Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Dating my husband is stranger than marrying him.
Our first official date takes place in a coffee shop at four in the afternoon because Dr. Price says we need low-pressure time together. Caleb arrives early and orders the tea I drink when I am anxious.
"This feels like a job interview," I tell him.
"Should I have brought references?"
"Yours are terrible."
"Fair."
He notices the ring halfway through our drinks.
His gaze catches on my hand and stays there.
"Don't," I warn.
"I didn't say anything."
"Your face did."
"My face is happy."
"Your face needs boundaries."
He presses his lips together, but his eyes remain bright.
We move from coffee to dinners, walks, and Sunday mornings at the farmer's market. I do not move home. Caleb rents a small furnished apartment near his office because I refuse to let him live indefinitely in a hotel.
The first time I visit, I am offended by how little of him exists there.
Four shirts hang in the closet. One pan sits on the stove. His father's watch rests beside the bed. The refrigerator contains mustard, eggs, and six bottles of water.
"This looks like witness protection."
"It came furnished."
"So did my apartment. I still managed to acquire possessions."
"Most of mine are at the house."
"You could bring them here."
"I do not want to build a life here."
The answer creates pressure between us even though he does not intend it.
"You need a life that isn't waiting for me," I say.
"I have work. Counseling. My mother calls twice a day to apologize for calling once a day."
"Friends?"
"Owen. A few people from work."
"You cut off almost everyone."
"They defended Jeremy."
"You can make new friends."
"At thirty-seven? Should I join a pickleball league?"
"You might enjoy it."
"This is how divorce happens. First separate apartments, then recreational pickleball."
I laugh, and the bare room becomes less bleak.
His tie is hanging over the back of a chair, still knotted from the last time he wore it. I pick it up and loop it around my neck.
"You used to leave these everywhere," I say.
"You used to complain while untying them for me."
"You always made the knot too tight."
Caleb stands in front of me. "You said it made my throat look good."
"I said your throat looked good. The tie was an obstacle."
His fingers touch the knot near my collarbone. He waits there, not quite touching skin.
"Can I?"
"It is your tie."
"That wasn't what I asked."
The room suddenly feels too small for all the empty space in it.
"Yes," I say.
Caleb loosens the knot slowly. The silk slides across the back of my neck. His knuckles graze my throat, and my breath catches so sharply he hears it.
"Dahlia."
"Do not turn taking off a tie into a moral crisis."
"I am trying not to kiss you."
"Why?"
His gaze drops to my mouth. "Because if I start, I am not sure I can pretend this apartment is temporary after you leave."
I should step back. Instead, I flatten his collar and smooth it against his chest.
"It is temporary," I remind him.
"I know."
"That does not mean this has to be."
I kiss him once. No audience, no apology, no attempt to settle the marriage with my mouth. Just the familiar warmth of him and the way his hand trembles when it finally settles at my waist.
I end it before hunger changes the question.
Caleb rests his forehead against mine. "That was cruel."
"You survived."
"Barely."
Before I leave, I put a framed photograph on his counter.
It shows twenty-nine-year-old Caleb beside the stripped frame of the Triumph outside his first restaurant.
His hands are black with grease, the restaurant sign is hanging crooked behind him, and he looks delighted by two things that should never have worked.
"This doesn't mean I forgive you for selling it," I say.
"I would never assume."
He continues counseling. So do I.
Some days feel almost easy. Others are ambushes.
A song from the edited video plays in a grocery store, and I abandon my cart between the cereals. Caleb follows me outside but does not touch me until I ask.
Another night, a man recognizes us at dinner.
He approaches the table holding his phone and asks Caleb whether Sable was better in person. Caleb stands so quickly his chair strikes the wall.
"Delete the photograph you just took."
The man grins. "Public place."
"Then publicly hear me tell you to leave my wife alone."
"She stayed with you?" He looks at me. "Seriously?"
I reach for my purse.
