There were days that I waited for the other shoe to drop.

I didn’t think I could ever stop doing that.

Maybe it was the way the Kid was vague about how school was going, how he seemed to be dead-eyed some days, where I’d wonder if the doses he was taking for his panic disorder were far too high. Or maybe it was the way that there were still secrets we kept from him, of a kid named Ben born only a couple of weeks ago. Otter disagreed, but he didn’t push, and I told myself it was the right thing to do, that I wasn’t keeping this from the Kid because I wanted to. No, I was doing it because I had to. There were still earthquakes sometimes, and we’d wait for everything to stop shaking as we curled up in the bathtub, his breath rattling around in his chest as he struggled to breathe.

Maybe one day I wouldn’t worry about what happened next. Maybe one day I could just… let it go.

Maybe I could even start today.

There was a handsome man with his hand in mine, and he loved me more than anything else in the world.

I’d certainly put him through enough shit.

There was more garland on top of the cabinets in the kitchen, and something bubbled in a pot on the stove. There were candles lit on the kitchen table in the breakfast nook. Silverware sat atop folded napkins next to plates that we hardly ever used, a gift from his parents as a housewarming present when we’d moved to New Hampshire. They were certainly nicer than anything I’d ever owned before.

Shit.

Had I forgotten something?

It wasn’t anyone’s birthday.

It wasn’t our anniversary (the main one, but then Otter was a dork sometimes and he’d say, “Eight years ago today, you told me you loved me for the first time,” or “Six years ago today, we did that one thing that’s probably illegal in seven states, so we should probably try it again”).

Shit.

“You didn’t forget anything,” he said as he pulled me toward the table.

“I know,” I said. “I wasn’t even thinking that. I remember everything.”

“Uh-huh.”

He dropped my hand as we reached the table and pulled out the chair for me, looking at me expectantly.

So of course, I was instantly suspicious. “I didn’t forget anything,” I said slowly.

“Nope.”

“I know that. I’m just telling you in case you forgot.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

“Riiight. So….”

“Can’t I just do something nice?”

“Yes. But this reeks of not that.”

He squinted at me. “That’s probably just the Alfredo sauce on the stove.”

“That…. Okay. That was funny. I’m not laughing, because I’m convinced you’re up to something and I have to be distrustful, but I still thought that was funny.”

“All right, then. Wine.”

“You don’t even like wine. Not really.”

“Yes, but you do.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way.”