Page 44 of Come Back To Me

I nodded slowly, not wanting her to stop speaking. It was so rare that she shared things from her past like this.

“I don’t know if John, the man she married, fulfilled her in the way she was hoping, if he was a good husband and father. We never spoke again after her wedding. But sometimes I have these sharp moments of realization that this is my wedding, and that I am to be married. I think of Angie and wonder how much I can trust all of this.”

I couldn’t relate, though I did my best to understand her. I came from married people, hard and unwavering Catholic dedication to family. It was what you did, and it was what I’d always wanted.

“Do you worry that I’ll disappoint you in some way?” I asked.

She smiled. “No, I’m worried that I’ll disappoint you in some way,” she answered. “That I won’t be enough.”

I pulled her into my arms and held her so tight. “Impossible, Yara,” I said. “You don’t have to be enough for me or anyone. I love you as you are. I don’t want you to ever feel pressured to be something for me. That takes the ease out of real love.”

She’d looked at me hard, like I’d said something outrageous.

“That isn’t the deal we made, is it?” she asked.

“Deal? What deal?” The ferry docked and I shifted my car into drive to follow the line of cars off the boat.

“The one where I date you to inspire you,” she said quietly. “Be your muse.”

I’d forgotten about it. How long ago had that been? How much had happened since then?”

I looked over at her and she was staring out the window, her fist pressed to her mouth.

“Yara, I never was part of that deal,” I said. I reached out and squeezed her knee. “I only played along to get you. If you recall, I was talking marriage before I knew your name.”

“Oh, I recall,” she said.

I was worried. I didn’t like when she locked me out. I decided to change the subject, away from weddings, and my family, and her anxiety over both.

“We should go away for a few days,” I said. “Go somewhere to relax and just be together.”

Her hand dropped back to her lap and she turned to look at me.

“Really?” she said. “Where?”

“Somewhere where it’s just you and me.”

She nodded. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

We were walking through the front door of our condo when my phone buzzed in my pocket. A text. I didn’t recognize the number.

Hey, hope you don’t mind—Brick gave me your number. It’s Petra.

I glanced up at Yara, who was walking toward the bathroom. Yara didn’t like Petra, she’d made that abundantly clear. Despite my better judgment I typed:Hey! That’s cool. What’s up?

The bubble appeared to let me know she was typing, but then I heard the bathroom door open and I jammed my phone into my back pocket.

I don’t know why I did it. Why I didn’t tell Yara right then and there that Petra had texted me. A stupid choice.

“What’s wrong?” Yara asked when she saw my face.

“Nothing,” I said. “I’m just tired.”

She nodded like she understood, and it occurred to me what a long day it had been for her. I walked up behind her and rubbed her shoulders as she stood in her favorite spot staring out of the window that overlooked Elliott Bay.

“Take your clothes off and get into bed,” I said. “I’ll give you a massage.”

“With your tongue or hands?” she asked.

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