"Atlas?"
"Hi, baby," he sounds out of breath. "I'm sorry—"
"Are you okay?" I cut him off, worried.
"Yeah, I-I... I had a—"
I frown in confusion as he tries to stutter out an explanation, before understanding dawns on me.
I keep my voice gentle, "Did you have a nightmare?"
He's silent for a full minute, the only sound is him trying to gain control of his breathing.
My hand presses to my chest, my heart aching for him. That night that he had a nightmare crosses my mind. The way he looked so scared, his face panicked, holding me tightly before abruptly pulling away.
I think of the terror and the pain he must be experiencing. Atlas said it was like the nightmare desperately holding onto him for minutes after he wakes. He was always scared to go back to sleep, compulsively checking to make sure that I'm alive.
"Yes," he says finally, his voice a little gruff and ashamed. "I'm sorry for calling—I just needed to hear your voice."
Despite everything, that makes me smile.
It feels nice to know, especially after so long of nothing emotional being reciprocated.
Love was never the problem with us, which makes me feel better. Love cannot sustain a relationship alone, but without it, what would be the point of trying to rebuild?
"Okay," I say, before teasing him, "Anything you want to say in particular? I could read the dictionary if you wanted, or I could Google how to rebuild an engine and recite the steps for you to correct, or I could—"
He chuckles and the sound makes me smile. He sounds like he's breathing a little easier now, "That's okay, just... tell me about your day."
"Hmm… my day. Okay, well, I had a shift at Mabel's, mostly spent in the back to get all of Mabel's stuff together for tax season—you know she keeps all of her receipts in a shoebox? No wonder she complains about losing receipts, but she refuses to change her system, swearing it works. I'll convince her one day, or I'll just do it and she won't have the energy to switch it back, especially when she sees how easy tax season will be from now on. Then I picked up Noah from art class and Liam from basketball. Then we went to therapy and stopped at Antonia's for dinner, where I had to order Liam a whole extra cheese pie for himself, and Noah ate twelve mozzarella sticks. Our little boys are made entirely of cheese, I swear—"
I cut myself off, realizing that I kind of got away with it and wonder if Atlas fell back asleep. "Atlas, are you still awake? Sorry, I was rambling—"
"I'm awake—I just..." he sighs, his voice soft and awed. "I haven't heard so much of your voice in so long. I... missed it..."
Irritation bursts in my chest at his sweet words.I've been here, I never went anywhere, I've always been here!
Before, when that thought would cross my mind, I would feel deeply ashamed.
Now, I'm going to follow Dr. Pace's words—look at the anger.
Why am I feeling the anger? Because he hurt me with hisabsence and neglect.
Will it accomplish anything to remind him of that? No.
What is he doing now? He's getting help. He called me when he had a nightmare, he didn't snap at me, he didn't curse at me, he didn't ignore me.He called me.And I feel proud that he did so.
That's something to be happy about.
My hurt still matters, but so does Atlas being strong and brave and letting me in.
"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask tentatively, like he's a spooked animal.
I lay back down on the bed, phone still pressed to my ear, and pull the covers up over my shoulders to get comfortable. I reach my hand out to Atlas' side, laying my hand over his pillow, pretending like I’m brushing fingers across his forehead, pushing his unruly dark hair back.
He’d close his eyes in bliss, a low rumble in his chest, and I’d tease that it was like petting a bear—until he growled and rolled on top of me, making me shriek with laughter.
Atlas is quiet for a long moment before he whispers, "No, but I know I should."
