Part-Time Husband

by Noelle Adams

  He misses almost nothing.

  And I’m terrified.

  If I’m not incredibly careful, he’ll see. He’ll see. He’ll know.

  I give him a teasing little smile. “I’m sure I’ll feel like it again tomorrow, so you won’t have to rein in your inner stallion for too long.”

  There’s a moment—just a moment—when something flickers in his expression. It’s so quick I don’t even know what it is, but it scares me even more.

  But then it’s gone, and Trevor is cocking his eyebrow at me with a quirk of his lips. “You better rest up and prepare yourself for tomorrow then.”

  I let out a breath, allowing my body to relax. I reach to pick up my e-reader again.

  He sounds normal. Perfectly normal. Dry and composed and clever and funny and like nothing is ever going to touch him.

  It’s safer. So much safer. It’s how I need him to be.

  It’s exactly how I need him so I won’t need him in any other way.

  I make myself read, but every now and then I glance over, thinking Trevor is looking at me, studying me, trying to figure me out.

  He never is. He’s watching sports on TV.

  I’m safe again.

  There’s no reason to feel kind of crushed about it.

  Seven

  THE NEXT MORNING, IT’S like the day before never happened.

  Trevor is light and clever and casual and more ironically smug than he’s been for a while. I’m not sure what I expected after the emotional intensity of Saturday, but this isn’t it.

  It’s a relief though.

  At least I think it’s a relief.

  It feels kind of like a step backward, but if the bridge you’re treading is wobbly, then a step backward is exactly what’s necessary.

  So I’m relieved, and I relax emotionally again. I feel better about being able to make it through the rest of the year of this marriage without having the ground crumble away beneath my feet.

  The following Saturday, Trevor doesn’t invite me to the lake with his parents, and I decide it’s just as well.

  We do have sex most nights, but it’s not the scary kind. It’s the hot, fun kind that I can enjoy without worrying about what it’s doing to me.

  For the next month, we follow that same rhythm. Light banter. Easy interaction. Good sex in bed in the dark, with nothing that seeps into the daytime hours.

  He doesn’t invite me to spend the day with his parents any of the other Saturdays of the month either, although I make sure to ask about them every week so he knows that I like them and care about how they’re doing.

  He’s retreated. He’s like me and knows it’s better that way.

  He’s my part-time husband again.

  And it’s fine. Everything is fine.

  This is exactly what I want.

  One Friday evening, three months after we married, I’m grating a block of gruyere cheese when Trevor gets back from work. I left work at five thirty—earlier than normal—so I’d have time to stop by the grocery store. I changed out of my work clothes and am wearing a pair of dark gray leggings and a soft rose-colored tunic top with a pair of fuzzy pink socks.

  Trevor takes off his shoes when he comes in and loosens his tie and collar as he walks into the kitchen. He looks over my shoulder. “What’s happening here?”

  “I’m making comfort food,” I tell him, managing to finish the cheese without taking off any skin with the box grater—always a victory. I check the pasta in a pot of boiling water.

  “Why do you need comfort?” He’s moved beside me, and he reaches over to lift my chin so he can see my face fully.

  “I don’t need comfort. Chelsea does. She’s coming over for dinner.”

  “Ah. Why does she need comfort?”

  “She was dating this guy for a month or so and was really into him. She was actually thinking he might be marriage material.”

  “So she wants to marry someone she actually likes?” He arches one eyebrow. “Not following your example then.”

  I laugh softly since he’s obviously teasing. “Yes. Exactly. She doesn’t want to end up married to someone as smug and obnoxious as you.”

  “Very wise of her.”

  “So anyway, she was really excited about him, but then she found out a couple of days ago that he’s been sleeping with someone else. They were supposed to be exclusive, but they weren’t. So she’s pretty crushed about it. I thought it might help for her to get out tonight and do something other than mope, so I invited her over for dinner. Thus, the need for comfort food.”

