Page 3 of His Loving Wife

Really, we’re not. In fact, we’re young to have a sixteen-year-old. We were both only twenty-two when she was born, which puts us just shy of forty. But I feel older, and I’m sure Andrew does, too. Parenting generates an ache you can feel in your bones, a tiredness that never seems to cease. This is the closest I’ve felt to relaxed in… I don’t know when.

“Mom?” Noah comes running up to meet us. “What’s for dinner?”

“Burgers.”

He kicks the sand and rolls his eyes. Suffice to say, it’s not his favorite meal.

“It’s the last night. We need something fast and easy,” I say, sitting upright. “Have you started packing yet?”

Instead of answering, Noah stomps back to the ocean. He passes his sister, who barely stirs on her blanket. The blaring music in her ears means she can’t hear us, but I’m sure she’ll have her own insult about tonight’s menu.

“Maybe we should just order a pizza?” I say to Andrew. “That would give us more time to pack.”

“Burgers sound delicious,” he says, pouring two more shots.

“I thought you saidonedrink wouldn’t hurt?” There’s an irritation in my voice that’s difficult to hide.

“To vacation,” he repeats, pushing the glass into my fingers.

I hold eye contact as I down the second drink. He’s rarely been this optimistic in the past year, and I’m reluctant to ruin it.

I close my eyes again, savoring the refreshing feel of the breeze against my warm skin. “I need to start packing.”

“Do me a favor,” he says, standing, his balance stable. “Let’s eat, and then we’ll start packing. Okay? I’d like one more family meal before this all comes to an end.”

I nod and smile. Andrew is right. This is the most we’ve been like us since… I’m reluctant to even think it. Since the invasion. It’s like our lives have been in marathon mode ever since that night, trying desperately to keep up, not run out of breath. Here, we’ve been present for the first time in a long while. Hunting for sand crabs. Listening to music. Drinking tequila by the sea.

“I’m going to start the grill.” Andrew wipes sand off his shorts. He starts to take the bottle with him.

“Leave it,” I say.

He chuckles. “That’s what I like to hear.”

He walks away, leaving me alone on the shore.

We’ve been together over seventeen years now, an amount of time that seems to have blinked past. I think back to when we first met. Our senior year of college. We’d somehow managed to live in the same thirty-mile radius, attend the same parties, frequent the same library, and still never cross paths. That first time I saw him, it was an immediate connection. Not love at first sight, exactly. That is too abstract for either of us to ever believe. But there was a definite something, a stillness in the air, a quiet voice within telling me this was right. The two of us were meant to meet. Meant to be.

The attraction was instant. Not that Andrew was particularly good-looking, but something about him dared me to look closer. When he smiled, his eyes crinkled into two thin slants. There was something mysterious behind those eyes. Something quizzical worth exploring. I wanted to know more.

A member of his college fraternity, he was used to having girls around, even if they were after more alpha types in the pack. When Andrew looked at me, I don’t think he saw what he’d seen in girls past. I barely spoke at parties in those days, let alone flirted, until I found myself staring at those alluring blue eyes. In a trance.

For months, I remained locked in that stupor. It didn’t matter that I was dating someone else at the time. Everything else in my life seemed washed away the moment we met. Andrew and I never discussed exclusivity or labels. Our relationship with one another was understood. We wanted every spare moment to be spent with each other. Exploring different dive bars around campus and local hiking trails. Every minute, every second seemed like it wouldn’t be enough. Our need for each other was ravenous, insatiable. Both of us in a fever dream that we didn’t want to end.

Like all dreams, of course, it did.

Graduation was on the horizon, but that very adult step was preceded by the revelation I was pregnant. Due six months after we would receive our diplomas. Our relationship, so beautifully undefined, now felt bound within a certain set of parameters. Decisions had to be made. Choices that would affect our careers and education and relationship, not to mention our own wavering identities.

The night we found out, Andrew settled his hand on my lower back, rubbing in soft circles. “We don’t have to decide now, you know.”

“Decide what?”

“If you…” He waited, gripped his chin with his hand. “I’m saying, I support you no matter what you want to do.”

“I don’t know what I want to do,” I said, defeated. I didn’t appreciate the burden being placed on my shoulders. Andrew was trying to alleviate that stress, but I could still feel its weight.

“I’m not used to this,” I said.

“Being pregnant? I’d hope not.”

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