Slowly, I nod.
“When did you know your marriage was over?”
“Wow.” I’m surprised by how poignant the question is. He’s not asking if it’s over. He’s not even asking when it ended. What he’s asking is a much more sophisticated kind of question. I’d expect nothing less from my cerebral Virgo hockey boy. He wants to know when I was done. When did I check out? When did I know there was nothing left?
I swallow down the lump of emotion in my throat, clearing my voice. “Umm…I think it would have to be about five years ago,” I admit.
“So, two years before you actually split?”
I nod. Of course, he remembers the timeline. I’ve given him so little to work with, it practically fits on a Post-it. I bet he has it memorized.
“Yeah, it was that Christmas,” I explain. “Christmas dinner, actually. His mother always throws these beautiful, extravagant holiday parties. She loves showing off the family and pretending like we’re all happy, you know?”
He nods, listening as I speak.
“She’ll invite clients and old family friends. They’re always these big to-dos. But they’re intimate too,” I add. “We sing carols and do a gift exchange, and there’s usually always an ugly sweater contest.” I smile, picturing Bea in a gaudy reindeer sweater with blinking Christmas tree lights wrapped around its horns.
“What happened?”
I sigh, looking out at the ocean. “We were at dinner, and Troy was seated next to me. We’d only just sat down, and we were all shuffling the plates, you know, passing the relish tray and the breadbasket, asking your neighbor for the salt and pepper.”
He nods, still listening.
“Someone passed Troy the basket of dinner rolls,” I explain. “He took two, set them on his plate, and then he passed the basket across me to his cousin sitting on my other side.”
Ryan goes still.
“Look, I know it sounds dumb,” I say quickly. “The wife sitting at Christmas dinner knowing her marriage is over because her husband doesn’t give her the breadbasket. It sounds crazy…but so often that’s how he made me feel,” I admit. “I sat there in that moment, letting the breadbasket pass me by, and I knew it was over. Either this man that I loved was choosing to ignore me, or he was purposefully withholding choices from me. Worst of all was the question that plagued me the longest: Did he even see me at all?”
“Tess, I’m sorry,” Ryan says. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”
“Do you have any idea what that feels like?” I glance up at him. “Have you ever felt invisible?”
He considers for a moment before shaking his head. “No. Maybe it helps that I’m tall,” he adds with a soft smile.
“I’m glad for you,” I reply, genuinely meaning my answer. “It’s the worst feeling in the world, not being seen…walking through life like a ghost.”
“It’s happened before,” he intuits, his gentle gaze still locked on me. “You’ve been invisible before.”
I nod.
“Tell me when.”
“All my life,” I whisper, breaking our gaze to stare out at the blank expanse of dark ocean instead. “It’s all I’ve ever known. Everyone who was meant to love me, people I needed to care, people I needed to protect me…they all closed their eyes.” My eyes close too as a tear slips down my cheek. “They didn’t see me, Ryan. I was just a child, and they didn’t care.”
Ryan turns us until we’re practically face to face. With his hand still holding the end of the towel, he tips my chin up, forcing me to look at him. “Listen to me, Tess. I don’t know who you were before. All I know is who you are now. And from the first moment we met, not five hundred yards down this exact stretch of beach, you have been the only thing I see.”
I suck in a breath, eyes wide as I gaze up at him. “Ryan—”
“I see you, Tess,” he says, dropping his end of the towel to cup my cheek. “I see you. I can’t stop seeing you—your wit, your beauty, your grace. You’re so goddamn graceful. These fingers,” he adds, reaching down to take my hand. “I watch the way they dance through your hair, taming your curls away from your face.”
Lifting my hand to his lips, he kisses each of my fingertips, his lips soft. Each kiss lights me up inside, fanning the flames of my desire for him.
“Maybe you are a ghost,” he goes on, splaying my hand against his chest. “Because your laugh…it fucking haunts me. At the wedding, it was like I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, because you were everywhere all at once, laughing and chatting with everyone. I followed you across the party, Tess. I had to be closer to you, to that sound—I needed to be near you—”