“I'll get it printed.” He released her hands and walked to the counter, unpacking the sandwiches from the bag. “Look, I'm not going to tell you what to do. This is your decision. But I want youto know that if you decide to go, I've got things covered here. Your mom will be there, and your sisters, and your grandmother. It sounds like something you don't want to miss.”
Lauren watched him arrange the sandwiches on plates, his movements easy and familiar. Twelve years of marriage, three children, countless ordinary moments like this one. She had built a life with this man, a good life, and part of what made it good was his constant support of who she was and what she needed.
“What about Lily's recital?” she asked.
“I'll take her. I'll sit in the front row and clap louder than anyone.”
“She'll be nervous.”
“She's always nervous. And she always does great anyway.” Jeff slid a plate across the counter to her. “I'll record the whole thing. You can watch it on the drive home.”
Lauren picked up her sandwich but didn't eat it. She was thinking about the house in Andover, about the rooms she hadn't explored in years. The kitchen where her mother had cooked a thousand meals. The living room where they had opened presents on Christmas morning. Her old bedroom, where she had lain awake at night listening to her parents argue, pretending she couldn't hear. She’d been at the house many times since her mother left for Florida. With her brother Chris and his wife Becca living there, the house remained as it had for most of her life.
There were good memories in that house. And hard memories. And memories that were both at once.
“I'm scared,” she said quietly.
Jeff looked up from his sandwich. “Of what?”
“Of going back. Of feeling all the things I felt when I lived there.” She set the sandwich down. “My parents' marriage falling apart, watching my mom try to hold everything together, all the lies my father told. I thought I'd dealt with all of that. But the idea of walking through that house again, saying goodbye to it forever...”She shook her head. “I don't know. It brings everything back.”
Jeff was quiet for a moment. Then he walked around the counter and pulled her into his arms again.
“Maybe that's exactly why you need to go,” he said softly. “Not to avoid those feelings, but to face them. To walk through those rooms one more time and really let go.”
“When did you become a therapist?”
“I've been watching a lot of daytime TV.”
She laughed despite herself, a watery sound that was half sob. “I love you.”
“I love you too. And I think you should call your grandmother.”
Lauren pulled back and looked at him. His eyes were steady, certain. This was the man who had held her through postpartum depression, through career crises, through every storm their marriage had weathered. If he said he could handle a week alone with the kids, she believed him.
“Okay,” she said. “I'll call her.”
“Right now?”
“Right now. Before I lose my nerve.”
She picked up her phone and found her grandmother's number. Her heart was pounding as she pressed the call button, which was ridiculous. She was forty-three years old, a mother of three, a grown woman making a simple phone call. There was no reason to be nervous.
Grandma Sarah answered on the second ring. “Lauren. Finally. I was starting to think you'd forgotten how phones work.”
“Hi, Grandma. Sorry it took me so long to call back.”
“Don't apologize. Just tell me you're coming.”
Lauren took a deep breath. “I'm coming.”
There was a pause. Then her grandmother's voice, softer than before. “You mean it?”
“I mean it. Jeff will stay with the kids. We'll make it work.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” She could hear the smile in her grandmother's voice. “You have no idea how happy that makes me.”
“Don't get too excited. I'm probably going to complain the whole drive.”
