Page 126 of When We Had Forever
Yet whenever I ask what’s wrong, he shakes himself and gives me a smile. “Nothing.”
“Hey,” I say from the doorway. “Would you mind if I went out with Kate tonight?”
He glances up from his desk. “Sure. Will you need a ride later?”
I pause. I know he’s asking whether I plan on drinking. By unspoken agreement, I never do when he’s around, but Ihaveindulged a few times with Kate over the years. “I don’t know. Can I call you if I do?”
“Of course,” he says, his tone mild, as if everything is perfectly fine. Maybe it is. “Whatever you need, angel.”
At dinner, I do indeed end up having margaritas. Four, to be exact, which all hit at once the moment I stand up from the table.
I stumble. Kate slings a steadying arm around my shoulders as we make our way to the parking lot. Tanner, in a surprising show of competence, has managed to get both kids into the car in order to come pick us up, and I breathe a sigh of relief at not having to call my husband.
Whatever’s going on with him, I don’t want to think about it right now.
“How’s Operation Vacation coming along?” Kate slurs in my ear. “Have you convinced Michael to get on a plane again yet?”
I would flinch if I hadn’t drunk so much. As it is, I just hiccup. The lights of the restaurant twinkle and weave in the darkness. “Still working on it.”
I don’t feel like admitting the rest: that three-plus years post-Hawaii, I’ve nearly given up trying. Instead, I’ve come to accept that this is my life. I have a good husband, a good home, the best of friends.
It would be selfish to ask for more.
Tanner pulls up in the Suburban. He waves through the windshield and puts a finger to his lips, indicating the kids are asleep.
“Come on,” I say. “Our knight in shining armor is here.”
Kate climbs in back, cramming herself between the two car seats. After a few clumsy attempts, I manage to hoist myself into the passenger seat and fasten my seat belt.
On the way to my house, Kate starts to cry. Normally, I would startle—my best friend rarely succumbs to tears—but between the alcohol and the postpartum hormones, I figure this is probably par for the course.
“She’s so beautiful,” Kate burbles between sobs. “I can’t believe wemadeher. How mind-blowing is that?”
When Tanner pulls up to my door, I blow silent kisses toward the back seat so as not to wake the babies, then clamber out. Even from the driveway, I catch the wash of yellow illuminating the backyard. Michael is in his office.
I sneak inside and wobble up the stairs to our bedroom, where I run a toothbrush over my teeth, splash water on my face, and collapse into bed without even changing into pajamas.
I would say good night, if I weren’t so spectacularly drunk. Even in my inebriated state, I realize that rubbing my intoxication in Michael’s face would be incredibly cruel.
The world does a slow, nauseating spin, and I drift, not entirely certain whether I’m awake or dreaming. Eventually, a strong arm slips around my waist. A weight settles on the bed.
My eyelids flutter. It’s dark, though I don’t remember turning off the lamp. Did I? What time is it? It could be ten at night or five in the morning. I can’t even tell if I’m in my bedroom or some amorphous dreamscape.
“Are you awake?” a voice says in my ear.
It sounds like Michael, and yet it doesn’t. Something deep and broken drags beneath the words.
“I love you.” Warm breath sifts against my ear.
I can’t gather the energy to reply. My limbs feel heavy, my head fuzzy inside.
“I hope you know it’s for my own reasons,” the voice continues. “Even if you’ve never really loved me.”
I freeze. Everything inside me quiets. I do love him. Of course I do. What kind of bizarre dream is this?
“I’ve tried to make you.” The arm around me curls tighter. “I really have. But now I wonder if maybe I shouldn’t have. If I should’ve let you go a long time ago.”
Let me go?
