Page 12 of The Summer Save
“I like that idea. It’s not something we can rush, so it’s not tomorrow night’s discussion. We can take a few days.”
I rose to my feet, keeping her hands in mine. Then, I guided her from her chair. “Dance with me on our porch like we used to do after the kids were asleep so the music didn’t wake them?”
“We still have the workbook.”
“I know. But this was a lot. Dance with me. Then I’ll take care of the dishes, give you a few minutes for yourself, and we can meet in the living room to do the first workbook activity. Your love languages are physical touch and time together. Come here, sweetheart. Let me show you how much I love you.”
She stepped toward me, and when I released her hands, she immediately draped her arms over my shoulders and rested her cheek against my chest. As we swayed with the music, her tears soaked my shirt. “I don’t want to lose us, Jonas.”
“We’re not going to, sweetheart.”
Last night was emotionally exhausting. I knew it would be. For the past four years, I’d shown up to therapy twice a month. Jonas referred to therapy as ‘on-again, off-again’ because he agreed to go for a while but then didn’t see the point anymore and stopped showing up. He assumed that meant neither of us went. I was there. I did the work. I completed the entire workbook, not just the one that focuses on saving a relationship, but the one for individuals transitioning to a new phase in life, and another specifically for women who suddenly find themselves without a purpose. That’s the one where I learned the most about myself, because I no longer had a title or family role to stand behind. When I was no longer ‘first chair’ or ‘Amber and PJ’s mom’ or ‘fundraising coordinator,’ I couldn’t tell you who I was. I had always defined my value in our family and in life as the title I held. I was still Amber and PJ’s mom, but they were grown and didn’t need my guidance each day. We’d moved on to that magical time in life where I was not responsible for their daily tasks or discipline. I got to be their friend and confidante. Along with this new phase came the harsh reality that they didn’t need me as much.
My days were no longer filled with hours at the cello. I still played a few times a week for the love of it, but it wasn’t my job. It didn’t consume the majority of my day. I worked hard in my role as the fundraising coordinator for the youth orchestra. Before my work there, they were considering ending the program. That would have broken my heart and devastated the community. Many of the youth members go on to study at the conservatory and then audition for an orchestra, ours and others across the country. That was the path I took, which is why they asked for my help. I’m sure my last name and my family’s history of financial support played a part. Each time I transitioned out of one role, there was another waiting to consume my identity, but then last year, I fully retired under the assumption that Jonas was stepping down as Caribou GM, but his announcement never came. I spent the year in limbo, floundering, trying to find a purpose. That’s when our therapist suggested the workbook that was originally targeted at empty-nest former stay-at-home moms but had become a great source of guidance for women who found themselves in my position. On the rare weeks when Jonas showed up, we worked on couple’s activities. The rest of the time, I did a lot of self-evaluation and discovered who I was outside of my career and family role.
When I completed the individual programs, I continued working on the couple’s workbook, hoping Jonas would join me. Now, he was ready to do the work, and I would do my best to be the supportive partner to him that he wasn’t to me. And maybe by the time we finished, I wouldn’t resent him for not being there, and hopefully, I could look at him and not only see the man I fell in love with thirty-five years ago, but the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with because right now, even though I didn’t want to lose us, I was afraid I already had.
After a long day yesterday, it was nice to know Jonas planned a relatively something mellow for us. Still one filled with memories of our first summer together, but that didn’t require leaving the house. About two weeks after our first date, my parents were spending the day with friends. Jonas came over after work and played board games with me, my sisters, and their boyfriends. Meredith and Michael joined us after Mer got off work.
When I untangled myself from the sheets, I stretched my sore limbs and then headed to the shower. I let the hot water soothe my aching muscles before dressing in floral print cotton shorts and a white tank top with a built-in shelf bra. The last thing I wanted to wear today was a bra. I was a proud member of the itty-bitty-titty committee and loved my ‘perfect handful’ as Jonas described them. I’d learned during pregnancy and my days nursing that I was not meant for the big boob life, and I no longer envied my friends who had been dealt more than their fair share. Big boobs were heavy, they made my back ache, and bras were uncomfortable.
Once dressed, I made my way into the kitchen to make breakfast. Jonas had offered, but I told him we could take turns. I opted for bagels with cream cheese, fresh fruit, and eggs scrambled with veggies. By the time the eggs and coffee were ready, Jonas had joined me. He quickly set the table and poured coffee for each of us, exactly how we liked it. Black with two sugars for him. One sugar and vanilla oat milk creamer for me.
As I finished adding the eggs to our plates, I felt him behind me. His hands landed on each side of the counter. “Jonas, what are you doing?”
“Waiting for you to put down the frying pan so I can kiss you good morning. It’s one of my promises, remember?”
Of course, I remembered. And after yesterday morning’s kiss and the one against my bedroom door last night, I would never forget. I set the pan on the stove to my left, then spun to face him. He towered over me. He always had by close to five inches, but I swore either he’d grown an inch or so in the last year or I’d shrunk. Maybe both. If so, I would add that as another one of the universe’s cruel aging tricks. He looked handsome and distinguished, with gray hair appearing along his temple and peppering his beard. The silver streaks throughout my natural blonde just made me look old. As did the lines around my eyes and along my forehead. When I mentioned an eye lift or injections to hide the wrinkles, Jonas scoffed and told me it was ridiculous. He told me I was beautiful. I would give my husband this. He never made me doubt his faithfulness. And in a world where you spent half the year apart, and beautiful women threw themselves at athletes, that was saying a lot.
