18. James
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
James
NOW
There are a lot of things I wish I could change.
I wish I had handled things differently.
I wish I had fought harder. I wish I pressed, been more insistent when she pushed me away.
I wish I told Kendall how much I needed her even though I wasn’t sure whether or not it was okay for me to need her.
She needed me. My own grief felt…unimportant.
Silly. Irrelevant. Our world flipped completely over, and I had to go on as if I was fine for her sake.
I had to be the one to keep it together or else…
By the time I get home, Sophia’s asleep in the back seat.
Her head lolls side to side, balancing on the seat belt strap while her shoulders sway with each turn.
It’s an unexpected change from our usual interrogative drive.
I turn down the music and drive with less haste, hoping I can drag out her sleep until we get home.
When I pull into the driveway and open the garage door, Kendall is there.
“Hey,” I say, getting out of the car.
She peers over my shoulder, catching a glimpse of Sophia still sleeping. She smiles. “She have a good time?”
I smile back. “She’s pooped. Fell asleep before I pulled out of Teeny’s driveway.”
She smirks before turning to face the wall of plastic totes lining one side of the garage.
A few are on the ground, already sifted through and the lids placed on top askew.
It looks like she was looking for something in the sea of school supplies and junk that’s piled up since we moved in, but she throws in the towel with a deferring huff and turns toward the car. “I’ll get her inside.”
“Were you looking for something?”
“Yeah,” she answers, twisting her lips to one side. “I had a box of supplies one of the first-grade teachers donated at the beginning of the year, and I can’t seem to find it.”
“Do you know what the box looks like?”
“Clear. With a black lid.” That doesn’t really narrow down the search considering over half of our totes fit the description.
Regardless, I respond with an easygoing, “I can look for it.”
Her miffed expression softens with my offer. “You don’t have to.”
“It’s fine,” I assure. “If you want to get Sophia, I can keep looking.”
She looks at Sophia again, fluttering eyes and mouth slightly ajar. A sure sign she most likely won’t wake up until morning.
“Thank you,” Kendall says softly.
I nod. “Sadie already showered her, so she just needs to go to bed.”
“Okay.” She tiptoes over to the back passenger door and opens it slowly. She’s careful as she unbuckles the seat belt and scoops Sophia into her arms. She gingerly cradles her body against her chest, placing soft kisses to her temple as she walks into the house.
I start to sort the boxes, lifting the lids and combing through the jumbled items stuffed inside with no rhyme or reason.
A broken DVD player I assumed was plugged into a defective electrical outlet the last time I used it and a blender pitcher, no lid.
My old textbooks from grad school with a bag full of crochet supplies from when Kendall took a shot at diy Christmas presents.
Something about handmade presents and how people prefer a sentimental gift over impersonal ones.
The last box I looked through has some things from my old apartment.
A dusty desk lamp with some key chains and coffee mugs.
And a stuffed owl. The once vibrant purple color is now a shade of lavender, and the glasses perched on its triangle nose is crooked.
“Any luck?”
I look over my shoulder at the same time Kendall’s eyes land on what I’m holding, and her face falls. “Uh, no. Sorry.”
“Where did you find that?”
I wave the owl in her direction. “With some of my things.”
She reaches for it, and I hand it over. Like I’m offering a small sliver of my heart. The part that never grew back. She pets it, running her hand over the side, and adjusts the glasses so it sits upright instead of lopsided. “I haven’t seen this little guy in—”
“Nine years.”
“Give or take a week or two,” she says morosely. Sarcasm that isn’t bitter but scornful bookends her small attempt at a joke, more closely aligning with self-deprecation. “It’s been a long time.”
I nod.
“Feels like yesterday.”
“Yeah.”
She bites her lip, forcing back a frown. “I guess…life just happened. We just kept going and…”
I reach up and cup the side of her face.
I take a chance, knowing she might shy away or even get upset.
But she doesn’t. Instead, she leans into my palm, and my heart squeezes.
I want more. I want to take a mile when she’ll most likely only give me an inch.
I want to be selfish and heedless for once.
“I can put it back,” I whisper, my offer tender and vulnerable.
