Page 7 of Say You Love Me

Hudson stares at me, a mixture of hope and expectation forming on his brow. “I don’t know anything about her other than her name,” he says, staring straight into my eyes. “But I want to.” He grins. “Besides, even if she was a serial killer, she wouldn’t kill me. She doesn’t know my last name.”

I laugh as my eyes slide from the droplets of rain hanging off the ends of his dark hair, across his smooth jawline, over the contours of his body displayed by the translucent material of his shirt and finally to the hand that’s still waiting for mine.

And I take it.

chapter three

NOW

~

HUDSON

I never thought it possible to love and hate someone in the same breath, but that’s how I feel about my wife. For the past few weeks, I’ve missed her more fiercely than I thought possible, but every time I close my eyes and think of her, it reminds me of what happened.

How it happened.

Why.

My mother is there to greet us when we arrive home. She comes running out of the house, arms wide, ready to greet Finity the way I should have. The way I wanted to. But everything is too raw, too exposed. To touch her would be to forgive her, and I wasn’t ready for that. I don’t know if I’ll ever be.

Finity hugs her tightly, tears slipping out the corners of her eyes. I used to love how close they were, but right now it feels like a betrayal. They walk into the house arm and arm, and I’m left to collect Finity’s bag. It’s easier to watch her from behind because she can’t return my stare. I can’t see the longing in her eyes, the desperation to be forgiven, and if I can’t see it, I can deny it’s even there.

She walks around the house, her hand reaching out to touch the familiar objects with affection, caressing everything as though it were an old friend. A lump swells at the back of my throat, but I clear it away and push past her, steeling myself against her appeal.

“I’ll put the bag in your room.”

I say ‘your’ on purpose and her eyes flash to mine questioningly. Before she left we were no longer sharing a bed. Before she left things were strained and painful. Now that she’s back, I expect them to be worse.

I contemplated moving my things into the spare room, but I’m a sucker for punishment and the thought of lying so far away from her when I know she’s so close was more torture than I thought I could bear. I look at our bed and try to imagine lying beside her again. But it brings back memories of what happened.

She is everything I desire and nothing I want.

Both Finity and my mother’s eyes are on me when I return but I don’t meet either of their gazes. Instead, I walk into the living room and turn on the TV as they speak in hushed whispers in the kitchen. I know my mother will be reassuring her, telling her I just need time. I know my mother will be telling her lies to make her feel better. It’s what she’s always done, who she is. But it’s not who I am. I can’t pretend like nothing happened, like nothing has changed, because everything has.

My wife isn’t the same person I married.

We became strangers overnight.

I turn the volume up in an effort to give them some semblance of privacy, or maybe it is to give the impression that I don’t care about their conversation, but regardless of my actions, my ears strain to hear their words.

She’s telling my mother about her time away. She’s telling her how she’s healed. How she’s better.

She’s telling her lies.

There is no healing from this. There is no going back. There is only us and there is only now and that’s all there is ever going to be.

I know I shouldn’t blame her, but it’s easier than blaming myself. Easier than admitting that we both shared in the responsibility of what happened or, even worse, admitting that neither of us are to blame.

My mother comes to say goodbye before she leaves. She rests her hand on my shoulder and leans forward to place a kiss on my cheek. She doesn’t say anything but I know what she wants to say. She wants me to forgive her. Sometimes I wonder if my mother loves Finity more than she does me. They bonded from the moment they met. Finity was the daughter my mother always wanted.

Once she’s gone, Finity hovers about the house, walking from room to room like she doesn’t quite know where she belongs. I can feel her eyes on me but I do nothing but stare at the TV and lift my beer to my lips. It takes her over an hour to pluck up the courage to sit next to me and as soon as she does, I get to my feet.

I can’t be that close to her.

I can’t even look at her because I know I am weak.

“I’m going to bed.”

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