I have trouble believing what I’ve just heard—and yet I do. “Why?” I whisper.
He pauses and frowns, looking deep in thought. “Because it shows me what you’re made of,” he finally says. “It shows me that you’re strong and independent and truly committed to the most beautiful thing a woman can do….I’m blown away….” He smiles. “Blown away, but not going anywhere.”
“Even though it could get really messy?” I ask, thinking of how Will used to feel about Gabe. About anything that deviated from his script of how life should look.
“Yeah,” he says. “Love has a way of working stuff out. Even the messy parts.”
“Wait,” I say, feeling a smile spread across my face. “Are you saying you love me?”
“No,” he says, grinning as he takes my other hand. “But I’m not ruling it out….I could definitely see myself loving you…loving both of you.”
For a second I think he means Gabe, then realize that he’s talking about the baby.
“That’s funny,” I say, squeezing his hands and smiling, “because I could definitely see the two of us loving you back.”
chapter thirty-four
MEREDITH
“Isn’t there another way?” Nolan asks me in early December as we stroll through the botanical garden, enjoying the Festival of Lights with Harper, one of our holiday traditions.
“What do you mean ‘another way’?” I say, keeping my eye on Harper, who is about ten yards ahead of us.
“Can’t we find a way to be happy? Even though you don’t love me?”
I sigh, weary of his self-pitying comments, and say, “Nolan, I do love you.”
“Okay. Even though you aren’t in love with me,” he replies, as we begin to go around and around in the same futile circles.
You aren’t in love with me, either.
Yes, I am.
No, you’re not.
But I’m happy with our marriage.
You can’t be.
I’m happy enough.
“Happy enough” is not enough.
It is for me; why can’t it be for you?
And that’s what it has always come back to over the past few weeks, since I returned from New York. The worst of my anger has ebbed, and we’ve agreed not to make any big decisions until after the holidays, but that question always remains: Is what we have enough?
I think of the recent heart-to-hearts I’ve had with Ellen, and the several intense sessions in Amy’s office. I’ve even talked to my mom a bit about the subject, though I’ve yet to admit just how dire things are. We all agree that there is no bright-line litmus test for what works in a marriage, or for what happiness looks like. That it all comes down to the two people inside the relationship.
On the one extreme, there are those rare soul mates, the blissful marriages filled with unwavering passion in which both parties are completely head-over-heels in love. On the other end of the spectrum are the shitty relationships, marked by dysfunction, mean-spiritedness, even abuse—those that are destined to end in divorce or disaster.
In between lies a vast bandwidth of gray-area marriages. Some are arranged by two families, built entirely upon shared values rather than the notion of romantic love. Others have become sexless over the years, morphing into merely high-functioning partnerships, two people committed to their children, or the religious institution of marriage, or the theoretical idea of family and forever. Sometimes people are brought together by loneliness—or default, because nobody else seems to want them.
All of these scenarios can easily be dismissed as pitiful or a version of settling. And for a long time, I subscribed to this notion, too. Now, I’m beginning to see that many different kinds of marriages can work, as long as both people are satisfied by the status quo. But it has to be both, not just one, and I’m pretty sure this is what Nolan is trying to say now. Can’t I just accept what we have, and who we are together, and find a way to be happy in spite of what we don’t have? Can’t I, just for once, see the glass as half full? Can’t I get on board with him, and find a way to make this work?
I watch him take the last sip of his hot chocolate and toss the cup into a garbage can. He then pulls out his phone and calls out to Harper.
“C’mere for a second, honey. Stand right there. In front of that tree,” he says, pointing to a huge magnolia strung with thousands of tiny purple and green lights.
Harper happily obliges, posing with a big, toothy grin, then runs ahead again as Nolan checks the image, frowns, puts a filter on it, then shows me his work. “Cool shot, huh?”
“Very cool. Text it to me. I’ll Insta it,” I say, wishing that life were that easy. Take the flawed image and simply crop it, brighten and saturate it, throw a fancy filter on it. Make it what you want it to be. Then again, I think that is the way Nolan approaches life, with his rose-colored glasses.