Erin started to say something, then stopped. She looked everywhere but me. Her drink, the news crew that had arrived from Los Angeles, the jungle-edged runway.
"I'm realizing now that I can't give you all the things that you want," she said.
"You don't care what I want," I said. "You've never cared about what I want, Erin."
Her eyes widened as she nodded, staring at her hands. "This isn't the first time I've been called a self-centered bitch," she murmured. "Probably won't be the last."
"That isn't what I said." I shook my head and looked away while I drew in a breath. That was exactly what I'd said. I was frustrated. With myself, with her, with everything. "You already know what happens next, after you're done in Iceland, don't you? You're gonna find a new overseas research venture, and you're going to hide behind that for a couple more years. You have no intention of coming home. Right?"
"It's complicated, Nick," she said with a sigh.
"It's not, actually," I replied. "You don't want to deal with Shannon and the rest of your family. I get it, Skip, I really do. They don't always make it easy on you, and they're hung up on the shit you did three lifetimes ago, but you don't make it easy on them, either. You show up for moments, and nothing more. You don't talk to them unless they talk to you first. But they'remyfamily just as much as they're yours, and I don't want my wife to be a secret, a spire in the distance, one that I can see but never, ever reach."
"Nick, my work and my family are two separate issues," she said. "And quick reminder—my work is all about field research. I can't just hang out in Boston, measuring how quickly the Back Bay is sinking and tracking the sunny day floods in Rowes Wharf."
"I've never asked you to give up your research, but we both know you'll have your choice of projects when you're finished at Oxford. You won't have to be stuck on expeditions for months at a time, or living in airports and train stations. You can come home and be with me, and—"
"Maybe I like fieldwork," she snapped. "Have you considered that?"
"Have you considered that I know you about as well as you know yourself?" I asked. "You were miserable last winter. Don't lie to both of us and say you liked that trip to the Arctic Circle."
She rolled her eyes. "It's not all good times and glam," she said, "but neither is medicine. You constantly complain about managed care and hospital politics, but I'm not over here suggesting that you give it up, am I? No, and that's because I know you love being a surgeon and I'd never want to take that from you."
"I'm not taking a fucking thing from you," I cried. "I want you to have a place. I wantusto have a place."
"As long as it's Boston," she said under her breath.
"I'm not gonna lie and say I don't want that, but I want you more," I replied. "If you told me that you wanted to research the Alaskan ice sheets, or Mount Tambora, or fuckinganything, Skip, and you wanted me to come along, I'd be there. Why won't you do the same for me? Don't stop traveling and researching, but when you come home, come home tome."
"It's simple for you," she said. "My siblings don't look at you and see every shitty thing you've ever done. They don't hide the breakables when you're around, or warn you not to cause a scene. The home you want isn't a place that belongs to me, not anymore."
I stared at her for a sharp, painful moment. "Whatever happened to not wasting time because life was too short? Whatever happened to living without regrets? Where is the woman I married, the one who wanted to steal a lobster boat and beat the shit out of every minute because these years are so fucking inadequate? Where the fuck is she because this"—I gestured to her—"is not that woman. This is you letting your father's ghost and the fear of a rough conversation with Shannon win, and the woman I married is better than that. She'd tell her siblings to get the fuck over themselves and catch up because she's really smart and successful, and she doesn't have time for any of their bullshit opinions."
"This marriage isn't real," she said softly.
"When the fuck did that start mattering to us?" I snapped. "You're not weak, Skip. Stop taking that way out."
"Then I'll keep my self-preservation to myself," she said.
"I'm not attacking your self-preservation, and I think you know that. I'm attacking your willingness to do things that scare you, and reminding you that you don't have to be scared alone," I said. "You can end this. You're the only one who can."
"I'm neither Harry Potter nor Frodo Baggins," she murmured.
"That's good," I said. "Deflect. Blow it off."
"I'm not blowing anything off," she said. "You've just listed all of my flaws, and I need some levity right now because it feels like all I ever hear is what I do wrong. Maybe Iamdeflecting, but that's what I need to take care of myself. I'm not ignoring anything you said, Nick. I'm just trying to survive it."
"I don't know much longer I can do this," I admitted. "I can't wait for you if there's no end in sight."
Her lips flattened into a grim line as she nodded. "We probably should've straightened that out on the lobster boat, huh?"
"You're not even budging an inch, darlin'," I said. "Do you notice that? Or are you being intentionally obstinate?"
She gave me an oblique glance and then finished her beer. Before she could respond—I could see her cooking up something good and snappy—the loudspeaker blared with flight announcements. First in Spanish, then English.
Erin pointed to the ceiling. "That's me." She hopped off her stool and shrugged on her backpack. "I guess…" she started, her thumbs hooked around the straps and eyes cast down. "I guess this is goodbye, Nick."
Goodbye.She'd never said that before, never once, and now I heard it like a door slamming shut.
