I turn and smile. “And you’re okay for a mouthy teen.”
On the drive home, I take hold of Winter’s hand and snuggle against him, feeling all kinds of I don’t know what. All I know for sure is that for the first time in a very long time, I’m not as sad as I have been.
34
Birdie
* * *
“I miss you,” I say to Winter over the phone late one night a week after he left for Brisbane.
“I miss you, too, angel.” The exhaustion in his voice makes me wanna end the call so he can sleep, but the selfish part of me wants just a little bit longer with him. We talk every night, but some calls are less than five minutes long due to him being strapped for time.
“Have you seen the boys?” Max’s kids.
“Not yet. I’m gonna try to get over tomorrow and spend some time with them. How was work today?”
“Good. You’ll be proud of me; I left at three this afternoon.”
The line turns silent before he comes back to me. “Sorry, I have to go.”
My disappointment is heavy, but I keep it on the inside. “Okay. I hope everything is okay.” I’m fucking petrified it’s not.
“Yeah, it will be. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Maybe in the morning if I can swing it.”
“I love you.”
“Love you, too.” With that, he’s gone, and I try to push the fear I have for him away. I remind myself that Winter was a trained SAS member, that he survived Afghanistan, and that he’s the most sensible man I know. He won’t put himself in the kind of danger he can’t survive.
Find something to do.
Take your mind off everything for a bit.
Didn’t you wanna learn how to crochet?
Jesus, where do you come up with this stuff? Crocheting?
I pad out to the kitchen to grab a drink, running through the things I could do to free my mind of worry. On the way, I pass the room that was going to be the nursery and I stop outside.
The door’s shut.
It has been since the day we removed the cot and everything else in there.
My hand goes to the door handle.
My heart beats faster.
I open the door and step inside.
The walls are white; the room is empty.
It’s uninhabited.
Unused.
Bare.
Just like my uterus.
Tears prick my eyes and my hand goes back to the door handle to close the door, but I stop myself.
Let the tears fall.
Don’t numb the dark if you want light.
Damn you Brené Brown for being so wise.
God, how I want the light.
I told Winter I chose him months ago, and he told me the same. But we haven’t done very well with that choice. We’ve numbed the dark, and Brené is so right: numbing the hard feelings ends up numbing all the feelings. We’ve lost joy. We’ve lost happiness. We’ve lost our way.
I let my tears fall and I refuse to run from my feelings. They all come rushing in; a tsunami I’ve been holding back for too long.
Time passes while I collapse to the floor and curl into a ball while sobbing my heart out.
An hour goes by, maybe two. I don’t know. I don’t care. I’ll cry until I’m all cried out. And maybe I’ll come back tomorrow and cry some more. I’ve got seven years of tears buried inside me.
A text comes through and then another, but I don’t reach for my phone. I hope it’s not Winter, but if it is, I can’t speak to him right now. I can’t speak to anyone. I need this time for me.
Winter’s right: I didn’t give my body time to recover before I went back to work. That’s okay; it recovered in time anyway. My soul, though, needed longer. It needed me time and I never gave it that.
You can give it that now.
It’s not too late.
My tears eventually dry up, but I stay here, in this ball, and just linger.
When do people ever linger anymore? We’re always so damn busy. It feels so good to just be.
I’m going to do it more often.
I finally sit up and reach for my phone.
I smile as I read the texts. They light my night up. Who would have thought a couple of messages could do that so easily?
* * *
Maddox: Yo, queen. That book you brought over yesterday fkn rocked. You need to give that library chick a high 5 from me.