I look at him, knowing that he will deny this accusation, but hoping he can do so convincingly.
“No,” he says, letting one clenched fist fall to the table. “That’s not it. It’s not about sex. Except for maybe the feeling of being connected that sex can give you . . . It’s just. . . It’s not that simple, Tess . . . It’s no one thing you can point to.”
I nod, thinking of how difficult marriage can be, how much effort is required to sustain a feeling between two people—a feeling that you can’t imagine will ever fade in the beginning when everything comes so easily. I think of how each person in a marriage owes it to the other to find individual happiness, even in a shared life. That this is the only real way to grow together, instead of apart.
He continues, as if reading my mind. “Life can be tough. And monotonous . .. and exhausting. And it’s not the romantic ride you think it’s going to be when you start out, in the beginning . .. But that doesn’t mean .. . that doesn’t give anyone the right... It didn’t give me the right to do what I did . .. Look, Tess. Whatever the reason, it wasn’t a good one. And lately, I think there was no reason at all. Which might be worse. But it’s the truth. And it’s all I have to give you.”
I swallow and nod. Then, despite my determination not to make this conversation about her, I ask whether he’s spoken to her since the day he came home from his walk in the Common.
“No,” he says.
“So you’re not his doctor anymore?” I ask, avoiding Charlie’s name, right along with his mother’s.
“No.”
“And you’re not going to be in his life?”
“No.”
“Not at all?”
“No.”
“Does that make you sad?”
He sighs, then grimaces. “I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t sad . . . that I don’t miss that little boy and feel tremendous guilt for being part of his life and then abruptly leaving. I feel guilty for any pain I could have caused a child. For breaking the first rule of medicine.”
Do no harm, I think, and then consider all the harm he did.
He continues, “But I feel more guilty about you. I can’t really think beyond you . . . us. My kids. Our family. Most of the time, I can’t think at all. I’m just feeling and remembering and wishing.”
“And what’s that?” I ask, something inside me softening. “What are you feeling and remembering and wishing?”
“I’m feeling . . . the way I felt when I met you on the subway. You were standing there with that ring on your finger, looking so sad. So beautiful. . . And I’m remembering our early days when we were broke and in school and splitting Stouffer’s lasagna for dinner and . . . and when you were pregnant with Ruby and eating two of those lasagnas by yourself.” He stares into space with a faint smile.
“I was eating for two,” I say, the line I used despite the fact that I was actually eating as if pregnant with triplets.
He continues, a faraway look in his eyes. “And I’m wishing . . . I’m wishing that I could somehow get you back. I want you back, Tessa.”
I shake my head, feeling profound sadness for myself and the kids—but also, for the first time, for Nick.
“It won’t be the same,” I say.
“I know,” he replies.
“It will never be the same,” I say.
“I know,” he says. “But maybe . . .”
“Maybe what?” I ask hopefully.
“Maybe it can be better,” he says—which is exactly what I wanted him to say. “Can we try and find out? Can we try for Ruby and Frank? Can we try for us?”
I feel myself start to crumble as he stands and pulls me to my feet, taking both of my hands in his. “Please,” he says.
“I don’t know if I can,” I say, tears spilling down my face. “I don’t know if I can ever trust you. Even if I wanted to.”
He starts to hold me, then stops, as if realizing he hasn’t yet earned that right. Then he whispers my name and says, “Let me help you.”
My tears continue to flow, but I do not tell him no. Which, of course, we both know is very nearly a yes.
“I can’t make any promises,” I say.
“But I can” he says.
“You did that once,” I say, my voice cracking.
“I know. And I’ll do it again. I’ll do it every day. I’ll do whatever it takes. Just give me one more chance.”
One more chance.
Words that my mother heard, more than once. Words that women debate. Whether you can forgive and whether you should trust. I think of all the judgment from society, friends, and family, the overwhelming consensus seeming to be that you should not grant someone who betrayed you a second chance. That you should do everything you can to keep the knife out of your back, and to protect your heart and pride. Cowards give second chances. Fools give second chances. And I am no coward, no fool.
“I’m so sorry,” Nick says.
I envision him on our wedding day as we exchanged our vows, hearing his words: Forsaking all others as long as we both shall live.
That was the way it was supposed to be.