Page 66 of This Means War

“I know.” I hope she doesn’t hear the false cheer in my voice. “I can handle this.” The worry crease between her brows only deepens.

“Wecan handle this,” she corrects and something loosens slightly in my chest. I pull her into my chest and let the warmth of her body pressed against mine soothe my soul.

Chapter 47

Lydia

I insist on takingCole to the doctor the very next day. Gabby cleared me to go with him, saying she saw no need for me to continue on bedrest any longer, so long as I promised to attend my check-up at the end of the week. After she left last night, I sent the others home as well, claiming exhaustion. Cole didn’t come out to say good-bye. He was in too much shock, so I made his excuses, saying he felt unwell from his fainting spell. I won’t share Gabby’s hypothesis with Josh and Delia until it’s for sure, and even then, I can guess that Cole won’t want to talk about it with other people.

He’s too stuck in his archaic belief that men need to be strong and tough all the time. I want to sit him down and tell him that the moments he’s been vulnerable with me have been the times I’ve felt closest to him. But that would mean admitting that I want to feel close to him, that I want him to share all the parts of himself with me that he doesn’t share with anyone else. And the thought of admitting allof that out loud terrifies me. So, instead I’ve just tried to act normally.

Okay, normally is a strong word. Do I normally make him a big bowl of oatmeal topped with fruit and nuts for breakfast? No. But Google said that was the ideal breakfast for a diabetic. I blamed the switch from cereal to oatmeal on a pregnancy craving, so he was none the wiser. Normal.

And sure, maybe the fact that I also counted the number of times Cole went to the bathroom before leaving for work (4, that’s a lot, right?), might seem weird to some people, but again, it’s not as if I told Cole I was keeping track. So, still totally normal.

Plus, when he noticed me checking out his neck for any signs of skin discoloration (thanks again, Doctor Google), I just asked if I had ever mentioned how sexy I find necks. Sure, now Cole thinks I’ve got some sort of weird neck fetish and is probably reconsidering the giraffe wall art we chose for the babies’ nursery, but the point is he has no idea I was actually just being a helicopter wife. Anyway, while I was looking for signs of skin discoloration, I did in fact happen to notice that Cole’s neck is extremely sexy. It’s all tanned and sinewy and there’s a spot where his neck meets his shoulders that looks so kissable. But…I digress.

Now it’s almost five and the two of us are sitting in the doctor’s office, listening as Dr. Javar explains how an HbA1c test works. Cole’s urine sample already showed elevated levels of something called ketones, which suggests that his body isproducing insufficient insulin. Because of this, Dr. Javar ordered the HbA1c rapid test, and we should have the results soon.

Throughout the whole appointment Cole has just nodded along with Dr. Javar’s words, and I wonder if he’s heard anything the man has said. I, meanwhile, have been taking notes like I’m a college student whose professor just told her this information will definitely be on the final. I feel completely overwhelmed, so I can only imagine what Cole must be feeling behind his indifferent façade.

When the nurse pokes her head back in, I already know the answer. Her head is down, avoiding eye contact with us. A minute later Dr. Javar confirms. Cole has type 1 diabetes. I turn to Cole, ready for whatever tidal wave of emotions he’s about to flood me with, but he’s still sitting there all…stoic.

“Alright then.” He nods. “What now?”

Okkayyy. Apparently, we’re approaching this from the practical angle and not the emotional angle. I’m unfamiliar with this line of defense.

Dr. Javar launches into a speech about monitoring blood sugar levels and insulin injections and the importance of a balanced diet, so I diligently resume my frantic note taking, but the words are starting to blur as my eyes fill. A tear slides down my nose, plopping onto my notepad and smearing the letters together. I try to make my eyes stop, blinking rapidly and gulping repeatedly, but it doesn’t help. Quite suddenly a sob wracks from my body. Both men’s eyes immediately zoom in on me, and Iwonder fleetingly if I can blame this on pregnancy. I feel like I’ve already used that excuse a lot today. And every other day this week.

“Lydia,” Dr. Javar speaks first, “are you alright? I know this is a lot of new information, but this diagnosis doesn’t have to be scary.” Another sob escapes me and his eyes widen. “Let me have my nurse fetch you some water.” He stands up and exits the room, leaving Cole and I alone.

This is horrible. I need to get it together immediately. I take a deep breath, but it just turns into a hiccup. Great, now I’ve got snot running down my face, my eyes are puffy, and I sound like a croaking frog. I hate frogs.

“Cole, I’m so–” I attempt to speak through my mess, but Cole speaks over me.

“No, Lydia, don’t apologize. I get it. You’re freaked out. This isn’t what you signed up for when you married me.” The first glimmer of emotion is starting to show in his voice. “I was supposed to be the guy who helped you keep your job, kept you from the stigma of being an unwed mother, provided for you…” he trails off, taking a shaky breath before continuing. “And I haven’t done any of that. If anything, I’ve done the exact opposite. And now, to top all of that off,” his shoulders sag, “I’m diabetic. Sick. A burden to you. It’s no wonder you’re crying. I–”

“Cole Jacobson,” I cut him off fiercely, my tears gone, “don’t you ever say that again. You are not a burden to me.” I grab his hands and hold themin mine. “I wasn’t crying because of any of those ridiculous things. I was crying because, because…” I break off, suddenly self-conscious.

“Because why?”

“I’mtheworld’sworstwife,” I rush out the words.

“What?” Cole looks confused now. “Why would you say that?”

“Because!” I wail, pulling away from him and avoiding his gaze. “All of this time you’ve been diabetic and what have I been doing? Feeding you sugar! Fruit Hoops, Pop-Tarts, orange juice.” I tick them off on my fingers. “Can you imagine what those foods were doing to your body!Oh my goodness, I took you to get ice cream! Plus now you’re under all of this scrutiny from the media because of me. And that stress won’t help you adjust to being a diabetic.” I’m on a roll now, sharing every thought that was swirling through my head as Dr. Javar spoke. “Nor will fatherhood,” I add, having just thought of this. “I can imagine it now. You trying to give yourself a shot of insulin while holding one of the twins who wiggles at the last second causing you to accidentally plunge the shot into your eye instead of your stomach.”

“And why am I holding a baby while injecting insulin?” Cole sounds amused now.

“Because,” I say indignantly, “I made you, like the horrible wife that I am.” Another sob sneaks out, but Cole just laughs.

“Lyddie,” he grabs my hands back, “look at me.” Slowly I lift my gaze to him. He’s shimmeringslightly thanks to my teary eyes, but it doesn’t block out the sincerity I see on his face as he says his next words. “You are not a horrible wife. You are kind and you make me laugh and,” he grins, “you keep me on my toes. You’re achingly sweet. Not to mention, you’re growing our children.” He reaches up and brushes a stray hair behind my ear sending delicious tingles down my spine. I’m so lulled into the security of this moment that I open my mouth to start my own list of Cole’s attributes, but Cole keeps going and my mouth snaps shut in frustration at his words. “Which is why I don’t want you to worry about me, Lydia. I’m fine. This isn’t anything I can’t handle. I got this.”

Instantly I’m taken back to that night in his kitchen months ago when he informed me that he didn’t need God. I guess he doesn’t need me either. Ouch.

“Lydia?” Cole prompts in response to my silence. I stare at him, my mind whirling. Though I’m hurt he doesn’t want to let me help him through this, I don’t feel confident enough that he cares about me as more than the mother of his children to push back on that point. But there’s something else rising up inside me as he stares at me. Something I’ve been shoving aside in my own life out of fear and shame. Or rather someone.

“I think we should go to church.” I say the words like they’re a grenade I’m throwing at him.

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