Caleb turns to me. "Do you want to leave, or do you want him removed?"
The question matters. Old Caleb would have chosen the fight and called it protection.
"I want to finish dinner."
Caleb signals the manager. The man is escorted out while protesting about free speech.
I sit, but my appetite is gone.
"You can say it," Caleb tells me.
"Say what?"
"That this will keep happening because of me."
"It will."
"I'm sorry."
"I know."
The waiter brings fresh water and looks everywhere except at us.
"Do you regret staying?" Caleb asks.
"Tonight? A little."
Pain crosses his face.
"Do you regret marrying me?" I ask.
"Not for one second."
"Bad choice of measurement."
He winces. Then I laugh, because sometimes the only alternative is crying in another restaurant.
Caleb reaches across the table but stops before touching my hand.
I close the distance.
We finish dinner while people pretend not to recognize us. On the way out, the manager tells me she removed the man's photograph from his phone before returning it.
"I like her," I say.
"Should we invite her to counseling?"
"She has suffered enough."
A waitress with mahogany hair leans over our table, and I spend the entire meal hating the back of her head.
Caleb attends Owen's birthday dinner and sends me a photograph of the table without being asked. I accuse him of trying to earn points. He accuses me of punishing him for doing the thing I would have demanded if he had not done it. We fight until midnight and go to bed angry in separate apartments.
Marguerite asks me to lunch.
I agree because avoiding her has begun to require more energy than seeing her.
She chooses a small café instead of the Ashby Club. There are no linen napkins or ancestral portraits, just metal chairs and excellent soup.
"I owe you an apology without an explanation," she says.
"That would be refreshing."
"I treated your pain as a threat to my family. You were my family too, and I failed to act like it."
"You told me to go home to him."
"I did."
"You implied I caused the scandal by reacting."
"Yes. I wanted you quiet because your anger embarrassed me. It was cruel."
"If your daughter had seen her husband kissing an ex, would you have told her bachelor parties do not count?"
Marguerite looks down. "No. I would have brought a shovel."
I laugh despite myself.
"I am not asking you to forgive me today," she says. "I wanted you to know I understand what I did."
It is infuriating how difficult it is to keep fighting with someone who refuses to defend the indefensible.
That evening, Caleb cooks dinner at my apartment. He ruins the chicken, burns the sauce, and sets off the smoke alarm.
"You own three restaurants," I say, waving a towel beneath the alarm.
"I manage them. I do not cook in them."
"Clearly."
"We can order pizza."
"No pineapple."
"I would never betray you that way."
The word changes the room.
Caleb closes his eyes. "That was stupid."
"It was a joke."
"Are you okay?"
"I don't know."
"I can leave."
"Do you want to?"
"No."
"Then stop offering to leave every time I flinch."
"I don't know whether staying feels like pressure."
"Ask."
"Do you want me to stay?"
I step closer. "Yes."
He does not touch me.
"Caleb."
"You told me to ask."
"I answered."
"That question was about staying."
"Then ask the next one."
His eyes darken. "Can I kiss you?"
"Yes."
The first kiss is gentle enough to make me angry. I grip his shirt and kiss him the way I have wanted to for weeks, open-mouthed and hungry. Caleb makes a rough sound and lifts me onto the counter.
His hands settle on my thighs. He stops.
"Are you sure?"
"If you ask me that every two seconds, I am going to hurt you."
He almost smiles.
I shove his shoulder.
The playfulness vanishes when his mouth finds my throat. My body remembers him without hesitation. That frightens me. I pull away.
Caleb releases me immediately.
"I can't," I say.
"Okay."
"I want to."
"That doesn't mean you have to."
"I hate how reasonable you have become."
"Counseling is ruining my personality."
He finishes the evening eating burned chicken with me at the counter. At ten, he kisses my forehead and leaves.
Five minutes later, his name appears on my phone.
Owen found another video.
I have not opened it.
I am coming back so we can watch it together.