“Lord, please bless me with the words that will fix what I’ve messed up. Bless me with patience and your love to guide me in my interactions with Holly. I know she’s been hurt and all I want to do is love and protect her. Show me the path you would have me follow.”
My words are loud in the small space, and as I search for more to say, my heart rate calms. I end my prayer. I don’t know what my next steps are, but I know nothing will fix itself by staying in the car.
I walk through the door into Holly’s exquisite kitchen. My stomach grumbles, and I’m tempted to avoid talking to Holly and instead raid her snack stash. But snacks don’t make a full meal.
Note to self—go grocery shopping tomorrow.
I slip off my shoes next to the door and look up, only to see Holly’s face white as snow. The glass cup in her hand rattles against the counter as she puts it down. Her free hand grips the edge of the counter like her life depends on it.
Whatever this is, I will not let it go on. Seeing Holly this unsettled is not something I can handle.
I walk across the hardwood floor, around the kitchen island, to where she’s standing next to the sink. She’s picked up her cup again, but doesn’t take a drink. She holds it in the air, as if frozen in time. Every twitch of her hand is a needle poking me, urging me to do something.
“Holly, can we talk?”
Her hand spasms and water splatters on the counter. I grab the glass out of her hand and set it down. Holly fists her hands on the counter, tilting her chin down and away from me so I can’t see her face. It’s like she’s shrinking into herself.
That won’t do.
I grab a towel and throw it on the puddle of water before slowly approaching my wife again. Ever so slowly, I inch my hand across the counter toward hers, praying she’ll let me hold it. I brush her pinky finger with mine, the coldness of her hands surprising me considering it’s a hot afternoon in the middle of summer. Holly’s hand flips over and I grip her fingers, willing them to soak up my warmth.
“Holly, I know it’s been a crazy day and I messed up. Please come sit and talk with me.”
Holly's fingers tighten around mine as she finally turns toward me. She lifts her chin. Her eyes are like a stormy sea, emotions I can’t name but want to discover raging in their depths. I walk backward, gently pulling Holly with me as I keep hold of her hand. I back around the couch and sit in the far corner, letting her take up as much space as she needs. She pulls her hand from mine and cuddles into the corner of the couch, tucking her legs up and under her white dress, which contrasts with the gray fabric of the couch. The stark color difference reminds me of how drastically our lives are different now than even a few hours earlier.
There’s a fuzzy throw blanket between us on the back of the couch, so I grab it and drape it over her. If her hands are any indication, she needs as much warmth as she can get. She shuffles around, tucking the blanket in around her until she’s wrapped up like a burrito.
I love burritos.
Color returns to her cheeks, but she won’t meet my eyes. I watch as they look everywhere around the room, except at me.
She’s inspecting the electric fireplace and mantel on the wall now, but I still watch her. I wonder what she’d say if she knew that I turned thatthing on and off about twenty times while I was moving my stuff in on Wednesday night with Alex.
What can I say? I’m a boy who can’t resist a good fireplace.
Holly tucks her hand against her chest, and I can hear her clicking her nails together. Patience with skittish animals is something I learned early on my farm. I know I can’t rush this.
A genuine conversation takes two people, and I’m willing to wait until she’s ready to participate.
The clicking of her nails finally stops, and I watch as she takes a deep breath before turning more fully toward me. Her eyes flick to mine for a second before looking back at her hands. “What did you want to talk about?”
She’s using her client voice, the one where she sounds like she doesn’t want to talk to a person but is going to anyway because it’s her job. I’ve only heard it once. Well, really, I overheard it once, when she was at Alex’s house.
Did I catalog that information about Holly away for the future, even though it was almost two years ago?
Yes.
I’ve had a crush on my wife for a long time.
I don’t want Holly’s client voice. I want her.
Mami always says the quickest way to solve something is to jump right in and talk about it. “We never talked about what to do when people expected us to kiss. I’m sorry if the end of the kiss made you uncomfortable.”
Holly’s back straightens, and she looks past me toward the dining room. “It’s fine, Mateo. That’s what a couple does at a wedding. It takes two people to have a kiss like that.”
I will her to look into my eyes, but she doesn’t, and a sigh escapes me. “I know, butwe’renot a normal couple. Plus, when a woman says something is fine, it’s not. I have two younger sisters and a mother. So, even though you said it’s fine, I know it’s not.”
Holly’s shoulders drop and her lips quirk. Hopefully, a little banter will help her feel more like herself.
