“Sometimes,” I say, then add, “though honestly, it’s so much easier to pick up a roasted chicken on the way home.”
“Not nearly as good, though,” Tyler says, “for your tastebuds or your soul.”
“I don’t think cooking is the best thing for my soul right now.” I’m surprised that I admitted such a thing, but Tyler only tilts his head and looks at me consideringly.
“What is, then?” he asks.
Fixing my marriage.
I shrug and scrub at the spotless counter. The insane thing is, I want to say the words aloud. I want to tell him that things are tough right now, that my marriage is rocky, that I’m doubting both my husband and myself.
And that it hurts.
I lift my head to look at him. He’s watching me with curiosity in his blue eyes. His blond hair flops over his forehead. I find myself staring at his mouth, then jerk my gaze back down to the counter.
“Friends?” he asks.
I swallow. The air feels different, charged with something I’m not used to, something not right, something I should reject.
“They’re good for one’s soul,” Tyler says.
“Yes,” I agree. “And maybe food?”
He grins. “Any time you want, Julienne is open. I’ll cook you a meal that’ll make your soul sparkle again.”
That, I think, is a meal I’d love to eat.
Today’s Saturday. Dean wakes me up early and tells me to get dressed for a hike. It’s been ages since we’ve gone hiking at dawn, and I struggle with the urge to burrow back under the covers.
“Come on, beauty. Let’s talk.”
I push the comforter aside and peer at him. He looks serious, but not angry. Given our recent discord, the thought of spending a couple of hours hiking with him is appealing. So lured by the hope that we will find our way back to each other, I haul myself out of bed to dress and eat a quick breakfast.
We put on jackets over our jeans and sweatshirts, hitch on our backpacks, and head out to hike one of our favorite trails that crests along the edge of the mountain and overlooks the lake.
“I sent you an email with my flight information for the conference next weekend,” Dean says.
“Is your paper ready?”
“Finished it last night.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“Four nights. I’ll drive to the airport and leave my car in the lot.”
I follow behind him, stepping where he steps. Some leaves still cling precariously to the tree branches. Below the rocky ridge, the lake shimmers and undulates with a light wind. We pass a couple of other hikers, but the trail is mostly ours.
By mutual agreement, we stop at the top of an outcropping of rocks and find a place to sit. We eat granola bars and drink water, enjoying the quiet and the bird’s-eye view of the lake and town.
“Since the day we met, I haven’t wanted anyone but you,” Dean says.
My heart jumps a little.
“Never looked at another woman,” he continues. “Never thought about one. It’s always been you, Olivia.”
My white knight. I reach over to squeeze his hand.
“I know.”
I’ve always known. I’ve always believed in him. That belief has been shaken in recent weeks, but my heart still knows the truth. I just have to remember to listen.
We fall silent. A breeze rustles through the leaves, and a bird hops along the path in front of us.
“You remember I told you about Helen?” Dean asks.
I turn to look at him. His gaze is on the lake, but something tense emanates from him. My stomach tightens.
“The woman you were with in grad school?” I ask.
“She wanted to get married.”
“That’s not surprising.”
“We figured we’d finish our dissertations, find jobs. Get settled first.”
“Makes sense.”
He stares at his water bottle, rolling it between his palms. “So we… well, a few times we were kind of careless with birth control.”
The knot in my stomach worsens. I don’t respond.
“She got pregnant.”
Jesus. Where is he going with this?
“And she… uh, she got rid of it,” he continues. “She was stressed out over her dissertation, working two jobs, both of us still teaching and taking classes… she thought it was a mistake.”
“She thought all that?”
“I didn’t… I mean, we’d talked about having kids someday, but after we were married. So yeah, she was right. It wasn’t… it was a lousy time. I didn’t argue. Hell, I drove her to the fucking clinic.”
I don’t know what to say. I hadn’t known this before. Is this why he’d never questioned my own lack of desire to have children?
“So you… you regretted it?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I think so. It didn’t even seem real at the time. I was… what, twenty-two? We didn’t even talk about it much. Then a year later, Helen was still working on her dissertation when she got the Stanford job. I’d done my coursework, so I went with her. She said she’d work while I finished my research. We were out there for two months before she said she wanted a baby.”
“Oh.”
“I don’t know what it was. I figured it was guilt, sorrow, family pressure… maybe a combination of all three.” He pauses and shrugs. “Helen was close to my mother and sister. I told you that.”