He chuckled lightly, “I know you won’t be easier to deal with. I’ve seen you drunk.” I glared at him because I didn’t want to laugh. Seeing that he wasn’t going to get a reaction out of me, he explained, “It’s your favorite. Besides, they can cork it for you at the end of dinner and you can take it home with you. It’s not a big deal.”
Buying the wife you were separated from a bottle of her favorite wine just because it was her favorite wine was, in fact, a very big deal. But I decided not to point that out.
Instead, I nodded once and said, “Thank you.”
He leaned in and I caught the tantalizing scent of his cologne and skin. “You’re welcome.”
The bartender reappeared with my wine. It took him a few minutes to uncork it in front of us and go through the tedious process of letting me taste it before pouring my full glass.
As if I was going to turn it down.
Clearly, he did not know me.
After he finally disappeared again, I examined the food menu.
“You can’t stare at your menu the entire night,” Nick teased. “This isn’t just a free meal. You have to work for your dinner.”
He was being nice to me and I had no idea what to do with it. Was he just trying to soften me up so he could get what he wanted? Or was he being genuine?
I set my menu down. “I didn’t think it was a free meal.”
“I was just teasing you, Kate.”
“Oh.”
“Do you know what you want?” His tone was less playful.
I hated that I’d chased it away. “I think so.”
“Me too.”
“Okay, good.”
He fidgeted with the corners of his menu for a minute and I suddenly had a hard time swallowing. I could feel him building up to something, feel the energy inside him expand and contract until it pushed at mine… until it invaded every ounce of my space, every inch of my body.
The bartender came back before either of us could speak again and we put in our food order. He had a ridiculous amount of questions for us and by the time he turned around again I had decided that I should voice a formal complaint.
Except he wasn’t doing anything more than what he was supposed to. My nerves had put me obnoxiously on edge. I took a shaky sip of my wine and savored the flavor, hoping to find center.
Hoping to find solid ground.
“I’m sorry for what happened during mediation. I didn’t… I didn’t expect you to take it so hard.”
I stared at him, unable to form words for a full minute. Finally, I whispered, “Which part?”
“You have to know that if we had a baby… if you became pregnant, that I would do everything in my power to give that child the very best life.”
“I’m not pregnant,” I told him quickly. “You don’t have anything to worry about.”
He flinched. I watched pain fill his blue eyes and his shoulders tense with disappointment.
The wine churned in my stomach and I wanted to sob. Didn’t he know what his disappointment with me did to me? Didn’t he understand how much my inability to do this one thing right tore at me, shredded my soul to pieces… poisoned my thoughts of the future and turned all of my hopes and dreams to ash?
“I thought you’d be relieved.” My voice was such a harsh rasp that I wasn’t sure he could even hear it over the din of the restaurant.
He leaned in again, ignoring my comment completely. “I didn’t realize how deeply affected you were until mediation. I should have. God, I should have known that it would kill you to even talk about it. But… before we separated you had seemed, I don’t know… it was like you’d shut off all of your emotions about a baby. I thought you were... I thought maybe you were…”
“Callous? Heartless?” I lifted an eyebrow. “You thought I didn’t care?”
“Yeah,” he admitted sadly. “Yeah, I thought you didn’t care.”
“It started to hurt too much,” I admitted. “I didn’t… I couldn’t keep hoping each month that that would be the one that was different. I couldn’t keep waiting for each month to prove me wrong. It would have killed me.”