“And why you rarely go back?”
“Yes,” he rasps.
“Because there you are just Val’s husband?”
The question is reminiscent of tentative steps onto a frozen pond. One misstep and I could slip. The present tense he uses telegraphs that to so many this is who he is. He’s not Garrett—the often-grumpy man who begrudgingly dotes on his cat and makes comfort grilled PB and Js on bad days. He’s Val’s husband.
God, I understand what that’s like. To only be seen as something that happened to you, instead of the many pieces that comprise you. For so many people, I’m just the blind woman.
“I’ll always be Val’s husband,” he says sharply.
“I know… I didn’t mean it like that.” I look down at the sandwich and then back at him. “It just must be hard to be there without her, but with the constant reminder of her.”
“It is,” he says. His voice is hoarse and quiet.
“How did you meet?”
“Only you.” Head shaking, he puffs out a soft laugh.
“Only me what?” I scrunch my nose.
“Would ask that. Most people would ask how she died. You want to know about our love story.”
“Well, I do love a romance.” My mouth curves up into a small smile.
“That you do.” He taps his fingers against the counter. “Val and I met in medical school. It was the clichéd meeting in one of those books you gobble up where she literally ran into me at the campus coffee shop and spilled her iced mocha all over me. Six months later, I asked her to marry me, and two months later, my brother Bryce got ordained online and married us in my parents’ backyard.”
Eight months?It’s hard to imagine the man who takes fifteen minutes to decide which ice cream flavor he wants at Marie’s each week met, fell in love, and married someone so quickly. To my knowledge—from what Anker has shared—Garrett hasn’t been in any relationships outside a woman from the hospital with whom he had a briefcolleagues with benefitsthing with before she moved to Atlanta.
“How long were you married?”
“Five years.”
His speech is quiet and hesitant, as if trying not to wake a sleeping bear. Only I’m not sure if I’m the sleeping bear, orif it’s him. The way the air buzzes around us reminds me of those moments when the sky rolls with dark clouds, but the sun still pokes out, making you uncertain if rain will come. I’m not entirely sure what the rainstorm would look like with Garrett. Will he close down? Will he open up? I proceed, nonetheless.
“You were married in your parents’ backyard?” I rake my teeth along my bottom lip to bite back the rest of that thought.
No wonder he rarely goes home. It must be sheer torture to be at his parents’ house, surrounded by the memory of the day he and Val committed to a forever that would never be.
“My mom’s favorite book isAlice in Wonderland, so my dad made this Mad Hatter meets an English garden vibe back there.”
“It sounds lovely.” Elbows on the counter, I lean my chin on my palms, imagining what that must look like.
The rainbow of yellow, pink, red, and white roses poking from vibrant green bushes. The assortment of mismatched patio tables and chairs that somehow go together perfectly. The decadent floral scent colliding with the hummingbird’s song, creating this visceral experience.
“It was… It is,” he says, his voice scratchy.
Shifting, I lean against the stool’s hard back. “No wonder it’s hard to go home.”
“Yeah.”
“How did it happen?”
“Car accident.”
“Were you with her?”
“No. I wasn’t,” he says, his tone harsh.
