Chapter 38
ANDERSON
Tonight is the night I’m going to tell Ava how I feel.
How from the very beginning, I’ve always wanted more.
I’ve wanted her in ways I can’t even put into words.
She’s everything I could ever want—her and Georgie.
And this marriage doesn’t have to be fake.
Because it never was to me.
“Georgie just texted. She wants to be picked up when all the other girls go to bed,” Ava says as she wipes down the kitchen counter. I don’t tell her that I already did it, knowing she has her own way of doing things to make sure her space feels the way she needs it to.
“I don’t mind going to get her,” I answer, throwing away the to-go containers from the lunch I picked up for us on the way home from Georgie’s soccer game.
Ava took her over to one of her teammates’ houses after the game ended—or the game Georgie won for the team, I should say.
Georgie didn’t miss one ball, covering her team’s goal like a champ. I know I’m biased, but I don’t care. She’s the best player out there.
“I never liked sleepovers either,” Ava laughs, putting away the all-purpose cleaner under the sink. She stands up, leaning back against the counter.
I match her position, crossing my arms over my chest. I wonder if Ava knows about Georgie’s nightmares. I assume that’s why she doesn’t want to stay over at her friend’s house.
This last week, I have stayed up with Georgie every night, aside from the nights I’ve been at the station. After Ava goes to bed, we meet in the living room, talking about whatever Georgie wants, until she gets tired and dozes off, her head on my shoulder.
I’ve written it off as okay for now—she’s on Spring Break this week, and she and Ava agreed that she didn’t need to abide by her nine o’clock bedtime—but with Georgie going back to school on Monday, I think Ava should know what’s going on with her sister.
My lips part to say something to Ava, but then I remember that Georgie asked me not to tell Ava—she said she didn’t want her to worry. And before I could tell her that that’s inevitable, she asked if she could be the one to tell her.
I decide to give Georgie a little more time to tell her sister about her nightmares. One more week. Tops. After that, it’s my responsibility. While I want Georgie to trust me, it’s important she knows that I’m not just her friend.
But while I’m not a parent or guardian on paper, I can’t control the way it feels like I am where it matters—in my heart.
“I didn’t either,” I answer, agreeing that sleepovers were never something I enjoyed. I don’t know if it was because I liked sleeping in my own bed or if something else always pulled me back home.
Looking back now, I think there was a sense of guilt anytime I wasn’t home. Like it was my job to be there, whether my brothers needed me or my mom did.
As if they could hear me thinking about them, my phone buzzes on the counter next to me. A call from Alex coming in.
It’s the last thing I want to deal with right now.
Not when I have a few hours alone with Ava.
Not when I know I have to tell her how I feel, whether she wants to hear it or not.
She might try to run or refuse to hear what I have to say.
But she deserves to know.
I didn’t agree to this marriage for the right reasons.
Now, in hindsight, I would do anything for Georgie.
But when I agreed to this, it wasn’t for anyone but Ava.
I let the call go to voicemail, and the kitchen goes quiet when the soft buzzing finally stops.
Ava’s hazel eyes are on me, the sunlight coming in through the kitchen windows makes them look greener, the specks of gold brighter than usual.
The air between us feels heavy with the million words I want to say, the loaded silence making it hard to breathe.
This is it.
The moment I tell Ava what I’ve wanted to tell her for months.
When I first went to her house that night, I planned to tell her I wanted something real.
Now, I plan on telling her that what we have is real.
She is my wife.
Not just legally. But in my soul.
And I want to tell her over and over again. Because I know I will never call another person that again. It’s only reserved for her.
“Ava,” I start, ready to cut my soul in half, pour it all out for her.
That I love her, in every sense of the word.
And if she’s not ready to love me back, I’ll love her until she does.
“We got a date for the court hearing,” she blurts out, like the words were on the tip of her tongue, and she couldn’t stop them from coming out.
“That’s amazing, love.” I push off the counter, closing some of the distance between us, but I stop myself, remembering that there’s no need for us to put on the act here—no matter how much I want to touch her right now. “When is it?”
“End of the month,” she answers, but she looks like she wants to say more.
“Can I come?”
She nods, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip, like she’s physically stopping herself from what else she wants to say.
I don’t ask the other question that comes to my mind—what the adoption being finalized means.
Maybe that’s what she’s stopping herself from saying, and the thought has me returning to my need to tell her that I love her. That this marriage doesn’t have to end.
If I tell her how I feel, and she still wants a divorce, I’ll do it.
I think we both know I’ll do anything for her.
But it doesn’t mean I want to.
Ava is tattooed on my heart, carved into my bones, written on every inch of my skin. She’s what runs through my veins, and she doesn't even know it.
But she will.
I reach into my back pocket, the matchboxes I’ve been collecting these last few months to give to her for her own collection, feeling heavy, like the weight of everything I’m about to say in physical form.
Since seeing her collection at her apartment to picking up matchboxes whenever I found them—the record store, the thrift store in Vegas, Lenny’s, and anywhere else I saw them—I’ve been holding on to them for this moment.
To show her I think of her wherever we go—taking a piece of every memory we have to hold on to.
“Ava,” I start again, and it comes out as a plea. Because that’s what I’m doing. I’m pleading for her to listen to me, to hear me, to take in my words and let them sink in.
Pleading for her to let me love her how she deserves to be loved.
But before I can say anything more, she rips the air from my lungs.
“I’m pregnant.”