Chapter 19
Chapter
Nineteen
A va’s shoulders ached as she fumbled with the keys, the weight of a twelve-hour shift heavy in her bones. The door swung open to the smell of garlic and herbs, a small mercy after a day of antiseptic and illness.
“That you, Ava?” Reed called from the kitchen.
She dropped her bag by the door, kicked off her shoes, and padded across the hardwood floors. “Yeah, it’s me.”
Reed stood at the stove, stirring something that smelled divine. His sleeves were rolled up, forearms flexed as he worked. Even after eight months of marriage, the sight of him in their kitchen still gave her a flutter of disbelief. This was her life now.
“Rough day?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.
“The worst.” She collapsed onto a barstool at the counter. “Lost a patient. Eighty-two-year-old with pneumonia. His grandson flew in from Seattle, but he didn’t make it in time.”
Reed abandoned the pot to pour her a glass of red wine. His fingers brushed hers as he handed it over. “I’m sorry, babe.”
She took a long sip, letting the warmth spread through her chest. “Thanks for cooking.”
“Least I could do.” He returned to the stove. “Oh, by the way, there’s some mail for you on the coffee table. Looks like bank statements.”
Her phone buzzed in her pocket before she could respond. Unknown number. She almost let it go to voicemail—telemarketers always called at dinner time—but something made her answer.
“Hello?”
“Ava? It’s Martin Geller.” Her landlord’s nasal voice was unmistakable.
“Martin, hi.” She shot Reed an apologetic look and slipped into the living room. “What can I do for you?”
“I’ve got someone interested in your apartment. Young professional, great credit. She’s looking for a six-month lease. Would you be willing to sublet?”
Ava’s heartbeat quickened. The question she’d been avoiding for months. “I... um, can I think about it? Maybe call you tomorrow?”
A heavy sigh crackled through the phone. “Ava, you’ve been ‘thinking about it’ for three months now. You’re living with your husband, right? Why are you still paying for an empty apartment? It’s been vacant since the wedding.”
She turned her back to the kitchen, lowering her voice. “I know, I know. I just need a little more time.”
“Well, this girl needs to know by Friday. She’ll take good care of the place, and you’d save yourself eight hundred a month. Makes no sense to keep paying for an empty apartment.”
“I’ll call you back tomorrow, I promise.” Ava ended the call, her stomach knotting.
She turned to find Reed standing in the doorway, wooden spoon in hand, marinara sauce dripping onto the floor. The look on his face told her he’d heard enough.
“That was Martin,” she said, unnecessarily.
“Your landlord.” It wasn’t a question. Reed’s jaw tightened. “Why are you still paying for that apartment, Ava?”
She sank onto the couch, suddenly exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with her shift. “It’s complicated.”
“Is it?” Reed set the spoon down on an end table, leaving a red smear on the polished wood. “We’ve been married for three months. You live here. With me. Your husband.”
“I know that.”
“Do you? Because it seems like you’re keeping an escape hatch open.”
The accusation stung, partly because it wasn’t entirely untrue. “That’s not fair.”
“Then explain it to me.” Reed ran a hand through his hair, leaving it standing in frustrated spikes. “Help me understand why my wife needs a backup plan.”
“It’s not a backup plan,” she said, though the words felt hollow. “It’s just... It’s mine. Something that’s just mine.”
“And this—“ he gestured around the house, the touches she’d added, the framed photos from their honeymoon, the plants they’d named “—isn’t yours? Our life together isn’t yours?”
“Of course it is.” Ava stood, needing to move, to do something with the anxious energy building inside her. “But it’s ours. And sometimes I need something that’s just mine.”
“We’re married, Ava. That means sharing a life. It means fully committing.”
“I am committed!” Her voice rose. “I married you, didn’t I?”
“You married me, but you’ve been keeping one foot out the door.” Reed’s eyes were hurt, vulnerable in a way that made her chest ache. “You’ve never fully moved in. Half your stuff is still in boxes in the spare room. You kept your apartment. It’s like you’re waiting for this to fail.”
“That’s not true,” she said, but even as the words left her mouth, she wondered if they were a lie.
“Then why keep it? Why pay for an empty apartment when we could use that money for our future? To pay off your loans or save it for something?”
Ava looked away, unable to hold his gaze. How could she explain the comfort of knowing there was a space in the world that was wholly hers? A place where she answered to no one, where she could retreat if she needed to? It wasn’t about not loving Reed—she did, desperately. It was about the terror of disappearing into their marriage, of losing the person she’d been before.
“I don’t know how to explain it,” she finally said, tears threatening. “I just know I’m not ready to let it go.”
“And I don’t know how to not take that personally.” Reed’s voice was quiet now, resigned in a way that frightened her more than his anger. “Dinner’s ready. Eat it before it gets cold.”
He turned and walked back into the kitchen, leaving her standing alone in the living room.
R eed stabbed at the pasta with more force than necessary, the fork scraping against the ceramic plate with a sound that set his teeth on edge. He’d lost his appetite, but he kept eating anyway, mechanical movements that gave him something to focus on besides the woman sitting across from him.