  Trevor inspects the ingredients on the counter. “Whatever comfort food you’re making sure does involve a lot of cheese.”

  “Macaroni and cheese. Of course there’s a lot of cheese.”

  He reaches over when I’m not looking and takes a pinch of something. I only know because I see him pop it in his mouth.

  “Hey! Did you take some of the lobster?”

  He twitches his eyebrows and reaches for another bite, but I swat his hand away before he can get it this time.

  “What are you doing with the lobster?” he asks, resigning himself to a pinch of grated cheddar cheese instead.

  “I’m putting it in the macaroni and cheese.”

  “You’re putting lobs—”

  “Yes. Comfort food. Remember?”

  He chuckles low in his throat and watches me as I start the cheese sauce. After a few minutes, he asks very lightly, “Am I to be invited to dinner?”

  I glance over to see his expression, but it’s nothing but blandly ironic. “Of course. If you want to. I assumed you’d eat with us, but you don’t have to if you’d rather not.”

  “I’m not going to miss out on lobster in macaroni and cheese.”

  “Just try to be nice to Chelsea. She’s a little fragile right now.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  I shoot him a pointed look.

  “I will,” he says. “I’ll be nice. Do you think I’d be mean to her when she’s been hurt?”

  “No. I don’t think you’ll be mean. But I do think you might do your eyebrow thing at her, and she’ll think you’re making fun of her.”

  “My eyebrow thing?”

  “Yes. Your eyebrow thing.” I try to raise one of my eyebrows to show him, but I can’t get one to go up alone. As a result, I do a weird facial contortion that doesn’t at all reflect his characteristic expression.

  His eyebrow arches up very high.

  “There!” I say, reaching over to put a hand over his eyebrow and try to pull it down. “That eyebrow thing. You’ve got to keep the thing down tonight so you don’t come across as smug.”

  He laughs warmly and grabs my hand off his face. His fingers wrap around my wrist, and he doesn’t let it go. “I’ll attempt to keep my eyebrow at an appropriate level.”

  Our eyes meet for a minute, and there’s laughter and something deeper in the shared gaze. I look away when my heart starts to beat faster.

  Focusing again on my cheese sauce, I say, “Good. Thank you. I’ll give you a poke if your eyebrow gets out of control.”

  Trevor doesn’t answer, so I look over my shoulder at him. He’s leaning against the counter in a relaxed posture, but his eyes are on my face.

  I have no idea what he’s thinking, so I focus on the food.

  Chelsea arrives about twenty minutes later, and Trevor opens a bottle of Chelsea’s favorite champagne I splurged on to cheer her up tonight. Chelsea isn’t as dressed up as usual—she’s wearing leggings and a loose top like me—and she’s also not her normal sparkly self. But she seems glad to be here, and she cheers up as the evening progresses.

  Trevor is in fine form tonight. He tells a lot of funny stories that keep Chelsea and me giggling, and he seems to intentionally avoid any of his normal irony. He even gives her a number of casual compliments, thrown in so effortlessly she might not even notice what he’s doing.

  He was serious earlier about trying to be nice to Chelsea.

&nb
sp; And I can’t help but find it very sweet.

  The macaroni and cheese turns out deliciously decadent, and I pair it with a salad as a gesture toward nutrition. The three of us finish the whole pan and the bottle of champagne, and Chelsea is smiling for real when our plates are finally empty.

  She’s telling us about an argument that broke out at the salon while she was getting highlights earlier this week that makes me giggle hysterically, and even Trevor is laughing for real. He’s not faking. He’s not just being nice. He’s leaning back in his chair, and his eyes are warm and amused as he looks at Chelsea. Genuine.

  I have this weird flash of realization—the kind that sometimes hits you out the blue and makes you see yourself as if from outside.

  It feels like family.

  This feels like family.

  Not just Chelsea and me.

  Trevor too.

  I’m not sure what to make of it, but I don’t have time to dwell because Trevor’s phone rings just then. He glances at the screen. “It’s a client,” he says, giving me a questioning look.

