Page 72 of Dream with Me

Fifteen minutes later, I’m showered, dressed, and waiting for him at the table by the window. When he walks into the room, the aroma of coffee fills my nose, and I inhale deeply. Maybe the savory smells can somehow caffeinate me just from the aroma. He also carries a bag, and I’m guessing he has some pastries or bagels in there.

We sit at the small table and take about ten minutes to sip our coffee and pick at the breakfast sandwiches Troy managed to find. I don’t know how to start this conversation, but I know it needs to happen.

“I checked the weather while you were downstairs, and it seems like the storm has stopped, and they’re trying to get the roads cleared. We could probably head home in a few hours.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking. Why don’t we finish breakfast, and then we can take some time to talk a little bit before we leave?”

Once breakfast is finished, we grab our coffees, and Troy moves over to the bed. He leans back with his head against the headboard, his legs stretched out. I join him, sitting cross-legged at his side. My knees touch his leg, and the connection feels important.

“I guess I should go first,” I say, looking up at him for his agreement. He nods, and I know he’s ready. “Okay, here goes.”

It turns out that talking about talking about things is easier than actually doing it—at least easier than getting started. I look down at my nails and pick at the chipped pink polish. When Troy’s large hand reaches over and cups my cheek, I lift my eyes to meet his.

“It’s okay, Shannon. Whatever you have to say, it’s gonna be okay.” I hate that I see worry on his face, that my hesitancy to get started makes him insecure about what I will say.

“Bear with me as I try to get this all out. It’s taken me some time to sort through everything, but I mostly have it clear in my head. Still, you know, sometimes my brain goes faster than I can keep up with, and things just come out of my mouth.” He gives me a sexy grin.

“What? I hadn’t noticed,” he deadpans.

“Very funny. All right, I’ll recap what I believe went wrong over the years. How... how we got here.” I look up at him, and he gives me an encouraging hint of a smile. “I think what happened to me over the years is that I had all these dreams when we were younger about what life would look like. We were going to have as many kids as we wanted, and I was still going to have my career. I would be a partner in an accounting firm at a very young age, or else have my own accounting firm but still keep everything I wanted. The thing is, once we started having kids, that obviously got a little bit harder to manage, especially with your schedule and needing to be gone twenty-four hours at a time.”

Troy casts his eyes downward, and a frown mars his face. I scoot closer to him, aiming to increase the physical connection.

“Wait, don’t get upset or feel bad. I’m just telling you the details,” I say. He gives me a small smile, which I know is for my benefit. “After we had Chase, I’m pretty sure I had something beyond the usual postpartum blues. I dipped into postpartum depression, and I didn’t know enough, nor was it bad enough, to seek help. The problem was that instead of going away, it evolved into ongoing depression. Left untreated over several years, it got worse. Through counseling…” I pause and take a few deep breaths because here’s where it gets more intimate, and I share the broken parts of me. “Through counseling, I realized I’m very hard on myself. I’ve always found my self-worth in what I could accomplish with my brain because I never felt like the other parts of me were all that spectacular.”

“Shan—” I hold my hand up to stop him. His hand rests on my lower thigh, keeping me grounded.

“Let me get this all out. It’s hard, and I have to let it out once it starts.” He watches me intently, waiting for me to speak again. “I’ve indulged in a lot of negative self-talk over the years about my physical appearance when I couldn’t lose the extra baby weight, about my mothering skills. That all tied into the depression, but I also don’t think it’s super uncommon in busy moms who are trying to hold everything together. Anyway, over the years, and especially the last year, I convinced myself that the way I was feeling was because my dreams got pushed to the side since they didn’t fit easily in our lives. Then, I blamed you for that, whether I realized I was doing it at first or not. Once I started placing blame in my mind, I couldn’t see the good things and what I loved about you as much as I had early in our marriage. I found fault with whatever I could. Now, it breaks my heart that I didn’t know about your struggles. Or that I didn’t pay attention. I was focused on me...”

Tears trickle down my face as my emotions become overwhelming. I sniffle and swipe at them with the back of my hand. Troy parts his legs and taps the bed between them.

“Come here, babe. Please, sit closer to me.”

I wiggle myself into the space between his legs and rest my back against his chest. When he wraps his arms around me and holds me, it’s a little bit easier, and I can continue.

“So, there’s all of that combined with the fact that we stopped making an effort to have our alone time, which I know is hard with four kids. I think that’s what pulled us apart. By the time I asked for a divorce, it felt like there was no coming back from where we were.”

I wipe at the tears rolling furiously down my face and sniffle. Troy grabs the box of tissues from the nightstand and hands them to me. I blow my nose and gather myself for a moment.

“Are you still okay talking about this? Or I could talk if you’d rather?” Troy’s voice sounds nervous, as if he’s afraid my answer will be that I’m not up for continuing this. But I owe it to our marriage to finish it.

“Me. I’ll finish...When we separated and I got treatment for my depression, I started seeing things in a new light. It took a while, but my mood lifted with the help of medication, and counseling helped, too. I learned how to control my negative self-talk better and recognize that my worth as a person isn’t tied to being smart or what job I have. I was excited to take my CPA test and reintegrate into the workforce because I felt like I was finally getting a second chance to fulfill my dreams. But then, a little bit into it, I realized what my dreams were when I was twenty weren’t the same dreams all these years later. Because at that young age, I didn’t know what all life could offer. My imagination and vision for the future—my dreams—were based off what I’d seen other people accomplish or think they’d accomplished, not off what I’d experienced. I got to Stinson’s and realized it wasn’t my dream anymore, Troy.” I lay quietly against his chest, trying to figure out how to say the next part.

“Do you know what your dream is now?” There’s a slight tremble in his voice.

“Professionally, I think I do. Personally, yes. I realize my dreams are no longer built around the milestones they used to be. They’re no longer sitting on a foundation of what career I have and how good I am at it. My dream is to have our family together again. To have more of those moments that great memories are made of. To see you relaxed and free with our kids. To go to sleep with you at night.” He inhales sharply. “My dream is to have our family back, live our lives together, and find ways to fit the other things in. Things that matter, like work, but that don’t matter most. Because it’s us that matters most.”

I spend the next thirty seconds awkwardly turning myself around between his legs, facing him now with my legs wrapped around his waist. His hands encircle my waist. His eyes fill with hope and love.

Once fully situated, I’m ready to continue my explanation.

“The job, anything else, it’s never first. I still want to work, but I don’t need to prove myself to the world anymore. I want us back just like we were before things got hard. Maybe better, even. I want us to meet for drinks and dream about our future together—not have dreams that don’t include the other. I’ve gotten a taste of that these last few months, and dreams that don’t include you and me together aren’t dreams. They’re more like a nightmare.”

“Please tell me you’re saying what I think you’re saying,” Troy says with a shaky voice. His hands squeeze my hips, and I don’t think it’s even intentional.

I lift my hand to his jaw and trace my fingertips back and forth over the stubble that’s grown since yesterday. Then I cup his jaw with my hands on both sides and look directly into his eyes.

“I’m saying, if you’re willing, I’d like to work on putting our marriage back together. I’d like to work on fixing our family and planning what we want for our future. Together. I won’t be perfect. I was so angry at you, thinking you didn’t see me, that you didn’t know me. Through all of this, I realize you always did. I didn’t always see me, though, and I definitely didn’t see you, and that wasn’t fair. You’ve lived with buried pain and sorrow all these years, too, and I’m so intensely sorry I didn’t see it. I’m sorry I didn’t help you?—”

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