Necessary Restorations (The Walsh Series) (A) (45 page)

“Well . . .” She grabbed my drink and drained it. “Why not?”

I rolled my eyes. “Because . . . because he might not want to see me.”

“And what if he does?”

I snorted. “Would you go back to someone who was awful to you?”

“Why can’t you see him and tell him it’s been long enough? Get those big girl panties and make shit happen for you. Now. Go. Find his ass and give him a talking-to.”

“While that is a fantastic idea and all, don’t you think I could get some sleep first?”

Ellie shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

Before I could argue, she nodded toward the bar, and Sam was standing there. Maybe he’d been there all along or maybe I was imagining him, but there he was, tanned, bearded, and rather scruffy. Ellie slipped out of the booth as he walked toward me, and I knew they’d planned this beautifully choreographed dance.

I stared at him, peering past all the changes to find the man I once knew. All the words were bubbling up inside me and I was shaky and shivering, as if I was somehow chilled on a hot day, and
fuck,
I just wanted to touch him and never, ever stop.

“Hi,” he said. That voice. It was surprisingly deep, and he wasn’t saying much but he was saying
everything.
“Your hair is longer.” He reached out, fingering the strands spilling over my shoulders. I hadn’t found the time to get it cut since before we went to Arizona, and he was here with me, touching my hair even after I’d convinced myself it would never happen. “God, you are so fucking gorgeous.”

“What are you doing here?” I blurted, and those words sliced right through him. He winced, sucking in a breath as he looked away. “That’s not how I meant it to come out. I just . . . I’m sorry but where the fuck have you been? I didn’t think I’d see you again. I mean, I’m not saying you should leave, but I want to know why you dropped off the face of the planet and I don’t know what to say so I’m just letting words fall out of my mouth and hoping they make sense.”

Focus, Tiel.

“I’ve been chopping wood and hating the world and dealing with my issues,” he said. “And that took a lot longer than I expected, but . . .” He reached into his pocket and produced a journal. “Here.”

Part of me was too stunned to speak, and the other part was trying to figure out what was happening. Sam placed it in my hands, nodding, and I opened to an arbitrary page.

Tiel–

I’ll never forget the sound of your voice when you say ‘I love you.’ It’s different, like you’re telling me a secret or speaking in a language that only we can hear.

I just hope I’ll hear it again.

I don’t know how to ask you to forgive me for the things I’ve done, and maybe I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I need you to know that I love you and there is no one in the universe I’ll ever want but you. I’ve been yours since always, and always will be.

Tears blurred in my eyes, and I flipped to another page.

Tiel–

I was so mad at you this morning. I hate that you didn’t believe me when I tried to explain what happened with Magnolia. I hate that you didn’t trust me. I hate that you didn’t believe I’ve changed, that everything had changed.

But I still love you . . . and I hope you still love me.

Then another.

Tiel–

There are some walks you have to take alone, and this is mine. I had to leave and I had to cut myself off from everyone and everything, and I had to stop blaming everyone else for my problems.

But I should have told you. Just like I should have told you about Magnolia and I should have gone to your apartment after that night at Hermit Crab when you shoved your hand in my pants.

I tried telling you everything I was thinking and that worked for a couple of months but it didn’t fix me. I had to fix me. Not a day has gone by that I haven’t wanted to hear your voice.

I hope you understand how much I needed this. How I had to get all my issues out and deal with my own reality, and I hope you see a path where you’d consider forgiving me for the awful things I’ve done and taking me back. I’ll understand if you don’t, and I’ll survive if you don’t . . . but Sunshine, I want to do it right this time.

And another.

Tiel–

I’ve read
The Count of Monte Cristo
about 200 times, but now that I’m reading it again, there are parts that feel different to me, and I realized I’m different.

There’s a quote that I never understood:

“There is neither happiness nor misery in the world; there is only the comparison of one state with another, nothing more. He who has felt the deepest grief is best able to experience supreme happiness.”

I always thought it was ridiculous. If someone experiences suffering, it would make sense that they wouldn’t need more than a small amount of joy. All I ever wanted was that tiny taste of happiness because I believed I didn’t want or need or deserve more.

But I was wrong. You showed me more. You showed me that I could have crazy, wild happiness, and we could make something incredible together.

I want something incredible with you. Something safe and forever and real, and know that I will never want it with anyone else, ever.

And one more.

Tiel–

I dreamed of you last night. You were on a beach somewhere, and you were wearing that long yellow skirt. You were walking along the shore and I tried to catch up to you, but I couldn’t. You were just out of reach and I had to watch while you collected shells and dipped your feet in the water. I think it might have been a nightmare but . . . I got to see you again and that made everything better.

Maybe it means we’ll always be apart. That you won’t be able to forgive me. That I’m not forgivable.

Tears were streaming down my face when I looked up, and if there was ever a doubt about this man ruining me, it died the second he offered me his handkerchief.

“I went to your apartment,” he said.

“I wasn’t there. I was defending my dissertation,” I sniffled.

