Chapter 44
THE TRIAL
MAGGIE
Over the course of the next month, Zeke and I created our new normal under the guise of re-discovering ourselves.
We both learned more about each other’s diagnoses in order to better support one another.
For instance, I never realized how much order and structure Zeke needed.
Weekends weren’t just a time to lay around.
He needed a set expectation, established by a routine, that needed to include a designated time to wake, workout, and an exact plan for the day.
We decided to plan Saturdays for adventures, either in South Korea itself or simply with designated activities offered on post, and plan Sundays for cleaning, meal prepping, and laundry.
He breathed easier if we assigned specific household chores rather than simply doing things willy-nilly as they came up, so we worked out a system for what I would tackle and what he would tackle.
He continued to cook and monitor the signs of my eating disorder.
The bathroom scale had disappeared before I returned from the hospital after my breakdown, but when I mentioned in passing how bad I felt about myself every time I looked in the mirror, the next day I woke up to find all the mirrors gone, even in the bathrooms. When I pointed out that Zeke still needed a mirror to shave and tend to his own hair, he merely shrugged.
“I can shave after I shower at the gym. And why worry about my hair when you can do it for me and it will look ten times better?”
I nearly glowed from that compliment.
Zeke noticed, though, in a way that only he could.
From then on, I found small notes with sweet sayings on them all the time.
On the lamp next to my bed, stuck to the gallon of milk in the refrigerator, tucked inside my jeans pocket.
They never repeated the same statement either.
Sometimes there were famous quotes on love, beauty, or marriage.
Others came directly from Zeke’s own mind.
Your smile reminds me of a sunset.
I love the way your nose crinkles when you concentrate.
Thank you for going to the library with me. It made me feel special and important.
The notes served as a reminder of why I married Zeke in the first place. He treasured me in a way that no one else had before, and while I wasn’t yet ready to call it love, every note gave me hope that love could happen down the road.
Zeke and I kept up with couple’s therapy sessions.
Barb helped tremendously as we discovered more about each other and our respective illnesses.
We both agreed it was far easier to navigate disagreements or misunderstandings with Barb in the room.
Especially Zeke, who struggled a lot with finding the right words or reading my signals.
He frequently took notes in a small notebook that he kept in the breast pocket of his Army uniform.
One of the exercises Barb liked to end sessions with included revealing one truth about us that we never told anyone before. She said it helped Zeke and I connect on a deeper level as husband and wife.
“I never considered doing anything other than being a soldier,” Zeke admitted at the end of one particularly grueling session. “It was the only option ever talked about, and now that Maggie is in my life, I don’t know if the Army is really what I want to do.”
My eyebrows rose in surprise. We had never discussed the possibility of Zeke getting out of the military. I never considered it.
“Good, Zeke. I’m really proud of you for admitting that. Marriage is all about compromise, and it sounds like you recognize how much you need to compromise to be considerate of Maggie’s needs, too. Excellent! Now Maggie, your turn!” Barb smiled fondly at me.
I wanted to give just as much of myself as he had. We would match bravery for bravery.
“Diana never let me cut my hair,” I confessed. “At least, nothing more than a trim. I’ve always wanted to try a really short style. Maybe even a pixie cut.”
After I said the words out loud, I realized how stupid they sounded. Here Zeke was, pouring his heart out about his future—our future—and all I could do was complain about my hair.
Barb, however, beamed at me. “That’s real growth, Maggie! You finally recognized that you’ve been altering your own desires to earn your mother’s approval. Well done!”
I smiled, despite myself. Earning my therapist’s praise grew to be nearly as addictive as Zeke’s. And she always knew the right thing to say to make it encouraging. Maybe Barb was a cheerleader back in the day. I could totally picture her cheering with school pride.
“I’ll see you both next week. Until Thursday, Maggie!” Barb waved jovially to us as we exited her office.
The seasons were on the verge of changing, making the air outside crisper. Long shadows leaped behind us, and I blushed under the intensity of Zeke’s gaze as we emerged out on the street.
“What?” I finally asked.
“You have no idea how much you take my breath away,” he murmured.
A fevered blush crept up my face, making my skin hot. The way Zeke looked at me in that moment set my soul on fire.
This was how loved formed, I realized. The milliseconds in between everything where love and joy filtered in. It hung tantalizingly close, just out of reach. Why couldn’t I reach up and take it? What made me so afraid?
“Zeke, I…I…” Words failed me as he continued to stare at me as if the very stars thanked me for their existence.
He laced his fingers through mine, giving them a gentle squeeze. “C’mon,” he said, “there’s something we need to do.”
“Zeke, you can’t be serious!” Delight wormed its way into my chest, but old instincts convinced me that it was too good to be true.
“Of course I’m serious. Why would I lie?” My husband poked the tip of his tongue out through the side of his teeth, and I’d never seen him look so playful or sexy. Although that might have been the excitement talking.
We stood on the threshold of a salon just off post that advertised walk-in appointments. Several of the stylists I could see from the doorway looked to be American, based on their clothing. Zeke wanted to make my dreams come true by taking me to get a major haircut.
I giggled. “Fine, but then you have to wait out here. You don’t get to see it until the big reveal at the end!”
“Deal!” Zeke pulled me in for a quick kiss to the forehead. As if I could melt any more over this man.
We went up to the receptionist and my husband slapped a credit card down on the table. “Give my wife whatever she wants,” instructed Zeke. “I just want her happy.”
The South Korean woman behind the counter beamed like she won the lottery. “Absolutely, sir!” she cooed in accented English. “Your wife will be beautiful when we’re done!”
He only had eyes for me, however. “She already is.”