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“That’s a parent and child space.” She sails past it, and I look back on a frown.
“So?”
Her eyes flick to me briefly. “So, I don’t see any child in this lovely car of yours, do you?”
I don’t mean to look at her stomach. It just... happens. “Did you find your pills?” I didn’t mean to say that either.Wifesounded pretty fucking amazing. Mother to my children?
“No.” The car stops. She must have found a space. I don’t know.
“Did you miss any?” My wondering is just falling out of my mouth. I can’t help it.
“My period came last Sunday evening.” She jumps out, and I remain in my seat, my head spinning. Her period came. She was relieved. Which means she would have been worried. I don’t know how I feel about that. Do I have weak swimmers? I wince when I bite down a little too hard on my lip. God, am I getting too old to reproduce? She’s a twenty-six-year-old woman. Babies might not be on her agenda just yet, but they will be in the coming years. What if I can’t give her babies? That’ll be a good enough reason alone for her to leave me. My empty stomach flips, and I know straight away that it’s anxiety. Am Ithatbroken? And how many pills did she miss?
I blindly reach for the handle and get out, feeling... inadequate. Unsure. Fucking terrified. “Could you have parked any farther away?” I ask moodily as I pace around the car.
“At least I’m parked legally.” She collects a trolley. Not a basket for a few things, but a whole,bigtrolley. Is that a good thing? Is she preparing to stay with me for a while? Like, forever? “Have you ever been to a supermarket?” she asks.
Only for emergency supplies.“Cathy does it.” I trudge alongside her, my mind elsewhere. Should I get a sperm test? Have myself checked out? “I usually eat at The Manor.” I peek out the corner of my eye to gage her reaction to the mention of my business. It’s not a subject that’s been broached yet. And by the look of her suddenly sharp expression, it’s not one she’s keen to get to. So, we’re just going to pretend it doesn’t exist? Sounds like a good plan to me. Like ignoring the endless fuckups of my past.
Ava collects all the boring things as we wander up and down the aisles, while I collect essentials. I pick up a jar of chocolate spread and dump it in the trolley as we pass the baby aisle, my eyes once again studying Ava. She doesn’t give it a second glance. My shoulders drop. Hasn’t she given having kids a single thought? Does she even want them? We’ve never talked about it, because why the fuck would we when we’ve known each other mere weeks? She’s ambitious. Driven. I love that about her, despite it being irritating, if only because her aspirations feel more important than I am. And that, right or wrong, hurts. There’s nothing in this world more important to me than she is. Nothing.
“Do you not have anything?” she asks, confusing me, until I realize that while I’ve been contemplating life-changing stuff, Ava’s been practical and has spent that time considering my empty cupboards. It’s a sign of the drastic difference in our headspace right now.
I claim the trolley when she pulls some milk from the fridge. I need something to do with my hands. At least, my good hand. I’ve been trudging up and down next to her for half an hour. I can’t touch her. My hands are twitching. “Cathy’s been away,” I say as she takes the end of the trolley and leads us into the next aisle. The alcohol aisle.
I glance at the shelves, and I feel...nothing. It’s the same nothingness I felt when she walked out of my office the very first time I met her. No urge to get to midday and have a drink, only an urge to see her again.
Ava stops suddenly, gasps, and spins around, crashing into the trolley. “Fuck,” she yelps, and I flinch just as hard as she does, but for a very different reason. I keep telling myself that if I hear her curse enough, I might get used to it. It hasn’t happened yet, and she swears like a fucking man.
“Ava, watch your mouth,” I bark.
“We don’t need this aisle.” She forces me and the trolley back, away from temptation. She doesn’t get me. I shouldn’t be injured by that. I hardly understand myself these days.
“Ava, stop it,” I warn gently, hating the panic on her face.
“I’m sorry.” She looks like she could burst into tears at any moment. “I didn’t realize where we were.”
“For God’s sake, woman, I’m not going to dive into the shelves and rip the caps off the bottles.” I look down at her shin, which she’s rubbing furiously. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Shesoundslike she could burst into tears too, her voice broken. I felt the force of her shin hitting the trolley. She’s in pain. I take the few steps needed to get to her and fall to my knees, taking her leg and kissing the spot. I feel terrible. She’s hurt, and it’s my faultagain. I should wrap her up in cotton wool and never let her leave Lusso. It’ll save her pain, and it’ll save me guilt. And stress. “Better?” I look up, finding she’s staring down at me. She hasn’t tried to pull away. She hasn’t told me to get off. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, oblivious to where we are and who could be looking. “For everything, Ava.”For all you know, and for all that you do not. I’m sorry.
She swallows, one, twice, looking a bit bewildered. “Okay.”
Okay. It feels...inadequate, but what else did I expect? For her to fall into my arms and tell me everything will be fine? That she won’t leave me again? That yes, she wants to be with me forever, be my wife, have my children, stay wrapped up in cotton wool and let me keep her safe from the world and my past?
Is all that too much to ask, especially when a man’s life depends on it?
I sigh, dragging my heavy body, my heavy heart, and my heavy head up. I can’t help but kiss her stomach as I pass. She would look wonderful pregnant. And I’d double wrap that cotton wool. But I’m terrified the Fates have decided I was too careless with Rosie. That I don’t deserve the blessing of being a daddy again. I shy away from that thought—a thought that’s never entered my head—because I never had reason to think it. I have reason now. I want to be able to give Ava everything she could ever want. Rosie could never be replaced, but to have that kind of love again? And share it with Ava? It’s the ultimate.
I feel her studying me. I can’t imagine how disgusted she’d be if she knew the whole truth. How fast and how far she’d run from me.
I’d never get her back.
She’ll want the fairy tale when she’s ready. The perfect, wholesome husband. Kids when the timing is just right. I divert my eyes, ashamed, and watch as Ava walks away, leaving me to follow. Can she see me as that man?
When we make it to the checkout, I make myself useful, packing the bags while Ava unloads the trolley, and never once does she look at me. I keep telling myself that if there was no chance for us, she wouldn’t be here. I can’t entertain the notion that she merely feels sorry for me. That she’s here to help get me back on my feet before she exits my life for good.
She’s not capable of such cruelty.
