I swat away the unwelcome thought, but it lingers at the back of my head stubbornly. I’m aware that Artem and I still need to have a discussion about our future.
But I’m putting it off.
I can sense he is, too.
We both just want to cling to the illusion of perfection that we’re currently engulfed in.
Is that so wrong?
After we finish eating, we pack up. Artem slings our bag over his shoulder and takes Phoenix from my arms.
“I’ll carry the little one back,” he tells me.
Phoenix stays awake the whole way back into town. Even when we cross the boardwalk and get into the car, he coos happily in Artem’s arms, running his tiny fingers through the curls of Artem’s beard.
I end up driving back because I don’t want to intrude on their bonding moment.
Though that’s also dangerous, because I can’t stop looking over at them and having my heart melt and ooze out through my eyeballs.
We get back to the apartment just after the sun has set. Phoenix yawns hugely against Artem’s chest and starts the heavy blink that means bedtime is imminent.
Once he’s changed and bathed, I feed him again and settle him back into his bassinet for the night. He’s asleep from the moment I set him down.
Artem and I end up in the shower together so that we can wash the sand off our bodies.
Of course, that inevitably ends with shower sex.
But this time, it’s slow and tender. It soothes the ache between my legs and when we fall into bed, naked and immensely satisfied, I go to sleep every bit as fast as my son did.
* * *
I sleep soundly for a while. But my body clock has me blinking awake when it’s still dark outside.
I glance over at the bassinet. Phoenix is still where I placed him earlier.
But Artem is not by my side like I expect him to be.
It’s funny—the bed is so small, and yet it still feels empty without him.
“Artem?”
No answer. He must be in the bathroom or something.
I turn to Phoenix. My breasts are heavy, so I feed him. Then I put him back in his bassinet. Still no sign of my husband.
“Artem?” I call out again.
No answer.
I pad out of the bedroom and into the tiny excuse for a living room.
Artem is sitting on the low sofa in the darkness. Gazing at the far wall as if there’s something there.
But there’s nothing. Nothing at all. His gaze is miles away from here.
He looks at me then, but he still feels so far away.
It scares me all over again. It tells me what I’ve known deep in my heart since right after he showed up at my door: that the bubble is about to break.