“It’s okay,” she tells me, shaking her head. “I want to hold on to it.” Her wide eyes glisten, shimmering like she’s unsure. Like this, my hand on her face and her letting it sit there to relearn how she feels, is so foreign. So new and unacquainted and ambivalent.
“Are you sure?” I don’t even know what I’m asking. If it’s to make sure she doesn’t want me to stuff the owl back in the hidden corner of our home. Or if I’m asking if this is okay. Me touching her like I was never not allowed to.
She nods, and it’s the answer to everything. “I don’t think I ever thanked you…for it.”
I smirk, wanting to keep this back and forth going.
She smiles at me, my hand still on her cheek. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” It’s some kind of muscle memory, my hands more familiar with Kendall’s skin than my brain. My thumb brushes over her bottom lip. They become pliant and loose, moving with each tug and pull.
Her warm breath touches my knuckles through a soft sigh, and I can’t remember the last time I heard her make that sound.
Something so resigned yet calm and gentle.
Her hand hooks over my wrist, and I don’t know if it’s to stop me or to give her something to hold on to.
Something to confirm this is real. That I’m touching her, and she’s touching me.
And those nine years between us feel like a blur.
A piece of matte Scotch tape placed over the cracks and breaks to make them deceptively smooth and secure.
I cup her neck, my hand still moving with a mind of its own.
An act to grip her more firmly. More daring and bold.
And her own body follows, letting me take the lead and showing her the dance we always used to move to.
A quiet waltz to ease us in the mood. An upbeat rumba as the heat flames into haste and determination.
A sultry salsa as we settle into what our bodies already know.
But then we pause. We haven’t rewritten the rules yet. Our lives have been whittled and chipped into polite gestures that only allow amiable conversation and avoidance techniques. This almost feels too new. Too uncertain.
I watch Kendall’s eyes take me in. Those deep pools of brown and gold flicker in the unflattering yellowish light in our garage.
I remember what it was like to touch her without ever second-guessing myself.
When I didn’t have to wonder whether or not every kiss or hug or playful swat crossed a boundary I hadn’t yet grown accustomed to. And I can’t seem to stop.
“You’re so beautiful,” I whisper. Another boundary I don’t know if I’m allowed to test. I hide behind dithering gestures like I’m shy and we haven’t exchanged such sentiments. My other hand touches her before I’m able to stop it. Knuckles against her arm, fingers tangled in her hair.
“You don’t look so bad yourself,” she jokes with a smirk, and it’s all I need. A nudge. A little push, my arm twisted, to guide me in the right direction. I see the edges of a laugh form at the corner of her lips at the same time I kiss her. I kiss her.
I almost forgot what this felt like. What it’s like to know every tremble, every gasp, every moan. All of it vibrating against my skin. And for her to completely give in to it all.
She pulls me closer, dragging her nails through my hair and making our kiss messy and bruising.
I wrap my arms around her waist, our curves and lines and borders are melded together.
I might suffocate her, hold her so tight we might fuse together.
And that would be completely fine. I don’t want to know what it feels like to have to pry myself away from her.
I grip her thighs, a heavy possessive squeeze, and she hops into my arms. Another shove to keep going.
“I missed your lips so fucking much,” I groan, my voice brutal and hoarse. “I want to kiss you all the time.” Suddenly, the kiss isn’t enough. I need to be touching her, tasting her, feeling her.
“Then kiss me,” she challenges. My heart pounds in my chest, slamming against my ribcage like it’s demanding to be let out.
With her back pressed to the side of my car, she claws at my shirt, pulling and tugging to no avail.
I reach for the handle and punch a figurative fist into the air when it opens.
I hadn’t locked it. I sit her down at the edge of the back seat and watch her lean back on her palms. A moment for her to watch me.
Let her eyes rake over me while I take my shirt off and cage her in, my hands braced along the door frame.
The air turns tight, thick with uncertainty. This feels so far replaced from our norm, and I don’t know how to approach it. Should I pounce, jowls first with my hips wiggling in the air? Or should I prowl, careful and patient?
Kendall decides for me. She leans into me, running her hands over my bare chest, and stops when her fingertips reach my jawline. She inches closer, whispering her lips over my skin already licked with flames. “Kiss me whenever you want.”
So, I do. The dust has settled from the storm cloud we dragged in, and everything is so fathomable and clear. I want to kiss my wife and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.