Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77389 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77389 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
She lifts a bare shoulder.
“No, you aren’t shrugging that off,” I say, moving around to her side, forcing her to look at me directly instead of through the reflection. “Explain that.”
She swallows. “I don’t know, maybe that’s a melodramatic way of looking at it, but . . . you knew what I wanted when we got together. You know how important making partner was, you knew why. You knew it’s what my dad wanted, what I’d promised him. I thought you understood that. That you were there for me. I loved you for it. And instead you just . . . walked away.”
“I did understand all that, Kates, and damn it, I fought,” I say because defensiveness feels easier than the raw pain that threatens. “It’s not like I just up and walked out the door one day out of nowhere.”
“It sure felt like it,” she says quietly. “One day I was trying to learn how to juggle a demanding job and a demanding husband. The next, you told me you were done, and I was . . . reeling. I wasn’t doing a good job at being a wife—I know that. But I was trying. I thought we were trying. I thought that’s what couples did—figured out how to be married. Together.”
I drag a hand over my face, and for perhaps the first time, I try to look at the demise of our marriage through her eyes. I knew we were never on the same page, but hearing her side of it now, I realize we weren’t even reading the same book.
Hell, I’m not sure we were even using the same language.
In that last year, I remember more of a ghost of a wife than an actual wife. She was in the office more often than she was at home. She postponed countless date nights and never followed through on her promises to reschedule. Everything was on her agenda, from sex to vacations, and I swear even in the midst of both those things, her mind was on work. There were times sitting beside her at our tiny dining room table eating breakfast when I wasn’t sure she’d even notice if I wasn’t there.
That’s why divorce seemed, not the easy option, exactly, but the logical one. She didn’t seem to care one way or another if I were around.
I wanted her to care.
But looking at her now, hearing her version, I realize . . .
She cared. She cared a hell of a lot.
“Why didn’t you tell me any of that,” I say, unable to keep the frustration out of my voice.
Her grip on the towel tightens, and the way she shuffles her feet tells me this conversation is uncomfortable for her.
I brace for her to say something snarky and shove me out of the bathroom, but she surprises me by standing her ground with only minimal snark.
“What was I supposed to say?” she asks with a sigh. “‘Hey, Tom, by the way, please don’t divorce me?’”
“Yes!”
Katherine shakes her head. “Nobody wants to be married to someone who doesn’t want to be married back.”
Of course I wanted to be married back.
“That day when I told you I wanted a divorce . . . Kates, I wasn’t even sure you heard me. You barely looked up from your phone.”
“Because I couldn’t! I didn’t know how—I couldn’t believe—” She sucks in a breath and looks up toward the ceiling with a furious look on her face, and I’m stunned to see unshed tears.
On instinct, I reach out a hand to console her but let it drop. Touching her to help out with an injury is one thing. Touching her to comfort her takes us too close to a line I can’t cross.
She gathers herself and looks back at me calmly. “Would it have mattered? You’d already made up your mind.”
I want to argue otherwise, but she’s being candid, so I force myself to do the same. “No,” I admit quietly. “It probably wouldn’t have mattered. Communication issues aside, we both had different expectations of what a marriage should look like.”
She nods and I can see impenetrable Katherine returning, and I don’t know if I’m relieved or disappointed. “Yes. Exactly. Crossed wires, water under the bridge, and all that nonsense.” She arches an eyebrow. “Now, did you want to watch me shower, or did you get your fill from ogling my ass?”
I cup a hand behind my ear. “Thank you, Tom, for helping me with the nasty wound on my back.”
“Does Lolo know how needy you are?” Katherine says, shooing me backward with one hand.
Lolo. It’s the reminder I need to get the hell out of this bathroom, to get the hell away from Katherine. To end this thing.
I’m barely out of the bathroom before she shuts the door all but in my face. I hear the click of the lock and roll my eyes. “Is that really necessary? You think I just can’t help myself and am going to come barging in for another look at your granny panties?”