“Right.”
We pack our suitcases. I carry things out to my SUV, then we pull it around to the entrance of the pavilion and I help her load up the stuff she needs to bring home.
“What will you do with all this?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Save it for the next family party.”
“Someone else should organize the next family party.”
She slides me a look as she pushes a box into the vehicle. “Sure.”
“Are we ready to hit the road?”
She looks around. “I feel… it’s kind of a letdown when it’s all done.” The corners of her mouth turn down. “All the work getting ready and then all the activity with the family. Which I loved! But now…” She lifts one shoulder. “At least Nonna said thank you.”
“Fuck.” I shake my head. I hate it that once again, her family has taken her for granted. She gets so much joy out of doing things for them, but she’d get a hell of a lot more if they just showed their appreciation. “I’m sorry, angel. Come on.”
The snow has stopped and the sun is out so there are no worries about weather impacting our trip home. Ayla starts a playlist on the sound system in the car and we listen to a lot of Taylor Swift, Sabrina Carpenter, and Nikki Sullivan.
“Nikki Sullivan is dating Smitty,” I remark. “Did you know that?”
“I did know that. I saw it online somewhere. Have you met her?”
“Yeah. She’s come to a few games. The Thanksgiving party.”
“That’s so cool. What’s she like?”
“She seems pretty normal.”
Ayla laughs. “Okay.”
“I mean, she’s not a raging diva because she’s famous. She went through a rough time after that disaster at one of her concerts.”
“Oh, right. I read about that, too.”
“She seems to really love Smitty, and he’s nuts about her. So that’s good.”
“Yeah. I’m happy for him. He’s a nice guy.”
She sounds a little wistful. She sounded like that when we were talking about the team and the wives that night in the hot tub. Does she miss that? Fuck. That makes my stomach cramp.
As we fall silent, I think about what’s happened the last couple of days and the conversation we’re about to have. The conflict inside of me is making me a little nauseous. After being with Ayla again, I can’t deny I still have feelings for her. I fucking love her so much. I never stopped. Things were rough between us and I feel hopeful that we’ve gotten beyond that, with the time that’s passed.
But I also have this vague worry that it’s not going to be that easy.
Sleeping with Ayla was amazing. That was the good part of the trip. Okay, also talking to her, and laughing with her. There’s nobody I’ve ever been with who makes me feel the way she does—like I’m all powerful. Like I can do anything. Win the Stanley Cup. Walk on water. End climate change.
There were also tough moments. Talking about Kane. Talking about how Ayla felt like a failure, when I was the one who failed. Every time these things came up, the rock in my gut got bigger. It’s still there, hard and painful. I have a sense of impending doom creeping up on me that makes my chest tight and breathing shallow.
I want my wife back. She’s my heart and my soul and I’m not the poetic type but Jesus, I love her and miss her more than anything. And I’m terrified I’m going to mess it up. Again.
* * *
“Coffee?”
We’re in the kitchen at Ayla’s house. I’ve helped carry everything in including Ayla’s suitcase. I don’t need caffeine; I’m as edgy as a one-eyed cat watching two rat holes.
“Sure.” I make my voice calm as I sit on a stool at the big island.
