‘You need to talk to her, Luke.’
He nods. He knows. But he’s scared of what she might say. Maybe she does want babies. Maybe she just doesn’t want them with him.
WOOD
The structural tissue found in the roots and stems of trees and other plants, used for thousands of years as fuel, but also as a construction material, due to its stability and endurance. In many societies, wood symbolizes life, strength and growth.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
JESS
I wake up with a headache. Hardly surprising when Luke and I shared a frosty dinner at an overpriced Italian restaurant and then went to sleep on opposite sides of the bed.
I roll over and look at him. He’s on his back, one arm thrown above his head. The hand resting on my thigh slides off as I change position. All the tension in his frame is gone. I breathe out. This is one time I’m grateful he’s had a year’s distance from our last anniversary, even if I’ve only had a reprieve of a few hours.
I twist my head to take in our surroundings and see cream wallpaper dotted with fleur-de-lys in gold leaf, gold damask curtains and upholstery, and beautiful polished mahogany furniture.Oh, thank goodness. We’re in Venice.Just as we were last time. That argument over my mother didn’t send things into a downward spiral so much that it changed our future significantly.
But then I think,Oh, crap. We’re in Venice!And I know that last night was only a warm-up for the fight we had this year.
Luke doesn’t look as if he’s going to be waking up any time soon, so I slide gently from the bed, pad across the speckledmarble floor and pull on some comfy clothes. I need some thinking space – and some coffee – if I don’t want to repeat the disaster of our fifth anniversary.
Hotel Vincenzi is a renovated palazzo. I drink in the grand stone staircase with its carved columns and arches and deep red carpet as I descend, thinking once again how it makes me feel as if I’m in a period drama. A small breakfast room with a low ceiling painted in deep royal blue with gold plasterwork and shimmering crystal chandeliers sits opposite the reception desk. I grab a cappuccino and head through double doors with wrought-iron gates onto a small, paved terrace overlooking the Grand Canal and choose a table right next to the water.
I couldn’t find my bullet journal in the hotel room, so the only thing I have to help me piece together what happened over the last twelve months is my phone. I scroll through the message thread between me and Luke. It all seems very normal. No major red flags there, thank goodness.
I also check my last text with my mother – eleven months and three weeks ago. There are further messages from her, asking why I’m not replying to hers and then a full-on, scroll-past-three-screens rant about what a horrible daughter I am; after that, nothing.
I let out a long, steady breath. This was what I wanted, and I know it’s the right decision, but it doesn’t make it any easier.
The early morning shadows slant across the canal, plunging the lone gondolier who operates a no-frills ferry service to foot passengers into shade and then brilliant sunlight as he crosses back and forth between the jetty next to the hotel and Campo San Samuele on the other side of the water.
I take a sip of my cappuccino and ruminate on how I canchange the course of this day. Itcannotturn out the way it did last time. While we made up fairly swiftly, the wounds dealt by this conflict didn’t fully heal for months afterwards.
If I’m remembering things correctly, we’ve been in Venice for two nights now and we’re due to fly home the day after tomorrow. Last night, we got a phone call from Luke’s mother, letting us know his sister has gone into labour three weeks early.
The fact that it’s Cassandra, the next oldest Harris sibling, and Luke’s partner-in-crime when he was younger, sent him into a tailspin of fraternal protectiveness, and he suggested cutting our anniversary trip short and flying home tonight – at the very time we should be having a fancy dinner in a restaurant we had to book three months in advance to make sure we got a table.
I (understandably, I think) was upset that he was ready to axe our celebrations at a moment’s notice and disagreed but, Luke being Luke, he had very fixed ideas of exactly how the situation should be handled. The whole thing escalated until I accused him of always putting his family above me and he told me I was reading too much into things and I needed to stop being so defensive and insecure, which caused me to shut down completely. We spent the rest of the trip simmering away at the other’s unreasonableness.
I donotwant to live all of that again.
I watch a water taxi pull up to the stop near the hotel and see other holidaymakers dragging their cases onto the pontoon, looking hopeful and happy.You only live once …Well, I know that’s not true. At least not for me. But I’m spending so much time panicking about getting things right that I’m not recognizing whatever’s happening to me as the gift that it is.
Maybe it’s because, inside, I’m actually five years older thanI look on the outside. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve been on fast-forward, getting snapshots of my life that add up to create a bigger picture, but as I look back over the last time I lived this day, I feel differently about what went on.
Luke was in full-on panic mode about his sister, and feeling he had to be the one to make it right for her. It wasn’t anything to do with me. He just wasn’t thinking.
But he should have been thinking about you as well, shouldn’t he? Doesn’t that just prove your point?
Shh, I tell the voice inside my head. I think he overreacted when he wanted to jump on a plane and head back home. Obviously,Iknow that baby Edie was born hearty and healthy, but we had no idea at the time, even though there was no hint we needed to be worried. But I overreacted too. Maybe, if I’d been more understanding rather than sulking, we could have ironed the situation out without ruining our trip. I can do more than just react this time. Just like the other days I’ve lived again; I can choose a different path. I can be the wife Luke needs me to be, but I can also choose what’s best for me too. Those things needn’t be mutually exclusive.
I finish my coffee and order room service before heading back upstairs to our room. When a soft knock comes at the door, I take the tray, carry it over to the coffee table and chairs just in front of the window, and then I touch Luke’s shoulder softly. ‘Hey, sleepyhead … Breakfast is served.’
He grumbles but opens his eyes and blinks at me. ‘Breakfast?’
I stifle a smile. I knew that would get his attention. ‘Mm-hmm. And I gotCiambellone, that cake you like.’
Luke frowns at me and then looks over at the tray laden with two cappuccinos and an assortment of pastries, bread and jam,and a selection of sliced meats and cheese. I can tell he’s wondering where the normal Jess is, the one who would have backed right off until either one of us apologizes or enough time goes past that we become weary and fall back into our usual routine.
