All I want to say is that no, you cannot because I stopped being your wife a long time ago and you stopped treating me as such a very long time ago. It is crazy how we could be having the happiest, most normal conversation, and suddenly he or I willsay something that will release deep-rooted wounds we never knew existed.
Or we did, and we acted as if we didn’t. It only reminds me that the problems we have might not look as big on the surface, but we have both deeply hurt each other, and there’s no way to come back from that.
“It’s not like you can’t,” I say, careful to choose my words wisely. “But more like you never do, so I do find it surprising. That’s all.”
He is silent for a beat, and I just swivel in my chair, wondering where this conversation is going to go.
“You are right,” he says after a while, and I shut my eyes. “But that’s changing now. From now onwards, I am going to call you when I feel like it and text you whenever I want. No doubts or questions asked.”
Though that makes me smile, I don’t say anything. Ever since I dropped the bomb of divorce on him, I find speaking about my feelings out loud to him feels much easier than it used to before.
I no longer feel the need to hide or the need to tone down my words so that I don’t hurt him. I didn’t even realize when I started to suppress myself to accommodate his emotions until all of that burst out of me.
“But to answer your question—I missed you.”
Just a few words and I feel like curling up in a corner and crying. Because maybe they sound so true that I can’t even argue with that. Because maybe they make me want to say them back.
Because I missed him too. For a long time.
“Don’t you have work to do?” I deflect.
“I do,” he says, and I can picture a small smile on his face because I know he knows what I am doing. This is exactly how I used to act at the beginning of our relationship. “But I missed you still, so I took a break to call you and ask you, did you have lunch?”
I scratch my eyebrow in discomfort. I did not. I completely forgot in the midst of dealing with Sienna’s shitty boyfriend situation.
“No,” I answer truthfully. “I forgot.”
“That’s a shame,” he says. “You never forget your meals, baby.”
“I know.” I ignore the nickname. “I was just busy with dealing with my client Sienna’s shitty boyfriend situation.”
“What situation?”
“Long story short—we asked her boyfriend before we finalized everything for her upcoming book tour in NYC if he wanted to come along. The fucker said no. And now, he doesn’t want her to go because he is not going. Do you know his reason for not going in the first place? Because he can’t handle traveling.”
I am fuming again as I let him know the situation. There’s nothing I hate more than an incompetent man having audacity bigger than his dick.
“What a jerk. And she said yes to not going?” He questions, and for once I agree with him.
What a jerk, seriously.
“No, I convinced her to come. After all, this will be the biggest tour of her career and mine too. I don’t want her to lose out on her dreams because of a shitty guy.”
“Good call, baby,” he says, and I can’t stop smiling. I have always had a thing for him praising me. It makes me feel…validated. I haven’t felt that in a long, long time in my life. “Also, will you be going with her too?”
“Yes,” I say, and instantly nerves fill my body. I haven’t gone out of the UK in a while. Not without him with me, at least.
“Can I come with you too?”
My eyes widen with his question, and it makes my heart race in a way it should not at the time. But the way he asked, the soft,baby-like voice. The one that pleaded for me to say yes had an effect on me that I wish it didn’t.
I can picture his face. His eyes are soft, his voice warm, and there is a small tilt to his head—the one that would make me fold and take him in my arms.
I can picture it all.
And in a moment of weakness, words I wish I could take back come out, and I just hope that I don’t regret this.
“Yes.”
