She lifts her mug, lips tight. “What do you think?”
I hesitate. She’s annoyed. I know that. But I can’t keep doing this. The pretending. Acting like we don’t want more than we do. “I think you got drunk because you were afraid of what you might feel after.”
She stills.
Then she bites.
“How insightful,” she says, unimpressed. “Coming from the guy who’s so good at expressing his feelings.”
Of course she goes there. I press anyway. “You don’t want to do this sober because you might wake up and realize you want to stay. That you actually like being my wife.”
“What is that even supposed to mean?”
“It means”—I tap the table again, firmer this time—“that you don’t like wanting things that don’t come with an end date. Because then you’d actually have to admit you want this. That you want me.”
She scoffs. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. That’s not true. And in case you forgot, this does have an end date. You said so yourself.”
I start to say something but she keeps going. “God,” she huffs. “Do you even understand what you’ve asked of me?” She swallows hard, like she’s barely keeping it together. “For Christ’s sake, Matt. You asked me to marry and divorce you all in the same breath. You flirt with me every day. You make jokes about fucking me like it’s inevitable.” Her fingers tighten around her mug. “And then the one time I finally stop fighting it, you walk away.”
“Babe, I?—”
“This isn’t easy for me. I can’t just turn feelings on and off. I can’t separate sex and—you.”
I let that sink in.
Shit.
I don’t think it’s ever been just sex for her.
I shove the realization down for now, focusing on what I need to say.
“You don’t have to plan your escape, Jordan,” I say, quietly. “You’re allowed to stay.”
She goes still again. Then her gaze lifts to mine. “Is that what you think?” she asks, softly. “That I don’t ever want to stay?”
Her lips tremble, and—fuck.
“Babe...” I murmur.
She swipes at her cheek, catching a tear before it falls.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I say quickly. “I just—” I pause and take a breath, steadying myself. “All I’m saying is… the exit’s optional. It always has been.”
She doesn’t respond, so I add, “I’ll be here. Just like I always have.”
A full minute passes, maybe longer. She stares down at the table, gathering herself, breathing through it.
“I know,” she finally whispers.
She reaches across the table and I take her hand, giving her fingers a squeeze. Then I stand, pull the chair beside me closer, and sit down next to her. My hand comes to her back, moving in slow, soothing circles.
“Hey,” I say, softly. “I’m right here.”
She leans into the touch just slightly, giving me a small, fragile smile. “I know,” she says again.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
MATT
