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We sit together on a couch while Dr. Stein discusses Henry’s evaluation. Nothing he says is a surprise: Henry is smart as hell and a very nice kid. He’s also on the autism spectrum.
Lucie’s fingers twine with mine and squeeze tight.
“I know that’s not what any parent wants to hear—” the doctor begins, and she cuts him off.
“Henry’s exactly who he’s meant to be,” she says, though her eyes are bright, “and he’s exactly the son I want. We’re going to be fine.”
We leave the appointment with Henry between us, each of us holding a hand. She glances at her watch. “Do we have time to go to lunch before you head back to the office?” she asks.
Henry glances up, waiting for my answer.
“Why don’t we all just take the day off?” I ask, and for the first time since we entered Dr. Stein’s office, he smiles.
She was right. He’s going to be fine. We all are.
ON A KID-FREESUNDAY A MONTH LATER, Lucie and I leave Liam at the lake house to work on renovations—I wanted to do them myself originally to prove I was a different man than my father, but part of being a different man is not wasting time that could be spent with Lucie and the kids—and I take her to look at a place down at the busier end of the lake.
It’s a new build, twice the size of my house. Lucie’s eyes are wide when we walk in, and just keep getting wider. It’s not quite the house we rented over the Fourth of July, but it’s a hell of a step up from any place either of us have lived before, with six bedrooms upstairs.
We tour every floor and then leave the agent inside while we walk onto the screened porch overlooking the lake. At the house next door, a little boy is playing alone in the backyard, building an elaborate structure out of sticks. Already, I can see the friend we both want for Henry. And the future webothwant, I hope.
“Wow,” she says quietly. “This house is something else.”
I swallow. “Yeah? So you might want to live here?”
She turns toward me. “Hypothetically?”
I pull her hands into mine. “No. Not hypothetically. With me. You and the kids.”
She exhales. “It’s a big step.”
I’d hoped for slightly more enthusiasm. We haven’t discussed it yet, but I can already picture the day when we might add a kid or two to the ones we already have. I assumed that’s what she wanted too.
I tug on her hands. “What is it that you’re thinking but don’t want to say?”
She stares at the floor between us. “I feel weird discussing it.”
“Is it dirty?” I ask. “You can whisper it in my ear.”
She laughs. “No, pervert. It’s not dirty. It’s just…I don’t know. It might be a bigger step than I’m ready to make.”
“Okay,” I say, struggling to master my disappointment. “Is it too soon? Or is it something you don’t think you’ll even want to do eventually?”
“Neither one,” she says hastily, squeezing my hand. “I’m just not sure about the twins. Not everyone’s as liberal as we are. So, on the one hand, I don’t really care how it looks, but on the other, I’m worried about what kids will say to them and—”
“So you’re saying you want to get married.”
She blushes. “No. That’s exactly why I didn’t want to discuss this. Because itsoundslike that’s what I’m saying and I’m not. I mean, obviously I’m not. Neither of us is even divorced yet, so—”
She’s babbling. Nervous. There’s a laugh bubbling in my chest, one I struggle to hold in. “So you’re saying youdon’twant to marry me.”
She groans. “No. I’m just saying there are other things to consider and, well, I—”
“You aren’tsureyou want to marry me.”
She huffs an irritated laugh. “You’retryingto annoy me, aren’t you?”
“Just answer the question. Are you not sure you want to marry me?”
