Chapter 13
I didn't tell him I was going back.
I took a cab from the clinic lot and asked the driver to take the highway. It was just after three and the light was the same as that first afternoon, flat and white coming through the big windows. My key stuck for a second in the lock the way it always did. I had to jiggle it.
Inside, the apartment was cold. The heat had been on low for two weeks. I set my bag down and stood in the entry and just breathed.
You could still see where it happened. Not much, but I saw it. The rug in front of the windows had a pressed-down oval where my knees had been. The coffee table was pushed an inch off its mark, the leg leaving a pale line in the dust. The little trash can by the bathroom was empty. He'd taken it with him that day.
I opened the windows a crack. Air moved through. I kicked off my shoes and walked the place in socks, touching things. The kitchen counter where I'd left the box. The edge of the sink where I'd washed my hands three times. I pulled the white robe from the back of the bedroom door — I'd washed it since — and hung it up properly instead of leaving it in a ball. I made the bed. The movements felt deliberate, like I was putting my own hands back on everything.
My phone buzzed. Him.
You left before we finished the forms.
I typed, I'm at the apartment.
A pause. The three dots came and went. Then, Are you okay there alone?
I wrote, Come if you want. But knock.
He got there in twenty minutes. I heard him in the hall before the knock, that quick pace he had when he was trying not to look rushed. Then he stopped outside the door. He knocked, twice. Not his keys. Not just walking in.
I opened it.
He was still in his work clothes, black shirt under his jacket, but his collar was open and his hair was windblown. He held a paper bag from the grocery store and his hands were full, so he couldn't reach for me even if he tried.
"You came," I said.
"You said to knock," he said. He didn't step over the threshold until I did. "May I?"
I stepped back. "Yeah. Come in."
He came in and set the bag on the counter. Milk, bread, oranges, the kind of peanut butter I liked. Not a move-in. A restock.
"I didn't know what you had here," he said, looking around. He kept his distance. "I didn't want to assume you were staying somewhere else now."
"I am staying here," I said. I leaned against the kitchen island because my lower back had started to ache again. "At least until the birth plan is set. My OB is here. My appointments are here. I sleep better here."
He nodded and looked at the windows, the rug, same as I had. His jaw tightened a little.
"I kept thinking about that day," he said quietly. "Every time I closed my eyes."
"I know," I said.
He turned to me fully then. He didn't crouch. He stood on the other side of the island, both hands flat on the counter, giving me the whole kitchen between us.
"Anna, I came to ask, not to tell you," he said. He had to pause before the next part. "I want you to live with me. That's what I want."
I felt my chest pull tight. "I know that's what you want."
"But I'm asking if we can do it differently," he went on. His eyes moved over my face. "Separate places for now. I keep my place. You keep this. We set a schedule. I come here, or you come there when you want. We practice the nights. After the baby comes, we decide. No lease signed. No boxes."
That was not what I'd expected him to say.
"You'd be okay with that?" I asked.
"No," he said, and a short, honest laugh came out of him. "I want you where I can see you. I want to hear you in the next room. But I don't want you there because I carried you out of here that first day. I want you to ask me to stay."
I looked at the apartment around us, bright again now, mine again. I thought about the cab ride over, how strong I'd felt jiggling that key myself.
"I need this address for a while longer," I said. "On my forms. For my mail. For my own doctor's waiting room. I need to not feel like a guest in my own pregnancy."
"You won't," he said quickly. "We do it your way. Tuesday and Friday here, or whatever you want. Weekends we try one night at mine if you feel good. If you don't, I drive home. No questions."
"And if I say not this week," I said.
"Then not this week," he said. His hands hadn't moved. "You call it."
I pushed off the island and walked around it toward him. He didn't reach until I was close enough to touch. I put my hand on his forearm, over the black sleeve.
"You can stay for dinner," I said. "Here. Tonight. As a guest."
Something in his shoulders dropped. He covered my hand with his.
May you like
"As a guest," he repeated. "I'd like that."
I left the front door unlocked behind him and went to put the milk away. He stayed on his side of the counter until I waved him in to help me reach the top shelf.
