"Any other time someone would have asked me that question, I would've said I didn't know. I've been so used to making myself small because of Derek. He didn't like when I wanted attention. Didn't like when I told him I needed him to be a partner to me. In fact, he didn't like anything I asked of him." The more I think about it, the more I realize that he cut me off at the knees every single time I asked him for something he didn't want to give. "So I'm honestly not sure what it is that I want. I think I trained myself to not want or expect anything."
"That's fucking sad," he whispers. "Because if you had been mine, I would've made sure you expected the world."
My chest warms, and my stomach gets queasy with excitement as I hear those words. "I don't even know what to say."
He reaches over and takes my hand in his. "Why don't you close your eyes and say what comes to mind first? If you could have anything, what would you ask for?"
It's uncomfortable for me to do this. I can't remember the last time I asked for anything other than the divorce. I stopped doing it once I realized that Derek didn't give a shit. He didn't want to make things better between us. He wanted to have his cake and eat it too. His idea of what the rest of our marriage looked like was considerably different than what I thought it looked like. At some point I stopped not only dreaming, but of asking for things, too. Inhaling deeply, I tilt my head back against the chair I'm sitting in, and close my eyes. "What would I ask for?"
"Yeah don't think about it too much, just decide quickly. Whatever your first inclination that you want, what is that?"
"A partner," I answer the question without hesitation. "Someone who will be there when I need them. Someone who knows what I need without me having to ask. The person who knows me better than I know myself."
The words hang in the evening air between us, and I feel exposed. I haven’t let anyone know my true thoughts and feelings on anything in years. Saying what you want out loud makes it real. And in my experience, real things can be taken away. Like love, marriage, and the hope of what your life will look like in the future.
Mark is quiet for a moment, and I'm almost afraid to open my eyes.
"Trish." His voice is low, steady. It’s deep, and causes goosebumps to pop out over my arms. Gives me a tingly feeling in the pit of my stomach where I haven’t had any feelings in a very long time. "If you let me in, really let me in, I just might be able to be that person for you."
I open my eyes then, because I need to see his face when he says something like that. I need to know if it's just words. If he’s trying to get the single mother from the bad marriage to trust me. Will I be a notch on his bed post? A conquest that he can go back to the fire station and talk about? These are some of my biggest fears. But when I look, his eyes are serious. They’re soft, and he seems to understand that I have trouble trusting. There’s an honesty to his face that I’m choosing to believe.
"That terrifies me," I whisper, swallowing roughly.
"I know." He doesn't try to talk me out of it, doesn't tell me I'm being silly, doesn't pivot to a joke to cut the tension. That’s the Mark I’m used to when he’s with my brother. But this one? I think this one is mine. He just reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, and then presses his lips to my forehead. It's slow, and gentle. I was absolutely not prepared for it.
I have to remind myself to breathe.
Before either of us can say anything else, his phone starts beeping, cutting through the night.
He pulls back with a half-smile that makes my pulse race. "Lasagna."
"Right." I laugh, and it comes out way more breathless than I intend for it to. "Dinner. That’s why we’re here."
"Come on, I’m starving." He stands and offers me his hand, and I take it. But I have to wonder if what either of us are hungry for is even food.
I’m sitting at the table, waiting for him to bring the food over. My stomach is tumbling in knots because I’m not used to a man cooking for me. Mark sets the lasagna down in the middle and we dish up our own plates, and for a few minutes we just eat. The silence is almost deafening. But then he laughs.
“Did Gunner tell you about the cat we had to get down from a tree the other day?”
“No!” I grin, sitting up straighter and giving him my full attention.
“Scratched the shit out of Ash, and Ash threatened to take it to the pound when we got it down.”
“He wouldn’t…”
He laughs. “He wanted to. Can I ask you something?"
"Sure," I say, though I brace slightly out of habit. Those words were never good when Derek spoke them.
"When was the last time a man kissed you like he means it?"
The question lands squarely in the center of my chest. I set my fork down and think about lying, or deflecting, but I find I don't actually want to do either one. "Two years," I answer honestly. "Give or take."
He nods slowly, his eyes heating, and takes a drink of his beer without breaking eye contact.
"Then I want you to know something." He sets the bottle down and leans forward just slightly, his forearms resting on the table. "If you want to change that tonight, or any other time, all you have to do is give me a sign."
My heart is going absolutely haywire inside my chest and I am very grateful that he cannot hear it.
