I take off my yellow hat and run my hand through my hair on a deep sigh.
What I want.
I want the impossible.
“Daddy! Let’s go!” Roman tears through the bedroom, ramming into my leg, thankfully my good leg.
Julie turns her head and blots her face.
“Okay, George. Let’s go.” I step out of the doorway.
Roman takes my hand and tugs on it as I try to lead him out of the bedroom. “Come on, Mommy.” He holds out his other hand to her, and she takes it.
As the three of us stand here holding hands, Julie and I look up at each other.
“I want this,” I whisper to her.
She gives me a quivering smile and nods. “Me too.”
* * *
We take our little boy trick or treating. I watch him giggle, and it makes me smile.
A real smile.
Julie plays chase with him between houses, as if our little monkey is going to gobble her up, and it makes me smile.
A real smile.
When we arrive home, we give him a bath, and more smiles and giggles ensue. And I think … maybe I can do this. Maybe I can find my way back to this life. Maybe Dorothy is right.
“He’s asleep.” Julie sighs with a fantastic smile on her face as she shuffles into the bedroom, tossing her banana costume on the floor, leaving her in a black tee and yellow leggings.
I rub a towel through my wet hair, freshly showered. Julie’s gaze slides along my bare chest to my jogging shorts. I hate that there’s a part of me that feels like she has no right to look at me this way.
In or out, Eli. Make a decision.
For Dorothy, the day in the on-call room might have felt like the true severing of ties. But for me, it’s this moment. It’s this decision to take back my life, to give my little boy everything.
Julie takes away the space between us one slow step at a time. I’ve waited for so long to see this look in her eyes again, to feel wanted, to feel the undeniable pull that brought us together twenty-two years ago.
But still … I think of Dorothy. Maybe I’ll always think of Dorothy. She will just have to be a scar, a permanent mark on my heart because I let her inside of me. And letting her go has been brutal and not without damage.
Julie rests her hands on my bare chest and presses her lips to my sternum. I close my eyes and slide my hand into her long, red hair. It’s not as soft as Dorothy’s hair. But the shiver it elicits in Julie is familiar. So that’s what I cling to—the familiar.
She feathers kisses up to my neck. My grip on her hair tightens like the suffocating pressure in my chest. Her lips pause at the angle of my jaw, and she waits for me to look at her.
I do.
But just as quickly, I close my eyes and kiss her so she doesn’t see the pain and regret in my eyes. I have to believe someday it won’t be there.
Someday I will be okay.
Julie doesn’t smell like coconuts. But that’s fine.
Fine …
She smells like roses. I used to love the smell of roses.
I drop the towel in my other hand and grip her hip, inching my hand up to her breast. It’s not familiar. It’s larger than it was when I last touched her like this. And much larger than Dorothy’s breasts, which I miss.
Julie’s fingers trace my erection along the outside of my shorts. I’m clearly turned on, and that’s good for us. I just really don’t know if it’s Julie or memories of Dorothy.
It doesn’t matter.
This is my life now. I will embrace it.
I will love it.
Blocking all other comparisons from ruining this moment, I walk us to the bed. We don’t rush anything, like there’s a need to get reacquainted, a need to let our bodies find their old rhythm. Our arms and legs tangle together on the bed as we continue this slow kiss. I remove her shirt and bra.
Julie sucks in a deep breath and holds it, eyes filled with apprehension and regret as I stare at her new body. She doesn’t say it, but I know she’s feeling a certain amount of shame for not loving herself the way I always loved her. For thinking something about her was less than perfect. But perfection changes and so does how we view ourselves. And that’s … okay.
Just as I get ready to say something comforting, we turn our heads toward the door and the sleepy-eyed boy with vomit down the front of his jammies.
“Oh, buddy!” I climb off the bed as Julie quickly covers her chest.
“My tummy …”
“Yeah, let’s get you cleaned up,” I say.
He cries a little then heaves, but I don’t get out of his way quick enough to keep the vomit from landing on me. Without giving a second thought to what was about to happen before Roman got sick, we clean up the mess and tuck him into bed between us with a big bowl for any more messes.