Chapter Fourteen I Want to Believe
Chapter Fourteen
I Want to Believe
I am weeping. Crying my eyes out.
It’s been two hours since I sat down in my lawyer’s office and discussed the implications of a divorce—financial and otherwise.
I still haven’t made up my mind. I was there only to seek information about what that path might look like, but now I can’t stop thinking about our wedding day and how crazy in love we were.
Back then, I believed that Nate was my knight in shining armor because he’d scooped me out of darkness and delivered me from my bottomless pit of grief.
But everything between us is so different now.
This is why I weep. I don’t want to believe that our love wasn’t real or that it wasn’t meant to be.
Days later, Nate walks into the kitchen. “Good morning,” I say.
“Morning.”
Freshly showered and dressed for the day, he pours himself a coffee from the French press and notices that I’ve cooked scrambled eggs and bacon, which is not something I normally do on weekdays. Bacon is reserved for weekends, but this morning I don’t want Nate to simply grab his coffee and go.
“Have a seat, because there’s something I want to talk to you about,” I say.
He checks his watch—to signal that I’m making him late—but I try to not let it bother me. I don’t want this to get ugly.
I bring the skillet from the stove to his plate at the island and serve up the eggs, which forces him to pull out a stool and sit down. Then I serve myself and sit beside him. Oscar lies down at my feet.
Nate digs in, and I pick up my fork, but all I can do is poke at my eggs.
“I went to see a lawyer,” I finally confess.
Nate stops chewing. He turns his head and looks at me. “A lawyer? What about? Is Amanda still having trouble with that girl?”
“No.” I swivel on the stool to face him. “I went to see someone to find out what a separation or divorce might look like.”
Nate gulps down his eggs. “Sienna . . .”
“Please don’t act like you’re surprised.” Steeling myself against the tenderness in his tone, I fight to be strong. “You know I haven’t been happy.”
He wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Yes, and I agree that we haven’t been on the same page lately .
. .” His tone becomes laced with pleading, and he starts working hard to talk sense into me.
“But every marriage has rough patches.” He reaches for my hand.
“That doesn’t mean we should throw in the towel. ”
“It’s more than a rough patch,” I argue.
“I feel like you’ve lost interest in me, and it’s been that way for a long time.
We’ve become strangers, and . . .” I pause and keep my eyes downcast because I’m afraid that if I look directly at him, I’ll start crying again.
“I don’t feel loved. At least not by you. ”
He blinks a few times in disbelief. “You’re the love of my life. You know that.”
I shake my head. “I used to know it, but I’m not so sure anymore, because you talk to Martina more than you talk to me. I think the restaurant has become the love of your life. That’s where your passions are.”
Nate takes my other hand, so he now holds both in his grasp. “I love you. Don’t ever doubt that.”
I give him a skeptical glance.
“Okay . . . yes,” he says, conceding a little. “I’ve probably been a bad husband lately, but I did hear what you said before, about my father. I’ve been thinking about it, and . . . you’re right. Maybe he’s the reason I don’t want to fail.”
I say nothing because I want to hear more from him. I want to believe that this marriage is still salvageable.
“I just want him to know that he was wrong,” Nate explains. “And I’d love to rub it in his face.”
I slowly nod because I’d enjoy seeing that as well. “I get it. Honestly, I do. But chasing that dream has come at a high price. I still can’t believe that I went to see a lawyer, which was never something I imagined would happen to us. Ever.”
“Me neither.” He closes his eyes. “There must be something wrong with me, because I don’t want to lose you and the kids, but I also need the restaurant to succeed. It’s like an addiction.”
Realizing that we’re going around in circles again, I turn back to my eggs and take the first bite.
Nate watches me for a moment. “Sienna . . . are you actually serious? About separating?”
“Yes,” I reply.
He leans back on the stool while I eat my breakfast, but at this point, I’m force-feeding myself.
“Please . . . we can work things out,” he says.
I reach for my glass of orange juice and take a sip. “I’ve been trying to work it out with you for more than a year, but nothing ever changes.”
“I’ll do whatever you want,” he quickly replies.
Sensing that he’s finally starting to take this seriously, I set down my fork and lean back also. “And what do you think that is?”
“I’ll shut down the restaurant.”
My breath hitches. It’s an enormous concession, and we both know it.
“And I’ll get a job,” he adds. “I don’t know where but . . . somewhere.”
Nate looks away. He seems lost, as if he’s drowning in that image, and though he’s finally agreeing to make a change, I take no pleasure in this. None of it feels right.
I get up and carry the dirty dishes to the sink and rinse them.
When I turn around, Nate is still seated.
He’s staring intensely at the floral centerpiece.
Then his cell phone rings. He picks it up, checks the display, and says to me, “I have to take this.” He rises and heads for the den while I begin to load the dishwasher.
A moment later, he returns. “Sorry about that. I swear I wasn’t ditching this conversation, but it was Martina. I told her I won’t be working tonight. Graham can manage the kitchen on his own.”
I blink a few times and wonder if I’ve fallen into an alternate universe.
“I still have to go in this morning,” Nate adds, “just to prep Graham and make sure everything will run smoothly without me, but we can’t leave things like this. We should spend time together and talk some more.” He pauses. “Like we used to.”
I’m caught off guard. “Today?”
“Yes, this afternoon. Let’s go somewhere. To the South Shore. We could drive to Peggy’s Cove and have lunch.”
We haven’t been to the lighthouse at Peggy’s Cove in years—not since the kids were small. “I’d like that,” I reply, feeling the first traces of hope.
Nate gives me a small smile. “Good.” Then he checks his watch again. “I need to go and meet Graham, but I’ll let everyone know that I’m taking the whole day off. They’ll have to figure it out.”
When his eyes meet mine, I see where his thoughts have already gone—to the restaurant, tonight’s menu, the challenge of staff management. He’s becoming stressed, and my hopes wane.
“I’ll be back by noon,” he assures me.
“Sure.”
Remaining cool, I vow to myself that this will be the last chance I give him—because I’ve been down this road of empty promises too many times, and I’m almost certain that he’s not going to show up today.