The Romance Revival(37)
“Well,” I begin slowly, “the more I look at our marriage in the rearview mirror…” I watch him rifle through what’s there: certificates, handwritten notes and calculations, and of course the stacks of various currencies I’d put in there in case anything went seriously wrong with BioNEX and we had to get out of town quickly. “The more I think you knew from the get-go that there was something unknowable about me and, for a lot of reasons, you were always okay with someone close to you having a life that you weren’t a part of.” He drops a stack of bills and turns to face me, brows drawn, mouth turned down.
“I was?”
I nod. “And I think I found in you someone who always saw the positive in everything when I always assumed the world was just… broken.”
“Okay,” he says, measured as always, and I know him well enough to know that he’s waiting for me to expand on this.
With the secret no longer between us, I turn away from the safe and hold out my arm so I can help him to the living room. We settle on the couch, and I pull a knee up, turning to face him.
We gaze at each other for a long beat while I pull my thoughts together. How many times did he patiently watch me, out of adoration or teasing or steadiness, while I found my words?
Taking a deep breath, I say, “I think there was a piece in each of us that fit a broken part of the other… and maybe not always in a good way.”
A brief, sad smile flickers across his mouth.
“I mentioned earlier how you practically raised your sisters, but I wasn’t exaggerating. From what you’ve told me, your parents were barely ever home. They’re lovely people, don’t get me wrong, but I’d say they’re lovely as friends to their now-adult children. At some point, you said, you realized they weren’t the kind of people who ever relished or even liked being parents to small children or teenagers. It’s almost like it didn’t occur to them that they bore any responsibility to raise you.”
Luca acknowledges this information with a small jerk of his chin.
“So you essentially raised yourself, starting as young as five. You’d get up and make your lunch and walk the few blocks to school, then come home and let yourself into the house.”
“Where were my parents?”
“At work during the day. In the morning, they were home but probably sleeping. At night, they went out. They were incredibly social and always had plans for dinner, or game nights, or even overnight travel once you were a little older. And by older, I mean, like, ten.”
“Huh.”
“You told me once that when Ana and Sofia were born, it felt almost natural that they were your responsibility.”
Luca looks to the side as if he’s searching for the evidence of this somewhere out the front window. I can see the frustration in the lines across his forehead, the tension in his jaw as he seems to dig into the mental depths for any memories.
“Honestly, Luca, I don’t think you ever asked your parents where they were or why they weren’t home. You understood the rules and did what you needed to do.”
At this, he looks back at me. “You’re saying you think I did the same with you?”
I turn my face down, feeling the weight of this as we both fully connect the dots. “I think you’re programmed to take the good and not look too closely at the bad. I think that’s what initially drew me to you. You were so steadily happy. I’m sorry I took advantage of that, too.”
He bends and digs his hands into his hair, letting out a frustrated growl, and I reach forward, rubbing the muscles of his back, hating the tight tension in his shoulders. “I just hate being told about myself,” he says. “I hate not knowing.”
“I’m sure. And I really will do my best to not assume things about you moving forward. For all we know, you might just be… someone new now. You get to decide how you react to things—to this, to us. You get to decide how you feel about me having a secret safe in the wall, you know?”
He nods, still bent, but slowly straightens. “I’m sorry. I just—”
Luca doesn’t finish whatever it was he was going to say. With great effort, he works to stand, and I resist the urge to help him, to offer an arm. Instead, I watch as he turns and makes his way down the hall to the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him.
* * *
I am completely at loose ends. The house feels too quiet, too still. I realize I’m used to Luca’s whistling, to music playing from the stereo, to the sound of him putzing around in the kitchen or backyard. When it’s just me, it’s like everything is blank, colorless.
In the kitchen, I press my hands to the counter and bend at the waist, taking a deep breath, trying not to freak the hell out. When I look down at the floor, the ceramic tile swims, and I become so dizzy I almost keel to the side and fall down.
Straightening, I slap both of my cheeks. “Wake up, Emery.”
I turn, blinking until my vision clears, and then make my way down the hallway, listening for sounds coming from the bedroom. After hearing nothing for a few minutes, I carefully crack the door open and peek in. Honey lifts her head long enough to decide I’m unimportant before settling down again. Luca is curled up and asleep on his side of the bed.
Protectiveness and longing streak through me, and I carefully step into the room, toeing off my shoes and telling myself I’m only going to stay for a few minutes, only long enough to make sure he’s breathing normally, sleeping soundly.