Epilogue #3
“No. The answer has you naked in a hallway while another woman stands inside the bedroom.” For a breath, I see the paper towel opening against his chest and the yellow sock near my foot.
Nora pulls at his collar now, and the garage key hangs where we both agreed it belongs.
Today belongs to Nora. I refuse to let the safehouse take it too.
“I’m sorry.” Declan shifts Nora when her head slips against his shoulder and adds nothing to the apology. “Say the word and Mara’s off the next list.”
“No. She didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t need you to fix her.
” I step closer and straighten the romper twisted beneath Nora’s leg.
“I needed you to know I was happy today and it hurt anyway. I don’t want to hide the bad part because everybody already sang and took pictures.
We did that before. We kept protecting good days until there weren’t any honest ones left. ”
Declan looks down at the candle on the table. “Then tell me while the cake is here. Tell me when I’m wearing the patch, when Nora is laughing, or when you just kissed me. You don’t have to wait until the day is bad enough for what I did.”
“That’s what I’m doing.” I leave the folded towel on the chair and face him with nothing in my hands.
“I know.” He meets my eyes again instead of reaching for me. “I’m listening.”
The pregnancy announcement stays broken.
I told him the question hurt before I hid it inside another good day, and he heard me without turning it into a disaster or trying to make it smaller.
That’s enough for this conversation. I slide my hand behind Declan’s neck and kiss him while Nora complains between us.
I am not kissing him to reassure him, and the question is still hurting.
I kiss him because I want my husband, the same way I wanted him on the morning I bought three pairs of socks.
Wanting him was never the shameful part.
“Come upstairs,” I say against his mouth while Nora rubs her face against his shoulder. “She’s falling asleep standing up.”
“She gets that from you.” Declan adjusts Nora against his shoulder and carries her into the hall before she can object to the accusation.
“I’ve never fallen asleep standing up.” I follow him into the hall, already offended by whatever evidence he intends to use.
“You fell asleep against the shower wall three weeks after she was born.” He glances back at me, openly pleased that fatherhood has given him witnesses to my worst arguments.
“That wall was holding me. It would’ve been rude to leave.” I turn out the kitchen light and follow him upstairs before he can produce another example.
At the foot of the stairs, his boots wait beside mine on the mat. The garage indicator glows green beyond the inner door, and I let it be. Tomorrow I may pull the handle. He’ll wait either way.
In the nursery, the crib he built holds the toys we should have removed before the party began.
I clear them while Declan changes Nora and loses a fight over the clean diaper when she attempts to escape without pants.
He catches her, kisses her stomach until she screams with laughter, and hands her to me when she reaches across the changing table.
I lower myself into the rocking chair with Nora against my chest. She has outgrown the grey socks, the white socks, and the yellow sock Declan keeps with the pregnancy test in the box on his side of the closet, but her feet find the coldest part of my stomach beneath my shirt.
Declan sits on the rug beside us and picks up Mara’s board book from the gift bag.
The print is large, the pictures are bright, and the story contains one stubborn bird refusing to sleep.
“Appropriate,” I say, passing Nora to him when she reaches for the book.
Declan settles her against his chest and places one finger beneath the first line.
The reading strip stays in the nightstand for this one, beside the longer stories he practices before bringing them to her.
He reads every word, lets Nora turn the thick pages in the wrong order, then starts the sentence again when she flips backward. By the end, her eyes are nearly closed.
“Again,” Nora says.
Declan raises his eyes from the book after four readings while our daughter proves she believes one reading creates a lifelong obligation. “Your child has made a demand.”
“She was your child when she put cake in your ear.” I rub the mark she left near his hair before taking my hand back.
“She has your opinion of reasonable repetition.” Declan catches Nora’s hand before she can close the book on his finger.
Nora smacks the cover and lifts her head. “Again!”
I lean down, take the book from Declan’s hand, and return it to him after opening the cover. “You heard her.”
His finger finds the first line while Nora curls against the Enforcer who now reads every page.
Declan begins the story once more, and I rest my hand on our daughter’s foot as her eyes close.
Everything that happened before this room still exists, and the bird goes onto the branch and off it again while Nora’s fist opens against his collar.
“Again,” Nora demands, and I turn the story back to the beginning.