Page 83 of Because of Them

“I thought that was a married couple thing,” she says.

“I’m just getting a head start.”

Audrey wriggles out of my hold and steps back. The awe filled smile is gone, and hesitation is plastered all over her face. She wrings her hands in front of her, pulling her cardigan tight. I reach a hand towards her, but she steps back until she hits the side wall.

“Michael I … I don’t know if I ever want to get married again.” My heart sinks to my stomach and bile rises in my throat. I thought we were good. And sure, I didn’t think we would get married any time soon, but I had figured that’s where we were heading.

Fun,that’s what she kept saying and I should have believed her. Should have listened when she told me so clearly that was all we were destined to be. I step back this time. I slide my back down the wall opposite her, dropping to my knees as my world begins to crumble.

“Fuck, that’s not what I meant,” Audrey drops to the floor and crawls over to me. She shakes her head and reaches out to tuck my hair back from my face. I flinch at her touch, turning my head and reaching up to tie my loose hair into a messy bun on the nape of my neck.

“I never imagined we would be more than something fun,” Audrey continues, even though I’ve shied away, looking at the shiny wooden floorboards instead of anywhere near her. “When we first started dating, when we first got together after we found out I was pregnant. I never expected to fall in love. But I did. I can’t imagine my life without you. And not because of the boys, but because I need you. I want to spend every morning waking up next to you, and fall asleep in your arms every night. I just don’t know if I want to get married. And maybe we should have spoken about it before but it never came up and I’m sorry. I did it once, and it fell apart. It hurt. Marriage is not for me. Not anymore. But you are, Michael.”

She creeps closer, nudging my legs further apart so she can sit between them. She wraps my arms around her and nestles her cheek against the crook of my shoulder. Her body is tiny in my arms, even all the bits she thinks are too big, or worries I don’t like. She is made to fit perfectly in my embrace and I don’t ever want her to leave.

“You’re for me too, Audrey.”

The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable, and for the first time I’m happy to just sit, to find peace, in the quiet. A cool breeze blows in through the still open door and I squeeze my arms a little tighter around Audrey.

“Are you going to show me your house or what?” she asks as she shuffles out of my arms and pushes herself to stand.

I push myself onto my knees and wrap my arms back around her waist. Her tits look fucking incredible from this view, and I’ll never get tired of admiring her body, of worshipping her. “Your house,” I remind her.

She ignores me, rolling her eyes and pulling me up from my underarms.

I take her hand in mine and walk her through the house. Her eyes light up at the giant master bedroom. Pendant lights hang where the bedside tables will sit once we move in, and soft sheer curtains hang over the window. They shift the bright sun into a gentle glow that lights up the room.

In the kitchen, she marvels at the space, and the so-called butler’s pantry that is almost as big as the main kitchen. Marble bench tops are finished with a backsplash of tiles in an intricate zig zag pattern. The cabinetry is off white, with plenty of storage and large drawers in the place of most cupboards. I trusted the designer’s judgement, and it paid off. The space is beautiful. If someone had asked me twelve months ago if a kitchen would ever be my favourite room of the house, I would have scoffed. But here we are.

Audrey clearly loves it too. Her eyes twinkle as she caresses the bench top.

I stand next to the only blank wall in the room, the tiny sliver between the main kitchen and the pantry. “This is where I thought we could measure how tall everyone is. Each year.”

She skips towards me, happily turning to stand with her back against the wall and shoulders straight. With the pen in my pocket I mark her height on the wall. Handing her the pen, I swap our places. She has to stretch on her toes to reach above my head and once the mark is drawn I can’t help but tickle her.

“The next room is the most special,” I tell her, guiding her through the large main living space and into the sunroom.

Windows line the three exterior walls, with the same sheer curtains from the master bedroom. They look out into the garden, at the line of almost established fruit trees I had planted along the side fence and the gum tree we kept in the corner of the yard. The only pieces of furniture in the whole house sit in the centre of the room. A small stool, one that swivels and changes height and has a lower leg rest that can be used for crossed legs or pushed out of the way. And an easel. A light timber frame, large enough for the beautiful canvas pieces that have become Audrey’s signature style. One day, I might even add an easel of my own to the room. If she’ll let me. A small shelf lines the lower edge to hold all her paints and brushes.

Audrey freezes, just inside the room. Her eyes are wide and sheer joy is spread over her face as she takes in the space. Stepping in, she twirls to take it all in, before sitting in the chair. Her legs immediately curl underneath her, and I hold in the knowing smirk. The chair was the right call, even if Brendan said it looked weird.

“I wanted to put it closer to your bedroom, away from the busiest part of the house, but it wouldn’t get enough light. With these windows, you’ll get morning and afternoon sun, so itdoesn’t matter what time of day you manage to sneak away and have some time to yourself.” I point my head above the windows to the large strip lighting that frames the perimeter of the room. “I added those lights, in case you ever want to paint at night. Or, you know, in Melbourne’s dreary winter. They are—and this is a quote from the lighting salesperson—‘the closest thing to natural light on the market’.”

She spins back and forth on the chair, her grin puffing up her cheeks until her eyes are squished almost shut. “Michael, you didn’t need—”

“I did. You deserve it.”

“Yes but it’s your—”

“No Audrey, it’syours.Come on, I’ll show you the rest.”

She lingers on the chair, silhouetted by the warm sun that spills in through the sheer curtains.

“It’s not as special as this room though,” I tell her when she finally takes my outstretched hand.

“Michael, I don’t think anything will ever beat this room.”

It doesn’t. Her grin remains, but nothing I have left to show her brings back the intense joy that was filtering through her body in her painting room. She squeezes my hand as I show her Maisie’s room, with its feature wall of pale pink, as requested by our little ballerina. The boys’ rooms, opposite each other down the hall, each painted a sage green to match the blankets we bought them. The crisp but functional bathroom, complete with heated towel racks and a large bath. And finally, at the end of the hall, my bedroom.

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