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I know Ben well enough to give him time alone.
But I am antsy, unsure of what to do with myself. I think about going to my studio to paint, but I don’t feel inspired, only
drained. Instead, I watch the sunset outside with a glass of wine, and by ten I’m ready for bed. Trying not to worry, I shoot
Ben a quick text and then crawl under the covers.
I thumb through a book, but I can’t focus. I can’t believe I’ve mangled his homecoming this badly. Why didn’t I tell him about
Liam sooner? I try not to worry, try to tell myself that he has every reason to be upset. He’s human, and he just found out
his wife has a complicated past with someone else. I hate myself for doing this to him, for putting this on his shoulders
when he should only be focused on his health. Wren was right. Maybe I should have kept my history with Liam to myself.
I toss and turn until I hear the key in the lock and wait for him to come into the bedroom. It has been so long since he’s been out so late without me. I listen to the ordinary sounds of the keys hitting the island, the removal of his shoes, the suctioning of the fridge as he pours himself a glass of water. He hesitates at the bedroom door, but I see his shadow.
“Ben, can we talk?”
Instead of storming into the bathroom, he sits on the bed and faces me. I can barely make out his features in the dark. “I’m
sorry,” he says. “I had no right to just disappear like that.”
“Of course you did,” I say, scooting closer. “You should only be thinking about your health. This is the worst kind of distraction.”
He takes my hand and squeezes. “No, you’re wrong, Harper. It made me realize how much I do want our marriage, how much more
life I want to experience with you.” His voice falters, and he drops his head into his hands and begins to cry. Everything
cracks open: his cancer journey, all the hope, stoicism, pain, and fear. He cries for his life because it’s slipping through
his fingers, even though today he feels fine. “But it also made me realize that one day you will move on. And if you do, I
think you should reach out to Liam.”
I shove down the frustration at his name being brought up again , but I know we need to talk about it. “I understand why you’re talking about this, but my heart isn’t with Liam, Ben. I promise.
It’s with you.” I grip his hand and squeeze.
Is that completely true?
We say nothing as we sit in silence, until I finally wrap my arms around him. “This is all so unfair,” I finally say. It’s
not something either of us has said much during this journey, though we’ve definitely thought it a million times. We took
it as a challenge, one that Ben would overcome. “I don’t want to lose you,” I say. “I don’t think I can survive it.”
He pulls me to his heaving chest and grips me so hard I can barely breathe. “I’m sorry, Harper. I’m sorry that no matter what,
you’ll carry this with you. Because of me, you’ll be in pain.”
“It’s not your fault.” I’m so sick of speaking in hypotheticals, both of us dancing around and around what he assumes is coming. I’m not sure how to live for today but also not think about the end. I’ve never figured out quite how to balance the two. And part of me hopes that now I won’t have to.
“Maybe the workshop worked,” I say. “Maybe we don’t have to think about these things. Right?”
I need him to validate this feeling, to tell me he feels different, that he’s going to be okay. But he doesn’t.
“I’m tired, Harp. Let’s go to bed. We can talk more tomorrow.”
We get ready for bed. The silence fills the void as thoughts clash violently in my head. At least with Liam gone we can get
back to some semblance of a normal life. I need to focus on the here and now: Ben. My show. The gallery. Possibly moving.
A tiny voice in the back of my head whispers, Brooklyn , but I push it away. If I want to move to New York someday, I can, but not today.
After Ben is asleep, I position myself on my side and watch him, tracing my fingers over the blade of his nose, the perfect
shape of his lips, the dip of his chin.
I wish I could get out of my head and focus on the moment. It’s something I’ve never been good at, but it’s never too late
to start. After a while, I grip Ben’s hand and tug it to my chest. I try to sync my breathing to his.
Finally, my eyes grow heavy and I drift, Ben’s hand firmly over my heart.