“It’s okay,” she said with a wink, “love is supposed to feel that way.”
We’ve kept up weekly visits with Marion, who hasn’t had much to say about us other than, told you so. She doesn’t ever say that, but each crook of her eyebrow and shake of her head tells us just the same.
Dr. Greene has met with us together a few times as we try to navigate through our apprehension about starting our relationship. It’s only fear, she says, and that’s scarier than what may or may not be behind it. She’s encouraged us to look at it as starting our relationship, rather than re-starting, to try to leave the past at the door rather than right between us. We’ve been taking it slow, though, and tonight is the first night I’m staying at his house.
“You look nervous.” I say, walking toward Ryker as he dries the last plate and sets it on the shelf.
He sighs and leans against the counter. “I still get nightmares, Nat. Not all the time, but, I still get them.”
“It’s okay,” I wrap my arms around his waist, “I do too, sometimes.”
“You do?”
I nod. “Mmhmm.”
“What are they about?”
“Oh,” I sigh, taking his hand and leading him to the living room where we sit on the couch, “lots of things. Until a few months ago I’d have dreams about you, and the last couple of months before . . . you know.” He nods, understanding that I’m talking about the few months after he got home from Afghanistan. “Sometimes I dream about that, about Lucas, or about cutting.”
“You dream about cutting?” He leans away, seeming to study my face.
“Not dream—it’s a complete nightmare. The dream starts with me on the bathroom floor, bleeding from my arms and legs and I can’t get out of the bathroom—the door’s locked.” A chill runs up my spine and I shiver a little.
“Have you wanted to cut recently?” Ryker brings my hand to his lips and softly kisses my knuckles.
After a couple weeks of him being overly attentive in that department, we had to have a tough discussion, setting some ground rules for checking in with each other. I appreciate his concern, but I need to feel supported rather than watched over. He’s starting to get that.
“No, thankfully. I want to stay healthy for me, for the boys, and for us. But . . . I can’t promise that it will always feel this easy not to. I went ten years without doing it before, and in a second I was back there.”
“I get it.” His eyes look off to a place where I understand that he really does get it.
“I want you to talk to me, Ryker. I don’t want you holding things back because you are worried about how I’ll handle something. If you’re having a tough day, tell me. If you want to talk about what happened with us all those years ago, let’s do it. And, if you ever, ever want to talk about Lucas . . . I’ll be here.” Ryker doesn’t talk much about Lucas, and I’m not sure if he ever will, but I need to remind him that I’ll listen if he ever decides to.
Ryker’s nervous blue eyes look into mine. “I know you are, Nat. It just feels so unreal sometimes . . . still. I’ll try to be more open about it with you, okay? It’s the least you deserve from me after all you’ve given me.”
“Hey,” I start nervously, “there’s something I need to talk about with you.” I sit back, tucking my knees into my chest. I’ve been preparing this talk all week.
Ryker sets his arm on the back of the couch. “What’s up?”
“I know this is going to sound super crazy and way ahead of ourselves, but . . . I just feel like I need to be honest with you and tell you that I’m not sure if I want to have any more children.” I exhale as I watch Ryker take in my words.
He shakes his head, just slightly. “Natalie . . . it’s—”
“No,” I cut him off. “I really want you to think about it. I mean, I know I’m only thirty-two in people years . . . but in biological clock years, that’s thirty-two. You don’t have kids, and, if you think you’re going to want them . . . then we need to reevaluate some things.” I choke a bit over the last words, realizing with bitterness that this not-so-little detail could screw things up for Ryker and me.
It’s not super romantic to have this conversation on what has been silently planned as our “second first time” together, but, it’s more romantic than an oh, shit conversation, I suppose.
“Natalie,” Ryker grabs my hand away from my knee and laces his fingers between mine, “I want you, I love you. And, if the last ten years has taught us anything, hasn’t it taught us that when you love someone, you love them head-to-toe and inside out because . . . well, because you can’t help it? I love you for a reason, Natalie. You’re mine and I’m yours. We took an odd route to prove that to ourselves, but we did, didn’t we?”