Can't Look Away(117)
He leads Molly through the den and the kitchen, past the powder room they’ve wallpapered with old covers of The New Yorker and Life—half of each, their dreams combined. A literal dream come true, their life together. When did Molly stop remembering this? Or is it inevitable to forget how lucky you are, to eventually take the miraculous for granted when it’s no longer shiny and new?
Hunter stops when he gets to the alcove off the dining room, the space he uses as a home office. It’s where he pays the bills and keeps old trophies from sailing regattas, along with important documents like their tax returns and Social Security cards. But the secretary desk is gone, and so are his black file cabinets. In their place is a smaller desk that Molly recognizes instantly. It’s her desk from Brooklyn, from her old apartment on Driggs. The desk Jake got her their first year together, the one he’d found at the secondhand store. He’d painted the grubby wood white.
Molly looks at Hunter, her heart in her throat. “My desk. How did you…?”
“You’re a writer, Molly. You should be writing. And I’ve been terrible about reminding you of that. Truthfully, I think … I’ve been scared.” He rakes a hand through his dark flop of hair. “I know your creative side is so reminiscent of your life with Jake that I think a part of me has been afraid, that if you got back into writing … I could lose you to that. To him, even. I know that isn’t fair.”
“But you’re my husband, Hunter. You’re Stella’s father—”
“But Stella is his, Molly. I mean, I know she’s mine, but Jake is her blood. It doesn’t change the way I love her, but I can’t ever unknow that, and it’s hard as hell sometimes.”
Molly nods. There’s a tightness in her chest. “I can’t even imagine how hard it is, Hunt. I think—out of the million reasons why I want another baby—that’s the biggest one of all.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that I want you to know I’m never going to walk away from us. That this marriage is where I want to be, forever. And sometimes I feel like until we have a baby who’s biologically ours, you won’t ever feel completely safe with me. And that breaks my heart, and it eats away at me. Because even though I haven’t acted like it lately, I’m the luckiest woman in the world to be your wife.”
“Thank you for saying that.” Hunter gives a small smile. “I know it’s not fair of me to project those fears onto you. But I can also see that maybe you’ve been hesitant to ask for the things you really need from me, Moll. Because of how we started. Because subconsciously, you feel like I rearranged my whole life for you.”
Molly nods. Hunter is articulating what has for so long been unspoken in their marriage, the thing she says to herself when she feels something isn’t quite right. “But that isn’t your fault.”
“It’s been my fault not to realize how much you need this. And I’m sorry.” He smooths his palm over the surface of the desk, where the paint has begun to chip. “I may want to punch Jake Danner’s head through a wall, but he is right about some things.”
“Jake—” Molly’s breath catches in her throat. “Jake was here?”
“Early this morning.”
Molly drinks in the sight of her old desk. She’d wanted so badly to take it with her when she left their apartment, but she’d been too rushed and disorganized. She can’t believe Jake kept it, after all this time.
“He said he could never bring himself to get rid of it,” Hunter adds, reading her. “He wanted you to have it back. Thought it might … spark something.”
“But where’s all your stuff?”
“I moved it to the basement. This is your space now. I can help you make it nicer.” He pauses, staring at the desk. “Jake really … knows you.”
“Hunter.” She turns to face him, reaches for his hands. “Look at me. Do you remember that day we went to Brooklyn Flea? Just after we first met?”
He nods. “Of course.”
“I’ve never told you this, but I couldn’t believe you texted me to hang out after I told you I had a boyfriend. It’s just … most guys wouldn’t have been interested, if sex was off the table. But you were so happy and willing to just be my friend, all that time, while I figured out my life. Do you have any idea how romantic that is? That you loved me like that? That you valued me like that? Because I promise you, it’s much more romantic than being Molly of ‘Molly’s Song,’ and it’s a lot realer than getting pulled up on stage in a packed arena.” She steps closer to him. “Jake knows me, but not the way you do.”
His deep brown eyes clip hers.
“No matter what anyone says, you’re Stella’s father, Hunt. You know that, don’t you? We need you.”
A tear slides down Hunter’s cheek. Molly has only seen him cry once before, at the hospital when Stella was born. “It’s a girl!” he’d exclaimed, his eyes wet, his smile reaching his ears as Molly caught her breath, in sheer awe of what had just occurred, of the tiny human that had just emerged from her own body. A miracle.
“I need you guys, too.” Hunter screws his eyes shut, more tears leaking through. “I can’t believe we lost the baby.”