Page 43 of Finding the Pieces

“So, what’s the verdict?” Chris asks with a knowing smile.

“I think we should come back next week,” I reply, grinning wide.

“Deal. Dibs on the sledgehammer,” Dee says before turning and launching the door open. “Ruby, put us down for next Saturday. What are my other options here?” she asks, gesturing to the tools on the table. “You got anything special in the back?”

“I’m proud of you, Ellie,” Chris says, still perched against the door frame.

I take a look around the room. Piles of broken pieces littered on the floor. It feels better to do the breaking for once, instead of feeling like I’m the one being broken.

“I’m proud of me too,” I say, breathless. “Thank you.”

The smile on his face is so loving, my heart warms at the reminder that my family could possibly be this wonderful.

Maybe I can leave a broken piece of myself here. Add it to the pile to be swept away at the end of the day. Maybe I don’t have to carry it all with me. Not forever.

Chapter twenty-one

Ellie

I’m brushing my teeth when Dom joins me in our en-suite bathroom. He steps up to the counter and loads his own toothbrush with far too much toothpaste before he starts brushing alongside me, his eyes finding mine in the mirror before he flashes me a wink.

I can’t help the clumsy smile that takes shape around my toothbrush, and I’m forced to spit the frothy bubbles into the sink. I start flossing, leaning my hip against the counter, turning to face him, and he does the same, still brushing.

I’ve learned to love the simple moments of two lives lived alongside each other, like this one. Quiet, seemingly unimportant moments, easily taken for granted.

But not by me. Not after what happened. Not when I thought there was a real possibility that I might not see any more of them. I wonder if everyone trying to make sense of some traumatic experience feels it. This weight of responsibility to appreciate all the little things, because now everything that used to feel small feels important, and everything I used to stress about feels small in comparison.

We finish getting ready for bed in comfortable silence before Dom turns down the forest-green duvet and beige sheets and I close the matching curtains.Dom turns off the light on his nightstand and I check the baby monitoronemore time to make sure Luca is okay before settling under the covers. My brain tells me he’s fine before the intrusive thought jumps out like a fucking jack-in-the-box, and well…an obsessive habit is born.

“Did you finish your puzzle pieces today?” Dom asks. He’d given me about a dozen pieces earlier, my next batch. So far, I’ve been getting a handful of puzzle pieces every few weeks, but this time was different. I haven’t seen any new pieces since Chris and Dee took me to the rage room at the end of January. It’s the end of February now.

“I did, but there was no special piece. No Ellie piece this time?”

He boops my nose.

“Nice try. Here.” He hands me another puzzle piece, based on the feel of it in my hand.

“In bed?” If he could see me—which I’m not confident he can, given how dark our room is—he’d see my eyebrow raised in question.

I thought we were still waiting on sex. We haven’t talked about it lately. Is he bored? Is he tired of waiting? Is he feeling as affected by me as I have by him lately?

Something about sex being taken off the table has made me think more and more about how good it might feel to put it back on the table. Or folded over the table. Or on the edge of the table. Fuck, we should fuck on a table.

“Should have probably waited to turn off the light. Here,” he says, flicking the small bedside lamp on his nightstand.

I turn the puzzle piece over in my hand to find his scribbles.

Talk pillow to me.

“I’m going to need some help here, sweetie,” I say with a laugh, having no clue what this means.

“Ten minutes, Ellie. Every night before we fall asleep, I want ten minutes of pillow talk, without the sex, obviously.”

“Without the sex…for now.”

“For now,” he affirms with a reassuring smile. “I was thinking the other day about all the little things we used to do all the time, like cuddling or even holdinghands. I know we’ve both tried to give our relationship a little TLC when we can, when we think of it, but I want intentional time set aside every day, just the two of us. I’m craving this in-between stuff. The stolen moments buried in our too-busy day.

“I think we forgot how to slow down. I want us both to sink into the quieter, unhurried moments together. We’ve been so busy trying to make big, loud memories, I forgot how to listen for the soft ones.

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