Page 25 of Dream with Me

When she comes to the end of the chapter she’s on, I tell her it’s time for me to go. A slight frown—one I’m pretty sure she’s trying to hold back—pulls at the corners of her mouth.

After I hug and kiss her goodnight, I’m halfway to the door when she calls, “Daddy?”

I stop and turn toward her. “Yeah, baby?”

“When can you come home?”

When I went downstairs to say goodbye to Shannon, my chest was aching, and a million thoughts of what I should have said to Chelsea were going through my head. Honestly, I was totally caught off guard and don’t even remember what Ididsay to her in response. I wasn’t going to throw Shannon under the bus and tell Chelsea I never would have left if it was up to me. Or that I’m always a breath away from begging Shannon for another shot.

Somehow, I landed back in the kitchen doorway, staring at my wife and wondering how we got here. And since we’re here, how do we minimize the hurt to our kids?

So, when Shannon asked me if I wanted to stay for coffee, it took me by surprise, and I said yes. We needed to talk about our kids. Westillneed to talk about our kids, and for a few minutes, while we had coffee and talked about Shannon’s job and the kids’ activities, it felt like old times. I don’t mean like the last few years, but before that, when one of us would say to the other, ‘Meet me for a drink.’

I smile, remembering those times. We could be in the thick of a wild day as parents of young kids, talking on the phone at the end of a workday at the station, and Shannon was exhausted from holding down the fort. When one of us said, “Meet me for a drink,” we knew what it meant. We knew it meant we needed to come together.

So, the next time the kids were all asleep, or at least entertained, whether early morning or late at night, we’d meet for drinks... in our kitchen—just us. Sometimes we’d have wine, other times coffee, or even juice—it didn’t matter.

At times, it lasted twenty minutes. On other days, we sat there for two hours. But there were three things we always did.

First, wealwayssat at our kitchen table. Mainly out of necessity at first to prevent us from drifting off since we were often running on fumes. Then, because it became our special place. Yep, our kitchen table was our special place.

The second thing was that we always used special drinkware we didn’t use for anything else. The treasured mugs were slightly misshapen and cobalt blue. We made them for each other during a pottery class we took on our mini honeymoon. When we met for drinks, whether it was coffee, wine, water, or beer, it went in those mugs.

Finally, we always, without fail, made a toast with the same three words every time.

“Dream with me,” one of us would say. We’d talk about our hopes and dreams for our family, our careers, and the vacations we wanted to take. It was our way of staying connected, not losing focus on the ‘us’ in those crazy early days of our marriage and our growing family. Our way of reminding ourselves we needed to take time to keep us strongly connected to each other, regardless of what life threw at us.

So, yeah, tonight felt like old times for a bit. But I was quickly reminded it’s not old times anymore when Shannon told me she wasn’t my family. Those words cut me deep, and I had to leave and get back to my place, where I could bleed in private.

Because we aren’t dreaming anymore. This is the stuff of my nightmares.

CHAPTER15

SHANNON

“Asshole,” a feminine voice mutters. In my peripheral vision, a flash of blue catches my eye. At the same time, the scraping of chair legs against the floor alerts me that someone is sitting with me.

I glance up from my study materials and raise an eyebrow at the woman. She pops the top off of her travel dish containing a delicious-looking pasta salad. As if she senses me watching her, she lifts her eyes to meet mine.

“What? Do you care if I sit with you or something?” There’s a little sass in her tone.

I shrug. “Normally, I’d say it’s fine, but if it’s me you called an asshole, then it’s probably not a good idea,” I deadpan.

I hold back a grin and maintain eye contact, so I notice immediately when a huge smile breaks out across her face, and a laugh escapes her. “No, not you. But I can’t say the same for your sweat stain of a supervisor.”

She stabs at her pasta salad with more than a little aggression and scoops a bite into her mouth.

“Will?” My surprise is obvious, and she glances over at me and rolls her eyes.

“God, don’t tell me he has you fooled. Yes, Will. I’m Tillie, by the way.” She goes back to eating her lunch, which reminds me I should probably take another few bites of my peanut butter and jelly sandwich since I only have a few more minutes on my break.

“Shannon. Nice to meet you. But you’re the second person in a few weeks to express having an issue with Will. Is there something I should know?”

She sets her fork down and looks at me. Her brow furrowed in confusion as she searches my face. “He’s not been an asshole to you yet? Or at least in front of you?”

I shake my head. “Not so far. He’s been nice. Very friendly.”

She huffs. “Yeah, I bet he’s beenfriendly.Is he calling you sweetheart yet or telling you to smile more?”

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