16. abbi
ABBI
His words slice me down the middle, causing acute pain.
How do I make him understand?
I place my cherry bruschetta on my plate, my appetite suddenly gone, and reach for Nix’s hand again. I can’t stop the guilt swelling up like a wave that I’ve caused this man so much distress. Tangling my fingers with his, I squeeze lightly, encouraging him to look up at me.
“I feel so guilty.” I look down at the half-eaten food in front of me.
“This is all my fault. You’re hurt because of me, and I didn’t anticipate what asking for a divorce would do to you.
I figured you were mostly out of our marriage, so you wouldn’t care.
And I’m so sorry I’ve hurt you … caused you any pain at all.
” I lick my suddenly dry lips; my mouth feels as dry as the Mojave.
“I-I-I just knew I couldn’t go on the way we were.
I didn’t think it would hurt you this much.
” A tear drops onto my plate, and I hear the scrape of furniture across wood.
Nix’s knee jostles against mine, and his large hand slides across the top of my back.
“Abs,” he whispers on a broken breath. “As much as this has hurt me, I never want you to apologize for asking for what you needed. None of this is your fault.”
I peer up into his eyes, and the anguish and desolation I see there squeeze my heart. I shake my head in disagreement, but he’s not having it. He squeezes the back of my neck, dragging me closer, then kisses my temple tenderly. “I have to take some of the blame, at least.”
“No, you don’t,” he breathes. “I was so caught up in my head that I wasn’t good enough for you.
That I couldn’t provide you with the life you deserved—that I lost sight of what should have been my most important focus.
You. Not material shit. Spending time with you.
Loving you. Taking you on date nights and sharing movie marathons on the couch.
Stealing kisses and touches. Sharing a drink as we watch the sunset or coffee as we watch the sunrise.
” He drops his forehead to mine. “I forgot. I forgot to show you how much I love you.”
Tears burst like a dam over my lashes, trailing down my cheeks, and I press my lips softly against my husband’s, almost unsure if my affection is welcome through our shared pain.
He doesn’t pull away, and my shoulders drop in relief that he’s not going to deny me this small comfort.
We press softly against each other in delicate touches as everything around us falls away; we could be in a void for all I care as our lips brush and caress.
My eyes drop closed, and I lean into Nix as his skillful fingers massage my nape beneath my hair.
We share small, light kisses of apology and regret, full of whispers of promises to try harder and do better.
We linger, breaths mingling and hearts mending.
Our kisses turn to light pecks, and Nix kisses the apples of my cheeks, the tip of my nose, my eyelids, and then rests his lips against my forehead.
It’s as if he doesn’t want to pull away, and in all honesty, I don’t want him to either.
“I think we should try to eat this food before the server comes back,” I whisper.
He kisses me once more, then pulls away with a half-smile. “I guess we should. We don’t want to piss him off.”
We both chuckle as Nix drags his plate in front of him. I’m glad he’s not moving to sit across from me because I like sitting like this. I rest my hand on his firm thigh, and we both pick up our forgotten bruschetta. We share soft smiles that feel like reassurance that we’re going to be okay.
Making short work of our appetizer, we finish just in time for the server to return to collect our dishes. “Are you ready for your main course?”
We both nod. “Yes, thank you.”
Once the table’s cleared, we each take a drink.
I watch Nix swallow, admiring the movement of his Adam’s apple.
“I would still like to explain why my focus has been so skewed.” This seems important to him, so I nod for him to continue.
He looks down at his bottle, then back to me.
“After Dad passed away, Mum had to take on two jobs to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table. We were no longer getting by. Things were pretty grim. That’s why Hudson and I tried to help where we could.
” He swallows as he twists his beer, and I squeeze his thigh in quiet support.
“I watched her work herself to the bone. No matter how much we helped, she struggled to provide, and that took a mental and physical toll on her mind and body. In her grief, she doubled down, trying to give us everything we had before. And …” He looks away, then back to me.
“I watched her kill herself over a period of years where she worked too hard … did too much.”
