Sitting at Eris’s funeral, now deep into my old age and feeling every bit of it, I reflected on the whirlwind that was our love. Forty years. Forty whole years of loving and being loved by Eris. Not many can say they had a love like ours—a love that started under… let’s call them “unique” circumstances. It all began with Uncle Vincent. Now, I call him “Uncle,” but let’s be real—he was more of an older brother figure, given that we weren’t even blood-related and were only separated by a mild ten-year gap. He was the smooth-talking, lady-charming, commitment-dodging type who had made it his life’s mission to date every beautiful woman within a 50-mile radius. And yet, one day, he met her.
“You’ll love her, Imogen. She’s amazing,” he kept saying, practically buzzing with excitement. I had never seen Uncle Vincent so invested in a woman. Curious, I agreed to meet her.
And there she was, sitting in the front seat of his car like some celestial being who had accidentally stumbled into our mortal realm. Eris. Named after the Greek goddess of discord, but to me, she was nothing short of divine order. For the first time in my life, I was speechless. Me. Speechless. A true phenomenon.
Uncle Vincent, completely oblivious to the slow-motion, rom-com moment happening between Eris and me, went on and on about how amazing she was. I barely heard a word. My ears were ringing with the sound of my own internal screaming. This woman. Oh no. This woman is dangerous.
“So, Imogen, I’ll give Eris your number. You two should hit it off,” Vincent announced.
Hit it off, we did. Oh boy, did we hit it off.
It started innocently. Lunch dates, salon appointments, deep conversations over overpriced coffee. The kind of thing that made it easy to pretend that nothing was brewing underneath. But let’s be honest, we were flirting like two high schoolers with a death wish. Then, one late-night call changed everything.
“Imogen,” Eris whispered, “I like you. Not like how you like a good book or a decent wine. Like, like like.“
And that was it. We were in. Full-throttle, no-brakes, passionately and idiotically in love. Right under Uncle Vincent’s nose.
For two years, we carried on our secret love affair while I played the role of “Best Friend of the Year.” And then, the universe—always a fan of comedic timing—threw a plot twist. Vincent proposed to Eris.
I was the chief organizer of the engagement party. Can you imagine? Planning the wedding of your secret girlfriend to your uncle? I deserve an award. But Eris and I, well, we were gifted at deception. And so, the wedding went off without a hitch, and shortly after, she was pregnant with twins.
Life had a sick sense of humour.
I was the devoted best friend, the babysitter, the confidante, the one she called at 2 AM when the babies wouldn’t stop crying. Vincent adored how close we were. If only he knew how close.
Five years in, tragedy struck. Vincent passed away suddenly from a heart attack in his sleep. I grieved, of course, but a terrible, awful part of me also thought: Does this mean…?
But life had other plans. Three years before Vincent’s passing, I had gotten married myself. Had a daughter. Tried to be “normal.” But normal was never in the cards for Eris and me.
Through it all, we stayed lovers. The kids assumed we just had a remarkable friendship. And they weren’t wrong. It was remarkable. It was everything.
Then, my marriage fell apart. Divorce. Freedom. And suddenly, it was just me and Eris again, with no one in the way.
Decades passed, our children grew up, and in a perfectly poetic twist, my daughter Presley married Eris’s son Axal. Our love story continued through them, in a way, but no one ever knew the truth.
And now, here I was. Sitting at her funeral. The love of my life—my greatest love, my wildest secret—gone.
I wanted to follow her. I wanted to grab her hand and demand she take me with her. But all I could do was sit there, mourning not just her death, but the lifetime we spent hiding.
Because in the end, Eris was never just my best friend. She was my person. My only regret? That we never had the courage to tell the world.