“It was unfair of me to try and coerce you like that. I'm sorry."
"It's okay."
He shook his head. "No, it's not right. I want you to come, Kate, really badly. But I want you to want to come as well. I want you to do it of your own free will because you want to come with me. Not because I forced you into it."
"I do want to come." Saying the words surprised me because I didn’t want to admit that I did want to go. Saying it out loud scared me witless. That's why my first response was to decline. I wanted everything that he seemed to want, but I was still too afraid to reach out and grab it.
His green eyes filled with hope. "You do?"
I let out a long sigh. "Yes, I do.” I pressed my hand on his chest. "But don't read too much into it."
He flinched, and I hated that my words hurt him. But I couldn't have him thinking that everything between us was copacetic.
He nodded. "Okay. I understand."
Feeling like I was falling too hard, too fast for Sam, I made arrangements to go see Ethan and Lucy for dinner the next night. It gave me an excuse not to see him.
Besides, I had to tell them I was going to New York for Thanksgiving with Sam's family. I was nervous about meeting them, and it was a reminder that despite how much Sam and I had loved each other five years ago, we hadn’t known each other as well as we should have.
For example, I'd never met his parents or his brother or sister. Five years ago, as we packed up to move, I remember being worried about his bringing me home as his fiancée and meeting them for the first time. What would happen if they didn't like me?
Of course, that never happened. I wondered what they thought of Sandra. Where was she now? What was Sam’s relationship with her? Maybe it was time I let Sam explain to me whatever it was he wanted to tell me about her.
I shook the thought away. I didn't want to know. What good would come from knowing? All it would do was reopen the wound of his leaving five years ago. I wanted to keep moving in the direction that would bring me to Sam, not away from him, no matter how scary and risky it was.
During that morning, I felt a little queasy. Either I was coming down with something or I was stressed about agreeing to go to New York with Sam. It was my body's way of physically manifesting my fear.
Just to be sure I wasn't sick, I took my temperature, but it was normal. So, it must just be nerves. It also meant that I could still visit Ethan and Lucy and see the babies.
I had just a few minutes with my niece and nephew before Ethan put them to bed. I went with Lucy to the kitchen to help finish dinner.
"I hope you don't mind. We’re having stir-fry. It's fast and easy, which is a necessity when you have two young kids."
"I love stir-fry." I inhaled the aromas of sesame oil and soy sauce. My stomach rolled over.
I stepped back and covered my mouth, a little worried that my lunch might come up. Maybe I did have a bug even though I didn't have a temperature.
“Can I get the drinks or something?" I didn't want to look rude or unhelpful by leaving the kitchen to get away from the smell.
"That would be great. I have a pitcher of cold water in the fridge, as well as some wine."
I got wine and water glasses from the cupboard, putting them on the table in the dining room. Then I brought the pitcher of water and the bottle of wine out as well. Every time I entered the kitchen, I held my breath. Why did the scent make me nauseous? I loved Chinese food.
By the time Ethan came downstairs, Lucy was ready to serve dinner. Ethan opened the wine and poured the wine glasses while I filled the water glasses with water.
I sat down as Lucy brought me my plate, and again, the scent of food made my stomach turn over. I picked up my fork and poked at the chicken and broccoli, trying to decide whether I could force myself to eat it, or did I risk it coming back up?
"You sure you're okay?" Lucy asked. "You're looking a little pale."
"Maybe I shouldn’t have come. I'm feeling a little queasy." Then, worried they would think I came over knowing I was sick, risking their children's health, I quickly added, "I took my temperature earlier, and it was fine. When I came over, I felt fine. I just..." I didn't want to finish the sentence by telling Lucy that the scent of her cooking was making me feel sick.
Lucy studied me for a moment. "Maybe I should've made spaghetti instead of stir-fry."
Worried that I offended her, I waved her comment away. "No. I love stir-fry... usually."
Lucy turned her attention back toward her dish.
"If you're not feeling well, do you want to lie down?" Ethan asked me. I shook my head, thinking maybe it was best if I just went home.