I said nothing, merely tightening my embrace. When her breathing steadied, I pulled back to look at her. “Have you checked your glucose this morning?”
She nodded. “It was fine.”
“Excellent.” I brushed a tear from her cheek. “You need to stay healthy for our babies, yes?” I drew her back against my chest. “This situation, it is untenable, but we will find solution, yes.”
She burrowed deeper into my embrace, not yet ready to relinquish the safety she found there. And truth be told, I wasn’t ready to let her go either.
But as the days passed, my frustration mounted. We no longer shared a bed. Tia had nearly caught us one morning, walking into her mother’s bedroom without knocking, and I had to remain hidden beneath the covers while Dede made some excuse about being tired. The humiliation of hiding like a guilty secret had left me seething for hours afterward.
Last Tuesday, we seized a rare moment alone in her office. Dede was bent over her desk, my hands pushing up her dress, when the front door slammed open.
We separated instantly, my body aching with unfulfilled need as Chrysanthos and Tia’s voices filled the hallway. I’d barelymanaged to zip my pants and settle behind her desk before they appeared in the doorway.
Sunday was particularly maddening. I accompanied Dede to Mount Olive for service, and the pastor’s eyes lingered on Dede too long.
When he spoke of “the sanctity of marriage when children are involved” while looking directly at her, I nearly stood up. Every word from that pulpit was his audition to become Dede’s husband and raise my children.
I sat rigidly with Tia and Chrysanthos forming a barrier between Dede and me. I couldn’t reach for her hand or lean close and whisper in her ear.
Every meal was a performance. Every conversation monitored. Every instinct to touch her, to claim her, to simply be with her had to be ruthlessly suppressed.
I watched Chrysanthos kiss her cheek each morning. Watched him call her “Mom” with easy affection and witnessed Tia gradually soften toward her while I remained the outsider.
So when Tia made her announcement at dinner one evening, I had to force myself not to show my relief.
“Yiayia’s throwing a baby shower for Kayla at Thalassía,” Tia informed us. “We’ll be flying over to attend.”
After two weeks of Chrysanthos and Tia’s constant presence, the prospect of their departure felt like the first breath after being underwater.
“When do you leave?” It was the first time I’d spoken since we sat down for supper, and I noticed Dede’s subtle glance in my direction.
“In a few days.” Tia twirled pasta around her fork. “Mom, do you, uh, want a baby shower?” She offered a half-smile.
“Yes,” I answered at the same time Dede said no. Our contradicting responses created a moment of tension that settled over the table.
Dede cleared her throat. “Thank you for the offer baby, but I’m good. Baby showers are for first-time moms.”
“I disagree,” I added. I set down my wine glass. “Baby showers are held to celebrate the baby, regardless of their birth order. All babies should be celebrated.” My tone left little room for argument, and I caught Dede’s narrowed eyes.
“I agree with Father. When we have children, we’ll have baby showers for each, aggelé mou,” Chrysanthos chimed in, reaching for Tia’s hand across the table.
The conversation moved on, but the tension between Dede and me remained.
Later that night, I lay on my back naked without covers. I’d kicked them off in frustration, tired of being entangled in them rather than with Dede.
The bedroom door creaked open, and I knew without looking it was Dede. When she slid into bed beside me, I couldn’t resist pulling her close.
“You are growing bold, yes. Are Relationship Police off duty tonight?” I asked while my hand moved over her stomach. “Did you take your evening reading?”
“Yes,” she murmured. “It was ninety-eight. Well within range.”
“Very good.”
“I know you’re angry with me. I know this has been awful for you.” She pressed closer. “I’ve missed you. Even though you’re right down the hall, I’ve missed you so much.”
I stroked her cheek. “Missing each other does not solve anything, agápi mou. We cannot keep living like this.”
“I don’t know how to fix this,” she admitted. “Every option terrifies me. Telling them terrifies me. Losing Tia terrifies me.” She pressed her forehead against my shoulder. “I’m paralyzed, and I know that’s not fair to you.”
