“Sure, sure, I can get that to you by tomorrow if you want,” Amber says agreeably. But then she asks. “Are you sure you want to leave, though? It doesn’t sound like you do.”
I let out another groan. I called Amber mainly for legal advice and because, unlike Lena, she doesn't have an advanced psychology degree. So I'm disappointed when Amber pins me down with a challenging question anyway.
“I thought you hated Victor and didn't believe in love,” I say to her in a totally accusatory tone.
“Okay, I’m all on board for taking this asshole down if he tries to use this baby to manipulate you or take away your parental rights. But that’s not happening so far. It sounds like you two are exploring what a relationship would be like outside of anger and revenge. And yeah, I used to not believe in love. In my experience pre-Luca, most marriages end miserable or in divorce court. Plus, of all the cases I’ve taken on, only two of them ended with the couple getting back together.”
“See—” I start to say.
However, Amber interrupts before I can finish pointing to her own data. “But one of those cases is my own. And the other I can’t talk about because of attorney-client privilege but trust me they’re ecstatically happy ever after these days. So, some couples who are broken can be fixed. And you know, sometimes the mosaic you put back together ends up being better than that fragile piece of porcelain you had the first time around. You can't change the past, but the future—that's up to the two of you.”
I still, my heart falling weirdly quiet as her words resonate through me.
“But hey, maybe you and Victor aren’t one of those outlier couples,” Amber says immediately after delivering her beautiful speech. “Like I said, I can probably have those papers ready for you in the next couple of days. And if you let me know by Thursday, I’ll make arrangements to come up on Friday to put you on a plane back to Pittsburgh and deliver the custody papers to Victor myself.”
So I have an out. I can go back to the life I just got started in Pittsburgh, and I don't have to stay here with Victor or my rapidly melting heart, which has proven itself to be a terrible decision maker in the past.
There are no thunderstorms that night. It's nice and peaceful. But I'm anything but….
2 AM finds me wide awake. And against my better judgment, I get out of bed for that glass of water.
I don't know why I’m so afraid. Last night was a one-off. And it’s even later tonight. Surely he won't still be awake too—
I stop short when I see the orange light spilling out from underneath his door, refuting every single thing I told myself before exiting my sanctuary.
He’s still up.
What water?
My curious heart leads me to the door, and this time, I open it without questioning myself at all.
I find him in the same chair, reading the same book. Only the pajama bottoms have changed. They’re dark forest green tonight.
He closes the book as soon as he sees me. As if he was simply waiting for me to come in all this time.
I swallow. Then ask, “What if I want our relationship to be NSA sex until I leave to go back to Pittsburgh?”
“N-S-A?” he repeats, signing each letter with a confused look.
“No strings attached,” I clarify, trying to keep my signs as brusque as possible. “It means we could have sex, but we both agree to catch zero feelings.”
He considers my offer, then raises his hands to answer, “I'm sorry. I am not capable of catching zero feelings. Not with you.”
His answer spears straight through me.
This dude. How had I forgotten how good he was at saying things that pierce my heart?
I stand there awkwardly, not knowing what to do now that he's turned down my spontaneous offer.
“Would you like to come to bed with me?” he asks like the last conversational turn didn’t even happen.
I nod. And we wordlessly climb into bed together, just like the night before.
But not like the night before. This time I lie awake, but I don't squirm.
There's something I need to say. Something I've needed to say for ten years.
But I've always been too afraid of the answer.
I turn over. And this time, I'm not surprised when I find Victor staring back at me.
“Victor, those ten years….” I tell him. “They hurt. You hurt me.”
I can tell that's not what he was expecting me to say. He blinks several times, conflicted emotions crossing over his face before he finally raises his hands to reply, “I know. And I'm sorry.”
He apologizes, just like he did on the plane back in August. But it's different now. We're different now.