Fifty-six
Peter
By nine o’clock that night, we had talked for hours.
Topic by topic, we uncovered things.
We talked about the ranch and all the conversations we had with family.
We talked about Sarah’s time alone, everything Martha had said, and our wedding vows.
We talked about how my senses came to life and my conversation with Chip.
Then she listened as I dissected all my fears for her.
I told her the wild thoughts I had about family, the future, and my health.
I finally told Sarah I started having panic attacks at doctor’s appointments.
I had always kept that to myself because I worried it would burden her.
I talked to her about the anger and depression and she started to see how those feelings got so heavy sometimes that I couldn't physically stand beneath them.
And then we talked about children and the worries I had surrounding that, too—like losing her or losing a baby.
She just listened and asked questions, trying to understand me.
I admitted I needed to be in therapy, dealing with all this, and she said therapy would be good for her too.
We talked a lot about her family as well, about her own fears that manifested so differently than mine.
Out of all the talks we’d had about the future, it was the longest and most indepth we ever went. Some of what we admitted was heavy, but we faced each truth head-on. And it felt really good to understand each other better.
Once I was fairly certain everyone would be in a building for the night, we took our conversation outdoors, strolling up the driveway hand-in-hand.
The gravel crunched beneath our feet and the November breeze chilled my scalp at the roots of my hair. We pressed closer to each other, walking silently past the cabins and through the barnyard. After sitting for so long, moving relaxed my muscles.
“Sarah?” I broke the silence, coming to a stop beside the barn. “I have to confess something to you.”
She stiffened, her walk faltering for a moment. “Okay.”
“It’s about the list.” I shook my head, hating the words that were about to come out of my lips, but knowing I had to say them. “I used it to distract you.”
She was quiet for several steps. “Explain what you mean.”
“When I felt you getting antsy for the next step—like engagement, marriage, or kids—I would lean into that list. It felt like a way to make you happy without doing the things I was scared to do. As kids, the list seemed like the end game, you know? Get married and have kids were just two items in a pool of so many—items we could put off forever if need be. But, as we grew up, I realized having a family was your true end game.” I shook my head.
“Because I couldn’t see my future, I…I used the list to keep us exactly as we were—perpetually having fun and not taking life too seriously.
Spontaneous white water adventures seemed easier and less risky to me than making plans.
I didn’t even consciously realize I was delaying, but now I see my motives pretty clear. ”
I stopped talking, immediately worrying when she didn’t respond.
I rushed to add more. “The list used to be so fun and so special but I tainted it. We should’ve gotten married in college and had babies way sooner.
Those are good things to want, and I wanted them too, I just wanted to control the timeline.
But I don’t even know what I was waiting for.
Saying sorry in light of that confession sounds pretty lame, but I am sorry.
I wish I could go back and do it differently. ”
She was quiet for an uncomfortably long time. “I won’t lie…that hurts.”
“I know it does, Sarah.” I softly cursed, dragging a hand over my face.
“But…I have a confession about the list, too.” She stopped, tugging backward on my hand until I turned to face her. I expected her voice to be sad, but it lifted, coming through a wide smile. “I cannot believe I’ve never told you this.”
She actually giggled.
A smile swept across my face. “What? Tell me.”
Her free hand grabbed mine and we stood facing each other, our hands connecting us on both sides. “I was so embarrassed by what I did that I put it out of mind and never thought about it again, but remember the day you told me to write a list?”
I nodded.
“You told me to write down all the things I would need to do to have a beautiful life so I wouldn't forget what I wanted. Well, I went home that night and wrote a list, but it wasn’t the list I showed you when you asked to see it.” Her words came fast, excited.
I tried to predict where this was going.
“You acted like you wanted to spend time doing things off the list with me, so I spent all of literature and math class that morning rewriting my list as fast as humanly possible. Everything was completely off the cuff, not premeditated at all. Just anything I could think of.”
I started laughing.
“So the idea of it being life goals is completely false. I just started writing things I thought me and my new cute boyfriend could have fun doing together.”
“No way.” My head tilted back.
“Granted, completing the list totally became a life goal, but it’s not the original list.”
I waited for her next words. “So what’s on the original?”
“Tonya mentioned seeing it on my desk in my room. And that was the first time I’d thought of it in years, so I went through old boxes of stuff trying to find it. Well, I found it and”— she dug into her pocket for her phone—“I took a picture. Want me to read it to you?”
“Yes.”
She cleared her throat, her voice suddenly serious. “It says…be Peter Thompson’s Sunshine Girl.”
I chuckled.
She continued. “Hold Peter Thompson’s hand. Go to homecoming and/or prom with Peter Thompson. Kiss Peter Thompson. Go on an adventure with Peter Thompson.” Her voice cracked, and it was at that moment I realized every item on the list was going to have my name in it.
Emotions gathered so heavily in my throat that I stopped breathing.
“Graduate with Peter Thompson. Go to college with Peter Thompson. Become Mrs. Peter Thompson.” Her voice broke over the next entry. “Have Peter Thompson’s babies.” Finally, she croaked out, “Grow old with Peter Thompson. And that’s it. That’s the list.”
My jaw hung open in disbelief.
“So, all that to say…” Her hands slid up and around my shoulders, settling on the back of my neck as hot tears brimmed in my eyes. “My end game has always been you.”
