I thought: I want to get you alone.
When I finally did, the night of a lecture I was giving at a local museum, I discovered there was something contradictory about her, a mixture of curiosity and wariness. Like she wanted to be brave but wasn’t sure what would happen if she dared to let herself. A mouse peering out of its hole, whiskers vibrating with the urge to dart out.
I’d never wanted to prove myself to anyone the way I did Liv. I liked her too much. Liked the way I didn’t feel cold inside when I was with her, the way I didn’t think about anything except her. I liked that she was a mystery. I liked the way she looked at me, as if she knew I would protect her. That I could.
Until… I couldn’t.
The admission still lodges like a blade inside me.
“Oh, look, Pirates of Penzance is playing at the Civic Center.” Liv’s voice breaks into my darkening thoughts. She’s sitting across from me at the kitchen table, peering at the local section of the newspaper. “Want to go?”
“Uh, sure.”
“Or Cats will be there this spring, if you’d rather see that,” she remarks.
“I’m not really a cat person.”
“More of a pirate person, huh?” She glances at me with amusement. “Okay, I’ll see if tickets are still available. I love that ‘Modern Major-General’ song.”
It’s a measure of how much I love my wife that I just agreed to sit through two hours of dancing, singing pirates.
This, at least, is where Liv belongs. Here in this apartment that she’s made into our home with her houseplants and decorating touches. She belongs across from me at the breakfast table, bundled in her ridiculous robe that has enough padding to keep her warm in a blizzard, her hair all messy around her shoulders.
Having her back at home, easing into the post-holiday routine of our daily lives, even things like breakfast—the familiarity of coffee, toast, the newspaper, her—I can almost forget the hellish past month.
Almost.
I can almost believe nothing has changed.
Almost.
Liv takes a sip of coffee and grimaces. “Not to be rude, Dean, but this tastes really bad.”
“It’s a different kind of decaf with no caffeine at all.”
“Figures.”
“Don’t want to take any chances when you’re pregnant.” I still feel like I’m speaking a foreign language I don’t understand. You’re pregnant.
My wife is pregnant.
I watch her as she spreads jam on a piece of toast. She’s so pretty with her thick-lashed brown eyes, the sprinkle of freckles across her nose, her skin like cream. All that straight, brown hair that I wanted to touch the minute I first saw her. She looks the same as she did five years ago—still beautiful, sweet, glowing.
It hits me suddenly, the realization that she’s going to change. Physically, sure, but also in ways I might never even know.
“You still feel okay?” I ask.
“A little nauseous every now and then, but nothing horrible.” She licks a drop of jam off her thumb. “I heard back from Dr. Anderson, my therapist in Madison. She recommended a counselor in Rainwood who does both individual and marriage counseling.”
Liv glances at me, wary. I grab another piece of toast to avoid responding.
“Dean.”
“I said I’d go with you.” I sound irritated. Shit.
“I think I should go alone first,” Liv says.
“You want to go alone?”
“At first, yes.” Her throat ripples with a swallow. “Figure out some stuff on my own.”
My chest tightens—part frustration, part anger, part relief—but I know there’s only one response to this.
“Just tell me when you want me to be there,” I say.
I hate this. Hate that she’ll have to relive everything, spill her guts to a stranger. Hate that she’s going to cry and battle emotions I’ll never understand and can’t protect her from.
And I really fucking hate that I’m to blame for it all. Four months ago, when Liv brought up the idea of us having children, I finally confessed what I’d kept secret from her for five years—that I’d been married before when I was in my early twenties.
I hadn’t told her because it was a shitty part of my life that I wanted to forget. I haven’t seen my ex-wife since the divorce fifteen years ago, even though Helen is still friends with my sister and mother. And Liv has always had enough to contend with between both our families. She didn’t need to hear about my first marriage that crashed and burned like a fireball.
Finally, though, I had to tell Liv why I was reluctant to try for a baby. The revelation about my former marriage caused more trouble between us, which led to us separating for three of the worst weeks of my life.
Now Liv is home again. Pregnant. And I’ll fix this if it kills me.
“Can I at least have one tiny sip of your coffee?” she asks.