Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
“Just … stop. I’m not ready to date.”
Emersyn laughs, turning toward me and resting her backside against the counter, hands on the edge. “I was there last night … in bed, in case you’ve already forgotten. I’d say you’re plenty ready to date.”
For the record, I hate this conversation.
“That’s different.”
“Why?” Her head cocks to the side. “Because you didn’t buy me dinner first?”
“Because it’s you.” I scratch my chin.
“Me? What does that matter?”
“You’re my wife.” The words are out. There’s no reeling them back in. My biggest issue, one that I have not discussed with my therapist, is just how conflicted I am over having a wife. Do I love Emersyn like a wife? No. I mean … I don’t know. Do I love her at all? Jesus … I hope so. But the connection between my heart and my head feels damaged. The signals are not clear. They haven’t been clear since Suzanne was diagnosed with cancer. And when she died, I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel again.
“No.” Emersyn’s head whips back and forth. “I’m the woman you gave an insurance card to because you were ridiculously generous. You can’t use the wife excuse when it’s convenient. You’ve told me too many times that we don’t have that kind of marriage.”
“You know what I mean. You’re different. The exception.”
“Why?”
I shrug and gaze at the floor, eyes narrowed a smidge. “Because I can be with you without pretending that I’m perfectly okay. Because you and Suzanne had something special. And it might not make sense to anyone else, but it makes sense to me, and I think it makes sense to you.”
“Define sense? Because I’m trying to make sense of everything, and I’m struggling. I’m trying to figure out how to reconcile thinking about you all the time yet crawling into bed with some other guy because that’s what you want me to do. Right? I’m trying to figure out what it means to have sex with my husband, but not think of us as really married.”
I bite my tongue until I’m certain it’s bleeding. What do I expect from her? How do I make a case for my true feelings and not hold her back? It’s impossible.
“I think you need a better therapist,” she mutters before sauntering to the bathroom to shower.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Emersyn
We do a great job of ignoring the unanswered questions. He flies. I work on photo editing and my social media pages. On our anniversary, he sends me a huge bouquet of roses. Again, I’m confused about this marriage right now. If it’s not that kind of marriage, why send flowers?
Leah’s dad dies, and I go to New York for the funeral. I’m not sure when she’ll be ready to resume traveling, but I hope it’s soon because it’s painful to live with my husband and not really feel like his wife.
“Hey!” Zach grins as he pokes his head into the kitchen after being gone for two days. “Happy birthday.”
I close my computer at the kitchen table and scoot back in my chair as he sets a pink box with a white ribbon on the table next to my computer before dropping a slow kiss on my lips.
“Thank you,” I murmur and grin as he sits in the chair next to me, loosening his tie.
“You shouldn’t have,” I say while ripping the bow off the box. I don’t really mean it. I haven’t been given many presents in my life. I haven’t had that many birthdays acknowledged either, so I selfishly enjoy this moment.
I lift the lid. There’s a hardback photography book. Diane Arbus: An Aperture Monograph.
“Zach …” I whisper when I see it’s a 1972 first edition.
It’s filled with portraits of unconventional poses of ordinary working-class people as well as those who lived on the fringes of society, like prostitutes and giants. He spent some money to buy this.
I hug the book to my chest. “It’s too much, but perfect. You’re so thoughtful. I …” I stop before silly tears fill my eyes. “Thank you.” Setting the book back in the box, I straddle his lap, wrap my arms around his neck, and thoroughly kiss him.
“What are you doing?” he says in a husky voice as I slide off his lap and kneel before him, my hands working the belt to his pants. “I didn’t buy you that so that you’d …” He pauses and draws in a long breath when my hand wraps around him. “I’m just…” he fumbles his words “…saying you don’t have to … fuuuck …” He closes his eyes when my mouth replaces my hand.
True intimacy is hard to navigate. Feeling love toward another human in this way. Wanting to please Zach because I love him, not because I’m trying to pay him back or earn his love. Most days, I don’t focus on how much my life has been impacted by not having a father. It’s easy to pretend that I have a healthy grip on intimacy and relationships, but I don’t. I’m still learning.