But fear makes my heart ache even more.
I sit on the very edge of the bed. “What if this really isn’t good for Ivy? What if we’re actually hurting her somehow? Emotionally, I mean.”
Blake freezes.Then he blinks, his hand tightening around the t-shirt balled up in it. “Are you having second thoughts about whether we should be together?”
He didn’t deny that it might be bad for Ivy. He must be worried about it too. And the speed to which he jumped to us not being together—
The icy drip down my spine is steady now, faster. I’m not sure I can breathe, but I do somehow, anyway. “Are you?”
There’s a pause, where he stares down at the t-shirt in his hand; it’s the one he wore today, a plain navy cotton shirt that hugs him perfectly and probably smells like sunshine and the ocean, like him. I half want to jump up and take it from his hands and hug it to me, like even if he leaves, I can still keep this one tiny piece of him.
I pull my legs up to my chest and wrap my arms around them instead.
He clears his throat. “Maybe we rushed into this,” he says, and I’m pretty sure I can actually hear my heart begin to crack apart.
Oh god. Is this happening?
Again?
My whole body is ice now. “Maybe.” I’m not sure what else I can say. If this is what he was afraid to tell me, if this is all already too much for him . . .
He sets the t-shirt down on the dresser and leans against its polished surface with both hands like it’s holding him upright. Because he’s afraid to say more, to hurt me all over again?
I pull my legs tighter against me. I’m sitting in a fetal position.
“If you don’t think this is a good idea anymore,” I start, my throat already feeling thick with the tears I’m afraid to start crying, “If you don’t think it’s worth it, I under—”
“What?” He looks back at me with wide eyes, then straightens. “Wait, wait,” he repeats, even though I haven’t moved or spoken. “What is this conversation about?”
“What do you mean?”
He sits right next to me on the edge of the bed. We’re not touching, but he’s only inches away; I can feel the heat from his skin. “Imean, I think we’ve had a lot of conversations over the years where we weren’t talking about the same thing. And it led to the worst mistake of my life. So I need to know”—here he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down—“is this conversation about you not wanting to be with me because of Ivy?”
Me not wanting to be with him? “No! I thought maybe you—” I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to sort through the chaos of fears pinging around my brain, and I realize I’m not really afraid we’re causing Ivy any actual danger. Stress, yes. Emotional difficulty, yes. But nothing that can’t be worked through, nothing that isn’t just a human thing to feel when life changes in ways you don’t like or expect.
“You said to her we wouldn’t do this if it caused her to be in danger,” I continue, and my voice sounds small. “And you were right. We’re good parents. We would never deliberately harm our children. But if she continues to struggle with this—” I shake my head. “I thought maybe you’d want to give up on us, that the cost would be too high. And maybe you’d be right to, but I don’t know if I could, not without trying everything possible—” My voice breaks, and the tears start to leak out.
“Oh my god,” Blake breathes, and it’s not some admonition, it’s like relief.Then his arms are around me, and he pulls me against him. “Oh my god,” he repeats. “Okay. Shit. Okay.” I’m not sure what to make of this, but he’s holding me, which feels so good I can’t bring myself to ask.
“We’re doing that thing again,” he says. “It’s like the painting with the bunny or the duck, you know? Because when you seemed so scared, I thoughtyouwanted to leavemebecause of how tough this is on Ivy.That it wasn’t worth it toyoufor us to figure this out.”
My breath catches. “So you aren’t having second thoughts? When you said that maybe we rushed into things—”
“No.” He puts his hands on my cheeks, turning me so I’m looking right into his bottle-green eyes. “No. I want to be with you, Kim. Ineedto be with you. But I was so afraid that you were having second thoughts, and so I was trying to say what I thought you wanted to hear, andoh my godwe need to stop doing this.” He cringes, then presses his lips to my forehead.
The ice inside is melting away. I’m so relieved I’m nearly dizzy with it. Even as I’m struck with the truth of his words.
I groan. “I did it to you again, the same thing I did before. I brought up the thing about Ivy because deep down I wanted you to tell me it would all be okay.That you weren’t going to leave me. But I didn’t just ask you about it. I expected you to read my mind, and I didn’t even know that’s what I was doing, and—”
“It’s okay.” He hugs me. “Hey, it’s okay. We’re both learning. I let my fears take me to the worst possible conclusion and then did the same thingIdid before. I tried to make you happy, which, according to our therapist, I shouldn’t be taking responsibility for anyway, let alone when I’m wrong about what you actually want . . .”
He trails off and rubs his forehead again, and I let out a little chuckle. “We suck at this,” I say.
“Yeah, we do.” He smiles at me. “But I want to figure it out, whatever it takes.”
The ice has melted entirely. I’m a pool of warmth, encircled by him. “Me too. Whatever it takes.”
We just hold each other for a few moments, and I listen to the sound of his heart, steady and comforting.