“Oh, Nix. I-I-I didn’t realize,” I murmur, watching my husband remember the tragedy of losing both of his parents too young.
He shakes his head. “After the explosion, I didn’t want that life for you, Abs.
If something happened to me, I wanted you and the kids to be okay financially, so you didn’t have to work yourself to death like Mom had to.
I couldn’t bear the thought of you working day and night just to put food on the table and a roof over your head.
” The despair in his voice is unmistakable.
“Planning for what if became my priority after what happened to Wyatt, and I doubled down on building my company and financial security for you and the kids. Watching a friend die has a way of reminding you of your mortality and that we don’t know when our time on this earth will be up.
He thought he had years ahead of him, but it was gone in an instant. ”
The parts of my heart that had mended a few minutes ago split apart, opening a fresh wound.
I’m so mad at myself for not making the connection between his losses and the deep impact they had on him.
I knew Wyatt’s death had been hard on Nix, but I never imagined the kind of deeply rooted trauma he’s been silently carrying.
Not once did I consider the driving force behind Nix’s need to build his business so doggedly.
I figured his strong work ethic started when he was young, that it was just part of who he is at his core, but I hadn’t realized how dire his circumstances were when he was young.
I knew he’d lost his dad and that his mom worked two jobs, but in my teenage naivety, I didn’t think about what it all meant.
I’m his wife. I should have made the connection.
I thought I knew Nix inside and out, but I was wrong.
So very wrong. Tears for the young boy Nix was when he lost his father and the teenager who worked so hard to help his mom build behind my eyes.
My nose tingles, and my bottom lip quivers with the effort to hold back more tears.
My chest constricts, and my stomach squeezes against the guilt filling all the empty spaces inside me.
I should have known.
He shakes his head, disappointment dripping from his features. “I should have been spending that time with you and the kids. I’m so mad at myself for screwing things up so badly. I wast—”
I place my finger over his lips, stopping his words.
“You didn’t waste anything, and you were doing what you thought was the best thing for our family.
I feel ashamed that I didn’t understand your thought processes and intentions.
I should have known what was driving you so hard, and I should have had compassion and understanding.
I got swallowed up in my childhood hurts, and I couldn’t see yours for what they were.
I’m so sorry, Nix. I feel like I’ve been so self-absorbed and selfish. ”
The server arrives at our table to deliver our main course. Doesn’t he realize we’re having a breakthrough moment in our marriage here?
Once he’s gone, Nix collects his knife and fork and points to my plate. “I’m going to disagree with you, but we should eat before this delicious meal grows cold and your risotto turns into glue.”
I tip my lips up only a little because it feels wrong to smile after what we’ve just shared, but I grab my fork and scoop up some risotto. It tastes as good as I remember, and as the flavors explode on my tongue, some of the tension evaporates from my shoulders.
“This dish still tastes fantastic.” I scoop some onto my fork and offer it to Nix. “Would you like to try it?”
He leans forward and wraps his mouth around my fork, sliding the food off with his lips. His eyes light up, and he nods with approval as he tastes the delicious dish. “Mmm, still delicious. Would you like to try my steak? It’s cooked to perfection.”
“Sure.” He slices off a bite-sized piece and holds it out toward me. The meat melts on my tongue, and I barely have to chew it. Nix watches me closely, his eyes trained on my mouth. “Oh, that’s so good.”
“I’m glad their standards haven’t changed. There’s nothing more disappointing than returning to a restaurant and it’s not as fantastic as it once was,” Nix comments as he slices his own piece of steak.
“Agreed.” We’ve never been a couple to eat out regularly, but we made the effort on birthdays and anniversaries to share a special dinner in a more upscale restaurant.
I don’t know why we stopped. Sadness tries to swamp me, but I push it away.
We’re trying to move forward, and dwelling on the past won’t help, though that’s all I seem to be able to do.
It’s not so easy to push away the hurt, and I don’t know that it’s a good idea to bury it and forget about it altogether.