at me the way he used to. I go all out — curl my hair, put on make-up. I wear my most flattering oversized top — the bohemian one with the laced trimmed collar — the one he likes. I even dab on his favorite perfume, a patchouli scented oil. I curl my lashes too. You know I’m really trying to impress when I get the eyelash curler out.
But so far, it hasn’t helped.
He doesn’t seem to see me at all.
My stomach feels heavy when I hear the door. It’s him…about five minutes late, as usual. He’s been knocking since he doesn’t consider this his home anymore. I wish he’d just come in. My hands tremble as I open the door.
I feel the familiar flutter in my belly as he looks at me, for a fraction of a second.
He comes in the house, his eyes glued to the floor. I know he has no intention of talking to me, so I don’t say a word.
Look at me.
The girls come rushing in and make a beeline for him. He kneels and hugs them both. The sight always makes me well up. I turn on my heel, not able to look.
“Come see,” Claire cheers. “We’re working on a pretty picture.”
He comes in reluctantly, dragged in by his pint-sized daughter. I smile at him and he shoots me a thin smile. It’s a start. I’ll grab onto to anything.
He stares down at the hundreds of little squares making up the almost-completed colorful sparkly picture. “Wow, this looks like it needs a lot of patience. It’s a good thing you have mommy here,” he says as he catches my eye.
He sees me. Finally, he sees me again.
This is my chance. I just know it. I need to try to get closer to him.
“How have you been, Gabe?” I venture, my stomach tied up in knots. I know I have to thread carefully. “Have you been well?”
He sneers. “I’ve been better.”
Yes, right.
I inch closer to him. “The girls have missed you.”
He turns to look at me. His gaze travels from my lips down slowly to the red tips of my toes, and back up. Finally, it settles on the scoop of my neckline. “I know.”
He still wants me. I can tell by the way he’s looking at me. I know him too well. I know all his tells.
He wants me.
He still wants me despite everything.
“I’ve missed you too,” I say quietly. “So much.”
He looks away and jerks back. He’s put up his armor, but I’m willing to fight, knock that armor right off.
He clears his throat. “Girls, we should get going now.”
“But Daddy,” Chloe moans. “Can we just finish this? We’re almost done. It’ll just take five minutes.”
He bites his lip. I can tell he’s itching to go. “I’d really like to get going.”
“Please, Daddy. Just five minutes,” Claire pleads. “And then we’ll go. We’re all ready.”
He stares up at the ceiling. “Fine. Five minutes. Not a second more.”
He’s never seemed so large, so stoic, and insurmountable. I look up at him, trying to work out my next move.
He turns on his heel and leaves the living room. “I’ll go wait in the front.”
I follow him to the door. There’s no way he’s shaking me. I know I’m pathetic but I just don’t care.
His gaze is glued to the family photo hung in the front hall. He doesn’t look at me. It’s like I’m a blazing sun, and if he looks at me, even for a second, he might go blind.
“It’s our twelfth anniversary this week,” I remind him, my words soft. “Did you remember?”
He nods, still avoiding eye contact at all costs.
“Look at me,” I beg. “Please look at me.”
He turns to me, his gaze rests on my eyes, and I see a mix of emotions in him; anger, regret, sorrow. So much sorrow. That’s what gets me the most. But there’s also a flicker of desire in his eyes and I hold on to that.
“I got you something,” I tell him.
“Yeah, what?” he says, half-interested. I can see he’s determined to not let me in.
I smile. “What I always get you.”
He smiles and his expression softens.
I close the distance between us. I rest my hand gently on his stomach. I can feel his heat through the thin cotton of his shirt. We both stand still for the longest time. He closes his eyes and takes my hand in his. The warmth and familiar feel of his large hand on mine makes my whole