Not long after we first got together, he spiked a fever of 103. When the doctor stepped out to draw blood, he buried his face against me and cried.
He said he'd looked it up online and was scared it might be leukemia.
Voice cracking, he said he wasn't done living yet, but he needed to get his affairs in order.
His forty thousand in savings, he said. Half to his parents, half to me.
He said if it came back positive, I shouldn't wait for him.
I stroked his hair and wiped his tears, laughing at him for acting like a little kid.
But privately I'd thought to myself:
A man this afraid of death, willing to swear an oath like that, would never break it.
But a lifetime hadn't even come close to passing. Not even close. And he'd already lied to me.
Eugene was deeply superstitious. Whoever made him willing to gamble his life on a lie had to matter to him a great deal.
My phone buzzed.
I hesitated, then picked up.
Maybe there's an explanation. Maybe.
"You messaged Lucy?!"
Eugene's voice was low, barely held together, but the anger bled right through.
"Yeah."
"What the hell was that about?"
"You said her mother-in-law died. I sent a gift."
"Is there a problem with that?"
Two seconds of silence on the other end.
"Lottie. You were digging into me."
"I wasn't—"
"No? Then why'd you go messaging Lucy?"
His voice cracked upward.
"Nobody in Lucy's family is dead! I was exhausted, I got it mixed up—and you just fire that off without thinking? If that gets around the office, where does that leave me?!"
My fingers were cold around the phone.
He was the one who'd lied—and somehow every word he said was making me feel like the guilty one.
A heavy sigh came through the line.
Then his voice softened.
"Lottie, I know you worry about me, but do you have any idea how that looked? Lucy's my supervisor. How's she supposed to see me after that? You think she's ever going to put my name forward for anything again?"
"Eight years, Lottie. We've been together eight years, and this is how much you trust me?"
My nose burned out of nowhere.
Eight years—and Eugene had long since learned every way to turn my worry into guilt.
"Forget it, Lottie. I got too worked up. I'm sorry."
He must have taken my silence as a sign, because his tone went completely gentle.