Ava hadn’t touched her food. She’d pushed the penne around her plate, creating intricate patterns in the sauce he’d spent an hour perfecting. What a waste.
“Reed,” she said, her voice soft in a way that made him want to plug his ears. He knew that tone. The placating one she used when she thought he was being unreasonable. “Can we talk about this?”
“We already talked.” He took a sip of wine, letting the bitterness linger on his tongue. “You made your position clear.”
“I don’t think I did, actually.” She set her fork down with a gentle clink. “I’m not keeping the apartment because I don’t believe in us.”
Reed finally looked at her, really looked at her. She was beautiful even after a twelve-hour shift, her blonde hair pulled back in a messy bun, shadows beneath her eyes. He loved her so much it physically hurt sometimes. That was the problem.
“Then why?” The question came out harsher than he’d intended. “Help me understand, Ava, because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you don’t trust this marriage enough to burn your bridges.”
She flinched. Good. Let her feel a fraction of what he was feeling.
“It’s not about trust, it’s about...” she trailed off, searching for words. “Okay maybe it is about trust. But not about you. I just worry what happens when something happens.”
“When something happens?” he repeated, disbelief coloring his tone. “You’re assuming we’re going to fail without even trying. I asked you to build something new with me.”
“That’s not fair.”
“No, it’s not. Not to me. Not to either of us” Reed pushed his plate away, appetite gone completely now. “I don’t want us to fail, Ava. But I do want you to be fully in it. That apartment is a contingency plan. Admit it.”
She looked down at her hands, and her silence was confirmation enough. Something cold and heavy settled in his chest.
“Reed, please try to see it from my perspective. This all happened so fast. I just needed a safety net. Everything I knew was suddenly gone. Just like before.”
“Before? Run that down for me like I’m the idiot you think I am.”
She winced. “I don’t think you’re an idiot.” She sighed. “I don’t know. It’s just so stupid. After my parents died, everything changed. Overnight, I lost everything. My family, my safety. Do you have any idea how scary that is?”
Against his will, sympathy tugged at him. But he steeled himself. “I’m not trying to take away your safety. I’m offering you a home. To build a new life together. But you’re rejecting it.”
“That’s not fair?—”
“You know what’s not fair?” Reed stood up, unable to sit still any longer. He paced to the window, staring out at the night sky. “Not fair is making vows you don’t fully mean. Not fair is telling someone you’re all in when you’ve got one hand on the exit door.”
He heard her chair scrape back, felt her presence behind him, but he didn’t turn around. He couldn’t look at her right now. If he did, he might forgive her too easily, and this needed to be resolved.
“I’m sorry,” Ava whispered, close enough now that he could smell her shampoo, the antiseptic from the hospital still clinging faintly to her skin. “I never meant to hurt you.”
“But you did.” His voice cracked, and he hated himself for it. Hated the vulnerability. “You hurt me, Ava.”
Her hand touched his shoulder, and it took everything in him not to lean into it, not to turn and pull her into his arms. God, he was pathetic. Even furious, he craved her touch.
“I love you,” she said. “I’m committed to you. To us. The apartment is just...”
“Just an insurance policy against me,” he finished for her. “Against us.”
“That’s not what I was going to say.”
“But it’s the truth.” He finally turned to face her, keeping his arms crossed, a barrier between them. “You want me to understand your fear, but you don’t see what it does to me, knowing you’re hedging your bets. Do you have any idea what that feels like? To know your wife has a backup plan?”
Tears welled in her eyes, and part of him wanted to wipe them away. The other part, the wounded part, was grimly satisfied to see them.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, reaching for his hand.
He stepped back, out of her reach. “Sorry isn’t enough this time.”
“What do you want me to do? Give up the apartment? Fine, I’ll call Martin tomorrow?—”
“No.” The word sliced through the air between them. “I don’t want you to give it up because I forced you to. I want you to want to give it up. I want you to trust us enough to close that door.”
Ava’s shoulders slumped; defeat written in the lines of her body. “I don’t know if I can do that yet.”
And there it was. The truth, finally. Reed felt it like a blow to the chest, knocking the air from his lungs.
“Then we have a bigger problem than an empty apartment,” he said, his voice eerily calm now that the worst had been confirmed. “I’m going for a walk. Don’t wait up.”
He grabbed his jacket from the hook by the door and shrugged it on, ignoring her pleading eyes.
“Reed, please?—”
“Not now, Ava.” He opened the door, pausing without looking back. “I can’t hear any more apologies right now.”
The sound of the door closing behind him was too quiet, too anticlimactic for the chasm that had just opened in his marriage. Reed stood on the porch for a moment, half expecting Ava to come after him, hoping despite himself that she would.
She didn’t.
He walked down the walkway, each step heavier than the last. Maybe she was right to keep that apartment after all. Maybe she’d known something he hadn’t wanted to see.
Maybe some walls couldn’t be torn down, no matter how much you loved someone.