I shrug. “A few, I think, but only one today. I guess the guys kind of pop in and out depending on when they have time and what their schedules look like.” I shake my head. “The pay is so good I didn’t question it, but I’m not sure how much they’ll be able to retain with this kind of haphazard attendance.”
“One guy?” Adam asks, voice raising in alarm. He goes straight for the jugular—the one thing I was hoping he wouldn’t land on.
My heart pounds. There’s nothing to feel guilty for. Nothing. “Yeah, I actually know him from Bronze Bay. He used to work with Aidan. He transferred here because this is where his family is from.”
Adam furrows his brow. I see the questions in his eyes, but he’d never ask them. He wouldn’t risk shaking the stable ground we’re almost on. “Don’t worry. He’s still as arrogant as he used to be. It’s challenging getting him to do anything other than praise himself.” I tap my chin. “That gives me an idea.”
Adam grunts, and grabs a beer from the fridge. He pops it open and looks at me, waiting for me to finish my thought. “The lesson will be he can only talk about himself if he does it in Spanish.”
Adam snorts a laugh. “That bad?”
“Yeah,” I sigh. “He told me how he’s not a normal guy.” I air quote the word normal, and laugh. “It’s asinine. He seems to want to learn the language, though.” I shrug. “Aidan hates him. I need to FaceTime him tonight. I want to watch his face when I tell him I’m teaching Leo Callaway. So rich.” I shake my head, clearing our dinner plates and silverware in a precarious stack on both hands.
Adam stays silent. It’s an odd pause, so I glance over my shoulder. He’s watching me. Watching isn’t the proper word. He’s trying to stare into my soul. Through narrowed eyes and pursed lips, his gaze bores through me.
“Are you okay,” I ask.
He looks away, neck working as he forces a grin. “Fine. We should get going if we’re going to make our appointment.” He finishes drying a dish and disappears into the hall.
Another goddamn therapy appointment. Usually, I’m okay with it. It’s when I get the things off my chest I can’t on a typical day. Today, it feels like too much work. What if the therapist sees through me? What if she can sense the tiny shred of happiness I’ve gotten from getting out of my house and away from Adam? I grab my jacket from the coat rack and wrap my scarf around my neck. I hear car keys jingle and I follow Adam out the door. We talk about the weather during the drive.
I ask him about his day, and don’t hear his answer. Mostly, we stay quiet. We know what comes next and it’s nothing but words and feelings. When I was still numb, therapy was the only time I felt anything at all. Adam has probably never needed to go. I know he does it for me, for our marriage. He’s too pragmatic about the whole situation. She was stillborn because she was unhealthy. Incompatible with life on Earth. All of the tests missed it. End of story. He thinks I don’t grasp that. I know he doesn’t understand there’s more to it. I went to a grief counselor directly after the loss, but I found these couples’ appointments with Adam helped me more.
He opens my car door like always. I don’t take his hand like I used to. We walk through the dark parking lot, and my feet get heavier as the spotless glass door comes into view. The second I enter the warm waiting room that smells like caramel and mint, I shift into autopilot. Smile at receptionist. Take the third chair in. Fold hands in lap. Keep face neutral. Adam checks us in. Then he breaks protocol and sits in the chair directly across from me instead of beside me. He sighs big and heavy. Adam is tired. I think it won’t be long now. He’ll leave me and abandon whatever the hell this loveless marriage is.
We stare at each other, trying to find a conversation that isn’t there anymore. I can’t tell you what’s going on in his mind and I know there’s no way he knows what I’m thinking. His eyes look challenging. He’s daring me to be honest. That’s what this is. That’s why he’s not in his normal chair. He’s trying to throw me off autopilot.
The therapist pops her head out of her office and calls us back. She uses my name first. I blow out a relieved breath and enter her office. Adam closes the door behind us and sits on the chair on the right side. My side. I panic a bit, but I don’t let it show. Sliding my jacket off, I hang it on the back of the chair on the left. Sitting down in his chair, I remove my scarf and begin twisting it in my hands.
“You guys have a good week?” she asks, removing her glasses and setting them on her yellow notepad.
There’s nothing more for her to write. She’s heard it all before in these months of conversations. Adam always speaks first. He’ll tell her what progress we’ve made as a couple and how he perceives our relationship status in relation to healing. He stays silent, one foot on his opposite knee, head tilted leaning on his hand. “Fine. It was a fine week. Right, Adam?” Why is he being so quiet? My stomach roils and flips as my mind races through the possibilities. I’m terrified this is the moment he’s going to drop the D bomb. I’m not ready. Am I?
“Kendall started sleeping in our bed again this week,” Adam says, voice monotone. Uninterested. “She still won’t let me touch her, but she’s in our bed.”
“You’re upset she won’t let you touch her?”
I swallow hard. “I let you touch me.”
“You pulled away when I touched your damn shoulder, Kendall. If you won’t let me touch your clothed shoulder what’s that say for sex?”
“You’re feeling frustrated because you haven’t had intimacy yet?”
Adam laughs. “It’s been six months. I have to watch her walk around the house in various states of undress knowing I can’t have her. My wife. It’s fucking torture,” Adam says, wincing. He turns his gaze to me and it cuts me to the quick. My unease grows. Now I know what I have to do if I want to destroy us completely.
I knot my scarf to busy my hands. “I’m not ready. I thought you understood that.”
“What are you ready for? You started a new job last week. It seems you’re moving on with your life.”
The therapist clears her throat. My cue to answer his question. “I don’t know. Not sex.” This is the first time we’ve tackled sex during our sessions. I should have known that’s why Adam was acting differently. We’re airing our dirty laundry.
“I’m happy to hear a job panned out That’s really a step in the right direction. You’re healing in your own way. There’s no wrong way or right way to move on after loss.” She directs a poignant look to Adam. “Be proud of yourself and this achievement. You’ll make friends there.”
I don’t have a lot of friends here in Cape Cod. I moved here with Adam after we graduated from Boston College. All of my high school friends are still in Florida and my college friends dispersed after we graduated. I don’t have anyone to lean on. I had no one to talk to after everything happened. My mom is far away, and despite her pleading with me to come home to live with her while I got over this, I was determined to at least try to suffer through this with my husband. That’s what an adult would do. I nod. “Thank you, I’m trying. It’s a really good distraction. The job,” I add, looking first at her and her bright smile, and then at Adam who is seething red with anger.
I look back at the therapist and meet her gaze. Her smile falls, “That’s a big step outside of the home. Do you think you can make another step in the home? For him? It doesn’t have to be sex, but something?” She’s embarrassed to say it. Adam is horrified she’s even insinuating it. I turn my gaze down to my fists. My knuckles are white. The whole point of this is healing my relationship.
“I cooked him dinner,” I say. “His favorite.”
