But, I reminded myself, two months would still be a vast improvement.
Greg’s tone was considerably less teasing and considerably more contrite as he stated, “I should tell you the same, shouldn’t I? I’m not terribly good at expressing my appreciation for all that you do, for me, for our children.”
Feverish warmth blossomed in the vicinity of my heart and claimed my cheeks; I felt myself smile widely. “Thank you. I think . . . I think I needed to hear the words, too.”
“I should say them more often. Or at least send you a pile of diamonds.”
“I’d settle for a greeting card.”
“You should never settle, Fe. You should never have to. And you must tell me if I’m a source of unhappiness for you.”
A lump formed in my throat because my husband was so entirely and epically adorable when he was being sincere. Without thinking about his words too long or too hard, I gave into my instincts to assuage his worries. “You aren’t a source of unhappiness.”
“I don’t think that’s true.” He frowned at me, studying my features for a long moment before adding, “I am sorry I lied to you, about Nigeria. It was an act of a desperate man, a man desperate for his wife and family. And I’m sorry my dish-doing isn’t up to regulation standards. I promise I’ll do better when I’m home. I’ll watch a YouTube video on the proper way to clean a kitchen, maybe I’ll even buy one of those sexy maid costumes.”
I gave him a small smirk. “You’re going to wear one of those sexy maid costumes when you do the dishes?”
“No. You’ll wear the costume whenever you’d like me to do the dishes.”
“So I’ll wear it all the time?”
“Ah, good point. I’d have to get a second job just to afford the fishnet stockings required. Scratch that. We’ll have to come up with a different method of communication, when the dishes need doing. Maybe flash me?”
“How about you look around the kitchen and if it’s dirty you clean it? All of it.”
Greg’s eyes narrowed on me, but this mouth curved to one side. “I don’t know . . . that feels like something Hitler would say.”
I tried not to laugh as I added, “And wipe down the counters.”
“Fine.” His attention strayed to my mouth. “I will try to do better, and make every effort to remember to wipe down the counters. Though I still reserve the right to stack the dishwasher how I see fit.”
“Even though it’s inefficient,” I grumbled.
He grinned, his eyes moving back to mine. “Even though it’s inefficient, and wrong, and horrid, and a crime against humanity.”
“Glad we’re in agreement.” I returned his smile with a small one of my own, relieved he’d listened to my gripe about the dishes and promised to try harder. This was a step in the right direction. This had me feeling hopeful.
Greg’s expression sobered as he held my gaze and I could tell he was struggling, wanting to say something he wasn’t certain I would be willing to hear.
“Whatever it is, say it,” I encouraged. “You might as well, because we’re here until tomorrow morning and there are no kids in the other room vying for our attention.”
He nodded once and said, “The truth is, my poor dish-doing skills notwithstanding, I hate you taking responsibility for decisions that should be shared, not consulting me because you don’t think I care or have the right to an opinion.”
I felt his words resonate in my chest and in my neck, because he was right.
Even though I knew he was right, my first instinct was to explain my actions, because I never consciously tried to hurt him. “What was I supposed to do, Greg? I’m the one who wanted children. How could I ask—”
“No. You’re just the one who brought up the subject. Do you think I would’ve had children with you if I didn’t want them? Of course I wanted children with you. They are our children, Fe. And I need you to stop freezing me out.”
I pressed my lips together, my attention drifting to where he held my hand. My ingrained instinct was to apologize, be reasonable, let it go.
But the situation was more complicated than me freezing him out. He’d cut himself out by never being home. I was partially responsible, but we hadn’t arrived to this place solely because of my choices. Decisions had been made, actions—or inactions—had been taken by both of us.
“What are you thinking?”
I gathered a deep breath and pulled my hand from his. “The water is cold.”
“That’s not what you’re thinking.” His tone was laced with frustration.
“I’m tired, Greg. This last week has been crazy. I’m tired and . . . I need some time to think about what we’ve discussed. I need some time to think about everything.”
His jaw ticked and I could see the gathering tempest behind his expression. He was on the precipice of reacting.
I shook my head before he could speak. “No—you’re not allowed to do that.”
“Do what?”