Page 82 of Chosen Road

She smiled back and padded over to the stove in her bare feet. Alex was right. We had to find her comfy winter shoes.

“Kala, agori mou. Daddy, he has to change from work and Yiayia needs some rest. Come talk to me in my room, Alex mou.”

Alex heaved her off the couch and I nearly stumbled trying to get my hand under her good elbow before he yanked her good arm off.

“Alex! Easy, son!” I yelped.

“You have to be gentle with a lady, agapi mou. Who going to marry you if you no be gentle?”

“I’m not getting married, Yiayia.”

“What you mean you not getting married? Who gonna give me more grandchildren?”

“Jace. He has a girlfr-”

Their voices were cut off by the closing of her bedroom door.

I rubbed my chin, looked at Amber, and laughed. “Thank God it’s not Alex with the girlfriend.”

I crossed to my wife and gently took her in my arms.

She dipped her chin, not offering me her mouth, and I didn’t push. Rubbing her cheek against my chest, she wrapped her arms around my waist and relaxed against me as I ran my hands up and down her spine.

She’d been eating more, and I could feel a slight difference in her frame. I molded her body to mine and heard the hitch in her breath.

“How was your day?” I murmured.

“Good,” she rasped, then cleared her throat.

“You finished early with your files.”

“Um… I didn’t do them.”

“What? You didn’t? But they’re on the left side of the desk?”

She snickered. “I know.” She released me and pushed against my chest lightly, nervously looking over my shoulder towards Yiayia’s room.

That hurt, and though I tried to hide it, she saw it.

“It’s not that I don’t want to be close to you, Gus. I do. Very much. But I don’t want to confuse Alex until we know what we’re doing.”

I opened my mouth to argue with her. At that very moment, I saw the mask of composure come down over her face and I knew. I knew that she voiced her thoughts only to be shut down.

I swallowed my protests instead. “Okay.”

Her eyebrows flew up. “Okay?”

“Yes, okay.” I stepped away and sat on a stool at the breakfast bar. “Tell me about your files.”

She shrugged. “They’re not my files.”

“What do you mean? Whose are they?”

“Bill always asks me to look over the files of the younger, less experienced social workers. When it started, I caught a few mistakes. Big ones. Since then, he’s had me reviewing the cases he feels aren’t getting enough attention.”

“On top of your regular workload,” I stated flatly, not liking where this was leading. Her eyes darted to mine. I noted the anxiety on her face, waiting for me to disagree. I held my silence.

“Yes.” She rolled her lips between her teeth, and I waited. “I promised that I would make better choices this time around and part of that is not taking on work that is not mine.”

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