Glop delivered and smooshed into the trays, he put the entire mess in the freezer and washed his hands. Was he pretending the conversation was over? Acting like she wasn’t there? Uncertain and confused—and also quite upset—she stood in the doorway. Dylan had Jillian right now, so they could avail themselves of all the time in the world. Talk. Sex. Coffee. Even—God forbid—a few runs down the slopes. Laura hated skiing. Hated it almost as much as childbirth. But she’d do it for Mike.
She’d do damn near anything for him and Dylan, and he knew it.
Which made this all the more perplexing. Had she been unfair? Yes. But they’d never treated their relationship as something to be equally doled out, as if each needed exactly 33.3333333333333 percent of some kind of relationship pie. This wasn’t about making percentages add up. Emotions and time and sex and attention weren’t like that. If they’d tried that kind of math they’d have failed long ago.
Instead—she thought—they’d all loosely fallen into a less-distinct process, a more cooperative way of living that involved everyone giving their best and hoping it would work out. Take when you needed to take and give when you needed to give. For nearly a year and a half that had worked, but this breakdown now showed her that clearly, something wasn’t working.
As his strong back faced her, arms scrubbing furiously as he washed his hands, the scent of orange mint floated over his shoulder, the new dish soap inviting and fresh. Too bad life couldn’t really be as clean and open as that soap seemed to promise, as if a scent could make the atmosphere happier than it really was.
Hesitant, then plunging in, she raised her hands and touched his shoulders, gradually laying her palms flat against the broad crossbar of the T that made up his shoulders and backbone. She expected him to stiffen, knowing that breaking through with Mike could be a slow-to-warm process.
Having him slump forward and rest his hands on either side of the sink as a slow, deep breath changed the landscape of his entire body was definitely a surprise. This was the act of a man deeply conflicted, of someone grappling with a core issue.
“Laura,” he said with the rush of an out-breath, his tone of voice so hard to read. Was that passion? Exhaustion? Discord? That he said anything at all, though, was good.
Had she miscalculated? Invalidated his feelings? Misjudged so badly that she’d compromised the very center of what she held dear with him? Tears filled her eyes before either said a word, and as he turned to her there were so many layers of emotion in his face that she could spend an entire year alone with him before she could unpack all those messages.
“I’m not jealous,” he said, the words coming out around a second sigh. His head tipped down and alarm shot through her at the way he said it. The hair on the nape of his neck was a golden brown, the same color as Jillian’s, and much like her own blond locks. His shoulders slowly released as he added, “I am hurt.”
Oh.
Ouch. Her hands would have started to shake if they weren’t firmly flattened against his shoulders. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
Lean in. Her heart told her what to do. One step forward, so awkward and hard, and she rested her cheek against his spine, her belly pressing into his thigh.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, the teardrops mottling the back of his shirt. She reached the middle of his back like this and it made her feel childlike, small and wrong.
One out of three was true.
He turned around and somehow, the unbreachable was broken, the wall of thorns stripped away, the wall vanquished, as his arms wrapped around her shoulders and she twined hers about his waist. The heady aroma of orange and mint on his hands now had the scent of hope and renewal, of wholehearted love and faith.
Mike was so tall, so stalwart and steady, that she had taken for granted that his sheer size meant he was unbreakable, never shaken, always strong. Selfish of her to think it, she now realized.
He was fallible. And soft and vulnerable like her, too.
On the inside.
“When you acted like it was no big deal and Dylan said I should get over it and just take two nights in a row you both really made me feel as if my feelings didn’t matter. How I felt in that moment has nothing to do with divvying up everything. It was a feeling, and they can’t be spreadsheeted.”
Her smile made her lip catch on of the buttons on the front of his shirt, which made her sniffle, which made her snort, which made him laugh.
“Sorry.” She coughed. “I always get a stuffy nose when I cry.”
“I know.”
She loved that he knew. He pulled her back and gently wiped each tear from her face, the pad of his fingers tracing the path, working to give the rolling drop eternal companionship, a traveling partner in pain.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For telling me why you’ve been so closed up. And for having the courage to open up after I didn’t treat you well.”
Dylan’s voice surprised her from behind. “We didn’t treat you well.” With a half-turn she could see him, a sleeping Jillian on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, dude. I had no idea you were that bothered.”
Mike arched an eyebrow and Laura got it. Got it. What Dylan said wasn’t an apology. She thought it was, and Dylan probably did as well, but seeing someone else deliver it like this gave her a new perspective.
“Dylan,” she said quietly. “The fact that he was bothered at all is something we all need to deal with. It’s not just Mike’s issue.”
Mike nodded quietly, his chin bobbing against the top of her head. “You get it,” he whispered, squeezing her gently.
Blinking hard, Dylan shifted the baby to the other shoulder, resettling her head on his shoulder as she snored lightly. Absentmindedly, he stroked her hair, cupping the back of her head in a soothing manner that made Laura so ridiculously happy she couldn’t put words to it.
“I think I understand. I basically just fake apologized, huh?”
Mike nodded.
“Like ‘I’m sorry you were offended’? Where I’m apologizing for your emotional reaction and not for my action?” Dylan’s lips pursed with the intensity of his realization.
“Someone’s been watching Dr. Phil,” Mike replied, as if impressed. Laura bit her lip, trying not to laugh.
Dylan pointed to the sleeping baby. “Blame her. Three o’clock nap.” His brown eyes went soft as they jumped between Laura and Mike, friendly and apologetic. “I’m sorry, Mike.”