Page 42 of Say You Love Me

The thought doesn’t bring with it the swells of emotion I was expecting. I thought maybe I’d feel happiness and excitement mixed with a little trepidation. Or maybe annoyance and anger mixed with sadness of the freedom we’d lost.

But I feel nothing.

I’m numb.

I consider calling someone, but I’ve got no one to tell other than Hudson and telling him over the phone doesn’t seem right. I’ve cut off everyone else in my life. The only person I cling to from my past is the memory of my father.

Maybe it’s my own childhood that is the reason I feel numb. Although there are happy memories I cling to, my life wasn’t filled with them. They were few and far apart, their frequency dwindling greatly after the death of my father.

But my child, our child, their childhood wouldn’t be like that.

Tossing the test aside, I get up and wander over to the window that looks out over the yard. I imagine a swing and Hudson pushing our child back and forth, a carefree smile across his face. I imagine a sandpit and them playing with trucks, spluttering engine noises coming from their mouths. I imagine Hudson coming home from work, hurriedly rushing through the door to be with us, the smile on his face stretched wide, his arms reaching to embrace us both.

We would be nothing like my parents.

But there is one memory of them that sticks out in my mind, one that brings me comfort, though I’m unsure if it’s even real.

It was late. I was supposed to be asleep in my bedroom, but the night was too hot, and I was too restless. Music floated down the hall and crept in through the cracks around my door. Mum had always told me that bedtime was bedtime. It was one of her favorite sayings. It meant I was supposed to stay in my room. It meant I wasn’t supposed to creep down to the living room or try to climb into their bed at night. But this night, the music called to me.

It was one of those songs that just made you want to dance. I opened the door as quietly as I could and crawled down the hallway, ready to scamper back to my room if needed. There were no lights on in the living room, but when I poked my head around the corner, I saw them outlined by the light of the moon streaming in through the window. My mother had her cheek pressed to his chest and Dad was clutching her hand, holding it against his mouth as though he were pressing kisses to her knuckles.

It was the only time I remember them being affectionate. I guess that’s why when Hudson comes home that night, I ask him to hold me as music plays quietly in the background. It’s a memory I cling to desperately, one I want to be true, but instead of ever asking my mother about it, instead of having to accept that it might be nothing but a dream, I decide to make it my own reality.

We dance alone in the dark, nothing but the light of the moon pouring through the bedroom window to guide us. My hands are looped around his neck, my head pressed to his shoulder. His fingers are splayed across my lower back as though they are trying to touch as much of me as possible. They are demanding. Protective. We sway in time to the music, our movements lethargic.

He brushes his lips over my ear. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“You’re going to be a father,” I whisper.

chapter nineteen

NOW

~

HUDSON

There’s something wrong with me. I can’t stop thinking about another man’s hands on my wife.

When I’m at work, visions of his fingers twisted into her hair keep replaying through my mind. The look in his eyes, one of pure bliss, one of rapture that he gets to touch her. The way his tongue darted over his lips and his eyes kept skipping to mine for permission.

When I’m at home, I keep hearing the noises she made, the sighs and the moans. I keep hearing her say his name with my fingers deep inside her.

And I want to hear it again. For some unknown reason, his touch wipes away the memories that have haunted me ever since that night.

A week has passed. Finity and I are sitting on the couch, television in front of us, glasses of wine in our hands. It’s a typical Friday night but I don’t want a typical Friday night. I want to watch him driven insane by his need to touch her. I want her to stare at me as his mouth is on her skin.

“What do you think Rylee is up to tonight?” I try to ask it casually, but there’s gravel in my tone.

Finity looks over at me. It’s the first time I’ve mentioned him since he came over for dinner. We haven’t talked about it at all, what happened. It’s like if we voice it out loud, it would break whatever this spell is that’s descended over us. One where we almost seem normal again. One where there exists the possibility of forgetting.

She laughs, but it’s tight and strained. “Probably at a club or some nonsense.” She takes a sip of her wine. “It seems like a lifetime ago that we used to do that.”

“We should go.”

Finity frowns. “Now?”

“Yeah, why not. You should text Rylee, ask him where he is, see if he feels like some company.”

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