When I was done going through the whole thing, I felt exhausted, drained, beaten up. Sophie listened without interruption. She held my hand and when I was done she reached out to brush away a tear that clung to the corner of my eye. It floated away and for a long, strange moment we watched it, neither of us speaking.
Finally she said, “Did you only stay together because of the reality show?”
“Yes,” I said, then immediately contradicted that. “No. I . . . I don’t know.”
“You stayed together until the launch even though you knew it would be the end. And you’ve been trying to keep it alive all this time, non? Is that safe? For you own hearts, I mean.”
“Safe? No. It’s not smart, either, and we both know it. It’s not practical. Let’s face it, could there be a more obvious metaphor for why people break up than a teenage boy literally going millions of miles away to live on another world? But we couldn’t let go. I know I couldn’t. Maybe I can’t. Maybe I’m too stupid or immature to do what I know is right.”
“You’re getting there now,” said Sophie. “And I think it’s clear Iseault is there a few steps ahead. It happens like that in matters of the heart. I’ve never heard of it ever happening at the right time for both people. Maybe it has never happened in all of history. But what is very clear is that Iseault has been getting closer to it.”
“How come I didn’t see it?”
“You probably did, Tristan, but you didn’t want to see it. Or admit it to yourself. But you just told me about the videos. Over the last few months her messages have been about nothing, non? About minutia? About trivial things? I believe that was Iseault fighting the truth to which she was coming. But she was afraid. There’s no doubt, cher, that she loves you. Anyone who ever saw you two on your show would know that. Anyone who ever heard you talk about her could see it. But you left. And no amount of love can stretch all this way. It’s unreasonable and unrealistic and unfair to expect it to be otherwise.”
“She is a lovely young woman,” said Sophie. “Smart and very pretty. She’s also rich and famous, too, which means that the whole world is watching her. Imagine how hard that must be. She is the storybook princess who is supposed to pine for her lost prince. She is supposed to hold true, to be true. The world expects her to be every bit as tragic as the Iseult of the poems. And how cruel that is of everyone.”
“I know.”
“It seems that now the princess has realized that and cannot abide it.”
“I know,” I said. We sat on the edge of her bunk, held in place by straps, the canvas cover half zipped. Sophie held my hand.
Sophie said, “Iseult is probably drowning.”
I turned sharply to her. “What?”
“She is. All that attention, non? All of those expectations, and the burden she placed on herself to love you forever? This is too much for anyone to bear, and more than anyone should try to bear. Trying to hold on to Tristan and Izzy is going to pull her under. She has to let you go or she will drown,” said Sophie.
I said nothing.
“If you love her—and I believe you truly do—then you have to let her go. You are a sweet young man, Tristan. Don’t let your own heartbreak and loneliness turn you cruel.”
I turned to Sophie and wrapped my arms around her and held on to her and tried so hard not to let any of this be true. And all the time I reached desperately for the rope of need and want that tied me to the beautiful girl back on Earth. I did that with one hand, and with the other I fumbled for the knife and began to cut.