“Discuss what?” Steven asks, suddenly beside me, eyes bouncing between everyone. This Steven has no idea the history here. He doesn’t know Liam and Ellie were engaged but he left her at the altar, or that Benny dreams of dropkicking Liam through drywall about once a week—Benny’swords, not mine.Steven also doesn’t know how much I despise this man. Present-day Steven completely understands. But Past Steven? The guy who spent every free moment with the flight risk that is Liam? My disdain for him could be a point of contention moving forward.
“Liam here wants to stay with us, for…” I gesture in his exhausting direction.
“The weekend,” he supplies.
“The weekend,” I breathe, vexed.
“Oh.” Steven’s expression turns into that familiarabsolutely notlook, which is surprising, yet oddly comforting. I chew on my lip to hide my smile. “I don’t know if—”
He stops, looking to me for guidance, and one for split second, I want him to handle the situation without me. I so badly want him to set a boundary, say Liam absolutely cannot stay here, but that’s unfair to him. My incessant desire for him to step up and do it my way is not what I should be worried about right now. I need to worry about helping Steven get his memory back.
And as much as it kills me to admit, having Liam here might be the answer.
“Two days.” I point at Liam. “You can stay for two days.” Ellie gapes at me, betrayed, and Benny rubs her arm reassuringly. “But you’re not staying for game night tonight, and the moment Steven says it’s time to go, you’re out. I will physically launch you into the street if I have to.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Liam winks at Steven. Ellie makes a silent gagging motion behind him. “I’ll drop this in my room, then?”
I can’t respond. Liam and his luggage are already down the hall.
“So he’s insufferable in this timeline too?” Steven deadpans.
“You have no idea,” I grumble, tugging him with me into the living room. The boys are almost done with the firetruck now, and Josie is napping in her swing, rocking rhythmically back and forth.
“Him becoming a psychiatrist made it a million times worse.” I aggressively pull at the postpartum hairs speckling my temples, outrage evidenced in the throbbing that now pulses there.
“And why do you hate him?” Steven gestures toward Ellie as she takes a seat on the floor with the boys.
She doesn’t answer, sitting on the rug and quietly twisting a single Lego piece between her fingers. Benny drops onto the couch behind her, tilts her chin up, and presses a kiss to her forehead. It’s so tender and intimate that I feel myself blush. They’ve only been married for four months, so the affection of the newlywed phase is expected. But it’s also a reminder of what I don’t have. Haven’t had in a long time. The easy affection, the tender comfort, the kind of love that comes from being fully seen by your person. For me, it’s been on pause, and I feel the weight of that pause settle around my chest.
“They were engaged,” Benny tells Steven, kissing Ellie again. “He left her at the altar.”
“Oh, wow.” Steven winces. “Ellie, I’m so sorry.”
She musters a weak smile as the boys cheer for the final Lego piece that is now in place. Their excitement sweeps through the room, dissolving the tension. They drag Ellie and Benny outside to test drive the truck. I start to follow, but Steven rests a hand on my lower back, stopping me. The warmth of that single touch spreads through me like a sunbeam.
“If this is a problem,” he says, “we can make him leave. I don’t need him here.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
“You’re not a good liar, are you?”
I bark out a laugh. “I could be.”
“I don’t think you are,” he teases. “Either that, or I’m really good at reading you.”
I roll my eyes and nudge him, which only makes him start poking me in the ribs until I’m laughing.
“Am I?” he asks once we’ve made our way to sit on the porch swing.
“Are you what?”
“Good at reading you.” He looks so hopeful, like my answer will confirm the version of us he desperately wants to believe in. Whatever image of us he has in his mind can’t be further from what we’ve become. What we are now.
I can’t bring myself to tell him the truth. Not right now. So I let the moment breathe, letting the anticipation in his eyes glimmer for a beat. I hope my silence will be intriguing, not agonizing, and the soft pat I give his knee is enough to appease him.
It seems to do the trick, because he shifts closer, draping his arm along the back of the swing and under my head.
He toes the railing that wraps around our porch, sending the swing backward in a gentle sway. The afternoon sun warms our legs as the cold winter air curls around us. We watch as the boys show off their firetruck again and again, Benny and Ellie enduring the presentation as their foggy breath circles their faces. He tugs her into his arms to warm her as the blue sky casts a dreamy backdrop behind them. The scene is so domestic, sonormal, it hurts.
