Chapter 20 #2
“Need is a stretch,” I say, kicking his suitcase out of my way and shutting the door. “But you could’ve at least given me a heads up.”
“You didn’t return my texts. For all I knew, I was coming to the man’s wake.”
If there was ever a time I could freely hit a man, this would be the man I would choose. If I was given the option to hit ten men, ten times, it would still be him every time.
“Hey, Em—” All color is stripped from Ellie’s face when she walks down the hallway and clocks her ex-fiancé standing in my entryway. “Liam, what are you doing here?”
Her words are like a dog whistle, making Benny and Steven both stand from the couch.
Benny wastes no time making his way over to us and wrapping an arm around Ellie.
I wish I could revel in the sickened expression that crosses Liam’s face as he watches Ellie’s showstopper husband mark his territory, but I don’t have time for that.
“You can’t stay here,” I tell Liam, shoving his suitcase back out onto the porch.
“He’s staying here?” Ellie sounds horrified, but she glares at him with pristine focus.
“I don’t know if that’s—”
Liam cuts Benny off with a hand in the air. “Steven is my best friend. I’ve known him longer than any of you.” His eyes land on me when he says that last part, the little tidbit he likes to constantly remind me of. Like a child saying I had it first. “And I’m a psychiatrist. I can help him.”
“I’m a therapist,” Ellie snaps.
“You’re a guidance counselor,” Liam corrects flatly.
“Okay…” Benny steps between them, one arm out to block Ellie’s rising hands.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, praying I’m dreaming and that I actually did fall asleep earlier. “I think we should discuss this.”
“Discuss what?” Steven asks, suddenly beside me, eyes bouncing between everyone.
This Steven has no idea the history here.
He doesn’t know Liam and Ellie were engaged but he left her at the altar, or that Benny dreams of dropkicking Liam through drywall about once a week—Benny’s words, not mine.
Steven also doesn’t know how much I despise this man.
Present-day Steven completely understands.
But Past Steven? The guy who spent every free moment with the flight risk that is Liam?
My disdain for him could be a point of contention moving forward.
“Liam here wants to stay with us, for…” I gesture in his exhausting direction.
“The weekend,” he supplies.
“The weekend,” I breathe, vexed.
“Oh.” Steven’s expression turns into that familiar absolutely not look, which is surprising, yet oddly comforting. I chew on my lip to hide my smile. “I don’t know if—”
He stops, looking to me for guidance, and one for split second, I want him to handle the situation without me.
I so badly want him to set a boundary, say Liam absolutely cannot stay here, but that’s unfair to him.
My incessant desire for him to step up and do it my way is not what I should be worried about right now.
I need to worry about helping Steven get his memory back.
And as much as it kills me to admit, having Liam here might be the answer.
“Two days.” I point at Liam. “You can stay for two days.” Ellie gapes at me, betrayed, and Benny rubs her arm reassuringly. “But you’re not staying for game night tonight, and the moment Steven says it’s time to go, you’re out. I will physically launch you into the street if I have to.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Liam winks at Steven. Ellie makes a silent gagging motion behind him. “I’ll drop this in my room, then?”
I can’t respond. Liam and his luggage are already down the hall.
“So he’s insufferable in this timeline too?” Steven deadpans.
“You have no idea,” I grumble, tugging him with me into the living room. The boys are almost done with the firetruck now, and Josie is napping in her swing, rocking rhythmically back and forth.
“Him becoming a psychiatrist made it a million times worse.” I aggressively pull at the postpartum hairs speckling my temples, outrage evidenced in the throbbing that now pulses there.
“And why do you hate him?” Steven gestures toward Ellie as she takes a seat on the floor with the boys.
She doesn’t answer, sitting on the rug and quietly twisting a single Lego piece between her fingers.
Benny drops onto the couch behind her, tilts her chin up, and presses a kiss to her forehead.
It’s so tender and intimate that I feel myself blush.
They’ve only been married for four months, so the affection of the newlywed phase is expected.
But it’s also a reminder of what I don’t have.
Haven’t had in a long time. The easy affection, the tender comfort, the kind of love that comes from being fully seen by your person.
For me, it’s been on pause, and I feel the weight of that pause settle around my chest.
“They were engaged,” Benny tells Steven, kissing Ellie again. “He left her at the altar.”
“Oh, wow.” Steven winces. “Ellie, I’m so sorry.”
She musters a weak smile as the boys cheer for the final Lego piece that is now in place.
Their excitement sweeps through the room, dissolving the tension.
They drag Ellie and Benny outside to test drive the truck.
I start to follow, but Steven rests a hand on my lower back, stopping me.
The warmth of that single touch spreads through me like a sunbeam.
“If this is a problem,” he says, “we can make him leave. I don’t need him here.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
“You’re not a good liar, are you?”
I bark out a laugh. “I could be.”
“I don’t think you are,” he teases. “Either that, or I’m really good at reading you.”
I roll my eyes and nudge him, which only makes him start poking me in the ribs until I’m laughing.
“Am I?” he asks once we’ve made our way to sit on the porch swing.
