8
It’s Not a Metaphor
I stare ahead at the wall of Tanner’s childhood room.
Blanket huddled around me.
Rain droplets stopped dripping from my bangs a while ago, all dry now, but I still feel wet somehow.
The door was left open, and I can hear Tanner talking to his parents downstairs. The kids are in the room next to this one, and I was told they’re asleep, despite everything. It’s still raining, but only a light drizzle, the worst of it gone. Apparently Tanner went back to the house despite numerous protests from his parents just to throw a tarp or something over the gaping wound in our roof that now stretches open above our bed.
It’s not a metaphor. It’s not symbolism.
I refuse to let this odd and terrible night be reduced to some symbol that my marriage is totally fucking broken apart.
It’s just nature.
Shit happens, right?
I already got the biggest, bone-crushing hug from Nadine. She was in tears. I ended up having to be the one to comforther.
The kids were surprisingly okay. Joshua completely changed his tune and suddenly acted like he was on a fun adventure, coming over to the main house in the rain. Marcus kept cracking jokes with his little brother, as if to ease any lingering tension, and I realize only now like a total idiot that it’s likely been their thing their whole lives: big bro looking after little bro from foster home to foster home, playing the role of both father and brother, keeping his little brother not only physically safe, but emotionally safe, too.
That’s supposed to be our job.
The thought breaks my heart so much worse than a big falling murder branch ever could.
By the time Tanner returns, I’m already rolled onto my side on the bed with the lights off, listening to the soft rain against the window. He slides into bed next to me and wraps his arm around my stomach. I let him. “I’m sorry, babe,” he whispers into my ear. I’m not sure what he’s apologizing for, but he keeps doing it. “I’m so sorry. So, so sorry. I love you, babe.”
“You don’t have to be sorry.”
“I almost killed you.”
“You didn’t. Mother Nature did.”
“That was the tree branch you told me to cut down. The one over our house. I didn’t do it. And it almost killed you.”
“Just a freak accident. We’re alive and together and safe, all of us. That’s what matters right now.”
“I’m so sorry.”
I sit up suddenly, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, and stare at the window.
I feel Tanner watching me from behind.
We don’t say anything, both of us listening to the rain.
“I see it now,” he says quietly.
I peer over my shoulder. “See what?”
“What you were saying. Months ago.” His voice is eerily calm and resolved. In other words, nothing like it usually is. “I see how we’re different people. How our frequencies have been off for a few years now. How … How I can be a b-burden to you.”
Please don’t tell me he’s crying. “Tanner …”
“I see it now, babe.” He takes a deep breath and rolls onto his back. “Maybe in the morning, we … we should have the talk. And discuss things. Like … how we’ll tell everyone.”
His words freeze my bones.