  “Take it,” I tell him. “We don’t mind.” When he gets up to the leave the room, I add, “Just don’t expect us to wait for you to have dessert!”

  Trevor’s chuckling as he disappears into the hall.

  Chelsea grins at me. “Thanks for doing this, Melissa. Seriously.”

  I give a playful shrug. “Hey, I don’t need any excuse for champagne and macaroni and cheese. Plus wait until you see dessert.”

  That is enough to get Chelsea out of her chair, and I open a bakery box to show her the oversized gooey chocolate brownie I bought for tonight. It’s easily enough for four people.

  I cut it in thirds and put the pieces on a large platter and then reach into the freezer. “And,” I say, showing her pints of mint chip and vanilla ice cream. “Which do you prefer?”

  “Both, of course.” We’re giggling as we scoop out ice cream, and then both start eating from the big platter, leaning over the island.

  “So how are you doing really?” I ask her after a minute. Since Trevor isn’t around right now, I think she might be more comfortable telling me.

  “I’m okay. I guess I wasn’t really in love with him. I thought I might be but...” She shakes her head. “It’s mostly my pride that’s hurt. I’m not sure I’ll even really miss him, to tell you the truth. He sure knew how to put on the moves, and he talks real pretty, but there was nothing underneath it.” She takes another mouthful before she adds, “There are some guys who act real sweet but are really assholes at heart.”

  “Yep.”

  “And then there are some...” She points with her spoon at the hallway where Trevor left. “There are some guys who act like assholes but are really sweet at heart.”

  My heart clenches hard.

  Chelsea slants me a pointed look. “In case you missed it, I’m talking about that guy.” She gestures toward the hallway again.

  “I didn’t miss it.”

  “Who would have thought he’d be such a great guy? I mean, he always came across as such a condescending prick. But he’s really not.”

  “No. He’s really not.”

  She’s looking far more pleased with herself than she has any right to look. “So?”

  I narrow my eyes. “So what?”

  “You know so what. He seems pretty smitten with you.”

  I almost choke on a bite of brownie.

  “Don’t act all surprised. You’ve got to have seen it too.”

  “He likes me.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’m serious. I do think he likes me. We get along. And he’s having a decent time. But...”

  Her smile fades slightly. “But what? Because all I see is smitten.”

  I shake my head. “Maybe it looks that way from outside, but I’m inside and I know more than you. There’s always a distance. There has to be.”

  “Why does there have to be?”

  “Because of who we are. Because of what this marriage is about.”

  “But why can’t what the marriage is about change?” She’s being earnest now, no teasing in her eyes.

  I grow still, a spoonful of ice cream halfway to my mouth.

  “It can, can’t it?” she asks. “If both of you want it to.”

  My heart feels heavy. So does my stomach. “But I don’t want it to.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No. It’s... it’s not... me.”

  She’s scrutinizing my face, like she’s trying to piece together my chaotic flurry of thoughts. “I think maybe it is you,” she says at last. Slowly. Thoughtfully. “You’ve always worked so hard to take care of all of us and to make sure you were strong when we needed you that you’ve never really let yourself be anything else. But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible. It just means it will be harder for you.”

  I stare at her for a long time.

  “What?” she asks, wiping chocolate off her mouth. “Have I wowed you with my brilliance?”

  “Kind of.” I give her a little smile.

  “You’ll think about it?”

  “Yes. I’ll think about it.”

  “Because that guy in there is way more than hot. You don’t want him to get away because you’re too scared to take what he offers.”

  I don’t have time to answer because Trevor comes back into the main room just then. He frowns when he sees us leaning over the island. “What’s going on in here?”

  “We’re eating dessert,” I tell him, trying to sound natural even though it feels like I’ve been caught doing something naughty.

  “I can see that. You better have saved some for me.” He gets a clean fork and eases me to one side to make room for himself in front of the brownie platter. “You sure do have a lot of ice cream on here.”

