Dean arrives, shaking hands with Asher, kissing my cheek. He's in his element. He always is. Dinner is the same caliber as last time. Different menu, same precision. Caroline sits at Dean's right again, and she occupies the role with total ease now. She directs the server with a small gesture. She redirects a conversation about Devon's school with the smooth efficiencyof someone who has been managing rooms like this for years. The diamonds at her throat catch the candlelight every time she moves. She is the lady of this house. Completely. It happened fast.
Asher eats. He answers when spoken to. He doesn't volunteer anything. Once again, I find myself talking more than I’d like, filling the gaps he leaves, laughing a beat too quickly at Dean's jokes. It's exhausting, and I'm aware of doing it, and I can't quite stop.
At the end of the meal, Dean puts his cloth napkin on the table and looks my way. I prepare for the question I always know is coming.
"Julie." His voice is warm, unhurried. "Are you happy? Is my son taking good care of you?"
I feel Asher still beside me. I think about the right answer, the true one. I think about the way Asher has been lately. There’s a disturbance in the force, so to speak. He’s not cruel, nothing like that. Just not quite there. Like something in him is running on a different frequency than it used to, and I keep turning the dial on my end and not quite reaching him.
"Yes," I say. "Always."
The words come out easily. It's not a real lie, I tell myself. He isn't treating me badly. He's just not as present. Not as invested. That's not the same thing.
Dean watches me for a long moment. His expression tightens and something behind his eyes shifts. He's reading me the way he always does, like I'm a document he's been handed and he's found ten grammatical errors and wants to red line them.
The silence stretches. Then he looks at Asher. Asher looks back at him. Nothing is said. No expression passes between them that I can name. It lasts only a few seconds, but it feels longer, the way certain silences do.
Dean lifts his glass and takes a slow sip. "You just let me know if he steps out of line,” he says finally. "Your happiness is the most important job he has.”
CHAPTER
TWELVE
JULIE
We'reon the couch watching a Law and Order that neither of us is really paying attention to. Asher has my feet in his lap, his thumbs working into the arch of my left foot with practiced pressure. It feels good. Familiar. He’s still not all here mentally, but I think he’s trying.
"You're tense," he says, pressing harder into a knot near my heel.
"Long day at the shop. We’re finishing that huge order for the corporate event."
"That's good though, right? Business is good?"
"Business is great." I wiggle my toes and he switches to my right foot. "Jamie's talking about expanding the product line to include wax melts."
"You should do it. You're good at what you do."
I watch him. He's wearing sweatpants and an ultra soft t-shirt from college, his hair still damp from the shower. He looks like a man who wants his wife to believe he’s relaxed, but it’s not totally effective. There's constantly something happening beneath the surface now. A shift in his behavior, a small distancebetween us. Nothing to worry about yet, but I know something is different and I’m watching. Things haven't been the same since his father got married. Now, Asher focuses a lot of his attention on that.
He hasn’t touched me in weeks. It's weird. We used to have sex often. Now, nothing. He's always tired, or stressed, or his mind is somewhere else. Tonight, though, he's here. He's touching me. He's making jokes about the detective on screen being an idiot. He's trying to be normal. I appreciate it. I think it’s time for me to do some trying, too. I pull my feet out of his lap and shift closer to him on the couch. He looks at me, surprised.
"What's up?" he asks.
I don't answer. I just lean in and kiss him. He hesitates for half a second, and then he kisses me back. His hand comes up to cup my face, his thumb brushing my cheekbone. I deepen the kiss, my hand sliding up his chest, and he makes a sound low in his throat that I haven't heard in too long.
"Fuck, babe," he murmurs against my mouth.
I laugh, shifting so I'm straddling him, my knees on either side of his hips. His hands go to my waist, pulling me closer. The kiss turns hungry, urgent. I can feel him hardening beneath me, and relief floods through me. He still wants me. We're still us.
His hands slide under my shirt, warm against my skin. I'm reaching for the hem of his t-shirt when the doorbell rings. We both freeze.
"Ignore it," Asher says, pulling me back down for another kiss.
The doorbell rings again. Longer this time. Insistent.
"Asher—"
"They'll go away."