“Ellie mentioned that,” he said. “Congratulations, Dr. Desai.” He folded his arms on the table, dipping his head to meet my eyes. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course,” I whispered. I couldn’t believe those old patterns came back so quickly. “And
of course
you’re forgivable.”

“I . . . shit, this was so much easier to say in my head.” He brought his hand to his face and rubbed his forehead, and without thinking, my fingers tangled in his free hand. He looked up, at once surprised and buoyant, and I squeezed. “I realized a few things. You and me? We’re not normal people. We’re weird, and have perverted minds, and there’s no one else out there for us.”

“Is that so?”

“There should be nothing surprising about the pervert part,” he said. He gathered my hands in his, his expression sobering. “Let’s be the people who figure it out. The ones who learn how to do it right.”

“What does that mean?” I whispered.

He was here, talking to me, and he looked fucking incredible. He was nailing the lumberjack underwear model thing, and I couldn’t stop wondering how that beard would feel against my inner thighs.

Focus.

“It means I spent more than two months away from you but can’t get the words in order to tell you I love you and I missed you and I can’t spend another day without you, so please put me out of my misery and come home with me now.”

“I missed you too,” I said. “And I worked like crazy to get my dissertation finished, and I hate all the awful things I said to you. I shouldn’t have pushed you away.”

He studied me, but I couldn’t interpret the gleam in his eyes. “I needed to hear everything you said.” He looked around the bar, frowning. “Can we get out of here?”

He slid out of the booth, and of course I followed. We walked in silence, and when our hands bumped, I slid my palm into his. I didn’t pay attention to where we were going, and I didn’t care that we were wandering the city without saying a word to each other. For all the distance and time we’d put between us, being here with him was all I needed right now. This was the walk we were taking together.

We stopped on a corner, and Sam pointed across the street. We were in front of the firehouse.

“Who are we going to be, Tiel?”

Smiling, I leaned into him, wrapping my arms around him for the first time in too long. “We’re the ones who figure it out.”

Six months later

THERE WAS A better way to do this. Something elaborate or quirky, the kind of experience we’d retell for years to come. But that ring had been burning a hole in my pocket all week, and we had enough stories in our arsenal.

And maybe this one was just for us.

The ring caught my eye when I walked past the Newbury Street jewelry shop, and I knew that pale pink stone belonged on Tiel’s hand. It was a rare, old-fashioned cut and the thin antique band was studded with white diamonds, and it was too odd to pass up.

And now, on this sunny November morning with her asleep beside me, I was tired of waiting.

We’d spent the first two months going to shows, watching movies, and making new memories to replace those from our time apart. There were a lot of issues for us to get through; simply deciding that we wanted to be together didn’t change the fact that I didn’t make healthy decisions or set the clearest boundaries with the women in my life, or that her jealousy and abandonment triggers were quick. But we talked and worked at it, and we agreed we wouldn’t walk away, even when it was difficult or frustrating.

We weren’t walking away
ever.

After celebrating the Fourth of July with a whirlwind tour of regional music festivals, Tiel announced she was tired of bouncing between my place and hers, and we’d decided an experiment in cohabitation was in order.

From there, we’d spent the summer learning how to live together, fighting and making up, and discovering new ways to love and challenge each other every day.

The firehouse was in decent shape, too. There were a couple new walls and the tree-ring tile project was finished, and a crew was wrapping up work on her studio next week.

At Tiel’s request, I hadn’t evicted Riley, but he was safely ensconced in his own wing these days. Unfortunately, that didn’t improve his ability to zip his pants.

Tiel had accepted an associate professorship, and for the first time in years, didn’t spend the summer at band camp. With all that free time, she eventually agreed to Lauren’s invitation for margaritas and pedicures. The paint wasn’t even dry on her toes when she’d texted me to say Lauren was hilarious and she was developing a crazy girl-crush on her.

Over Labor Day weekend on Martha’s Vineyard, Tiel and Shannon ended up chatting for hours—there were a few bottles of wine involved—and now they regularly met up for drinks.

Despite our commitment to complete honesty, I wasn’t going to call out Tiel’s dramatic pivot in that situation.

I glanced at the ring again, smiling. The stone was big, bigger than Tiel would ever select for herself, but wasn’t that the point?

The idea of marriage was a strange compulsion for me. I craved this, and not because I doubted any amount of our commitment to each other. I’d spent some time unwrapping this urge for weeks now, and though I knew I could be content with our relationship as it was, I wanted the official confirmation that we were legally, socially, spiritually bound and possessed by each other.

I wanted Tiel as mine, and I wanted to be hers.

And we were ready for this.

“Sweetheart,” I murmured, brushing her hair aside and kissing her shoulder.

“Five more minutes,” she whispered.

“I’d like a little bit longer than that,” I said, curling my arm around her waist.

She nodded and burrowed into my chest, her eyes heavy with sleep. “It’s Sunday, though,” she said. “Let’s have snuggletime.”