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“I won’t say that and you know it.”
“Say it. Please.”
“To the mf’n moon and back.”
“That’s my girl,” he praised with a smile.
The clearing of his throat startled me. My eyelids parted and there he was again. This time, it wasn’t a vision and he wasn’t mispronouncing my name. He was in front of me, covered in years’ worth of hair and dingy clothing. I’d seen him so many times in my head, it was the only reason I recognized him. However, he was almost nothing like the man who came to me on a daily basis. This man, the one before me, was darkness. The man in my head, he was light.
“I made dinner,” I confessed. “For us.”
Hesitantly, he opened the door a bit wider. Remaining silent, he welcomed me in. I stood in the foyer of the beautifully crafted home and waited for him to ease his mind by locking us safely inside.
“You should’ve saved yourself the trouble and ate alone,” he fussed, taking me in as we stood near the door.
Without warning, he turned and headed in the opposite direction. I didn’t miss the stern look on his face when he did, but it didn’t stop me from following him down the hallway. I felt like a lost puppy in search of shelter, food, and cold water to fill my belly and hydrate me. The urge to reach out and touch him, feel his skin against mine, and bring his head down onto my bosom while assuring him that everything would be alright was overwhelming.
Tears welled in my eyes, rattling my core and speeding the beat of my heart. This man was mine. The unsettling connection between us, I wondered if he felt it, too. I wondered if he knew I knew we were something—even if nothing right now.
He had to feel it, too. I cowered, on the brink of tears as I battled my emotions alone, following his footsteps, allowing him to lead me. It was my natural response to his dominance, to his authority. Submission was second-nature suddenly and it had never been my care.
Unable to stop my feet from moving and my heart from exploding, I ran into the back of him the moment he stopped in front of me. The plates in my hands didn’t budge. The air left my lungs, drying me out and making it much harder to breathe than it should’ve been.
I wanted… I needed to cry, and I almost did when he turned around, giving me his undivided attention. Too close and too comforted, we stood. I waited for nothing. If we remained the way we were for the rest of my life and his, I would’ve been satisfied.
The turmoil in his eyes made my soul cry. For him, I began to hurt inside. I wanted to bear his burden, too. I wanted him to share his load and tell me what was killing him inside. I wanted him to trust me enough to let me help mend the pieces of his heart that were sharp to the touch and too complex to deal with.
“Have a seat.”
He was cold and stiff as stone. Straight to the point, never giving any more than necessary. Nevertheless, I obliged and took a seat at the table I hadn’t noticed we’d approached. Too enthralled in my feelings and his pain, I didn’t know where we’d stopped.
I sat both plates on the table and pushed one toward him. He joined me, sitting on the opposite side. I watched as he removed the plate from on top of the food. Because I didn’t have aluminum foil or containers with lids, I had to make it work with the extra dishes in the cottage.
He said nothing before getting up and grabbing utensils and two bottles of water. Upon his return, he bowed his head for a brief second and then dug in. Too occupied with the look of satisfaction on his face after the first bite and the recognition of a recurrence, I didn’t touch my food. I couldn’t.
“Feels like déjà vu,” I whispered.
“It does,” he agreed, catching me off guard. It wasn’t until then that I realized he’d heard me and that I’d actually said it instead of just thinking it.
“It’s like it’s happened before.”
“Reminds me of dinner with my wife,” he revealed.
With squinted eyes, I tried to make sense of the situation. We’d been here before. Not at this particular location, but at dinner together. This time, the reel of visions didn’t require closed eyes. One after the other, images of him and me over a span of years, having dinner flooded me.
“Anna,” he called out, bringing me back to the surface.
“Hmm?” I tilted my head, waiting for his response.
His wrinkled brows and deep forehead lines displayed his lack of understanding. I quickly rewinded to see where the confusion might’ve been drawn and then it hit me. I’d answered to the mispronounced name he’d called me in the vision that consumed me on the porch.
“Who is Anna?” The words rushed from my mouth in an effort to gain control of the situation before we spiraled.
“My wife.”
I swallowed the thick air, trying to properly place my feelings as I wasn’t sure what I was feeling at the moment or why.
“Your wife?”
