing?" she asks as though it's one of the household chores.

God, I love her! Not like Sylvia, of course. But our ability to speak without filters and view sexual needs as simple maintenance is refreshing in a world full of liberal pretension and tip-toeing on eggshells. Whenever Helena speaks with all the diplomacy of a Königstiger, it stirs something inside me. It's the closest thing to butterflies she can manage.

Because it's fucking honest.

Before Sylvia and I reconnected, I'd have accepted her offer and repaid her in kind. A mutually beneficial exchange, so to speak. Not now, though. As weird as it sounds, it would feel like cheating on both of them. Even though I'm still single.

Because in my heart, I'm not.

"Hey, you awake?" she quips. "Or just your rod?"

"Thanks for the offer, but it'll dissipate."

"Suit yourself." Helena shrugs and climbs out of the shower, wrapping a fuzzy towel around her body. After using her fingertips to clear some steam from the mirror, she begins to apply her makeup like an artist. "Mind if I grab the leftover pizza for lunch?"

"Go ahead."

Helena's one of those rare women who can separate sex from romance, at least with men. Or at least with me. We make a handsome, compatible power couple--at least on paper, at parties, in the sheets.

If only I could silence the grumbling of my heart.

My colleagues think I'm crazy for not "putting a ring on it," as they phrase it. They don't know about our friends with benefits arrangement. Or, I suppose now it's friends without benefits. Either way, I don't intend to divulge any details about our private life.

Or about my own personal baggage for that matter.

Stepping into my walk-in closet, I don my slim-fit charcoal gray suit--taken from a carefully organized closet free of dust--along with a matching tie and freshly polished black leather shoes. Now that I have the means to do so, it's important to me to look my best.

Granted, Helena often has to straighten said tie whenever I have a thousand thoughts in my head vying for attention. Like she's doing right now.

Dressed to kill in high heels that clack with authority, Helena wears a navy-blue power suit that highlights her tall, slender features.

"Knock 'em dead at your presentation," she says before smoothing out my lapels. "Ignore that fuckwit in class who can't keep it in her pants."

"Always, Hellz."

She doesn't need to worry.

Only one woman has captured my heart.

This is where a romantic couple would kiss, but no spark ignites between us. Instead, she hands me my black leather satchel full of all my materials, corrected papers, and lab reports. I sling it across my shoulder before we walk together toward the subway.

"Hey, just a heads-up?" says Helena. "I'm going out on a date tonight after your presentation. If it goes well, I might be staying overnight."

"Codeword Precedent, remember?" I say. "Text me anytime, day or night, if you run into trouble."

"You got it." Helena's got this dreamy look in her eyes that I haven't seen in a long time. It makes me pleased, envious in a good way, and concerned for her all at the same time. "We're having dinner at Legal Seafood. I'll text you her name and address if I do decide to stay."

"Thanks for letting me know, Hellz."

She claps me on the shoulder. "See ya this evening."

While Helena heads downtown toward the law firm, I board the Worcester Line to Sylvia's alma mater. It's where we first began dating. Where we spent four wonderful years.

Sometimes fate can be a cruel wench.

Once I take my usual seat on the train, I sink into my weekday reverie while staring out the window at the passing landscapes. Despite my agnosticism, this is my one true church--the precious hour when I recall the past in HD resolution.

Ian, find me! Sylvia whispers somewhere deep inside my mind.

No invisible link ties us together. It's only my sincerest wish carried upon her voice, but I suspend my disbelief for one blissful moment.

Gladly, my muse.

When I close my eyes, I can picture her as clearly as if it were yesterday. Autumn 2006. Her senior year of college and my final year of grad school.

Skipping along the Old Mill Trail in the Berkshires, Sylvia laughs as her hazel eyes twinkle with delight. She reaches for my hand and clasps it before swinging our arms back and forth. Her dark waves flutter in the cool breeze, the fresh air filled with the rich, earthy scent of damp vegetation and wildflowers.

Before that walk, I never believed in the actual physical presence of a human soul. I'm an agnostic and a scientist through and through.

Once we die, we die. This life is all we have.

But I do believe in the power of nature to strengthen and to heal.

We speak for hours and it feels like seconds. How the sparks fly between us! How she comes alive! She comes apart after I take her back to her room and worship at the only altar I deign to recognize.

Watching her fall apart before my eyes is the closest I come to heaven.

It almost made me reconsider my most fervent truth--that all essence is material. Of course it is. This much I know. Love is nothing more than a potent series of synaptic connections, hormones, and chemicals designed to facilitate the continuation of the human race. 

Love isn't mystical.

When Sylvia and I held hands that day with every sense heightened, I almost rejected that firm belief. Almost. Back then I wanted to imagine the universe had woven the two of us together into the giant tapestry of reality.

Even if the scientist in me knew it was highly unlikely.

When Sylvia cast me aside--our love burned to the ground by her raw ambition--it forced me to confront the truth. Sometimes the ones you love need their freedom more than they need you.

"Mind if I sit here?" a fellow commuter asks as the train begins to fill.

I gesture toward the seat across from me, and he sits with earbuds firmly planted, emitting the faint buzz of modern music. Thankfully. Today I don't need a talkative young fool yacking my ears off or chatting to his girlfriend or his colleagues while I drown in the memories of happier times.

Would Sylvia consider rekindling our love?

If so, is it even worth the effort?

