Page 104 of Husband of the Year
When both children are tucked in, Olan and I retreat to our bedroom. In the room’s stillness, the baby monitor remains quiet. I sink into the chair, my pajamas casually tossed over the back, my feet propped up on the ottoman. My mind wanders perhaps more than it should, but I realize we need to have this conversation. The weight of the unspoken words hangs in the air.
“It’s only eight-thirty. Did you want to watch something? Or read?” Olan sits on the bed, waiting for my answer before he commits to lying down.
“How about a chat?”
I move next to him and rub my palm up and down his thigh. The softness of his fleece pajama bottoms soothes my fingers, and he places his hand on mine.
“Always pleased to talk to my love.”
Monday night before bedtime might not be the ideal time to havethis discussion, but when would be? For once in my life, I’d rather have the difficult conversation sooner rather than later. I have enough experience to know whatever the ramifications, eventually the dust will settle. Do the thing. Rip the bandage off. Get it done.
“It’s about the wedding.”
“What about it?” Olan scoots back and leans against the large throw pillows he uses to make the bed. He likes a clean, simple look, and always a crisply made bed.
“Maybe I’m off base. I know I sometimes misread situations. And I tend to worry about things too much…”
“You? Worry too much?” A cheeky half smile flowers on Olan’s face. Marvin Block, do not get distracted.
“Yes, me. Guilty. But instead of spiraling into a pit of anxiety, I figured I should ask you about it.”
“Okay, ask away.” He moves his hands behind his head and his biceps flex. I try really hard to focus on his face.
“I got a vibe. A feeling. When Sheldon and Theo were here, when we came up to put Greggie down… all the planning was feeling… overwhelming was the word you used.”
“I mean, it is. Overwhelming. Considerable. It’s not the money, it’s just…”
Olan’s eyes swivel toward the door and he pauses, pursing his lips.
“Tell me. Please.” I’m sitting next to him with my legs crossed and my hand on his thigh.
“It’s just with the baby. My brother. Me being absent for a month. Handling my family back in Chicago. I’m going to need to fly back at some point. And here. We’re a few weeks into this, and so far, everything seems to be going smoothly. Still, I can’t help but consider how significant this transition is for Illona. I know she’s adjusting well, but I want to be gentle with her. And with us. We’re doing it. Skillfully, if I don’t say so myself. But I’m concerned with all the pandemoniumthat accompanies a large-scale wedding, particularly the chaotic scene downstairs—the charts and diagrams and arrangements. Do we have unrealistic expectations of what we’re asking from the universe? From Illona. Even Gregory.”
“Oh.”
It’s not my most thoughtful reply, but I’m not exactly sure what to say. He’s not wrong. And his focus is on his family. Both back in Chicago and here. Olan’s thoughtfulness and unwavering concern for the people he cares about sets him apart. It’s one of the qualities I love most about him.
“So, maybe we shouldn’t get married?”
Wetness wells up in my eyes as I say the words, but I’m determined not to cry.
“No.” Olan sits up, leans toward me and brings his hand to my face. As his thumb brushes against my bottom lip, I feel a gentle tingle of electricity.
“Then what?”
“Maybe all that…” He nods toward the door. Downstairs. Sheldon’s Wedding Central. “Is too much.”
Too much. The words crackle in my ears, and I exhale, my breath skating over Olan’s fingers.
“The wedding?”
“Thatwedding. Yes.”
My chest expands with air and the urge to be closer consumes me as I lean in and kiss him softly.
“Should we wait?” I ask. The August wedding begins fading away like residue on a washed chalkboard. “I’ve waited my whole life for you. I can wait another year or two if you think that would make it better.”
Olan’s other hand joins his first, and he cups my face, holding my gaze.
