“How?” he whispers, his eyes searching mine.
My chin wobbles. I swallow thickly. “I love you so much, I could never stand to lose you.”
He takes my hands from his face, cradles them inside his, staring down at them. “Meaning what?” he asks quietly.
“Meaning, there are some loves that end and some that don’t—” My voice catches again. I clear my throat, folding over until my head rests on his hands. “I never want to love you in a way that could end. That could hurt us. That could hurt Mia. If I—”
“Shh,” Alex says, easing down to the floor beside me, turning me until I’m tucked inside his arms, our familiar cuddle position. “I understand,” he says quietly. “You don’t… you don’t have to say any more.”
I sniffle, curling myself against him, clutching at him. I feel carved down the middle, like my heart’s being shredded. Because, though I’ve wondered, hoped, in those weak, foolish moments, I’ve never been sure that Alex loves me the way I love him. Until he asked how I loved him. Until I saw his eyes brighten, then dim, because ofme.
Until now.
It’s thrilling. It’s heartbreaking. It makes staying the steady, safe course infinitely more difficult.
But if I’ve learned anything this year, it’s that I can do hard things. And maybe, one day, I’ll be able to do something even harder, face how much I love him, be brave enough to tell him, trust that it would be worth it, even knowing everything I’d risk one day losing.
But not today. Not any time soon, judging by the way I shiver and cling to him, like a small, frightened child.
I have growing up to do, work to put in.
I have a long way to go.
I rub a hand over his heart, circling it gently. “Alex?”
“Hmm?” he says quietly, nuzzling his nose into my hair.
“You seemed sad when you came in. And not just about the haircut. It was almost like the haircut was the least of your worries.”
He sighs. “Jen took Mia to kindergarten orientation this morning, without me.”
I lift my head, anger rolling through me. “What?”
His fingers play through my hair. He’s staring up at the ceiling. “It wasn’t that big of a deal.”
“Yes, it was. You’re herdad. You belonged there, too—”
“Jen said she thought she’d forwarded me the email,” he says. “From the school. Which she had not.” He shrugs. “An honest mistake.”
I set my head on his chest, my hand still circling his heart.
“You really think it was an honest mistake?” I ask quietly.
Another heavy sigh leaves him. “I want to. Ineedto. Because otherwise, she’s still angry with me, still punishing me sometimes, and I have to believe she wouldn’t use Mia to do that.”
I think about the number of times the past year I’ve picked upArgos from Ethan’s house, how obvious it’s been that he hasn’t been exercised enough or fed his normal food, hasn’t been given the cuddles and pets he needs, and how little sense it makes to me that Ethan would do that, unless he was trying to hurt me. It has to be infinitely more painful to consider, for Alex, for his child to be used like that.
But then I think about how I was raised, not terribly, but not well. I think about all the ways I’ve seen people, in their weak moments, be selfish, vindictive, hurting so badly all they could do was lash out at others and hurt them, in a wasted effort to alleviate their own pain.
“Maybe,” he concedes quietly, “she was punishing me. Because I’ve been… happy… ish.”
I smile sadly. “Maybe. I think maybe Ethan has been punishing me, with Argos. Keeping him, and not taking great care of him, when he couldn’t give a crap about him before the divorce.”
Alex hugs me tight. “Sorry, Ted.”
“I’m sorry, too. It’s infinitely more significant, what she’s doing with Mia.”
“Possibly,” he adds.