Page 23 of Keeping You

“I wanted to see my only daughter. I wanted to confirm you’ll be at my birthday celebration on Saturday, all my friends will be there. Agnes’s son will be there, too. You should meet him, he’d be a good man to settle down with.”

My instinct is to wrap my arm around Hannah’s waist and drag her behind me as I growlmine, but I do with gripping my left hand into a tight fist as I push my right hand forward to shake hands and say, “Hi, we haven’t been introduced yet, my name’s Grayson Maxwell, Hannah’s husband. You must be her mother, Mrs. Rivers.”

Her jaw drops, and Hannah moves slightly closer to me. The small movement has my heart beating erratically in my chest.

Hannah’s mom gathers herself and holds out her hand to shake mine. “Please, call me Lauren. It’s nice to meet you.” Her eyes dart to Hannah as she glares at her quickly before they return to mine, all softness. “I had no idea Hannah was married. My daughter never told me. I wasn’t invited to the wedding.”

I wrap an arm around Hannah’s waist, and she leans into me. “Oh, we eloped. One of those when you know, you know things. You understand right?” She goes to open her mouth, but before she can say anything, I finish with, “My mother was just happy that I’m happy. She can’t wait to meet Hannah.”

Her expression completely changes. I knew hearing my mother was happy for us would make her want to put on a good face. The smile she gives me is forced. “Of course. As long as my Hannah is happy, I’m happy.”

“Oh, we’re extremely happy. And we wouldn’t miss your birthday. We’ll be there.”

Hannah remains silent during the entire interaction.

Lauren gives her a look that says they’ll talk about this later. “Well, I’m glad. We’ll see you then.”

I nod and watch as Lauren walks away. The second she’s out of sight, Hannah steps out of my hold, and I want nothing more than to pull her back in and hold her forever. She fits into my side perfectly, like she was made for me.

The bricks are still in place as I watch Hannah, but it’s like they’re crushing her. Her arms are wrapped around her middle, and I’ve never seen her look so small. The last thing she needs right now is for me to take her somewhere public to eat. I grab her hand, and she doesn’t resist as I lead her through a side door of the hospital that leads to the stairs down to the parkade. Hannah’s mom really did a deal on her if she’s letting me holdher hand and drag her along. I need to get to the bottom of what is making her feel so small.

I help her into the car and drive us home. She’s silent the entire drive and as still as a statue. She doesn’t fidget or lean against the door as she stares out the passenger window. She’s facing forward, feet flat on the floor, hands folded in her lap. A trauma response. Anger fills me, but I know bursting will do nothing to help Hannah, so I push it down and focus on taking care of her.

When we get back to the apartment, I lead her the couch and prepare her a cup of hot camomile tea with honey and a splash of milk, her favourite. I quickly make a couple omelettes and bring her one. I watch as she slowly picks at it. I’m just happy she’s eating.

When she finishes, she places her plate on the table and turns to me. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” she says.

I place my plate next to hers and position myself so I’m looking directly at her. “Of course, I’m going to go. I’m not going to make you go on your own.”

She relaxes slightly, but the air still vibrates with tension.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

She nods, but her eyes don’t meet mine.

I grip her chin and force her to look at me. “Hannah, are you okay?”

Her eyes are glossy, but she blinks it away. “Yeah, or at least I will be.” She inhales deeply before slowly releasing it.

I let go of her chin and stand. I offer her my hand, and she takes it. I lead her into the bedroom and into the en-suite. I open the bottom drawer of the sink where I keep my bath items and start the water for her. I pull out some candles I keep in here, light them, and move to leave the washroom.

Hannah’s hand reaches out and very lightly grips my wrist as she whispers, “Thank you.”

Just as quickly, her hand lets go, and I leave her there to relax, my wrist still burning from her slight touch.

CHAPTER 9

Hannah

Once Grayson leaves, I lie in the bath and repeat to myself:

She doesn’t define you.

You are independent.

You are strong.

Her opinion doesn’t matter.

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