“No, you won’t. And I don’t want you to. It’s not just work, Rafe. I get it, I really do. You’ve got responsibilities that are greater than me.” She waved her hand in front of his face, spraying sudsy dishwater as she cut off his interjection before it even began. “No. Iunderstand. What you need to understand isI’m still pissed. Logic has no place in this conversation. I’m just…sad and hurt and looking at yet another weekend alone. Nothing makes that better.”
That was true, but it didn’t change the fact that she wanted him totry, even if it was in vain. But he had tried. And she’d tried not to care. They were both tried out. So Rafe turned slowly and went upstairs. The shower turned on, then off after a few minutes. He didn’t come back downstairs.
She wiped down the counters. Then the front of the fridge and the windowsill.
Finally she trudged up to their room. He was lying on their bed, reading a book he’d read a dozen times before. She wanted to make a snipping comment about the meaning of life being a happy wife, but knew it would go over like a lead balloon. So she quietly grabbed a tank top and sleeping shorts and got changed. “I might go sleep downstairs.”
He snorted. “That’s a great solution to us not spending enough time together.”
“Quality time, Rafe. Not like this.”
“This is what we make it, Liv.”
“It’s not enough.”
He pushed up, sitting on the edge of the bed. His book sat beside him, open facedown on the bedspread to keep his page. “Come to bed.”
“I don’t think sex is a good idea.”
“Not for sex, woman. Jesus, I certainly don’t feel like it when you’re harping at me.”
Great, so now she was a harpy. “Then it won’t matter if I sleep downstairs.”
“It will matter. Itdoesmatter. Let’s just…read together. Watch a movie. We’ve got tonight, anyway.”
And he wanted to spend it watching a movie together. Not talking. Not slowly peeling off the new lingerie she’d bought for the weekend—online, with express shipping, because that was her only option for anything other than Wal-Mart. Forty-five minutes of half-assed cuddles before he’d inevitably fall asleep and she’d lie next to him for hours wondering what had happened to her marriage.
“Fine.” She didn’t mean it, but she didn’t want to sleep on the couch, either. She curled up next to him, fully expecting to be fuming again in short order. He pulled her close and played with her hair, twisting it this way and that, then burrowing his fingers closer to her scalp. His movements slowed but never stopped. And before she could remember she wanted to be mad, she was the one drifting off to sleep.
— —
Rafe had sent Liv no fewer than six loving text messages while he was gone for the weekend. She’d responded to two of them. He didn’t like that response ratio.
But when he got home, she’d made chili for dinner, one of his favourites and something that kept nicely. If she was truly pissed, she’d have made salmon or something that didn’t survive re-heating.
He heated up a bowl and ate it on the couch while they watched a singing competition reality show.
They didn’t talk.
They didn’t fight, but that might have been better, more of a warning of what was to come.
Bedtime that night was quiet. They didn’t make love, but when he pulled Liv into his arms, she folded agreeably into his side. He’d had a long weekend, the course had involved overnight training and it had rained all day, one of those cold late autumn dumps that seeped under the skin and turned him to a prune from the inside out.
“Love you, Liv…” he mumbled as he drifted off, and he wanted to believe she said it back, but it might have been sleepy wishful thinking.
— —
He took a seat at the diner counter and waited for Liv to have a break. He could have sent her a text message, but after the last month of what felt like non-stop fighting sincethe weekendthat wasn’t, he knew that wouldn’t go over well. But doing this at her work didn’t feel great either.
She stopped in front of him and wordlessly held up the glass carafe. He nodded and she poured him a cup. “What is it this time?”
“We’re short-staffed.” He braced himself for the bitching. “I need to go in for a night shift tonight.”
“It’s fine.”
“Maybe you could go with someone else.”
“Nah, I’ll just give the tickets to Deena.”
