“Dada,” Jasper shouts as he races toward his father. Gabe lifts him up and blows raspberries across his stomach. He plops Jasper down, and Jasp toddles into the living room, where he spots a puzzle.
Gabe walks over to me, tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear.
“My last patient had to reschedule. I picked up dinner from Gjelina.” As my heart rate steadies, I smell the aroma of tomatoes and truffles. Gabe pulls me into him. “You okay?”
I nod, not quite prepared to speak.
“Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.” He says this again and again, melding my body into his. I nestle into him, staring out at our quiet garden, watching the tourists trickle by. I sense Claire before I see her. Whenshe steps into view, she’s walking with Erin. A wave of jealousy hits me, even as they motion for me to join them. I wave that I can’t, and Claire blows a kiss before they saunter away.
“I’m okay,” I tell Gabe once the tension releases. “And starving.”
“That’s good, because I ordered enough for everyone on the island.” Gabe winks at me, then disappears around the hall into the kitchen area. I take one more minute to steady my breath, embarrassed that my first assumption was an intruder.
Gabe lines the counter with so many take-out boxes that he must have ordered the entire menu. This is his style: no holding back, anything and everything we may want. When Gabe was in med school in Atlanta, he subsisted on ramen and PB&Js. My Brooklyn diet was strikingly similar, even when I was working for Harry Winston, designing engagement rings that could have paid my rent for a year. We were long distance for the first two years, after meeting at a destination wedding we both went into debt to attend, then further relying on our available credit to buy regular flights across the Eastern Seaboard, forgoing fancy-restaurant dates for takeout in bed. When Gabe finally moved to New York for his residency, we managed to pay off the credit cards only by maintaining that strict, minimally nutritious diet. Over a decade later, it’s still a novelty to us: being able to afford takeout from Gjelina, our house along the canals. Gabe grew up with money, his dad’s money. When he turned eighteen, he took out his own loans for college and med school and has been financially independent ever since. It enraged his father, which, at least partially, was the point. Then Gabe and I changed our last name, and it was the final straw, any chance of a reunion obliterated with the end of the Rossi line—Gabe’s father’s last name. Gabe pretends he’s at peace with his decision, but I can see his disappointment whenever we spot grandfathers at the playground, multigenerational brunches at the Waterfront. Though we’re building our own family, it doesn’t erase the ache of the family we’ve lost.
Gabe grabs two plates and a rubber dish for Jasper, who’s so familiar with Gjelina that he shouts “Lina” at the take-out containers. An ominous prickle creeps down my spine. I glance outside. The walkways are empty. Itake a deep breath. Gabe casts me that concerned expression again, which I pretend not to notice. This jumpiness isn’t good for me, for the baby, for any of us.
Throughout dinner, the sensation of being watched persists. I try to ignore it, being extra complimentary about the corn agnolotti, which is usually my favorite. Today, the mere thought of this food gives me acid reflux. It’s the pregnancy. It’s also the toxicity of all this anxiety. I need to calm down.
Gabe raises his eyebrows, waiting for me to respond. I’ve been so lost in thought that I didn’t hear his question. “Where were you and Jasper coming from?”
“What?” I ask, unprepared for this question.
“You had the car, so I assume he wasn’t at Claire’s.”
“No.” I pause. Although I should have seen this coming, I haven’t figured out how I’ll explain our adventures today to Gabe. We don’t keep things from each other. We don’t lie either. That’s the vow we made when we changed our name. Both of our childhoods were filled with lies. We wouldn’t be that kind of partner to each other. That kind of parent to our children. We’d be Irons strong, our bond able to withstand any truth, to bend without breaking.
Gabe casts me a curious look as he continues to eat. I’m acting weird, but it hasn’t set off any alarms for him. Yet.
“Don’t freak out,” I stammer. This is quite possibly the worst way to begin.
Gabe puts down his fork and folds his hands, heeding my advice to wait.
“When I went to see Officer Gonzales, he said that Regina, the woman—” I point to the canal. Golden light settles onto the walkways that, despite the terror still coursing through me and the beauty of the predusk hour, remain empty. “Had been drinking before she—” I poke my finger harder toward the French doors, the quiet landscape beyond. “So I stopped in the Brig, where he said she was, to see if anyone would talk to me.”
“You took Jasper to a bar?” He’s more confused than angry. I want to bark that it’s not like Jasper’s never been around alcohol before. Gabe is calm. I can’t be snippy and defensive when he’s so calm. “What’d you learn?”
“The bartender said she’d been there.”
“Drinking?”
I nod, picking up my fork to stab at a chunk of burrata. Snot textured, it oozes from the pressure. Gabe strokes at the facial hair he’s never quite been able to grow, trying to piece everything together.
“Officer Gonzales. That’s the police officer you spoke with after the accident?”
I’m about to tell him it wasn’t an accident but opt instead to nod. The faster we’re done with this conversation, the better.
“You saw him again?” The expression on Gabe’s face changes with an unpleasant realization. “Did you take Jasper to see the police? Like, to the police station?”
I hesitate, then nod, finding my voice before I lose total control of the conversation. “He recognized her, Gabe. I’m certain of it.”
“And you told the police that? What did they say?”
“They made a note of it.”
“But they still think it’s a random accident?” Reluctantly, I nod my head yes, my fork tines etching swirls of the liquidy cheese. I’m about to mention Barb, that it isn’t just me who feels like there’s more going on here, when Gabe throws down his fork, a rare outburst from him. It clangs against the plate. Jasper abruptly stops smearing twenty-eight-dollar pizza across the tray of his high chair.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” Gabe runs his hand through his hair. “You walk in here ready to Mace me. Then I find out you went to the police without even telling me first, let alone asking if I might have a problem with it. They say it was an accident, so, again, without discussing it with me, you take Jasper to a dive bar.” His eyes bore into me. “T., tell me you hear how this sounds?”