Or will she run off again at the first tempting offer of adventure?

A man worth his salt doesn't pursue a woman who has opted for another path. He respects her choice no matter how much it hurts.

Particularly after she's tied the knot.

But now Sylvia's broken that knot. One that should never have existed in the first place. She's returned to me. How can I ignore our second chance to make things right? How can I win her heart without her breaking mine?

Once the train halts in Worcester, I push these thoughts to the back of my mind and force myself to concentrate on my job.

Compartmentalization, my superpower.

During the day, I complete my classes on autopilot while the other half of my brain reviews what I will say in my presentation. It's odd how one half of my brain can focus on objective facts while the other concentrates on truth, beauty, and creativity. Art and science working as one.

The contrast doesn't bother me. It's a sign of mental balance--the left and right hemispheres working together to make a complete human being.

And yet I can't help but wonder if one of them has the wrong end of the stick when it comes to Sylvia. If so, which part of me needs to surrender?

Rationality or emotion?

It's time.

Sylvia will be there. Watching me. I can't decide if my thundering heart indicates excitement or nerves. Possibly both. It's ridiculous because this is my wheelhouse--I always speak with self-assured confidence.

It's the small talk beforehand and the milling around afterwards that gets me. As always, I end up by Helena's side during the social events.

She has finished work on time today in order to attend my lecture. To give me moral support. And to stand by me so that I don't feel awkward when everyone ends up in the same cliques. The ones where I never belong.

We both have virgin mimosas--orange juice with sparkling water--while the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. It's almost like I can feel Sylvia near me. Like she's right there by my side. Which is ridiculous because she's in fucking Germany, for Christ's sake.

Helena runs her hand across my back. "You'll be fine. You've got this."

"She'll be there, Hellz." I cup my hand around my neck, briefly massaging the tense muscles. "She'll be watching."

"You excel under pressure."

"Usually, yes."

"You've got it bad," she says with a grin.

Ugh, tell me something I don't know.

Ever since I first read about Sylvia's separation, all my feelings for her have come rushing to the surface. Sure, they simmered away for years. Latent. Hidden. I could ignore them by focusing on my career. My physical fitness. I could distract myself with Helena.

Now my emotions have grabbed hold of my heart once more. Tinged with slight apprehension. Because I'm not sure my heart could stand another rejection from her. I'd survive, of course, but I think it would turn my heart to stone. Permanently this time.

"Mind if I take five minutes to review my slides?" I ask. "This has to be perfect."

"Of course, Ace." She smiles genuinely. "You know how I love to mingle."

It's an excuse to be alone and center myself. And she damn well knows it. Retreating to a solitary conference room, I can almost hear Sylvia's voice.

Ian...

My muse...

Sylvia appears to me in my mind's eye and plants a gentle kiss on my lips. Talk to me. Imagine I'm there with you...

Wrapping my arms around her, I hold her close. How I've missed you!

When the department chair opens the door, it jolts me from my reverie. "You're on in five."

A curt nod. "I'm ready."

Before the conference begins, I scroll through the names of the online participants, only to find Sylvia's old Internet handle.

My muse, you kept your promise...

In college, she went by the name Conservatarian whereas I was Ace_of_Spades. Only Helena knew what it meant, and she kept my secret as well as I kept hers. Sylvia thought it was because I enjoyed card games. Other people thought I was a fan of the band.

Nowadays I don't think it fits anymore. Life is too complex for labels. All I know is, in order of preference, I want to imagine, watch, and give much more than I want to take or receive. 

More than anything, I love the idea of sex. Fantasy intrigues me more than reality.

I love the challenge of making the woman I care about fall apart in my arms as often as I can. The feeling of mastery once I do. And the overwhelming sense of satisfaction and pleasure that comes with her moment of ecstasy.

It happened because of us and because of our connection.

It gives me the greatest high.

If I had to go my whole life without sexual congress, I wouldn't care. Yet if Sylvia asked, it would thrill me to unravel together with her once more. As opposed to most people raised Catholic, sex with her is the only Holy Communion I believe exists. But I don't crave sex in itself for the sake of it. 

Outside of a relationship? Forget it. Literally.

Nowadays there's probably a term for all that, but damn if I know.

All I can think of is how Sylvia kept her promise to me. With her busy, hectic life? It means she cares.

Once I stand at the podium, I become a different man. I'm not Ian Caruso the Vivid Daydreamer or Ian Caruso the Perplexed Philosopher or Ian Caruso the Man Who Can't Pinpoint His Odd Brand of Sexuality.

I'm Ian Caruso the Rational Scientist.

Without notes or cue cards, my lecture on Music and Mathematics goes off without a hitch. Not a stumble. Not a stammer. Even though--or maybe because--Sylvia is watching me.

Once I finish the talk, I answer the audience's questions with clarity and a certainty I don't always possess in the other parts of my life. At this moment, I'm both a mathematician and a musician, a philosopher and a photographer, a researcher and an artist.

All that I am, I present to Sylvia.

At the end, the audience gives me a round of applause louder than I've ever heard before. After a nod of thanks, I take my place beside Helena.

"That's your best talk yet," she says, her eyes twinkling with pride.

Yes, of course. Because it blends the two halves of myself--the rational and the creative. I've wrapped it as a gift to Sylvia, the woman I love.

Now I can only hope she accepts it. 

___

Word count: 2,436
Total word count: 17,894/40,000