31. Eric #3
Amanda nods once, her thumb brushing nervously over the edge of the washcloth now. “Also…” She hesitates long enough that my stomach tightens. “And this is me speaking as a therapist, Eric. Not as”—she drops her hand on my chest—“us.”
My spine locks in place.
“If you went,” she says carefully, “we shouldn’t communicate while you’re there.”
I stop racing circles against her hip, my pulse stumbling in my throat.
“It’s not punishment,” she says quickly. “These programs interrupt dependency cycles and emotional avoidance patterns. If every difficult feeling immediately loops back to me or us, then you never process what’s underneath it.”
The explanation makes sense, and if I want to really transform for them, it’s clear to me that it’s what I must do. That’s the worst part.
Still, the thought of choosing to leave her feels unbearable. And maybe it’s the proof that I’m finally ready; I’m going to do the unbearable for them.
It’s taken a few days to arrange, but everything’s in place. Val helped with getting an official referral so everything would be covered by insurance. And I’m leaving tomorrow.
The front door opens, and Amanda lets out a sigh deep enough for me to hear it from the kitchen.
Since the conference, she has used the key every time.
Flushed and sweaty, she heads straight for the A/C—her long chiffon skirt trailing behind her.
She gathers her hair into a makeshift ponytail.
I cross to her and hold her locks for her; she fans herself.
My fingers work over the back of her neck, and she hums at my touch.
She does the same at night, in the bed we share, when I lotion her stomach and hips while the baby kicks away beneath my hands.
Now she rambles about her study, her hands flying with every word. I miss her already.
“What are we eating?” she asks, yanking me out of my Amanda-induced daze.
“I ordered tacos.”
She scrunches her nose.
“Shrimp for you. Also, chips and guac.”
For the last two weeks, she’s only been eating seafood. Her smile makes every piece of dry salmon worth it. I pull her onto the couch, settling her feet in my lap while I work my thumbs carefully over her swollen ankles. Twenty-five weeks and two days. The baby’s the size of an acorn squash now.
“Amanda,” I say. “The approval came through today.”
Her gaze lifts immediately. “For Red River Gorge Center?”
I nod.
“It’s the best facility for you, Eric.”
“Val’s still going to talk to me remotely. She and Diego will take turns to visit on the weekends.”
“You’re not alone in this.” Her voice softens. “And even if I can’t visit, I’m still with you. And if you get there and decide this”—she gestures vaguely toward her stomach between us—“isn’t what you want anymore…”
“No.” The word comes out immediately, but not on impulse. I flatten my hand protectively against her belly. “He’s mine. I want both of you to be mine.”
A knock at the door breaks the moment long enough for us to breathe. I grab and set the food while Amanda sits cross-legged on the floor by the coffee table. We eat in silence and steal glances at each other.
“Diego is driving me. You’ll keep my car, so you stop walking everywhere.”
“Eric…” Amanda twists a paper napkin tightly between her fingers, eyes fixed on her lap instead of me.
“I want you to feel safe in your own mind… and body.” Her voice softens on the last word, and she places her hand on my chest, above my tattoo.
I cover her hand with mine and hold it there, feeling her warmth.
“You need to know that as much as I want you, I want you to be healthy more.” She finally looks up, and the vulnerability rimmed in her eyes hits harder than Diego’s fist ever did.
“And if someone new makes—would make you feel safer, then—”
“Amanda,” I say. “Listen to me.” Her pupils dilate and tremble, wide and uncertain. “I touch no one but you. No one touches me but you.” Her green eyes ache to believe me, but for so long, she’s known my rejection. “Sweetheart,” I murmur, cradling her jaw. “Be with me.”
Her lips tremble until she presses them into a thin line, keeping the emotion in, from my calling forward that night between us.
“I’m leaving.” I brush my thumb beneath her eyes. “But in my mind, in my heart, we’re together. If you’ll have me.”
She answers by climbing into my lap. I meet her halfway, one hand sliding into her hair while the other anchors against her waist. She grabs fistfuls of my shirt, her nails scraping my chest. The kiss starts soft but turns hungry fast when her lips part beneath mine with a shaky breath.
I deepen it slowly and thoroughly, tasting salt, heat, and the faint bite of lime from dinner.
She kisses me back with equal desperation, as if reassurance and longing have blurred into the same thing.
Amanda and I are together. And tomorrow, I’m leaving her.
I touch my forehead to hers when we finally break apart. “I’m coming back,” I whisper. “For you. For the baby.” I hold her a little tighter. “I’m coming back ready.”