Thirty-five #2
I shook my head, angry with myself. “At first, I wasn’t consciously doing it.
We used the list to keep having fun while we went through college.
But then I started having really bad anxiety.
I stressed every time I had a check up with my oncologist to the point of not sleeping for days and passing out in the office every time.
And I brushed it off, thinking I was just traumatized from having cancer twice.
But it bled into every area of my life. I felt like a sitting duck.
Like there was going to be an attack on us and it was my job to anticipate and prepare for it.
Except, back then, I thought obsessively preparing for every potential outcome was elite wisdom. ”
She squeezed my arm when I took a shuddering breath.
“Then I started taking her on adventures when I could sense her getting restless. And it wasn’t because I didn’t want to marry her—I did.
It was just the anxious thoughts that told me we weren’t ready yet.
That we needed to get through one more check up to confirm I was cancer free or we needed more money in the bank or we needed to grow up a little more.
“When I finally did pull the trigger, I had that seizure.” My voice broke.
“And it validated my fears. The doctors were totally clueless as to why I got epilepsy and all they could tell me is that it was an unexplainable side-effect of the chemo. And I just kept thinking, ‘what else do I have that I don’t know about?’”
Bea hummed and sniffled softly, just listening.
“That’s when I realized what I was doing with the list. We finally got married and Sarah immediately wanted a baby, which made sense because we were already getting close to thirty.
But I delayed and put her off every time.
It was so easy to rationalize what I was doing that I didn’t realize how badly I was hurting her.
“But then, after the accident, the list vanished. Obviously, I wasn’t going on adventures anymore, and it seemed like the thing that had bound us together for so many years disappeared overnight.
Every day, I feel like I’m drowning just trying to process the world around me and then there’s Sarah who is pushing for something, anything.
” I shook my head. “She just wants me to show up somehow. And she wants me to promise that I’ll come around and eventually try for kids.
But I can’t even give her that. So we have nothing now. And it's my fault.”
Her hand moved down to mine and I gripped it. “Your marriage is not over yet, Peter.”
Immediate heat stormed my eyes, and I blinked them back. This stupid ranch had me waging war against my emotions. “I want to believe that.”
“You listed a lot of stuff you can’t give her.
But all of those things are rooted in a perception that isn’t even real.
” She squeezed. “Loving someone through every mountain and valley is the greatest adventure you will ever embark on. If you give Sarah yourself and love her with everything you have and everything you don’t have, it will be enough. ”
“But she might not forgive me.”
“True. She might not.” Bea said matter-of-factly.
“But one day, you have to forgive yourself. And you won’t be able to do that if you don’t know, deep down in your heart, that you did everything you possibly could to make it right with her.
Letting go might feel like the easier thing to do, but it’s the most painful.
And you’ll never be able to fully breathe knowing that you didn’t try. ”
I nodded. She was right.
“You sound like Dad,” I said.
She breathed a small laugh. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“I’m sorry for being ugly to you in the fifth wheel. Please forgive me, Bea. I don’t want to keep hurting my family.”
“Of course I forgive you. And I love you so much.”
“I love you, too.”
Just then, Wren stretched, a rattly yawn cutting through the silence, and a soft hand flopped over my own—making a stack of hands on the arm of Bea’s chair.
It was then I realized I hadn’t touched Wren since I came to the ranch.
Slowly, I reached over with my other hand, dragging my index finger through her palm.
In her sleep, she reflectively squeezed, trapping me.
A smile I couldn’t stop lifted my cheeks. “She’s got a good grip on her.”
Bea chuckled. “And she loves grabbing my hair.”
“Her hand is so warm.”
“You want to hold her?”
A swallow pulled at my throat with a beat of indecision. “Uh…yeah. I do.”
Bea moved out of her chair and positioned herself in front of mine.
I opened my arms as her presence leaned down, a warm bundle nearing my chest. Bea did the pass off slowly, providing time for me to situate my hands on Wren’s head and bottom.
My fingers sunk into the butteriest curls and I pressed her sleeping body against my chest. She melded against me, instantly cozy in my arms.
Unable to stop myself, I leaned down and took a deep breath of her hair.
She smelled like Bea usually did—a combination of flowers and honey.
A confession slipped out of my lips before I could stop it.
“When I talk to people, remembering what they look like helps me feel connected to them. But two years is a long time, and there’s people I can’t remember anymore.
And I…” My voice turned husky with emotion.
“I have no idea what Wren looks like. I’ve only seen her as a newborn. ”
“Oh, Peter. That’s so sad.”
I nodded, unable to respond. Of its own volition, one of my hands raised to run a finger over Wren’s face. No sooner had my finger brushed her chubby cheek than I let it fall back to my lap.
“Don’t be shy. You can touch her.”
I wanted to, but it felt awkward as hell.