30. Nate
thirty
Nate
This is torture. I thought that bringing Lucy and Quinn to the coffee shop would help the situation, but it’s only making things worse.
Ever since my bone-headed blunder in the kitchen, Lucy has been quiet and avoiding me more than usual.
I thought spending some time in public, where it’s permissible for me to touch her, would help bridge the gap between us.
She used to relax at my touch, lean into my embrace, but now she’s tensing every time I put my hand on her.
I don’t think it’s obvious to anyone but me.
Still, every time she puts her guard up is like a punch to the gut.
If I could go back in time and keep myself in check, I would without hesitation.
That moment after she, in true Lucy fashion, made my grief load feel a little lighter has haunted me for the last two days.
I thought a little space while I was at work yesterday might soften the blow of my mistake, but it didn’t seem to help.
I pushed her too far.
I was caught up in how grateful I felt to have such an incredible woman at my side, supporting me without emasculating me, that I forgot my promise not to push her physically. If Quinn hadn’t crashed her walker into the gate, I would have kissed my wife.
I wanted to, desperately.
But that would have crossed a line that I promised not to cross.
Lucy smiles as Quinn stands at the coffee table in our usual corner of Willow & Bean and holds out her hands for Quinn. “Do you want to show everyone your new trick, big girl?”
Reese’s jaw drops. “No way! Did she take her first steps?”
Lucy nods, smiling proudly. I feel my mouth lift in response. I couldn’t have found a better woman to be Quinn’s mom. It’s obvious how much she loves her.
I clear my throat, and Lucy’s smile wobbles, quenching the warmth in my chest like a firehose to a flame. “She’s been practicing all over the living room. She’s up to about eight steps in a row before she loses her balance.”
Emerson’s eyes shine warmly as she grins at Quinn. “Good job, baby girl.”
Caleb’s eyes are trained on Quinn, like he’s waiting for her to begin her performance, but Reese’s gaze darts to Caleb and lingers.
Quinn stomps and points at Lucy, letting go of her hold on the table. “Lu, Lu.”
Lucy nods and claps her hands. “Come here, sweet girl.”
Quinn laughs and takes a few shaky steps. I shift closer so I can catch her if she tumbles. She reaches for Lucy and takes the last few steps quickly as she falls into Lucy’s waiting hands. All our friends clap and cheer for Quinn, and her smile stretches from ear to ear.
I slide my arm around Lucy, setting a hand on her shoulder. My stomach tenses as I feel her stiffen beside me.
Quinn points at me and grins. “Dada.”
Hearing Quinn call me Dada makes my chest tighten every time.
It’s equally an honor and a challenge. I smile and reach for her, removing my arm from Lucy’s shoulders.
Lucy scoots down the couch cushion a few inches, and my side feels cold with the new space.
Quinn squeals and pats my chest as she jabbers.
As the conversation continues around us, the tension between Lucy and me only increases.
I try a few more casual touches—a hand on her knee, holding her hand, brushing her hair back from her face—but each one seems to make her more uncomfortable than the last. I don’t know how to fix this, and I’m afraid it’ll make our camping trip this weekend unbearable.
Yep, this is a nightmare. I’m setting up a tent to share with my wife and one-year-old child tonight, and she hasn’t spoken to me in days.
When we’re at home, she communicates in grunts and hums like a caveman, or she stays silent.
The only time I’ve heard her speak real words since the coffee shop was when she was talking to Quinn in the other room.
If I’m with Lucy, she drops her gaze and stops talking.
She officially quit her job at the preschool and has been spending a lot of time packing up her classroom.
I’ve offered to help, but she’s turned me down every time.
The car ride here was awkward. She tried to sit in the back with Quinn, but I loaded several things for the weekend into the back seat, and there wasn’t any space. She sat in the passenger seat beside me but carefully avoided my gaze as she leaned back and soothed Quinn during the ride.
I asked her if she was okay, and she gave me one word, “Fine.”
I’ve been watching her blood sugar on my phone like a hawk to make sure she’s not downplaying a blood sugar event, but that’s been normal and steady. Guilt has nearly eaten a hole in my stomach as it becomes obvious how much I’ve hurt her.
I pray as I set up the tent, begging God to help me bridge the gap between us and earn her forgiveness.
Once I have the air mattresses blown up—a toddler mattress for Quinn and individual mattresses for Lucy and me—I step out of the tent and check out my handiwork.
