“We’re a little…nervous,” I finally say. I catch Kendall’s narrowed gaze followed by a smile forcing its way through her pursed lips.
There’s about two feet of space between our chairs, and I think it’s done intentionally. I imagine when couples are hashing out their problems to a third party, there needs to be a safe amount of distance between them, so they feel as comfortable as possible. But I wish it wasn’t there. I want to be able to run my hand down her back, reassure her so she knows we’re in this together, but I can’t quite reach her.
“That’s common and completely understandable.” Astrid looks at Kendall and adds, “Is there anything in particular that makes you apprehensive about being here?” I think it’s the way Kendall seems to fall into the shadows, willing to let the conversation happen around her instead of with her, that forces Astrid to apply a little extra care and attention to my wife.
“I think…just talking about us,” Kendall confesses. “I think that’s what’s making me the most nervous.”
“Okay,” Astrid announces, smoothing out her notebook. “How about we just start with some facts today.”
“Facts?” I ask.
“We’ll talk about how you met, how long you’ve been married, any big changes in your relationship, any significant events. We don’t have to go into detail, but we can sort of set up a timeline. So I can get a better understanding of you two as a couple.”
Kendall and I nod at each other. Facts. We can work with facts. Facts don’t need to be bent or deliberated.
“So,” Astrid continues. “How did you two meet?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Kendall
NOW
The sweet smellof pancake batter mixes with the satisfyingly savory scent of bacon grease the second we walk into Marie’s Diner. Though breakfast meat and pancakes fill almost every table as we’re shown to our table, my stomach growls with the thought of our usual order of hazelnut waffles and Coke floats. Our go-to since we met. Sometimes, it’s the only constant in our lives. When everything feels out of control and changing at a rate we can’t seem to get a grasp on, an hour spent in a booth lined with vinyl seats can put us back on track.
“Is there anything else you wanted? Like some fries?” James asks as soon as our server walks away from our table.
“Nope, I’m good.” I take a sip of my water, filling the conversation with something other than polite words. But it doesn’t feel awkward or forced. Just…unpracticed. I wonder if muscle memory works with the brain much like it does with our arms and legs. I learned to ride a bike when I was seven and I never forgot. I can still hop on a two-wheeler—sans training wheels—and ride off without having to go through an awkward learning phase. I wonder if talking to my husband will feel like that. If we need to get through the curve, as short as it may be, and it’ll be as if no time has passed. Or if it’ll be as if my memoryhas been wiped. And I’ll have to get to know him all over again, leaning hard on those training wheels I don’t want to depend on.
He nods with a pursed-lipped smile. His hands fold on the table, the silverware and his water tumbler bookending his conjoined fingers. We sit in silence, the sound of clinking plates and happy chatter amplifying the stiff air.
I play with my napkin, folding and unfolding the corners. Something to do with my hands instead of just staring at it, hoping some topic of conversation can be found in the creases along my palm.
“How are you feeling?”
I look up at him. “I’m fine. A little hungry, I guess.”
“I mean about the session.”
“Oh.” With it barely being the first session, we didn’t get very far. Scratched the surface, as Astrid mentioned. But still, it feels like we just ran a marathon. “I don’t know. What about you?”
He shrugs. “It felt like a lot but…it really wasn’t.”
“I know,” I confess, relieved we’re on the same page. “I feel like we just walked the last nine years of our lives on foot.”
“We kind of did,” he admits. “You know, talking about everything we’ve done since we met. That walk through our memories was a journey.”
We both sigh, our relief fading into a laugh. “Nine years can happen in a blink.”
“It can alsofeellike nine years.”
We told Astrid everything. Some included the nitty-gritty details we somewhat unwillingly told her about, and some more significant and noteworthy. Ones that acted as milestones, like landmarks or crossroads. There were moments when our stories swelled into excitement, our past bouncing off each other with excitement. We started to talk over each other. I would start my account of a story, and James would cut in, desperate to tell his side, and then we became this giddy, childish versionof ourselves. And then there were moments when we struggled through our words. Those moments in our lives that became low points and we had to dig through our past to rip out the secrets like an atonement for the cards life has dealt us.
We’ve had a whole marriage in nine years. A mortgage, car payments, careers we’ve built. A baby. And James is right. It flitted past us in the blink of an eye, but it alsofeelslike we’ve been living this life for five decades. Those days have felt long. All while the years have been too short. And I realize there’s no one in this entire world I’d have all of this with than my husband. I wonder if he feels the same way.
“Do you regret any of it?”
“No.” He reaches for my hand, and I don’t recoil. I let him slip his fingers into my palm, and his thumb runs circles over my knuckles. “Of course not.”
