Page 127 of When We Had Forever
“I just...needed you,” he says. “I still do. What would’ve happened if you hadn’t stopped me from going into the store that day?”
I open my mouth, or try to, but nothing comes out.
And in another moment, the dream fades. It spins off into silken, swaying darkness, taking me with it.
In the morning, my head feels like someone has taken a sledgehammer to the inside of my skull.
I drag myself upright with a wince. The clock on Michael’s nightstand reads nearly eleven, and I hang my legs over the bedside before braving a walk across the room. God, I haven’t been this hungover since college.
I tame my snarled hair and force some ibuprofen down my throat, then venture out of the bedroom. To my surprise, Michael’s office is empty.
I find him downstairs, in the kitchen. The heavy scent of frying bacon and syrupy French toast saturates the air.
He’s cooking. Andwhistling.
I collapse on a stool at the island and squint. “I didn’t know you could whistle.”
With a flourish, Michael serves up a heaping plate. His eyes twinkle. “Well, now you do. How’re you feeling?”
“Great.” The mere word threatens to split my head open. “Why’re you so chipper?”
His smile widens. “Because my doctor called this morning. And it’s good news.”
I look down at the food, then up at him. He watches me, expectant, his expression more open than it’s been all week.
“What good news?”
“My biopsy results came back. Benign. No cancer.”
“Biopsy?” I shake my head, wondering if hangovers can cause auditory hallucinations. “What biopsy?”
“Dr. Maraida found a lump last week. On my testicle. I had to go do an ultrasound and get a giant needle poked into me. But it turns out it was nothing. Just a scare.”
I sit motionless. “You thought you had cancer? And didn’t tell me?”
“I didn’t want to worry you.”
I gape. “I’m your wife. It’s my job to worry when, you know...something important happens.”
He doesn’t shrink from the accusation in my tone. It seems to roll off him like so much water down a duck’s back. “I wanted to spare you, Mina. It wouldn’t have made any sense for us both to be miserable. Not unless there was something to actually be miserable about.”
I pause, weighing that. Last night’s dream floats back to me in hazy snatches. “Is that why...?”
He waits, his head tilted.
My cheeks tingle. I had to have been asleep. Michael never talks like that. And yet... “I had the strangest dream last night.”
He doesn’t blink. “About?”
“It was you, I think. Or someone who sounded like you. You got in bed and told me all these things about what you should’ve done, like... Like you regretted stuff.”
His expression turns thoughtful, but I discern no recognition on his face. “Just a nightmare. This whole thing has just been a horrible nightmare, and now it’s over.”
I search for a response. I can’t believe he’d shoulder something like this for an entire week without telling me. And yet somehow, I’m not surprised.
“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Michael says. “Maybe we could take a vacation. Go back to Hawaii.”
Everything rushes away, the smell of the food fading. Even the hammering in my head quiets. My body fills with heat as the old daydreams come flooding back with a strength that makes me dizzy.
