Do I Know You?(87)

Warmth fills me, his words melting my playful posturing. We brought more than this lingerie home from our anniversary trip. We’ve kept going to boxing classes—the beginner level, though. Every now and then, Graham surprises me with dance lessons or cooking classes or nights out. Over a long weekend, David visited, and while we hiked in Torrey Pines, he enthusiastically shared with us everything about the new woman he met online using the dating profile he set up in the workshop. He promised to invite us to the inevitable wedding.

On occasion, it isn’t Graham who works in downtown San Diego who comes home from the office, nor the Eliza who spent the day in the recording studio who meets him. From time to time, we slip on the roles of our characters for some fun. We reignite their chemistry, we continue their stories. For the night, we become the couple who found each other again, who fell for each other again, who remind us of ourselves in the sweetest ways.

The roles remain easy opportunities to keep getting to know the new and ever-changing sides of each other, and to remind ourselves of just how many versions of each other we love. They’re hours-long vacations into parallel lives. What’s more, they’ve strengthened our marriage in every way, so much so, I can hardly imagine the me of four months ago who dreaded six silent hours in the car with my husband.

They’re helping us find our future, too.

When we got home, conversations happened over dinner in which we confirmed it wasn’t just Graham in character who was ready to have kids. In short, I fell in love with the idea, which now sparkles on the horizon. I’m not pregnant yet. But Graham’s researching his firm’s paternity leave policies in earnest, and sometimes when I look into rooms in our home, I start to imagine different furniture in them.

“Not to rush you,” Graham says, stepping out of our embrace, “but we have to get on the road if we want to beat traffic.”

I smile to myself. Some things haven’t changed between us. But I know how to talk to my husband now. Shutting my suitcase, I turn to Graham. “Exactly how much time have you spent on Google Maps this morning?” I put the question to him with playful suspicion.

He laughs good-naturedly. “It’s good to be prepared. Wouldn’t want something to make you late to this wedding.”

I soften, recognizing the kindness in Graham’s thinking. It’s not unwarranted—I might have had a little travel anxiety about making it to Michelle’s wedding, given what happened with the engagement party. I don’t know if I could take disappointing my sister for the second time. Instead of concealing my fears, though, I told Graham what I was feeling. I let him in. He was the one who suggested we drive out early, ensuring nothing keeps us from my sister’s wedding.

I brush a quick kiss to his lips on my way out of the room.

He follows me through our house, which hasn’t looked cluttered to me since we got home from Big Sur. Graham’s paperwork on one end of the dining table, the scripts I’ve stacked on top of the books on our bookcases, the handheld fan we keep in the kitchen for when Graham’s recent forays into cooking upset the smoke detector. They don’t feel like the signs of increasingly non-overlapping lives. They feel like us.

“Are you going to be recording something while we drive?” he asks.

He holds the front door open for me while I walk out into our familiar driveway. The conditions closely resemble the day we drove out for the trip we didn’t know would change our lives, the silver sky overhead, the fog condensing in droplets on our recycling cans. It’s nothing like the gorgeous greenery, the rolling hills, the unique majesty of the Treeline Resort—and yet, I feel like we bottled up and brought some of the hotel’s romance home with us.

“I might,” I reply. “If it doesn’t bother you.”

Graham pops the trunk. “Is it sexy stuff?”

His boyish phrasing makes me laugh. “Not today,” I say, swinging open the passenger door. A hint of regret colors my voice.

Graham hums. “Damn. That’s unfortunate.”

I grin. “Well, if that’s what you’re looking for, I’m certain we can come up with something on our very long drive.”

The car shudders as Graham shuts the trunk. He reappears on the driver’s side. “Yeah? Because I’ve been brainstorming, and I think I might outdo you this time.”

We get into the car at the same time. I feel a pleased flush rise on my neck, while Graham looks like he can’t resist. He leans over the center console to take my lips with his. His mouth is hot, wanting in his every caress, weakening my limbs with sweet static electricity. Suddenly, I find myself running the same calculations he was all morning—exactly how long until we’re in our hotel room for the night?

“I’m sure you will,” I whisper in the post-kiss lull. “You’re very creative, you know.”

Flashing me a cheeky grin, Graham starts the car, his motions hurried, like he knows what every wasted second will cost him. I don’t fight the flush in my neck from raging onto my cheeks. Graham will notice. I don’t care. He knows what I’m thinking, because he’s thinking it himself. There’s no use pretending.

He pulls out of our driveway, and my face aches from smiling. With the open road ahead, I settle into my seat, looking forward to every us we’ll be tonight and for the rest of our lives.