12. Chapter Twelve
W ith our fingers laced together, Annie and I strolled back to the house. Our original plan was to share a brownie sundae, but we got there too late. The brownies sold out. Between the lack of our favorite baked good, a line out the door and halfway down the block, and groups of people waiting for a table, we opted for a cone and a stroll along our favorite walking path. I ordered a double scoop on a sugar cone—Tahitian vanilla bean and fresh mango. On the rare instances when I ate ice cream, I tended to go for fruit-forward flavors, but this vanilla bean had been a favorite for decades. If I could get it back home, I’d probably eat it weekly. Annie loved fresh waffle cones, so when she saw them restock warm cones in front of her, I urged her to get one. She was worried it would be too much ice cream and she’d waste it. Which was ridiculous. Annie loved ice cream, and this was our midday meal. When she debated, I ordered it for her. Dark chocolate and fresh raspberry on a plain waffle cone because while she had a sweet tooth, she’d never liked chocolate-dipped cones or any of the options that came with nuts, sprinkles, or candy.
As I held our gate open for her, she popped the last bite of the cone into her mouth. “The first ice cream of the season is always the best.”
I reached into my pocket and I nodded my agreement. I could have sworn I shoved a few napkins into my pocket, but I came up empty-handed. The only option that remained to help my beautiful wife clean the chocolate ice cream from her lips and chin was my mouth. I cradled her jaw in my hand possessively, leaned forward, and kissed her, trailing my tongue across her lips and down her chin before whispering, “You needed a little help. Hope you don’t mind.”
“How dare my husband kiss the ice cream from my mouth?” she winked before jogging up the porch steps. Instead of heading into the house, she plopped onto her swing. “There’s room for two. Want to join me?”
“You, me, and the swing sounds like a great way to spend a couple of hours. Should I grab us each a book?”
“Yes, please. I finished mine this morning. Just pull a number from the jar and bring me that one. And iced tea, if you don’t mind. The sun tea I made on the other side of the porch should be ready.”
I grabbed the jar from the porch railing and headed into the house. When I returned, I snuggled onto the swing and guided her legs over my lap. This had always been one of our two favorite ways to share the swing. The other was with her tucked into my side and her legs outstretched. I’d considered that option, but while my beautiful bookworm read, I had some updates to do with my workbook. Tonight, we were discussing communication. What we did that worked, what didn’t, how we communicated best with other people, if that varied with each other, and how our communication styles were similar. Most importantly, how they differed and what we could do to strengthen communication.
Annie unwrapped the book I’d removed from the shelf and squealed with delight. “I’ve been wanting to read this for ages, but I guess you know that because I say that about everything.”
I gently squeezed her calf. “Which one is it?”
“ Choosing Forever by JLynn Autumn. It's a small town romance collection. Each book is one couple’s story. I added it because each couple has a different definition of what forever should look like.”
“Sounds like your type of book, sweetheart.”
She curled onto her side, leaving her legs to rest on my lap while she read. I opened the workbook and scanned my half-assed initial responses and, after mentally scolding myself for being such an ass, I began doing the work I should have done the first time. Two hours later, I was stumped. The thump of my pen against the workbook played in perfect harmony with the soft music Annie had chosen. She shifted slightly, folded forward, and pressed her lips against my upper arm. “Hey, it’s okay to take a break. It’s okay to leave something blank. It doesn’t have to be perfect. Sometimes not knowing is just as important.”
“But, Annie, I should know. We’ve been together for 35 years and married for 30. I should know how I communicate with you compared to others. Is it the same? Is it drastically different? Does it look similar to how you communicate with me? I don’t know. And I should.”
“This was a hard one. I had the benefit of being in therapy and getting suggestions. It took me two sessions. She told me to look at how I talk to and share information with my closest friend, the kids, our family, and you. And to compare it. Is my preference for face-to-face interactions, phone calls, text messages, emails, or a combination? Does it change depending on whether it’s good news or bad news or whether it's an easy versus tough topic? You’re trying to do what it took me days to do in two hours. I don’t expect it to be perfect. It just needs to be honest. Plus, we can talk about this together and figure it out. That’s part of being a team.”
I tucked my pen into the pages before closing the workbook and setting it on the side table. “I think I’ve done all I can. I really focused on work versus family versus the kids. And then tried to see how it was the same or different with you. My main takeaway was that when I don’t want to see the hurt in your eyes or the disappointment, I write it down and leave it for you to find on the kitchen counter. And that’s not fair to you.”
“No, it’s not. And it might have been snarky and rude for me to do the same to you when I requested or demanded your presence this summer, but I needed you to know what it felt like.”
“Absolute shit. Like I wasn’t worth talking to face-to-face or even worth a quick phone call. I was angry at first, but then I realized why you did it. And I understood why you turned off your phone so I couldn’t reach you. It forced my hand. Show up and work for it, or don’t and walk away.” I turned slightly and lowered my forehead to hers. “There was no way I was walking away.”
“Everything about these first few days together this summer has been perfect. Could it be this easy? Or are we under Seaside’s spell, where everything about this place is magical? That’s why we bought this house, right? Because we couldn’t imagine a better place to vacation than where we met and fell in love. We wanted to be here because this is the one place we’ve always been focused on us, with no career obligations. Nothing was distracting us from each other and later our little family of four.”
I’d never thought about it like that. Sure, each summer here was perfect, but that’s how everyone describes summers in their young adult lives. To me, buying the house gave us a place of our own here, instead of sharing with Annie’s family. Our kids had their own rooms, not bunks in a loft with cousins. We had privacy. Our Seaside home was our sanctuary from the chaos of our daily lives. “I can see where one might describe this place as magical and how it feels like slipping under a spell when you arrive and immediately adjust to a slower pace. It’s easy to relax here. Maybe things are easy for us to reconnect because we’re putting in the effort and making each other a priority. Something we should have been doing each day no matter where we were.”
She looped her arms over my neck, nuzzled her face into my neck, and sighed. “I want Seaside us all the time. I like who we are here. If this us was who we were all the time, life would be easy, and I wouldn’t be scared about losing our marriage. This is the us I want. Can we figure out a way to be these people all the time?”
My arm rested across her back, holding her tight against me. “We are these people, sweetheart. They’re always there.” She groaned against my neck. “But I understand what you mean. Yes, I think we can be these people anywhere.”
We sat in silence for almost a half hour, each of us likely thinking about how to make good on my promise that we could be Seaside us anywhere.