I was upset by the secret. Not so much the actual secret. It was more his need to keep such an important part of himself from me. He kept his need to love, who he loved, from me. There was no excusing that. I saw it as his unspoken commentary on me—did he think I was unable to accept him? Did he think so lowly of me? The one person I trusted completely, utterly. Or at least the person I trusted the most, trusted as much as I was able to trust. In retrospect, in the weeks after his death, I understand a little better. I never talked to him about Ed. Somehow, it didn’t feel right to speak of the things I wanted. Intimacy. Sex. Maybe it was because these were the things I wanted most, and I didn’t want his opinion to somehow tarnish them. I didn’t want to hear him tell me it would never happen. I couldn’t bear to hear Tristan tell me Ed was too damaged by the loss of his father to trust that I wouldn’t run from him too. The minute he would tell me his views would be the moment my own thoughts would become infected.
