She releases a heavy sigh, defeated, and doesn’t fight me for it. Replacing the cap, I put the bottle out of reach and then lean my arms on my knees.
“I didn’t think you’d be awake.” There’s a slight slur in her words and mascara tracks on her cheeks, her eyes a little red from her tears. Something twists inside of me knowing she’s hurting and there’s little I can do about it.
“I’ve waited for you every night,” I point out.
“You don’t need to do that,” She sighs. “I can take care of myself.”
“Fully aware you can take care of yourself, sweetheart, doesn’t mean you should have to all the time.”
“You know this isn’t real, right?” Bloodshot eyes land on me. “I’m not your responsibility.”
“Like fuck are you not my responsibility.” There’s a bite in my tone. “You’re my wife. You live under my roof.”
She chuckles, “My wife.There it is again.”
I’ve got nothing to say about that. Ilikecalling her my wife. I shouldn’t, but I do. Relationships and I don’t work; they never have. The moment I feel someone getting too close, I end it. I had planned to remain single forever — no girlfriends, no wife, but my grandfather made sure that wasn’t a possibility with that clause he added. Now I have Niamh, and I’m finding I don’t hate it at all.
“You know,” She sways a little where she’s sitting, “I didn’t think you’d be like this.”
“Like what?”
“Nice.”
Her blue eyes bounce around my face like she’s tracing the details.
“What did you think I’d be like?”
“I just assumed you were an asshole,” She shrugs, “Arichasshole. Most millionaires are assholes.”
“Do you know many millionaires?”
“No.” She pouts.
My shoulders shake with my silent laughter. “Why are you out here?”
“Drinking, duh.”
“Why are you drinking?”
She starts to fiddle with the ring on her finger, the diamond in the center glistening under the warm porch light. I don’t know why I gave herthatring. I shouldn’t have, but I’d felt the pull to do so. It was my mother’s ring, and before that; it was my grandmother’s. I had tried to find a different one, but there was nothing that felt right. It shouldn’t have mattered, not when the foundation of us is built on a lie. Silence settles between us as she contemplates her answer, the sound of the crickets in the long grass and owls in the trees filling the void.
“My mom took off when I was a kid,” She finally speaks, “So it was just me and my dad. He wasn’t perfect, you know, but he tried really hard. He often went without so I could have the things I wanted. I didn’t realize it at the time, I was just a kid, but even as I got older, he kept doing it. He’d sew up holes in his old clothes just so I could have the sneakers every other kid was wearing. He’d work overtime so I could have presents at Christmas.”
She wipes away a tear that slips out of the corner of her eye.
“The truck was a gift after I graduated. It was a pile of metal when he brought it home,” She laughs, but the sound is hollow, grief stricken, “He worked for weeksafter getting it working. Bought all the parts and taught himself how to fix it.”
I shift on the step, moving closer to her.
“After he died, I realized I had nothing else. I’d sold a lot of our things to try and pay some of the debt. The truck was the last thing I had.”
“I’m sorry, Niamh.” I reach out and tuck her hand into mine, hoping to offer her just a touch of comfort.
“I’m sure you think it’s silly.” She uses her free hand to wipe away more tears. “It’s just a truck, right? Maybe it was time to let it go.”
I shake my head. “Nothing you care about is silly, sweetheart. It meant something to you, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”
She turns to look at me, those watery eyes breaking something inside of me. It’s probably the alcohol talking, loosening her lips, but if she needs someone to listen, then she can have my ear for as long as she wants it.
