Читать книгу Alone: A Love Story - Michelle Parise - Страница 11

We’re in a restaurant with our daughter, Birdie, having our weekly “family dinner.” We’ve been separated for eleven months.

Out of the blue he says, “I was just reading Our Book. All the emails back and forth.” It’s like he’s just put a fist through my chest. There’s no way I’d be able to read it yet; there’s no way I’d expect him to re-read it, not now or ever.

“Did it make you sad to read it?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says, “but a little happy too.”

We smile at one another, but I want to jump across the table and shake him. I also want to crawl into his arms and feel his skin against mine. I want to kiss the nape of his neck and also punch him in his stupid face. It’s complicated to love someone who’s betrayed you, okay?

Afterward, as he walks me and Birdie to my apartment, he puts his arm around me. For the first time in almost a year, we walk like that, his giant parka and mine all bunched together. We stop outside my building. He kisses my forehead and says, “I love you.” He waves at us as we go in.

This is how we are now. This is who we are. Together, alone.