It’s small, but it’ll get the job done. I hear footsteps approaching over the sound of the swaying trees around our campsite and the rushing river in the distance.
I turn and find Lucy carrying a bag into the clearing where we always set up our tents.
She freezes when she sees me, and her eyes dart from the large yellow tent on the left of the clearing to the blue tent on the right, and then to the two small tents in the middle.
She frowns. “Why are there extra tents?”
I release a sigh, partially relieved that she finally strung words together for me, and partially nervous about her reaction to the camping arrangements.
I point to the yellow tent. “The girls will be in that one,” I swing my finger to the blue one, “Caleb and his brother are in that one,” then I gesture to the tent beside ours. “This one is Sloane and Aiden’s.” Lastly, I point to the little green tent behind me. “And this one is for us.”
Her eyes widen. “Us?”
I nod. “You, me, and Quinn.”
She swallows roughly and runs a hand through her hair. “I assumed we’d sleep in the big tents like we always do… with our friends.”
I shrug and take a step toward her. “If that’s what you want, I’ll take this one down. I just thought since we’re married, it might be odd if we didn’t share a tent. And we need a place for Quinn.”
Her shoulders deflate as her eyes bounce from her sister’s tent to ours. She nods defeatedly, and my stomach clenches. “You’re right. We should share the tent.”
I shake my head. “If you’re not comfortable, we can figure something else out. I can sleep in the car.”
She shakes her head, her gaze meeting mine for a brief moment before she crosses the clearing to the tent. “No, that would look bad. The three of us should be in here.”
She unzips the tent door and ducks inside, pausing in the doorway. I clear my throat. “I got us separate air mattresses. I promise I’ll stay on my side and be a gentleman.”
She sighs, and her jaw clenches. “I know you will. That was never in question.”
I frown, trying to determine if there’s an emotion behind her words that she’s not voicing. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, Luce.”
Her shoulders shimmy like she’s fighting a shiver. “I’ll be fine. It’s just like at home… but with fewer walls.”
I close my eyes in a slow blink and release a sigh. This is going to be a long weekend. She zips the tent door closed, and I hear her shuffling through her bag. I frown. “Where’s Quinn?”
Her voice sounds clearly from inside the tent, and my stomach sinks as I realize the nylon walls are the opposite of soundproof. “She’s with your mom at the river.”
I nod as my gaze wanders to the cluster of tents barely visible through a thin line of trees, where all our parents always set up for the weekend.
Now that Lucy is talking to me again, I’m afraid to let the conversation lull, desperate to reconnect with her. “So, I’m thinking about doing some work on the foyer next week.”
She pauses, then the rustling inside the tent resumes. “What kind of work?”
I shrug, even though she can’t see me. “Refinishing the woodwork and either replacing the wallpaper or removing what’s there and painting the walls.”
“Sounds like a fun project.”
I run my hand through my hair and pace a few steps. “I was wondering if you’d like to help me. I mean, when it comes to picking the wallpaper or paint, I’m not asking you to work on the foyer. You’re probably better at choosing those things than I am, and you have to look at it every day, too.”
Shut up, Nate. You’re rambling.
From the tone of her voice, I can picture her with a brow raised and a hand on her hip. “Are you saying I can’t do the work?”
I clear my throat. “No, of course not. I didn’t want to assume that you wanted to.”
The tent door unzips, and my jaw goes slack as Lucy steps out. I’ve seen her in a bathing suit more times than I can count. But something about seeing her like this, while she’s wearing my wedding ring and my last name, hits different.
She pulls her hair into a bun on top of her head, wrapping a scrunchie around it while keeping her gaze averted. “Well, I’d love to help you pick things out and help you do the actual work.”
I nod, but I can’t seem to find words in my suddenly empty mind. Her gaze swings to me, and I freeze, caught in the act of checking out my wife.
She raises her brows. “Everything okay?”
I swallow roughly and nod again. “Yeah, fine. Is that a new swimsuit?”
She nods and looks down at her bathing suit, brushing it off like she’s suddenly self-conscious about the pale pink one-piece. “Yeah. I thought it would hide the pump and CGM.”
She lifts the hem of the flowy skirt at the bottom of her swimsuit, revealing the devices attached to her upper thigh.
But my gaze swings to her face as her cheeks softly shift to match her swimsuit.
I hate that she still feels the need to hide her diabetes.
I’ve tried to help her build confidence with the devices, but she’s still not brave enough to let them show.