She’s been asking me to look at hercommunications and plans as she works on the merger with Harcourt. I feel good about being able to help her.
I scroll, taking in her phrasing, the delicate spine of steel threaded through every line. “Jayne,” I say quietly, unable to keep the awe from my voice. “You should get into politics. You’re a consummate diplomat.”
Doubt creases her beautiful forehead. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I shake my head, almost laughing because I can’t believe she doesn’t see it. “You managed to get your point across and tell the Harcourt paralegals they were behaving like spoiled brats—without being rude. Not even a little.”
She opens her mouth to protest, but I hold her phone up like evidence.
“You soothed their egos, made them feel heard, reassured them, and still held the line. That’s a masterclass in leadership, Jayne.”
She all but leaps and wraps her arms around me, holds me tight.
Mikaela claps. “Kiss! Kiss!”
Finn groans. “Oh my God. You’ve got to stop all this kissing and stuff in front of minors. It’s gross. It’s child abuse.”
We kiss. Because what the hell else are we supposed to do?
But it’s not all smooth sailing.
There was the time when I decided—foolishly—to attempt chicken marsala for dinner. Halfway through chopping mushrooms, I remembered I had to move theclothes from the washer to the dryer, but as I was coming back to the kitchen, I stopped to check the hinge on Finn’s door. While I was doingallthat, I left the pan simmering (a mistake any first-year resident would be ashamed of).
I ran when the smoke alarm started screaming like it was auditioning for a horror movie.
Jayne walked in as I was flapping a dish towel under it.
“Jesus, Rhys,” she coughed. “What happened?”
“I stepped away for ten minutes.”
“Uh-huh. And the Marsala gods smote you.” She opened a window. “You sure you’re not missing the hospital right now?”
“Desperately.”
We laughed. It dissolved the panic as easily as water cuts through heat.
We had Chinese takeout for dinner that night.
The kids came home sunburned and wired from camp. Someone spilled tomato juice on the couch. Mikaela’s hair was full of glitter. Finn’s knee was bandaged. Everyone was talking at once.
I thought then that these are the best sounds in the world, second only to the first heartbeat after asystole.
Jayne’s new job has already meant that she’s spending more and more time at work. This is the second time this week she’s missed dinner. Not having her home is no fun. I miss her.
I realize that this is how she felt when I wasn’t around, and I wasn’t around a lot.
Once the kids get to bed, I sit on the porch.
It’s a warm summer day, and once you lather yourself in bug spray, you can actually sit outside without being molested by mosquitoes.
I drink a beer and watch the fireflies flashing over our yard.
I think about how I have changed in these past months—well, not changed, exactly, more like I have altered my priorities. But Jayne, she’s alive in a way I haven’t seen in years. She’s excited about life.
I’m proud of her. More than proud. I’m in awe.
I feel tremendously guilty for making her think that her job wasn’t as important as mine. It will take time before I forgive myself for what I put her through, even though she has forgiven me.
