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I start to count on it. On him. Every week he is waiting for me without fail.
Sometimes he brings hot chocolates for us to drink on the walk, other times small gifts. Never anything extravagant. A book he thinks I’d like. A scarf he saw and knew I’d love. Occasionally, he goes overseas for business, but he’s always back by Friday, and when he’s been somewhere exotic he brings me something from that country. Bookmarks from Japan, magnets from Australia and then a set of princess merchandise from Disney for Ivy.
It is four months before I ask him to come inside, and even then only for a cup of tea.
I curl my fingers around the mug and look across my dining table at this man I have loved since we first met and I smile. A natural smile. A smile without reservation, a smile that is stretched by my hopes and the certainties that have slowly been re-forming.
‘How is therapy?’
His eyes hold mine and I don’t see even a hint of hesitation. ‘I still go every week.’
My heart turns over.
‘I still haven’t had a drink, Holly.’
I swallow and look over his shoulder, not knowing what to say to that. He understands. He doesn’t want to pressure me.
‘I love you,’ he says simply and then stands, pushing his tea aside. He comes to my side of the table. ‘And I’m not going anywhere.’ He brushes a kiss against my hair and then lets himself out.
I sit there for a long time, staring at his mug, his empty seat. Strange that I think of that seat as his even though he’s occupied it for only a brief period of time. Perhaps I long ago allocated it for his use, when I was painting fantasies in my mind about what my future would look like.
* * *
Five more weeks of walking home together and sharing a quiet cup of tea, and then I hear myself say as he stands to leave, ‘Can you come next Thursday instead?’
His eyes meet mine, a silent enquiry in their depths.
‘Are you busy Friday?’
There is pain in the question. Pain, like he thinks maybe I’m seeing someone else. I can’t bear to hurt him. I shake my head.
‘It’s just...’ I suck in a deep breath. ‘Ivy will be here,’ I say. ‘I thought we could have dinner.’
His smile is everything I have ever wanted in life. It is bright and beautiful, bold and so full of every single shred of joy that surges inside me. He nods. ‘Thursday.’
* * *
He’s nervous as we walk home, and I remember then that he doesn’t want children. That this is a stumbling block distinct from all others. I ask him about it, and he looks at me slowly. ‘Dr Chesser has helped me understand that I’m afraid of becoming a father. Because I never had one. I don’t know if I’d be any good...that’s all. It’s not that I don’t want that...’
I let him leave the sentence unfinished because I understand.
And by the end of the night I know what he perhaps doesn’t. He will be an excellent father, one day.
* * *
We continue to walk home together on Thursdays but also on Fridays, and three Fridays after he first met Ivy I ask him to stay for dinner—with me. Not just a hot drink. The weather is warm now and we have a salad in my courtyard.
He leaves after he’s stacked the dishwasher, and my heart drops. I contemplate asking him to spend the night, but something—a shyness born out of how new all this is—holds me silent. The old rules don’t apply. It’s as though we haven’t been together yet.
* * *
Two weeks later, I find my courage. ‘I want you to stay,’ I say simply.
His eyes shine with triumph and gladness, but he shakes his head. ‘Not yet.’
I don’t know what he’s waiting for.
A month later is Ivy’s birthday, and Noah is at the party. He is an important part of it, for Ivy now adores him as much as I do. He sings ‘Happy Birthday’ loudly, and I know then how much I love him.
