The Mothers(60)

“Don’t worry, honey,” she said. “Everything in its own time. You can’t rush God.”

That night, Luke came home late. Aubrey was sleeping when she heard him fumbling in the dark, shedding clothes. When they first married, she’d always jolted awake at the sound of him moving in the dark. He could be anybody, creeping through her apartment. But now she knew the cadence of his footsteps, how he tugged off his jeans and his shirt before climbing in bed beside her. She smelled his familiar scent, a little sweet but warm. Manly. Their bed smelled like him, and on the few nights they’d spent apart, she always slept with his pillow on top of her own. Like how when they were dating, she would always leave her sweater on the kitchen chair where he hung his jacket, so he would place his on top of hers and when he left, her sweater would smell like him.

She rolled toward him and placed her hand on his warm belly. A few inches lower and she could slip her hand inside his boxers. She could kiss him and climb on top of him, the way she’d climbed on top of Russell long ago in the beach bathroom. A stranger, yet she still couldn’t bring herself to touch her husband first. But before she could move, Luke lifted her hand and kissed her palm. Then he rolled over and went to sleep.

—

IN THE FADING EVENING LIGHT, Luke huffed in Nadia’s backyard, bench-pressing her father’s weights. He was killing time, waiting for her to finish reheating dinner, waiting for her father to fall asleep in front of the television so he could spend an hour with Nadia in her bedroom. He usually didn’t come over this late, but tonight had been a surprise gift: his schedule had been switched at the last minute, so when he told Aubrey earlier that he had to work late, he hadn’t been lying for once. He was a better liar than he’d thought he could be. It scared him a bit, how easily he could convince even himself that what he was doing wasn’t wrong. All because Nadia had been first. She had been his first love, so maybe, in a way, she had the rightful claim to his heart. Maybe it was like how when you stepped out of the grocery store line to grab bread, no one could really be mad when you returned to your spot. It wasn’t cutting if you had been there before.

He groaned, pushing up the barbell. He’d begun doing this, playing around with her father’s weights when he came over. He had put on weight and he suddenly felt aware of it every time he undressed in front of Nadia. The last time she’d seen him naked, he’d been in elite shape, 220 pounds, five percent body fat. Now he’d grown extra padding on his stomach, his taut calves and biceps softening. He was already turning fat like the alumni who used to visit team practice during homecoming; Luke and his teammates had secretly laughed at them, men who hadn’t quit a football diet once the football stopped. That would be him someday, he’d known that, but he hadn’t guessed how quickly someday would come.

Since he and Nadia had started sleeping together again, he’d begun eating better, avoiding dessert, doing push-ups on the bathroom floor. He felt shy about it, like an insecure teenager, but maybe that was what she wanted. She had loved him then, when he was young and handsome and cruel. He didn’t want to be cruel to her anymore, but he could at least be handsome again.

“Do you want those?”

He racked the weights and sat up, his arms burning. Nadia lingered behind the screen door.

“What?” he said.

“Take them,” she said, pointing to the weights.

“But they’re your dad’s.”

“He doesn’t need them. They almost killed him.”

She leaned against the doorway, her foot scratching the back of her calf. She was wearing sweatpants, her hair tied up in a bun, and she had never looked more beautiful. He had never seen this side of her before, not the first time. Then, she had gussied herself up every time they went out, wearing miniskirts and cute sundresses and lipstick. He’d loved that about her, how much effort she put into looking pretty for him, but he felt even more connected to this dressed-down side of her. This was the real her and she trusted him enough to let him see it. The same way he knew that she had seen the real him. Aubrey saw a version of him that was better than he had ever been. But Nadia had seen him at his worst. He’d been selfish and mean to her, but she still wanted him. He felt liberated, knowing that he was seeing Nadia at her worst too. She had betrayed her best friend to be with him. She felt guilty about their affair, he could tell, even though she wouldn’t admit it. Admitting it meant that she would have to stop seeing him. It was easier to pretend she didn’t feel guilty.

So he pretended too. In her bed that night, he traced his hand down her naked shoulder, misted by their sweat.

“Do you ever think about that summer?” he said.

“Which summer?” she asked.

“You know the one.”

Sometimes he felt trapped in that summer before she’d left for college, wondering about all of the things he should’ve done differently. If he’d just picked her up from the clinic. If he’d convinced her not to go to the clinic in the first place. If they would have been exactly like this, lying in bed together talking, except with a six-year-old running around in the living room.

“Sometimes,” she said.

“Do you think we—” He paused. “Maybe we should have—”

She tensed in his arms and he knew he’d crossed a line. He knew by now the topics he could never discuss with her. Aubrey. Their baby. He expected her to pull away from him, but instead, she rolled toward him.