  “It’s better that way,” Chelsea tells him.

  He’s standing so close to me now that I’m breathing him in. He smells so good. Warm and expensive with a hint of natural underlying it, the way he always does at the end of the day. I tilt my head toward his shoulder and inhale some more.

  “You okay?” he murmurs, rubbing his thumb lightly across my cheekbone.

  I’m not about to explain to him that I was smelling him, so I say, “To tell you the truth, I think I might have eaten too much.”

  Chelsea giggles, and Trevor lets out a soft huff of amusement and wraps one of his arms around me. He’s still eating with the other, but he’s pulled me snug against him, so I press my cheek against his shirt and smell him some more.

  I close my eyes and process my feelings. I do feel nervous, like I’m on the verge of falling off a cliff. But maybe Chelsea is right.

  Maybe it feels that way because I’ve never taken a risk like this before, because I’ve never let myself need someone before.

  Maybe it’s not as dangerous as I’ve always believed.

  Maybe the floor won’t fall out from under me this time.

  Maybe...

  When we finish the brownie, Chelsea announces it’s time for her to leave before she ends up in a sugar coma. I walk her to the door, and she gives me a hug. Trevor isn’t very far away, so she doesn’t say anything private, but she nods toward him silently and gives me an exaggerated thumbs-up sign.

  I don’t know what she expects to happen, but I’m not anywhere close to doing something definitive tonight.

  I’ve just had a road open up I’d always believed was blocked.

  She’s just barely lowered her thumb when Trevor is suddenly in the doorway beside me.

  She changes the thumbs-up to a wave to him. “Good night, Trevor.”

  “Good night, Chelsea.”

  “You got any final advice to me about men?”

  Trevor lifts his eyebrows slightly. “Seriously?”

  Her smile changes. “Yeah, seriously, if you’ve got any. I always pick the smooth-talking jackasses, and I’d rather not.”

  He hesitates, and I can tell he’s thinking. Then he finally says, “Sometime
s a man can make you believe things that aren’t true. And sometimes you can fool yourself into believing what you want about him. What you need to look for is his true priority. At the end of the day, if you’re not at the top of his list—more important to him than anything else—then he’s never going to be the man you want him to be.”

  I feel the strangest pressure in my chest, one that tells me that the words he’s saying are true ones.

  Chelsea’s expression transforms as she listens. I can tell she really hears him, is really thinking about what he’s said. “That sounds right.”

  “I think it is.”

  “Thanks, Trevor. If I’d known you give such good advice, I’d have asked you a long time ago.”

  She waves again as she turns and walks away.

  A FEW MINUTES LATER, Trevor is cleaning up dishes, so I go to help him. But as soon as I move close to him, he dries his hands on a dish towel and pulls me into a hug.

  “What’s this for?” I ask, burying my face in his shirt and breathing him in again.

  “I don’t know. Just because.”

  I lean against him, feeling strangely needy and then feeling nervous because I’m so needy. I start to pull away.

  Trevor tightens his arms. “Not yet. Just relax for a minute.” He brushes a hand down my hair.

  I sigh slowly, deeply, and soften my body against his. I can feel his heartbeat. It’s beating fast. Almost as fast as mine.

  “That’s better,” he murmurs. “Just let down your guard for a minute. I’ve got you.”

  It feels like he does.

  Have me.

  Slowly my body softens completely, and I’m leaning against him fully, my arms wrapped around his middle. He’s occasionally breathing out words. “That’s right... That’s good... So good.”

  It’s time for me to pull away from him, but I can’t. I can’t seem to do it.

  He finally asks, “So can you tell me what’s going on?”

  I try to answer him honestly. “I... don’t really know. I’m... confused.”

  He’s silent for longer than I expect. “That’s okay,” he says in a strangely raspy voice. “It’s okay if you’re confused. I’m confused a lot of the time too.”