Page 19 of Choosing Hope
I’ve never doubted that I love him. He’s always been one of the most important people in my life. Surely, it’s normal that I love him, but that doesn’t excuse the way I lust after him when I’m married to my beautiful wife.
Brushing off her remark before I get too lost in her sentiment, I continue.
After refusing his parents’ financial support, Carlo also had to give up his place at university. Instead, he found work at a hotel.
Carlo’s years of neglect enabled him to hide his emotions from others. He became darker, broodier. His once vibrant, playful light extinguished by the immensity of his grief.
To keep his mind busy, he worked hard and quickly formed a strong relationship with one of the original founders of the hotel chain, who took a chance on him, giving him a job when everyone else rejected him. Withinweeks, he’d accepted a position on a fast-track training program for hotel management.
I believe it was this that saved his life.
Within a month of Chess’ death, my parents expected me to start at university. Continuing my education after everything that happened that summer seemed wrong on every level.
Although Carlo encouraged me to do it, it still felt like I was betraying not only my best friend, but also his late girlfriend’s memory.
My first year at uni passed in a relative blur, yet not of the usual drinking and debauchery kind.
Several of our friends from boarding school had enrolled at the same university. It was a blessing to have their support at first. They were aware about Carlo and my relationship with Chess, but not with each other. Their partial awareness of the situation allowed them to empathize with my cocktail of emotions.
They tried to support Carlo and me in the first few months. All our friends remained worried about us, but they were eighteen; gradually their minds drifted to partying and having fun.
On rare occasions, the boys persuaded us to join them for a drink in the evening after work.
A year later, neither Carlo nor I had considered intimacy with another girl. We didn’t miss it; we had each other.
Being alone in our own space, without the judgment of others, allowed our relationship to blossom.
We regularly reminisced about our time in Naples. It was a strange mixture of pain and comfort to relive moments we’d shared there.
Seeing Carlo trying to rebuild himself after such a significant loss was hard. The strengthening connection our shared grief generated, made it feel natural to want to show him my love.
His adoration surrounded me in every loving glance or whispered cherished word, and in the now familiar soft mold of his lips on mine. But when he asked me to take our relationship to the next level—make love to him—giving him such intense pleasure quickly became my drug.
I threw myself into it—into him.
Every touch, every moan, every shiver beneath my hands felt like proof that I could be enough. That I could give him something no one else had.
It wasn’t just about sex. It was about being wanted, being trusted, being chosen.
And the more he gave, the more I craved. His pleasure became my purpose.
Maybe that’s where I started to lose myself—when loving him became the only thing that made me feel whole.
Carlo spent his entire life working; when he wasn’t at the hotel, he was asleep.
By the following summer, gradually life continued. We couldn’t go to Naples that year as we usually would because Carlo was working.
One of Nonna’s farmworkers called us in May to explain that she was ill. We were aware from our previous letter with Nonna that Alonso had employed someone to manage the lemon grove, so the news didn’t come as a shock.
After this phone call, we both wrote to her but didn’t get a response. We planned to visit her for a weekend as soon as my exams finished.
Yet, when Nonna died only ten months after losing Chess, no matter how expected, her passing was another enormous blow.
Though, from it, came an understanding of our grief that we’d previously lacked.
Carlo, point-blank refused to attend her funeral, aware his parents would be there. To show my support for Carlo and respect for Nonna, I flew to Naples to attend on his behalf.
If we hadn’t been so lost in our grief, perhaps we would have guessed that Nonna would have the last word.
