Page 227 of Modern Romance September 2025 5-8
‘It became normal,’ he said, stiffly. Coldly. In a way that was rehearsed. Like he’d said this before, or at least thought it. ‘She was sick, and then she wasn’t. Periods of remission were, at first, like the sun, breaking through after a fierce storm. The sheer sense of relief was almost crippling. But then she became sick again. Then better, then sick. I stopped expecting recovery—or even for her periods of wellness to last. Every day she felt good was a gift, but I knew, I always knew, it was temporary.’
Jane shook her head, trying to stem the tears that were making her eyes sting. She didn’t know what to say. She personally knew people whohadrecovered from cancer. Who’d gone into remission and stayed there. What Zeus’s mother had experienced sounded like an unbearably aggressive and harrowing form of the disease.
‘I’m so sorry,’ was all she could say, the words slightly tremulous.
‘It’s life,’ he said, and for all that her voice had been rich with emotion, his was utterly devoid of it. Even his eyes were cold when they met hers. Cold in a way she’d never expected to see in Zeus. Ruthlessly blanked of feeling, of sentiment. ‘It’s unpredictable and cruel.’
‘Not always.’
‘No?’
She shook her head. ‘Most of the time, life is wonderful. And the unpredictable is part of what makes it so.’
He stared at her for several beats and then glanced back towards the window. ‘We’ll have to agree to disagree,agapaméni.’
But she didn’t want that. She didn’t want him to be so burdened by his pain, by the unpredictability of his mother’s illness, by the impact that had clearly had on him. They had one week together, and she couldn’t bear to think of him living with such a dim view of the world.
‘How is your father?’ she asked, to draw his attention back to her and, obliquely, their conversation.
Zeus continued to stare out at the street, one of his large hands holding the small coffee cup in a way that, in other circumstances, she would have found amusing.
‘In reference to my mother’s death?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s complicated.’
Jane frowned. ‘Why?’
Zeus turned to face her then, scanning her features as though he’d forgotten who she was, and Jane’s heart went cold. After what they’d shared that morning, she didn’teverwant him to look at her like that. She blinked away, tears stinging her eyes for another reason now.
‘He loved her very much,’ Zeus said, finally. ‘They married young, essentially grew up together in many ways. She was his partner in every way. He is…bereft.’
Jane glanced back at him in time to catch an expression on his features that spoke of resentment. Anger. She frowned a little. There was more here than Zeus was telling her.
‘And you?’ she pushed, aware that he didn’t want to be having this conversation but continuing regardless. ‘You must also be bereft?’
‘I was prepared for it.’
She flinched. ‘Does that make a difference in the end?’
‘It must.’
She shook her head, frustrated. Because he was stonewalling her. He was hiding his feelings rather than admit them. SheknewZeus now. She knew his emotions ran deep, and that he must still be feeling an enormous black hole of grief for the mother he’d only recently lost. Or was he so determined to conquer grief, to be strong over it, that he refused to accept it, even to himself?
‘I knew it was coming, Jane. From when I was just a teenager, I had prepared myself for it. As I said, every day she was well was a gift, when she wasn’t, it was…my baseline. I braced for her death, and in the end, she was in so much pain, barely lucid. It was a release for her. I know it was.’
A tear slid down Jane’s cheek. He spoke so calmly, so sensibly, but Jane couldn’t hear his description without feeling all the pain of what he was describing.
‘Don’t cry, please,’ he insisted, reaching for a napkin so he could lean over the table and wipe her cheek gently.
‘It’s just… I’m so sad for you.’
‘Don’t be. Do I look sad?’
She looked at him and shook her head, but not to disagree, rather out of confusion. She couldn’t fathom his feelings, and it bothered her. It was like he’d hardened his heart intentionally, because he knew that without taking that precaution, her death would hurt too, too much. She supposed it made a sort of sense. To pre-emptively cope with a wound that might otherwise have the power to cut you off at the knees. So, he’d emotionally withdrawn from the situation, while still supporting his father and mother.
But had he pulled all of his emotions back? Did that explain his string of short-term affairs and no serious girlfriends?
