23. Nathan Sr #3
Then she hooks two fingers through mine.
The weeks that follow aren’t perfect. I still have bruises fading in ugly colors. Athena still gets quiet sometimes when an old memory catches her off guard. Ivy still asks questions that stop both of us in our tracks, usually while eating cereal.
One night at dinner, she looks up from her bowl and asks, “So if he’s my dad now, does that mean I get to be extra annoying to him?”
Athena nearly chokes laughing. I set my fork down and answer with total seriousness. “I’m afraid that right came pre-installed.”
Ivy beams.
Later, after dishes, Athena corners me in the kitchen with her back against the counter and her mouth one inch from mine and says, “You’re enjoying this too much.”
I rest my hands on either side of her hips. “No. I’m enjoying it exactly enough.”
She kisses me like she doesn’t believe in moderation either.
That part of us comes back differently now.
There are nights she crawls into bed after Ivy is asleep and presses her cold feet against my legs just to make me swear.
There are mornings I catch her watching me make coffee in one of my shirts and no pants, and the look in her eyes is enough to derail any responsible plan I had for the next hour.
But the best part is the ordinary erosion of distance.
Her hair on my pillow. My mug in her hand.
Ivy shouting for both of us from the other room since she can’t find the blue folder that is, inevitably, under her own elbow.
The sound of Athena laughing with Maya on speaker while I pack lunches.
The knowledge that when I come out of a shower, there are two people in this apartment who expect me to still be here.
Hawthorne continues to email.
I answer eventually, cleanly and without apology. I’m stepping back from the full-time return. Consulting only, limited hours, remote where possible. They push. I decline. The board chair tries prestige. I tell him prestige is a weak substitute for a life I actually want.
Athena reads that draft over my shoulder one evening and says, “That is the most expensive love letter I’ve ever seen.”
I turn in my chair and pull her between my knees. “You should hear the verbal ones.”
She smiles down at me. “That can be arranged.”
By the fifth week, everything has started to feel less like recovery and more like structure.
Nate is still negotiating. Cindy is still pretending she can bargain with consequences. Meredith has rolled fully and is giving prosecutors enough to keep herself useful. None of that vanishes, yet it no longer controls the shape of our mornings.
That matters.
One Friday evening, after Ivy is asleep and Athena is stretched along the couch beside me with her head in my lap and one of my hands trapped under her sweater, she looks up from her book and says, “Do you realize we’ve become disgustingly domestic?”
I glance down at her. “You say that like it’s a threat.”
“It might be. I had a whole personality before this.”
I slide my thumb slowly over the strip of skin above her waistband. “You still do. It just turns out some of it likes me.”
Her book drops onto her chest. “Some of it.”
“Most,” I amend.
She pretends to think about it. “Acceptable.”
I bend and kiss her, slow at first, then slower once she sinks into it. By the time I pull back, she’s smiling in that sleepy, wicked way that always makes me feel like I’m either the luckiest man alive or a complete fool.
Probably both. “Come to bed with me,” I say quietly.
She glances toward the hallway, then back at me. “Give me ten minutes. I need to answer one email.”
“That sounds fake.”
“It’s not fake. It’s annoying.”
I sigh like I’m deeply put upon. “Fine.”
She takes the book, kisses me once more just to make it worse, then disappears into the bedroom.
I stay on the couch for all of three minutes before reaching for my phone. Her name is one of my favorite things in the world now. I still haven’t gotten used to the fact that I can text her something reckless and not spend the next six years regretting silence.
I type, stop, delete half of it, then decide honesty works better.
Nathan: How long is this email?
The reply comes almost immediately.
Athena: Long enough that you should behave.
I smile despite myself.
Nathan: That was never a realistic option.
Three dots appear.
Athena: You are forty-something years old. Please try.
I lean back, already warm all over.
Nathan: I’m lying on our couch thinking about the fact that you’re in my bed and not in it with me. That’s not a condition that rewards virtue.
The dots appear again. Vanish. Come back slower this time.
Athena: Our bed? Bold.
I look toward the closed bedroom door then back to the screen.
Nathan: Correct me if you want. Preferably in person. Preferably wearing very little.
This time, her reply takes long enough to feel intentional.
Athena: Finish your suffering on the couch for five more minutes, Dr. Clarke. Then come upstairs and tell me exactly how much you missed me in the last ten.
I stare at the message for a second then laugh under my breath.