I lean close and murmur in Ashlin’s ear, “You’re doing amazing.”
“Thanks,” she whispers back. “I appreciate you coming.”
I’d be here every day for the rest of my life if you asked me.
“No problem,” I grunt, far less articulate than I’d like. She turns to speak to Marisol, and I sip my drink.
“I didn’t know you two had kept in touch,” Russel says to me, voice low enough that it doesn’t carry.
“We haven’t. Other than this month, I haven’t seen her for years.” Not since I forced myself to stop checking her social media for any glimpse of her, or a hint of what her life had become.
“Well then, I hope this is the start of something.” He glances at Ashlin, who’s engaged in conversation with Marisol. “I never understood why you two broke up, but you belong together.”
“Thank you.” I swallow past the thickness of my throat. “Would you mind telling her that?”
He chuckles. “Can’t tell that girl anything. She’ll figure it out for herself, if it’s meant to be.”
I nod, and though I’m pleased to have his support, there’s a heavy feeling in my gut because Ashlin won’t be won over easily. The hurdles for me to leap are high. Hopefully not impossibly so.
An hour later, Ashlin’s shoulders stoop with exhaustion. I whisk her out of there at the first sign that people are moving away from the table, knowing that both Liam and Joanne would take advantage of the opportunity to get her alone and pressure her into rethinking her decision if given the chance. Considering she doesn’t argue when I thank Joanne for dinner and say our goodbyes, I assume her mind is traveling the same tracks. I steer her to the door and we drive to my place together. I park beside her car, half expecting her to get out the moment we come to a halt, but she doesn’t.
She relaxes deeper into the seat. “Thank you for tonight.”
I roll my eyes. “Stop thanking me. I told you I’m here for whatever you need.”
“You did, didn’t you?” she muses. “Why is that, when I divorced you? Many men would laugh in my face if I asked of them what I did of you.”
My spirit rebels at the reminder of our separation, and I can’t help but wonder if that’s what she intended. Is she trying to force space between us because she can sense our closeness returning?
“Divorced or not, I care about you. And I want a kid. Always have. I just figured it wouldn’t happen for me now.”
She turns to me, features shaded by the dim artificial light. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sweetheart, you just did.”
I hear her sigh in the quiet space between us. “Dad jokes already?”
“Sorry,” I say. “Yeah. Of course you can.”
She’s silent for so long that I curse myself for putting her off, but then she speaks. “Does it still hurt?”
My thumb goes to the tattoo on my inner wrist and traces the letters. “Every day.”
“Me too,” she replies. “I thought it would go away eventually, but there’s always this shadow hanging over me, and it descends at the most unexpected moments.”
My heart goes out to her, and I wish with every fiber of my being that I could rewind the clock and somehow fix it. Be a better man. Do something to shield her from the loss. But I can’t. All I can do is share the little wisdom I’ve collected.
“The grief is part of us now. It won’t ever fully go away, but it will fade more every year.”
Her tear-bright eyes shine when the light hits them, and the pain in them wrenches my gut. I want to gather her in my arms and promise to never let her be hurt again. To kiss her and soothe her and do whatever I can to take away the hurt. I restrict myself to reaching for her hand and squeezing it.
“We’re going to be all right.” It’s the first time I’ve come close to admitting my hope that we’ll find our way back to each other out loud.
She cocks her head, studying me from behind a veil of shadows. For once, it’s my turn to drag her into the light. “Some days I think that too,” she says. “Others, I don’t even know what all right is.”
Ashlin
It’s D-Day. Or should I say E-Day, for the eggs? As in, the day I have to lie back while a massive needle is inserted up me and used to pluck eggs from my ovaries. Sounds like fun, right? At least I’m not alone. As we pass through a set of sliding doors, I glance up at Seth, who hovers beside me as though he’s expecting a sneak attack. He’s been helicoptering ever since he picked me up from the street outside my house. I got into his car as quickly as I could so he wouldn’t have much time to see where I live. He hasn’t been inside yet and I’m reluctant to change that. Letting him see my home renovation project would mean making myself vulnerable, and I’m not ready for that level of exposure yet. Not when half the reason I started was to overcome the pain of my miscarriage and our marriage falling apart..
