Page 37 of Wreckage and Rain

"I don't want to give him a deadline."

"Why not?"

"Because deadlines are for projects. Marriages aren't projects."

"Honey." Autumn reaches across the table. "Yours has been a project for months. He's just been the only one who wasn't working on it."

I sit with that.

She isn't wrong.

"Tonight."

"Tonight what?"

"Tonight I tell him. All of it. Every piece. Every grievance. And I tell him I'm done being invisible and gaslit about seeing things that aren't there."

"Good." She squeezes my hand. "And when he tries to make you feel insecure?"

"I don't budge."

"What do you do?"

"I don't budge."

"Say it like you mean it."

"I don't budge, Autumn."

"Better." She sits back. Picks up her coffee. "Now drink the latte. You look like you haven't eaten anything since the sad cake."

***

I spend the rest of the afternoon at the coffee shop with Autumn. Then take a long walk by the water to try and gain some perspective and strength.

I'm not stalling. I'm rehearsing. Building the case like I outline a thriller. Chronological. Specific. Airtight. Because if I walk into this conversation with feelings, Colt will hold me. He'll gaslight me and tell me I'm imagining things. His voice will be warm and his arms will be steady and I will go to bed feeling reassured and wake up tomorrow and nothing will have changed.

I can't afford reassurance. I need reckoning.

I get home at six thirty.

He is on the couch. He stands up the second I walk in. He has been waiting.

"Sit down, Colt."

He sits.

I don't sit.

***

“You forgot my birthday.”

His face changes right in front of me. Confusion first. Then he remembers, and the color drains out of him.

“Summer.” He gets halfway to his feet again. “I thought it was next week. My calendar must’ve…”

“I should not have to be an alert in your phone.”