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“I’m not moving to New Jersey or Rhode Island, honey. Our life is here, our kids are here.”
He just delivered the star evidence as though I’m about to argue a case before the Supreme Court.
“And did you just hear yourself? Those are our kids. We have a life to fight for. You’re right, we can’t get the toothpaste back in the tube. But we’ve done good—not just for one another, but for others.” He’s quiet, not responding to me, and I change the subject slightly. “What did you do with the painting that was upstairs? All the different facial expressions, same face.”
“It’s in the hall closet.” He pushes to his feet, not offering to help me up. “I’m going to go paint for a while. Please let me be by myself, for now.”
I hate how cold he is, as if I’m the problem and I broke our family apart. “You know, I’m not the one at fault here.”
He stops but doesn’t turn around. “I know, Ash.”
“Then stop treating me as if this is my fault. This isn’t my fault, nor is it yours. Fuck, I can’t even blame your mother, really. She was just trying to do what was best for her child. If anyone understands the love for children that aren’t biologically hers, you and I do. Stop treating me like I’m the enemy. You don’t need to be the martyr. You’re not the scapegoat. You don’t have to punish yourself just because we find ourselves in an impossible situation.”
He bows his head like he may pray, though my husband isn’t a religious man. “And maybe you can stop treating this situation as if it doesn’t change a fucking thing. Because it does. It changes everything.”
He continues toward the front of the house, and the steps that sit right behind the front door. I let him go. For now.
43
Noah
He left the house.I heard the old hinges on the back of the door, and how it slammed when he walks down the porch, leading to the line of trees. I stand at the window in our bathroom looking out the back part of our land. He’s walking toward our bench. I follow his movement until he’s out of my line of sight.
“I love you, Ash,” I say out loud for no one but me to hear. “I love you so much.”
He has so much faith we can overcome this. I don’t. Can I make love to him, like I have in the past, and not think about how we were born together? I can’t say what happened early in the morning was making love. It was raw, and gritty and violent. We both needed it. And fuck, why was it so hot? But, when we’re gentle and loving and we’re one, am I able to look at him the same way?
I turn around, leaving the bathroom, stepping in front of my canvas. It’s a piece that shows as much raw emotion as my last one. It’s a collage of so many places that make up our history, our story. It’s a road. I’ve painted an actual road, with turns and bends and bumps in it. But off of it are the places we’ve been, blurred. I’d not call it completely abstract. You can make out the Space Needle, but it’s hazy and a bit distorted, along with Hay Stack Mountain, hiking here in Maple Falls, and Kate’s gallery. I’m not done with all the places our road has taken us, but now I look back not with appreciation but regret.
Could it be what society has taught me? That loving him is wrong? And maybe I’m the problem too. Twenty-four hours ago, I would have thought the same thing. But, Ash was right. We didn’t go out with the intent of falling in love. I didn’t date Liam, which the world would have thought wrong.
It’s so fucking confusing. It doesn’t help that Liam is calling me. He needs me. And part of me needs him. Will I still feel that strong twin connection that has always been there? Will this ruin me and Liam too?
I continue with the colors, starting on my place onOur Map of indecent Desire. It’s not a very subtle title for the piece.
I begin on the outside of the old warehouse. The brick facade is clear, but the part where our home had been, the cluster of windows, the place we called ours when we first married, is vague.
How does this hurt so much? Oh, yeah, because he’s my fucking world.
My phone begins to ring. I walk over to the bed, seeing Liam’s face on the screen.
I can’t ignore him. I grew up with the man, and although I have no idea what he is to me, all those years mean everything to the both of us.
“Hey.” I almost say little brother, but he’s not. He’s technically older than me.
“Where the fuck are you? I about died, and you weren’t here when I opened my eyes. Is this about me seeing Tia, which I assume is out of the bag now?”
In two sentences, I realize blood or no blood, Liam will forever be my brother. And fuck, how am I not there for him?
“So, where are you, asshole? And why isn’t Mom up my ass? I’d thought she’d be bossing every fucking nurse and doctor around. Dad’s here, but he’s a little off. Then again, duh, I almost died.” There’s silence on my end. “Are you going to speak?”
“Yeah, sorry, Lainey is having a hard time. Give me a couple hours. I’ll get there soon.”
He’s quiet on the other end. “You’re not mad about Tia and me?”
“Oh, I’m mad,” I reply. In retrospect, I have so many other things that consume me, but right now I don’t have the energy to worry about Liam and Tia. They’ve dated for over a year. Ash and I were married within a year. I assume they’re serious and it’s a hurdle they’ll have to cross, just like Ashton and me. “But in the whole scheme of things, it sounds like you’ll be walking out of the hospital, which is a miracle in and of itself.”
“I guess you’re right. I was going to tell you, but mom was so weird about Ash that Tia was afraid Mom would hate her too.”