“Are you what?”
“Good at reading you.” He looks so hopeful, like my answer will confirm the version of us he desperately wants to believe in. Whatever image of us he has in his mind can’t be further from what we’ve become. What we are now.
I can’t bring myself to tell him the truth. Not right now. So I let the moment breathe, letting the anticipation in his eyes glimmer for a beat. I hope my silence will be intriguing, not agonizing, and the soft pat I give his knee is enough to appease him.
It seems to do the trick, because he shifts closer, draping his arm along the back of the swing and under my head.
He toes the railing that wraps around our porch, sending the swing backward in a gentle sway.
The afternoon sun warms our legs as the cold winter air curls around us.
We watch as the boys show off their firetruck again and again, Benny and Ellie enduring the presentation as their foggy breath circles their faces.
He tugs her into his arms to warm her as the blue sky casts a dreamy backdrop behind them.
The scene is so domestic, so normal, it hurts.
“They look good together,” Steven says, smiling.
“They do.”
“Everyone seems really happy.” He swallows, and I hum in response. “I hope I’m not ruining any of that.”
My head snaps toward him, startled by such a thought. Has he been thinking this the entire time? Have I given him any reason to?
“Why would you think that?”
He blushes, dropping his gaze to his ring finger, the gold shining brilliantly against his tawny skin.
“What aren’t you telling me?” I shift to face him, jerking the swing backward in the process.
He plops his chin in his hand, leaning to face me, but doesn’t answer right away.
His eyes scan my face, settling on spots I’m too familiar with—the scar above my eyebrow, the wrinkles around my lips, the dark circles that have taken up permanent residence under my eyes.
Signs of an aged and worn-down Emma mere inches from him.
“You’re beautiful.”
I choke out a laugh, but his eyes twinkle, never wavering from my face. Steven has said these words to me before; they’re not new. But this time, it knocks the wind out of me. It feels different. Sincere. Revelatory, even.
“That’s what you aren’t telling me?”
“No.” He chuckles, rubbing at the stubble speckling his jaw. “That’s not it. I just wanted to say it.”
“Well…” I clear my throat, shoving the abrupt sensation to kiss him back down the pipeline. I don’t even know how to approach those kinds of feelings right now. “Thank you,” I say hoarsely. “Now back to this ‘ruining everyone’s happiness’ thing.”
He laughs again. It’s deep, hearty, and infectious, and I can’t help grinning from ear to ear. It hits me that these last few days are the most I’ve heard him laugh in nearly a year. The sound is like a spark to my nervous system, attempting to jolt it back to life.
“I just…” He sighs, squeezing his eyes shut. “I hope I’m not imposing. I feel like a stranger, and there are too many lives involved in this.” He gestures lightly toward the yard where the boys are now playing tag with Benny. “For me to just insert myself and muddle things up.”
“You’re not muddling things up,” I say, air-quoting him. “It would be worse for them if you weren’t around at all.”
“What about you?” His eyes are earnest as they lock onto mine. They’re so focused it makes me fidget. He waits, and the air around me stills, turning muggy as sweat builds on my neck. Please don’t ask me.
“Would it be better for you if I wasn’t around?”
There’s something in his voice that makes my stomach twist. Not just the question itself, but the tone.
Maybe he’s picking up on the things I haven’t shared yet.
The therapy, the distance, the years-long unspooling of us.
Everything I’m terrified to reveal for fear that it could hinder his recovery.
Or worse…make those things real again. Because, selfishly, I’m clinging to the amnesia like a hiding place, a shelter from the wreckage we’ve both been pretending isn’t there.
My palms go clammy as a familiar monster prickles at my fingertips. I rub my hands together aggressively, as if this can ward it off. My anxiety comes in two forms. One is triggered by fear, worry, and sheer overstimulation. And the other is triggered…by Steven.
Anxiety about disagreeing with him, upsetting him, losing him. It all piles up into something huge and shapeless, a monster-thing that only he seems capable of soothing. Admittedly, I’ve thought that maybe the only way to truly rid myself of it is to leave him.
But I can’t. I don’t want to.
Then I find myself stuck in this tangle of confliction, fleeing from the feelings, taking medication, hoping for some small pocket of peace.
Maybe it would be better for me if he weren’t around. If I didn’t have to juggle these emotions or walk on eggshells because of his bruised brain. But I couldn’t do that to him or the kids. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want him around more often than not.
Because when he looks at me like this, like he did fifteen years ago, I can’t help but savor it. The euphoria I experience of being fully seen by him again is enough to send me to the moon. And when his memory does come back, I know I’d regret not holding on to these moments while I can.
“No,” I finally say. “It would suck if you weren’t around.”
His whole face breaks into a smile. Bright, boyish, devastating. “Good.”
This must be the key to releasing his tension, because suddenly his arm softens, falling around my shoulders.
His fingers trace the line of my sweater, each pass reverberating through me with a fiery tenderness.
My own tension slowly unspools, and as we sit there, watching our kids run wild in the yard, I finally let myself breathe.