Yes, Graham kissing someone who wasn’t me is the single worst thing he’s done during our relationship. But I’m not completely innocent in this situation.
Forgiving him isn’t even what I’ve been worried about.
I’m worried about what happens after I forgive him. We had issues before he kissed another woman. We’ll still have those same issues if I forgive him. That night in the car, before the miscarriage, Graham and I fought about the affair. But as soon as we open this floodgate tonight . . . that’s when the real fight will happen. That’s when we’ll talk about the issues that caused all the other issues that lead to our current issues. This is the talk I’ve been trying to avoid for a couple of years now.
The talk that’s about to happen because he just flew halfway around the world to confront me.
I pull away from Graham, but before I can speak, Reid and Ava interrupt us, but only momentarily. “We’re going out for dessert,” Ava says, pulling on her jacket.
Reid opens the front door. “See you two in an hour.” He closes the door and Graham and I are suddenly alone in their house, half a world away from our home. Half a world away from the comfort of our avoidance.
“You must be exhausted,” I say. “Do you want to sleep first? Or eat?”
“I’m fine,” he says quickly.
I nod, realizing just how imminent this conversation is. He doesn’t even want food or water before we do this. And I can do nothing but stand here like I’m trying to decide if I want to talk it out or run from him so we can continue to avoid it. There’s never been so much tension between us as we contemplate our next moves.
He eventually walks to the table. I follow him, taking a seat across from him. He folds his arms over the table and looks at me.
He’s so handsome. As many times as I’ve turned away from him in the past, it’s not because I’m not attracted to him. That’s never been the issue. Even now after a full day of travel, he looks better than he did the day I met him. It always works that way with men, doesn’t it? They somehow look manlier into their thirties and forties than they did in the pinnacle of their youth.
Graham has always taken good care of himself. Still, like clockwork, he wakes up every day and goes for a run. I love that he stays in shape, but not because of the physical attributes it’s given him. My favorite part of him is that he never talks about it. Graham isn’t the type to prove anything to anyone or turn his fitness routine into a pissing match with his friends. He runs for himself and no one else and I love that about him.
He reminds me a lot in this moment of how he looked the morning after we got married. Tired. Neither of us got much sleep the night of our wedding and by morning, he looked like he’d aged five years overnight. His hair was in disarray; his eyes were slightly swollen from lack of sleep. But at least that morning he looked happy and tired.
Right now, he’s nothing but sad and tired.
He presses his palms and fingertips together and brings his hands against his mouth. He looks nervous, but also ready to get this over with. “What are you thinking?”
I hate the feeling I’m experiencing right now. It’s like all my worries and fears have been bound together in a tight ball and that ball is bouncing around inside of me, pounding against my heart, my lungs, my gut, my throat. It’s making my hands shake, so I clasp them together on the table in front of me and try to still them.
“I’m thinking about everything,” I say. “About where you went wrong. Where I went wrong.” I release a quick rush of air. “I’m thinking about how right it used to feel and how I wish it was still like that.”
“We can get back to that, Quinn. I know we can.”
He’s so hopeful when he says it. And na?ve. “How?”
He doesn’t have an answer for that question. Maybe that’s because he doesn’t feel broken. Everything broken in our marriage stems from me, and he can’t fix me. I’m sure if he could somehow fix our sex life, that would be enough to appease him for a few more years.
“Do you think we should have sex more often?” Graham almost looks offended by my question. “That would make you happier, right?”
He traces an invisible line on the table, looking down at it until he begins to speak. “I won’t lie and say I’m happy with our sex life. But I’m also not going to pretend that’s the only thing I wish were different. What I want more than anything is for you to want to be my wife.”