Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Declan
Waking up with Evie is my new favorite thing.
Well, one of. Because kissing and touching Evie is absolutely my favorite thing, too.
And, though a very different category, even Charlie’s little voice jabbering away as we wake is. Then his, “Mama?”
Evie stirs, but I kiss her neck, take a moment to relish her scent and the sleepy warmth of her, then whisper that I’ll get him.
“Dec!” Charlie greets me with claps and smiles, and I hoist him into the air.
“Did you have a good sleep?”
We chat quietly while I change him, then get him a cup of milk. Soon, Evie crawls out of bed and comes to see Charlie, kissing his round cheek and giving us both a big hug.
This, right here, is the dream.
Finn was right. And I’m determined now, too. I won’t waste it.
And based on last night, there’s reasonable hope it might be at least a version of a dream for her, too.
As much as I want declarations and promises and plans, I will not push any more than I already have. We’ve changed things between us. There’s new intimacy, yes, but there’s also acknowledgement. But it’s not complete. Me saying “you’re my favorite” isn’t the same as “I love you.”
But tonight, we’ll be at home. Our home. Alone. And we can talk there.
Da and Eirinn are nearly finished with breakfast for everyone by the time Evie, Charlie, and I emerge from the camper.
The morning is cool, but it’s too early to have the crisp bite of fall. Some years in my childhood it was already frigid, but not yet this season. I’m wishing I had more of an excuse to hold Evie and Charlie close to keep them warm, but not today.
There’ll be time. It’s all just beginning.
These words are a chyron scrolling across my mind as we eat. As we break down the campsite and make sure we’ve taken nothing and left nothing behind. As we say goodbye to the family and I receive any number of meaningful looks from Grant, even Finn, and both of my parents.
Charlie’s quiet on the way home, which gives time for me and Evie to talk.
I’m in danger of slipping into that cerebral place where I circle my own thoughts and process things so silently, I freeze the people around me out.
I’m sorting everything into categories—into neat little stacks instead of messy piles.
It happens inadvertently, but I’ve been told this is a thing women don’t appreciate.
Nor does my family, though they’re gentler about it.
Nothing in me wants Evie to think I’m upset or anything but delighted by the weekend, so I need to break the silence.
“I apologize for being quiet. I don’t mean to seem cold.” I keep my eyes forward and will my cheeks not to heat. I need to explain, but part of what’s happening when I go quiet is the sorting of thoughts and feelings. And I haven’t finished that, so I’m not sure how to explain myself.
“You don’t have to apologize for anything, Dec. I know you love your family, but it’s a lot.”
I glance at her quickly and see her lovely face painted with understanding. “There are so many of them.”
She chuckles. “There are. But they’re great.”
The mountain landscape slips along outside our windows for another minute or two before she speaks again.
“I really mean it. You don’t need to apologize for being quiet.”
“Thank you. In the past, it has been an issue.” While I know a fair amount about her history since she has but one ex and he is the ultimately the root of why we’re here, I’ve spoken little about my own.
She seems to be absorbing this information, and I won’t rush her.
“Your exes have had a problem with you being an introvert who needs time to recharge?” There’s an irritated edge to her voice.
This combined with her words make my heart squeeze. There’s an inherent understanding of me there that I’ve only ever experienced with family.
“I suppose so. It was considered withholding at times. And I’ll admit, I can be that way. But I try not to. I try…” I’m not sure how to put it.
“Exactly, Dec. You try. That’s a feature, not a bug. You aren’t perfect, but literally no one is, and if the people you’ve been with haven’t appreciated who you are…” Her arms cross in front of her and she tucks them in tight. “I’d like a few words.”
A disbelieving laugh trips out of me. “A few words with my ex?”
I glance over just in time to see her give me a look that makes clear I am exactly right.
It must make me a very simple creature, but I’m not ashamed to admit I like this response. I like everything about this conversation. Her understanding of me. Her defense of me. Her desire to talk to my ex, as though this determined, courageous, beautiful woman would beat her up to defend my honor.
God, I love her. I love her unendingly and it’s only getting more intense.
“I appreciate that. The only reason I plan to restrain myself regarding your ex is because I will do nothing to hinder the custody case.”
Her small hand slips over and squeezes my thigh in acknowledgement. “Probably wise. I guess I shouldn’t go attacking anyone, either. Might not make me look all that responsible.”
We talk on and off the rest of the drive, and when we park at the house, I’m incredibly hopeful and rested. Usually, I return from a camping trip bedraggled and wishing I had an extra day to recover—though usually, I don’t get the camper and am sleeping in a tent.
“I think I’ll put Charlie down for his nap and then hit the shower.”
Her blue eyes hit mine and I feel them like a punch to the gut. I only narrowly avoid asking if she’d like some company. We may have enjoyed some extended time kissing last night, but we’re not quite there, as much as I’d love for us to be.
I clear my throat and simultaneously, also my brain. I cannot be standing here in the driveway unpacking my car and thinking about shared shower time with Evie.
“Good plan. I’ll unpack.” Might run to the grocery store after that. She can relax and enjoy the quiet time while Charlie’s asleep.
And I can make plans for what to say and how to bring us back around to where we were last night. Not that we’re all that far from it, but I do wonder how things might change when we’re here at the house and not in the vacation version of life.
“Okay. And, Dec?”
I step to the side of the car and see her hands laced together. She presses them both over her heart. “Thank you. So much. For all of this.”
I scratch out, “Of course,” and nod like it’s all in a day’s work, even as it feels like my lung is collapsing. I grab her bag and grope for something else, then haul them into the garage. I hear her talking quietly to Charlie while she unbuckles him, then heads inside via the front door.
Disappointment pummels me.
There it was. The gratitude.
Logically, I know it’s normal for someone to express thanks after a trip or an outing or any number of other scenarios. But this—“for all of this.” It’s too much like she’s thanking me for marrying her, for helping her.
And in no circumstances will I indulge in more physical contact with her if there is any shred of it that might come from a sense of indebtedness. Even if done so with her thinking she wants to, if there’s an underlying sense of obligation, I can’t.
It never starts as something toxic, but it ends that way.
I can’t. I can’t let this turn into that any more than it might already be. So as much as I hate to do it, for me and for her, I’m going to have to pump the brakes until we can clarify what’s happening.