We move back and forth like that for a few minutes. No rushing. Just the slow and steady rhythm of unloading and unpacking groceries. Sometimes, I reach for her as we pass eachother on the stairs. A stroke of my fingers against hers, a tap on her ass if her hands are full.
Then, it’s her things.
A box of paints with splashes of paint on the tubes so she can see what color is inside. Her easel. A duffel bag of clothes. A tote bag of shoes.
When I offload some canvases wrapped in brown paper, I find myself eager to watch her paint. Guess I’d be a happy man with a beer in my hand and sports on TV on a Sunday afternoon while she paints.
All this means something, because it means Maren is no longer a visitor here.
I’m sure everyone thinks this is all moving way too fast. That we’re rushing something that doesn’t have to be rushed. Sure, I’m forty-four and suddenly keen to have a wife and be a father.
And yet, none of that’s driving this.
It’s simply the woman clanging about in the kitchen, humming some undecipherable tune, who makes me bone-deep happy.
Inside, I drop everything in the living room for Maren. My first instinct is to want to put everything away for her. But I also want Maren to claim the space she wants as hers.
She moves about in the kitchen, sliding things into cupboards, rinsing fruit and setting it to dry on paper towel on the counter.
Not sure I’ve ever washed a strawberry. Figure a little bit of dirt never hurt anyone.
I drag my hands over my jaw and decide I need to be honest with her before we unpack all her things, no matter how much I want her to stay.
“Maren,” I say quietly, and wait for her to turn and face me. When she does, I’m struck by how pretty she is. How perfect she looks here, mixed into my life. “Sweetheart, part of the reasonI never had an old lady is because I knew exactly what it would mean for the woman. Targets, leverage, and weak points I can ill afford.”
Her throat moves as she swallows. “And now? Because…are you having second thoughts about asking me?”
“God, no,” I say, walking towards her. “But today was a reminder of what this life can be about. You don’t dip a toe in it. You can’t stand on the fringe. You’re in, or you’re not. And when you’re in, people can use you to get to me. And I think I’m a selfish fuck for asking you to handle that without you really knowing what it involves. I’m standing here, watching you unpack groceries and thinking about where you’re gonna set up your easel, and I don’t want to give any of that up. But, while I’m all in, I want to give you an out. I can’t guarantee you a life without danger, even though all I want to give you is safety.”
The words hang between us. And all I can think about are those tear tracks that stained her cheeks.
Maren steps from behind the kitchen island, straight into my arms. “I know we can’t pretend it’s safe. But we can’t let it control us either.”
I press a kiss to the top of her head. “Meaning?”
“Meaning, I guess I need to listen when you tell me something isn’t safe. But you can’t tell me the world isn’t safe every day, all the time, or the warning won’t have any impact.”
“Fair,” I say.
“And it means you don’t make decisions about my best interests for me, you present the situation and we decide together what that means, rather than you unilaterally deciding.”
The tight band around my ribs aches a touch. “Agree. But that means you’re going to have to follow my lead when I say it matters. No arguments in the moment.”
Maren looks up at me, and the corners of her lips lift in the sweetest smile. “Deal.”
“And you don’t keep anything from me. Not warnings. Not gut instincts. Not anything that feels off. It’s never too small, and you’ll never be bothering me.”
Silence settles between us as we hold on to each other, swaying slightly to music that isn’t playing.
“I learned something this afternoon,” she says quietly.
“Yeah? What was that?”
“That I’m not untouchable. That it’s easier to get to me than I thought. And the last few times, I’ve managed to get away from them. But today, I realized that, next time, I might not. When I realized the hands around me weren’t yours, I panicked. I mean, if they can get to and hurt Vandal like they have, what could they really do to me? I think I should increase my own safety. Maybe share my location with you at all times, carry a weapon, get some mace. I don’t know. Just…things.”
“Those sound like wise steps, and I can help you with all of them. Something in your truck too, a weapon within easy reach. A tracker in your truck.”
“I guess I can’t be naive about what being with you means.” But there’s no judgment in her tone. Just pragmatic assessment.