His soft lips against mine and his fingers digging into my hips instantly woke my libido. I wanted him. I always did. It didn’t matter if I was so angry I could spit nails. All it took was one touch and I was ready. That was part of the reason we never learned to talk through the issues. We’d kiss, then fall into bed, and he’d wake the next morning thinking everything was fixed. This was just as much fault as his, or maybe more so mine, because I’d never told him that sex didn’t replace talking. It’s why I refused to share a bed with him. It would be too easy to slip into the habit of substituting a physical connection for an emotional one.
He wrapped his arms around me and rested his chin on my head, holding me tightly against his chest as if he were afraid if he let go, he’d lose me. “Sweetheart, you’re right here in my arms, and my lips are on yours, but you’re a million miles away. Care to clue me in?”
“Sorry. I’m just a little spacey this morning. And if I let myself relax into the kiss, I’m going to want to do more than kiss, and we aren’t ready. I think it’s obvious we both want to, but we can’t.”
“No, we need to show up and do the work. Or I should rephrase that. I need to show up and do the work. You already did. Your entire workbook is finished, isn’t it?”
I nodded against his chest. “I’ll look over each day and might have a little to add, but I finished the workbook ages ago. Since then, I’ve done two more, focusing on myself.”
“That makes sense. You showed up even when I forgot.”
I leaned back against the counter, breaking our embrace. This was something I needed to say when I knew I had his full attention. His olive eyes bore into me. They seemed darker this morning, almost forest green. Like both our children, the shade of green changed depending on how light or dark the room was or what they were wearing. “We haven’t been in therapy on and off. You have. I’ve shown up twice a month for four years. Almost 100 hours of therapy, plus the homework. I did the work for myself and our relationship. Every section of the workbook is filled except the spots for the reflection on your partner’s response. I’ll do that now. I’ll be the spouse committed to doing the work now that you’re ready. I’ll give you what I wish you had given me when I was doing the work.”
He wrapped one hand around mine, brought it to his lips, then rested it against his chest, directly over his heart. The other hand cupped my chin. He tilted my face, forcing eye contact. “If I could go back in time and realize how selfish I was and truly see how your request for ‘just two hours a month’ was your way of saying ‘our marriage is falling apart and we need to fix it,’ I would. But I can’t. I’m here now. And I’m so fucking thankful that you haven’t already given up on me. No one would blame you if you had, not even me. I don’t deserve this summer. Thank you for giving it to me anyway.”
I stepped forward until my chest touched his. My fingernails scraped down his jawline. “We deserve this summer, Jonas. We need to know we did everything in our power to make this marriage work, no matter what we decide at the end of the season. We both want to save it. There’s no doubt in my mind about that. What we need to figure out is how we do that and what our lives look like in the future.” I pressed my lips against his quickly. “Now, let’s eat breakfast and enjoy our game date. We can take a walk this afternoon. I think it’s the perfect day for ice cream for lunch.”
With our fingers laced together, Annie and I strolled back to the house. Our original plan was to share a brownie sundae, but we got there too late. The brownies sold out. Between the lack of our favorite baked good, a line out the door and halfway down the block, and groups of people waiting for a table, we opted for a cone and a stroll along our favorite walking path. I ordered a double scoop on a sugar cone—Tahitian vanilla bean and fresh mango. On the rare instances when I ate ice cream, I tended to go for fruit-forward flavors, but this vanilla bean had been a favorite for decades. If I could get it back home, I’d probably eat it weekly. Annie loved fresh waffle cones, so when she saw them restock warm cones in front of her, I urged her to get one. She was worried it would be too much ice cream and she’d waste it. Which was ridiculous. Annie loved ice cream, and this was our midday meal. When she debated, I ordered it for her. Dark chocolate and fresh raspberry on a plain waffle cone because while she had a sweet tooth, she’d never liked chocolate-dipped cones or any of the options that came with nuts, sprinkles, or candy.
As I held our gate open for her, she popped the last bite of the cone into her mouth. “The first ice cream of the season is always the best.”
I reached into my pocket and I nodded my agreement. I could have sworn I shoved a few napkins into my pocket, but I came up empty-handed. The only option that remained to help my beautiful wife clean the chocolate ice cream from her lips and chin was my mouth. I cradled her jaw in my hand possessively, leaned forward, and kissed her, trailing my tongue across her lips and down her chin before whispering, “You needed a little help. Hope you don’t mind.”
“How dare my husband kiss the ice cream from my mouth?” she winked before jogging up the porch steps. Instead of heading into the house, she plopped onto her swing. “There’s room for two. Want to join me?”
“You, me, and the swing sounds like a great way to spend a couple of hours. Should I grab us each a book?”
“Yes, please. I finished mine this morning. Just pull a number from the jar and bring me that one. And iced tea, if you don’t mind. The sun tea I made on the other side of the porch should be ready.”