Author Josh McDowell claims that “I love you” can be interpreted several different ways. One meaning is “I love you if,” based on what the other person does. My sister could love Cortland if he lived in a mansion with a heated pool. Another meaning is “I love you because,” based on what the other person is: attractive, strong, intelligent. Da Vinci believed he loved me because I was kind to him in a strange new world. Because I took him in. Because I made him feel safe and warm and wanted.
I wondered if Joel loved Monica solely because she was beautiful, but a part of me believed Joel had loved Monica the third way-the same way he'd loved me: unconditionally. She was the one who had betrayed him, had loved him because he was the safe choice, the opposite of her equal partner Jonathon. Perhaps Joel loved her despite her being beautiful. For so long I had wanted Joel to love me more, better, longer, deeper, but after all that's happened, I knew how one could love differently and have it mean as much as the other.
The best and hardest love to achieve is unconditional. I love you, period. I love you when you gain twenty pounds, make a mess around the house, and grow black hairs from your moles. I don't just love you until someone better comes along. I love you forever.
I knew I had this kind of love with Joel. He didn't just love me until Monica was ready to return to him. He never would've jeopardized what we had. I was ashamed I had thought that he would leave me so easily.
I wanted to release Monica of her guilt before Christmas. Whatever she had to get off of her chest, I was ready and willing to listen. It was the second week of December, the first snowfall salting the earth as I drove to her office to meet her. She was busy as usual, squeezing me in between two appointments. My dissertation was tucked neatly in my portfolio, ready to hand over to the professor after I met with Monica.
I entered the building, visualizing the lines Joel had sketched in creating his work of art. Most architects use computers now, but Joel had been old school. He loved nothing more than his drafting table and a freshly sharpened pencil. I could feel Joel's presence with me as I made my way through the marble corridor to the stainless steel elevator. Monica Blevins, top floor. Of course. Corner office. Nothing but the best.
Her assistant showed me into her office where she was bent over paperwork, black framed glasses on her pretty face, lips as red as beets. She smiled upon seeing me and rose to greet me. “Thanks so much for coming,” she said warmly. “I'm sorry we have to meet in a stuffy law office.” I admired the exquisite décor and breathtaking view from her floor-to-ceiling window-nothing stuffy about it. I wondered if Joel had known which office would be Monica's, if he had spec'ed in special accommodations for her. It seemed like the sort of thing he would do.
Monica came around the large ebony desk to sit next to me in a matching leather chair. She crossed her legs, long runner's legs with calves that probably sent most men into salivation. She wore four-inch heels, something I'd never even attempted. She kept her gaze on me, and then I noticed her eyes watered. “How have you been?”
I folded my hands into my lap, no longer ashamed that she made me look like a fashion imbecile. I was being me, pressed khakis, a taupe cardigan and one new addition of red patent leather loafers, which remarkably gave me some pep in my step.
“Love the shoes,” Monica said, admiring them. “I wouldn't have taken you for a red shoe girl.”
“Me, neither,” I said. “I've discovered it about myself. I've always been afraid to wear red, so the shoes… well, it's a start.”
“A wise choice.” Monica said, probably considering whether or not to chitchat. There was so much we could talk about this time of year-holiday plans, what the kids want for Christmas-but I was glad she got right to the point. I'd expect no less of a good lawyer.
“Jonathon told me he saw you,” she said evenly.
“He did? Well, I'm glad for that. I wouldn't want to lie.”
“Of course you wouldn't. I'm the only liar here. I lied to myself for years. Don't assume that comes with the occupation. I lied to myself about Joel. I thought he would make me a better woman because of who he was. Give me a better life if I stuck with him.”
If. Because. I resisted the smile pressing at the corners of my mouth.
“I thought Jonathon could be no more than a fling. But you know what? He loved me even though I repeatedly told him I loved Joel and was going to marry him. He said, 'I don't care what you tell me. I'll never stop loving you. You could lose your looks and get fat and be a five-foot housewife who runs around in a robe all day and I'd still love you.'”
“Not that you would ever do that.”
“He knows me too well. But he said it, you know? And I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry if whatever I did in Joel's past messed things up between you two. I would understand if he had trust issues or kept himself from truly letting go and loving again.”
I shook my head. “You know what? It wasn't that way at all. I don't think he held back. It was me that always wondered. I was jealous. I mean, look at you. But I was wrong to think you were a problem.”
“I'm glad you're saying that, because I did try to get in the way of you two. When Joel was designing this building.”
My throat tightened, and I held onto my knees to brace myself for the news. “Just say it.”
She held my gaze, never wavering. “I kissed him.”
I exhaled. “And?”
“And that's all. I kissed him one night after a dinner meeting to see if there was anything left between us.”
Imagining the two of them in a soul kiss, made me stomach turn. “And?”
“Nothing. Joel told me he loved you and you were the one he was always meant to be with.”
I could feel a tear trail down my cheek. “He said that?”
“He said he never knew how good a life could be. All because of you and the boys.”
I nodded, my lips pressed together to keep from going into the ugly cry.
“I'm sorry I kissed him,” Monica said.
“I'm not. Maybe your kissing him made him realize the words he was telling you. Maybe you did the right thing by doing the wrong thing.”
Monica squeezed my hand. “I never thought of it that way. One last thing before you go. I wanted to give you some kind of proof about Joel-occupational hazard, perhaps-and I remembered I had kept a card he sent me.”
I took the opened envelope from her, afraid to put it in my purse, for fear it would disappear. “I never thought I'd be saying this, but thank you, Monica. For everything.”
I left her office, my free hand fingering the walls as I did, like a child who couldn't keep her hands to herself, as if touching them were somehow touching Joel. I ran my hands along the hallway, the doors, as the partners looked at me strangely, I turned in circles in the elevator as I touched it, too, while the elderly gentlemen in the three-piece suit grinned. “You must be in love,” he said to me as the doors swished open. I put my hand to my heart. “Very much so.”
I waited until I was seated in the car to open the envelope. My heart raced at the sight of Joel's neat penmanship.
Dearest Monica,
I write this because I felt you deserved more than an e-mail or a cold voice mail message. Our past was what it was, but I would not change it. That feels odd to say, but I am in such a good place in my life, and you are obviously happy with Jonathon. I realize now that looking back, you two were always more comfortable together than you and I ever were. Now that I am with the love of my life, I know what it all means. Because Ramona means everything to me, I must respectfully remove myself from the project, but know that you are in good hands with my partners and personally, you are in very good hands with Jonathon. Everything works out for the best.