Holy hell I did not deserve this woman.
“Every time you’ve given me yourself, you’ve made my wildest dreams come true. From the very beginning the most beautiful life I could imagine for myself was a life right by your side. Somehow, that truth got buried under the years of struggle, but you’re all I’ve ever wanted.”
I couldn’t speak.
I had desperately needed to hear her say that.
“I know I probably made you feel like you alone weren’t enough…and I’m so sorry, Peter.” Her voice pulled tight, holding back a flood of emotion. “Have you felt that way?”
I swallowed down the feelings in my throat, trying to sort the truth from my perception.
“I think, when I was struggling after the accident, you leaned on the list, too. Probably just seeking it out as a way to hold on to normalcy, as a way to connect. But, there were some moments where I felt like you weren’t going to be happy unless I reverted back to the old Peter who could help you chase all those things and give you your big family.
And I didn’t think I could be that person anymore. ”
“Oh—I’m sorry.” She let her forehead fall onto my chest, her voice muffling. “I’m so sorry. Without all of it, you are enough, Peter. You are.”
“Hey, it’s okay.” I rubbed her back, squeezing her closer to me. “We’re okay now, I promise.”
She sniffled, rushing through her words in frustration. “I don’t want to do anything on the list anymore. All of it—let’s just forget about it.”
I turned her face to mine, unable to quell my growing smile. “All of it?”
“None of it matters anymore.”
I huffed, knowing I had something she would never be able to resist. “Well, bummer. I guess I’ll have to cancel my plans then.”
She stilled. “Wait. What plans?”
Playing with her, I waved a hand through the air as if it was stupid. “Nah, that’s alright. Since it doesn’t matter anymore—”
A yelp wrenched from my mouth as her hands shot forward, landing right in a ticklish spot on my ribcage. Pushing her off, I cackled, holding my elbows down. “That’s not fair—I can’t predict—”
“Peter Thompson!” She yelled as she tickled me again, relentless as I tried to escape. “What plans? Spill right now!”
I pushed words around my laughter. “You can’t—take a cheap shot—ah—at a blind guy.”
She died laughing too. “I’ll take whatever I want, thank you very much.”
I grabbed her wrists, immediately suspending them over her head. She kicked and struggled and giggled and the persistence of her curiosity was so cute. “Peter, tell me right now before I wither away and die. You know I can’t handle a secret.”
Holding her captive, I shook my head. “I gotta think about it.”
“I’ll do anything,” she whimpered. “Just tell me.”
I raised a brow. “Anything?”
“Name your price.”
I bit down on my lip, stifling the fresh wave of laughter building in my throat. “Okay, then. I want you to cancel all your massages on Wednesday the twenty-ninth of November.”
She jerked back in surprise. “Huh? Why?”
I loosened my hold. “Because we have an appointment at Denver Fertility Specialists.”
She gasped, the fight in her arms draining away. Her voice was a raw whisper, “What?”
“When I called, they told me they had a cancellation. I just took the appointment so no one else could and figured we’d talk it out and decide if we still wanted to—”
Her mouth smothered the explanation on my lips as she lurched up, grabbing my head and yanking it to hers.
An unbidden groan ripped through my chest as we rocked forward, unsteady on our feet.
As she pressed her body into mine, my lips instantly answered, sweeping over hers again and again, hurried and insistent.
Sensation exploded through my numbness, like a sudden flash illuminating the endless dark.
My eyes fluttered closed as Sarah’s touch transported me to another dimension—one where the only thing that existed was us.
Every single nerve woke from the dead, desire for my wife incinerating my skin, pulling my insides to pieces, and leaving me breathless.
The numbness I’d suffered for so long was nowhere to be found.
If riding a bronc made me feel more alive, touching Sarah was my full resurrection.
My hands found her waist, skimming up to clutch her rib cage that heaved with her desperate sips of air and frantic movements.
Her hands curled around my head, plowing through my hair then skating over my shoulders and down my back only to slide to my chest and do it all over again.
Her hunger nearly folded me at the knees—she was so ready.
My fingers followed her ribs to her spine, gliding to the place where the hem of her sweater met her jeans.
Without skipping a beat, my hand slipped under the fabric and Sarah rewarded me with a beautiful sound when I touched her bare skin.
Her head fell back and her knees went so weak that I had to gather her up in my arms to keep her standing.
Our feet shifted over the gravel, rocks moving as we fought to stay upright while we unraveled together.
Sarah’s hands clutched at the front of my shirt, and suddenly she was tugging me toward the barn that lay just beyond us. Understanding what she wanted, I leaned down, slipping my hands behind her thighs and lifting her. Within a few steps, her back hit the side of the barn.
When I leaned into her, we combusted. She lost control a little bit and I had to shush her.
“Shh.” I pressed a shaky laugh into her neck, unable to stop smiling. “Someone could be out here.”
“Sorry.” Her voice was so breathless.
Damn, she was hot.
My mouth trailed a line to her ear. “We need to get back to the fifth wheel.”
Sarah moaned. “Oh, I want that.” But then she grabbed my face and whispered over my lips, her voice suddenly frustrated. “I want to keep kissing you, Peter Thompson, but I’m still hurt that you kissed someone else.”