Page 162 of Maybe You

“I didn’t hear you come in,” I say.

“It’s because you do the voices and get so into character the outside world ceases to exist,” Wren says and widens his eyes.

I narrow mine at him in return, and he chuckles softly before he lifts his chin toward Annie.

“Out like a light,” he says.

I give our daughter’s forehead a kiss, too, and roll myself off the bed. Wren walks into the room and carefully tucks Annie in, giving her a goodnight kiss of his own.

I watch them and everything—everything—inside me feels full.

It took me seven years to come to terms with the fact that I wanted them. Kids. Then two more before I felt like I was brave enough to handle it. All the while, Wren stood calmly beside me. Through all the freak outs and therapy appointments and times I felt like running. Always there. A calm, quiet, steady presence. Never letting me let him go.

My gravity.

We got married five years into our relationship. In my head, I thought it’d be somehow difficult.

It turned out to be the easiest thing I’ve ever done.

I call him my husband whenever I get a chance nowadays. Just because I can.

“Did you get things sorted at work?” I ask as we head downstairs. Wren works for a company that develops medical devices. Surgery robots and things like that. Which is a roundabout way of saying he’s really fucking smart, and I couldn’t properly explain what exactly it is that he does if you paid me.

I still run the foundation. It’s become easier over the years. Somehow less personal. Now it’s more about simply helping people who need it rather than seeking atonement for what I am.

Because what I am is not some ticking time bomb of impending doom.

I’m just a man who tries to do his best. Live his best life.

I’m a husband

A father.

I see it now. On most days, at least.

And I owe that clarity only, and only, to Wren.

“Nope,” he says. “Everything sucks balls, and this fucking robot is going to turn into an inspiration for a slasher movie, so we figured it’d be better to call it a night.”

I snort and throw myself on the couch, and Wren lies down, his head in my lap. I card my fingers through his hair and smile down at him.

He yawns and wiggles closer. “Six more days,” he says. “And then the craziness will go away.”

“Hawaii, baby.” I waggle my brows. “Two weeks. No work. No obligations. Just relaxing and hiking and swimming.”

Wren hums and closes his eyes.

“Tell me more,” he says.

I chuckle softly and keep combing my fingers through his hair.

“Good food,” I say.

“Mhmm,” he agrees and peers at me from one eye. “With no cooking involved.”

“None,” I promise solemnly. “We’ll build the biggest sandcastles with Finn and teach Annie to snorkel.”

“What else?”