"I wish I were there with you to help put your mind at ease a little."
You’re already doing it.
Instead of confessing, I pout, my bottom lip drooping ever so slightly. His deep blue eyes look back at me, the beauty in his stare like nothing I’ve ever seen before.
I open our shared calendar app. "Next week is the last string of shows for me for a couple of weeks. I was thinking about going home for a little while, but it might also be weird if I don’t spend any of that time with my husband." My mouth puts the idea out there before my brain and heart can understand what exactly it is I’m doing.
I’m itching to get home and see everyone, to hold my niece while she’s still small enough to forget this ever happened.
But I also know that the second I go back, leaving them again will feel impossible.
"I’m off for a week, too. Maybe I could come."
"That wouldn’t be too much?" I ask before he can finish.
"We need to keep up appearances. If I went to your hometown to spend time with your family, people would be more inclined to believe us."
Yes, they would.
I change the subject before my heart gets confused, and feels something more than it’s already been feeling. He’s doing it to keep up appearances, and my traitorous heart needs to catch up. It’s beginning to feel a lot less fake and a lot more like I’d be happy if it weren’t.
I tell Avery about my day with Akira, how she planned everything from the disguises to the early access to the venue.
The picnic.
The conversation, and the flare up, to which he asks for the thousandth time if I’m alright, and I tell himyes,like I already did before.
I admitted I told her about my Multiple Sclerosis.
Then he asks, "Do I have something to be jealous of with you and Akira?"
And I feel my pulse in the back of my throat. I don’t know if I’ve ever admitted my sexuality out loud to anybody, because it’s my business and no one else’s. But going by the look on his face, I can tell he didn’t mean it in a negative way.
"Depends. Did you and I get married eight months ago, or one? Because if it were eight months ago, I’d tell you that she and I hooked up, but it isn’t going to happen again and that I’m sorry for sleeping with somebody else—sorry for breaking one of our vows. But if we only got married one month ago, I’d tell you that you have nothing to worry about."
He’s silent for too long, and I don’t like it. "Avery?" I say, keeping my voice calm.
"Sorry. Was just trying to picture it." He laughs, and my self-inflicted tension dissipates.
"Of course you were."
Chapter thirty-eight
Olive
Writer’sblockissomethingI’ve never really struggled with before.
On a typical day, I might get a text message from one of my sisters or have a conversation with a colleague, and an idea would spark.
I would open the voice recorder app on my phone, hum a melody and string together a few words. By the time the day was over, I’d have the bones I needed to finish it.
In saying that, I’ve written every song on the guitar my father gifted me for Christmas when I was fifteen.
My lucky guitar. I’ve never written a song without.
But I left it with him back home to keep it safe while I was gone.
And without it, the songs just…won’t come.
