She dropped her eyes, but nodded. “Yes,” she said.
He waited a moment to see if she would say anything else, but her expression was closed in on itself. He tried to think back to how that vicious row in the kitchen had escalated so hideously. Which of them was to blame?
He let the question go. It didn’t matter how it started—only that it must never, never happen again. He let his gaze rest on her again, her eyes still downcast, staring at her hands folded in her lap. As if, he thought suddenly, she were guarding herself.
Against him—
Emotion flickered in him, but he didn’t know what it was. Instead, looking at her, he spoke again. His voice as sombre as hers, and for the same reason. Making himself speak, saying what had to be said now. “Whatever way we find, perhaps—” he took a breath, realising it was ragged at the edges, knowing why “—this evening served a purpose. Not just showing us we cannot ever let that happen again, for Dan’s sake, but maybe—” He broke off.
Her eyes had lifted to rest on him impassively. But they were veiled as well. Still guarding herself—
Yet there was something new about the way she was looking at him. Since discovering Dan’s existence she had never looked at him like that.
As if, for the very first time, she isn’t resisting me in some way. Resisting everything about me. Resisting my presence in her life—the reason for it.
“Maybe it did some good too. Got the worst out,” he said.
“Lanced a festering wound?” There was no sarcasm in her voice, but there was something, definitely. Yet it was not directed at him.
At herself—
He nodded slowly. “Maybe,” he said again.
He took another breath, kept his eyes on her face. Said what he needed to say now, what she needed to hear. What he did too.
His gaze on her was steady as he spoke. She met it full on, yet not defiantly, not hostilely. Nor guarded either. Just…hearing him out. He made himself continue, hard though it was. Made his eyes stay on her. His voice was sombre.
“What happened—seven years ago—we’re not going to agree on. I can’t make you confess, and you, you can’t make me back off. So—” he inhaled heavily, eyes holding hers “—we’ll just have to set it to one side. Try and…make progress…despite it.”
His mouth compressed. “If we disagree about the past, at least we can agree on one thing. We both know that. Both accept it. That the only person who is important right now is Dan. He is all that matters.”
He saw her swallow, saw her hands tighten their grip on each other. She said nothing, so he said it for her.
“We have to make this work, Laurel. We both wish the other one to hell, but we cannot take Dan there with us. For his sake—” he took another breath “—we have to find a way forward. Put the past aside.”
He looked at her, held her eyes. “Do you agree?” he said.
She swallowed again, but her hands loosened their grip on each other. “Yes,” she said.
He felt the tension leach out of him. Some kind of barrier had been dissolved. Some kind of way marker passed. A sense of relief—was that what it was?—went through him, and he leant back, flexing shoulders he hadn’t realised had been so tensed. His mouth twisted, and he took a deep breath, as if he needed it. He looked across at her, his expression changing.
“This may sound crass, but I could do with a drink,” he said. “Maybe you could too.”
He didn’t wait for her answer, only frowned slightly. “I think I included a bottle of wine with that grocery delivery,” he said. “Where did you put it? I’ll go and fetch it.”
“It’s okay, I’ll get it.” Laurel stood up. He had the impression she was glad to escape. She walked swiftly but stiffly and returned shortly, handing him the bottle, depositing two glasses and a corkscrew on a side table by the sofa he was sitting on.
Xander opened the wine and poured generous measures into each glass, holding one out to her. She took it carefully, clearly avoiding any chance of contact, resuming her place on the sofa opposite him. Her expression was still drawn, eyes veiled, face pale.
Xander lifted his glass. “Yammas!” he said. An automatic murmur.
Something flickered across her face. He didn’t know what it was, but it was gone as soon as it was there. He took a mouthful of the wine. It hit the spot, and right now he needed that. He took another large mouthful, replacing the glass, suddenly hungry. The mac and cheese for Dan’s tea seemed a long time ago.
“Is there any of that mac and cheese left?” he asked. “It was very good.”
“There’s a bit,” said Laurel.
She set aside her wine and got up before he could do, and disappeared into the kitchen again. Xander heard the microwave ping, then she was coming back with a bowl of the leftover portion, handing it to him. He got stuck in. It hit the spot too. Washed down nicely with the red.
