Happily Ever Ninja(95)

“Next time, can we do video calls?”

Unable to speak, I simply nodded and smiled, pulling him into another tight hug.

Elizabeth and Nico strolled in seconds later. Welcome homes and long embraces were handed out liberally. And through it all I forced a tired smile, falling back into my necessary and familiar pattern of dealing with inconvenient feelings at some later, undefined point.

But this time the decision chaffed, though I knew logically it was best for everyone. Grace and Jack didn’t need to see their parents fighting as soon as they walked in the door. They’d missed us. I could wait. My feelings could wait. The argument could wait . . .

And like so many important conversations, whatever Greg was about to say would also have to wait until our company left and the kids were asleep. When the time came, we would have to speak quietly so as not to wake them with our argument.

Marriage with children is a study in delayed everything—delayed conversation, delayed resolutions, and delayed gratification.

And I wasn’t certain I could deal with the delays any longer.





CHAPTER 21


Dear Husband,

I know there is a part of you that wanted children, but has remained with me even knowing I can never give them to you. I also know you realize that I am lying when I say I never wanted them. You see the pain and yet you let me lie anyway…

-B.

Letter

USA

Married 11 years





~9 years ago~

*Greg*



We were in a Wal-Mart on the outskirts of Chicago, standing in the checkout line, and I was silently debating which was worse: waiting in a Wal-Mart checkout line, having my backside spanked with a tire iron, or giving myself a root canal.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Fiona started to cry.

My eyes cut to her. She was making every attempt to hide her tears. Her back to me, she stood as though she were a statue. Still, I heard the sniffles.

“Fe?”

She shook her head then lowered her chin to her chest.

I lifted an eyebrow at her shaking shoulders. My wife was not a crier. Yes, she cried. She wasn’t a robot. Had she been one of those birds who cried during fabric softener commercials, I might have offered a consoling pat on the back. But, as it was, her tears were so infrequent I wasn’t physically capable of shrugging them off.

Loading our seven items back into the shopping cart, I wrapped my arm around her, steering her and our unpurchased goods into the greeting card aisle. Thankfully, it was empty.

“Hey.” I turned and pressed her against my chest, alarm and worry making me squeeze her more tightly than usual. I had a sense she needed to be held together. “What’s going on? Are you all right?”

She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You’re crying. Crying is the opposite of fine. Tell me what’s wrong.”

She sniffled again. “I don’t want to tell you here.”

“Why not.”

“Because it’s important.”

I tucked my fingers under her chin and lifted her face to mine, stealing a kiss; true distress clawed at my chest, traveled like a spike down my spine. I didn’t want to guess, or entertain any possibilities. Inevitably, my mind always jumped to the worst possible conclusion whenever I saw her inexplicably sad (i.e. brain tumor).

Even so, I attempted to keep my tone level and calm. “What could be too important for the greeting card aisle? It’s the perfect place to tell me anything and everything. There’s likely a card we can buy afterward for the occasion.”

She huffed a laugh, laughed a bit more, and then began crying again.

Her laughter was a good sign, so I went with it.

“Let’s see . . .” I shuffled us both to the rack and plucked a greeting card from it. “You tell me if this one describes your situation.” I cleared my throat and began to read, “Dear Brother, Many blessings on your fortieth birthday. May your girlfriend bring home that hot girl she works with and suggest a three-way.”

Fiona began laughing in earnest, burying her face against my chest.

I returned the original card, walked us a few steps farther down the aisle, and selected another card at random. “Here’s another. Dear Friend, Thank you for your thoughtfulness. I am so lucky to have you in my life, especially after that time I hit you with my car and salted the earth around your house.

I cracked a smile as I grabbed another card. She was laughing so hard she could barely breathe.

“Dear Co-worker, Get well soon. Sorry about the scorpions in your bed. And the leprosy. And the chlamydia.”

“Stop! I can’t- I can’t breathe.” Fiona gripped the front of my shirt as though she needed my solid frame to remain upright.

I took one more step and picked a new card. “Dear Dad, Happy Father’s Day. I know I’m not your favorite child, but I hope you will . . . you will . . .” I stopped reading because Fiona had stopped laughing.