Page 81 of What We Broke

“Why’s that?” I ask as I wade through the water to be closer to him.

“You swimming is the most consistent thing in our entire relationship, and I like knowing everything hasn’t changed.” I fold my arms on the edge of the pool as Leo sits down on the concrete patio, then unties his shoes and takes them off. His socks follow. “What’s got you in the water today?”

Everything. Nothing. You.

“Nothing in particular,” I lie. “I was able to finish up work early and had a few hours to kill before dinner. How was your day?”

The back and forth between us is new. It turns out, after a year or more of living in flight or fight, we forgot who we were before all the stilted conversations and silent treatments.

We found ourselves making more of a concerted effort to engage in small talk, to ask questions and listen to answers.

He averts his gaze as he plucks at the loose threads of his distressed jeans. “Today was good,” he says. “I had lunch with one of the therapists from the rehab program and set up a plan for myself once the mandated sessions are over.”

While we’re in a positive and hopeful place overall, there are still so many little details we have yet to discuss; Leo’s drinking is one of them.

I’ve noticed that he’s stopped, or at the very least was choosing not to drink at home. I don’t know if I was expecting extreme withdrawals or mood swings, but besides him no longer leaving the house and coming home drunk, there are no other obvious ways to acknowledge the change.

Feeling courageous, I ask him, “Are you still drinking?”

He finally raises his eyes to meet mine and shakes his head, and I feel the relief in my limbs, grateful that the water is carrying me.

“I’m not doing the whole alcoholics anonymous setup,” he explains. “Where I count my alcohol-free days and celebrate those milestones.”

Pushing myself off the edge of the pool, I back away from him. I point to the pile of my clothes that sit haphazardly next to our lounge chairs. “You could come in and explain it all to me.”

It’s a long shot, the man hates the cold more than anything else. And even though our pool is heated, Leo’s version of heated is hot-tub hot.

But I want to be able to do this. For us to be able to tell each other the hard stuff without the distance we’re so sadly used to.

I’m pleasantly surprised when he stands and starts taking his clothes off. When he reaches his underwear, he raises an eyebrow at me. “Are yours on or off?”

I don’t bite back my response because it’s been such a long time since I casually flirted with my husband.

“You’ve been around these parts long enough to know the answer to that.”

If nobody else was home, they were always off.

He shucks them down his legs and I marvel at the naked man before me. Life had changed us, age had changed us, but the way his body calls to mine is a constant.

“Don’t get any ideas,” he playfully warns. “I still want to talk to you about how my day went.”

I raise my hands in surrender. “I can keep them to myself, you know.”

Leo offers me a knowing smirk as he slowly walks down the pool steps. He knows me well, and while there is no way I want to keep my hands to myself, if he needs me to, I can.

His teeth are clenched as he submerges himself neck-deep in the water. “Fuck, this was a terrible idea.”

Chuckling, I swim toward him, holding out my hand for him to take.

When his palm sits on top of mine I wrap my fingers around his hand and pull him to me. His legs wrap around my waist and arms around my neck, the water the only thing able to get between us. I move us toward the nearest edge and plant a kiss below his ear. “Tell me what you want to tell me.”

His body shudders at the sound of my voice and I feel mine already reacting to his presence.

He rests his head on my shoulder and I press soft kisses along his shoulder, just waiting for him to talk.

“I spent years not wanting to be my parents,” he tells me. “And it kills me to know it was all for nothing. That even with all the times I chose to not drink and be sober, I still ended up here, like them.”

I want to open my mouth to protest and tell him that his parents weren’t dealing with the loss of their child, but I’ve learned enough to know that giving him excuses for his drinking isn’t conducive to his healing. He needs to take responsibility for his actions and the consequences they incur.

---