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The Savinga Grill has always been one of my favorite restaurants since I first discovered it years ago. With exposed dark red brick, raw wood beams, and high ceilings, it’s rustic, it’s cozy, and it’s only a cab ride away.
That’s what I told Evan to get him here when he asked where I wanted to go.Just a cab ride away.
I shrug and say, “I wanted to go out.”
“It makes me nervous,” he tells me. I know it does. I realize this is a risk and one he didn’t want to take, but time is not on our side and I’ve waited long enough.
I lay my hand on the table, palm up, and wait for him to take it. “Mason said you need to be seen.”
“Me, notus.” He emphasizes the word “us.”
“It’s part of us moving forward together.” The smile on my lips is small but it’s still there. “I won’t let someone keep me from you or us from our lives.”
His lips twitch with a response, but he doesn’t say anything. Two weeks have passed since I told him we were pregnant. Two weeks came and went, and I’m officially in our second trimester now.
“We tried this your way, now we try it mine,” I tell him, and my words come out hard.
“And your way is to go out and risk being seen?”
“I want us to go out, yes … like we used to.” My answer is blunt as I pull my napkin across my lap. “I’m not going to hide away in some dark room and let my fear cripple me.” My voice is stern but also sympathetic. “If someone wants to know if we’re together, let them know.” He woke up last night with sweat pouring down his face. He was screaming in his sleep. I refuse to play this psychological game. I’m going to be there for my husband. I’m going to do everything I can to make him better. And that means not hiding and not being scared.
I’ll be strong for him. I’ll be strong for us both. At this point I don’t know what to think of his ex-boss or how Tony died. I know my husband is letting his fear kill him, though. It’s shoved itself between us and I can’t let that happen anymore. He refuses to go to the cops. He’s not ready to see a psychologist. I’m okay with that, but I’m not okay with nothing changing for the better.
“I won’t let a single person keep us from moving on with our lives. That means being together and going to my favorite restaurant to celebrate.”
I flash him a smile as the waiter walks over to us. Like this conversation doesn’t put me on edge.
It’s quiet while the water is being poured, and stays that way except for the waiter informing us of specials and handing us a pair of menus.
It’s only when he leaves us that I continue what I was saying.
“Yes, I want us to be seen. I also want to celebrate being pregnant. I want to buy a new house, a bigger one closer to the park.” My fingertips play along the stem of the water goblet and I rest my elbow on the table as I talk while reading the menu, even though I already know what I want. “I want to slow down with work and I want the world to know it all. I want to move forward, Evan. I want everything that happened to stay in the past.”
He only responds with a tight smile.
“I’m not going to let this change us and who we are.”
“I don’t want you to be in danger,” he answers me, leaning back in his seat and casually glancing to his left and right. I recognize a man sitting alone a few tables away. Occasionally he glances up at us. It was Evan’s concession and I allow it.
“Too late, baby,” I say and my smile falters.
“I feel uncomfortable being here,” he says and guilt digs its claws into me at his admission. I’m trying to do what’s right. That’s all I want to do.
“I feel like”—taking a deep inhale, I steady myself to continue, meeting his concerned gaze—“like you’re perpetuating your fears by hiding away and only focusing on them. Not just focusing, but allowing them to dictate everything.” My voice cracks with the confession. I have to take another sip of water to calm myself down. “I hate that you’re constantly on edge when we leave the house.”
“You don’t understand,” he tells me with a frustrated sigh that pisses me off.
“It felt like you’d died when you left me,” I say. “So, I think I do understand.” I take another drink of water and ask, “What if the cops stop looking into what happened? They have no leads.”I stress the basic truth. “What if James gets away with it all? What then? Will you carry on like this?”
He doesn’t answer, although I can see his will to fight me has left.
“I just want us back,” I say. “That’s really what it comes down to.”
This time it’s Evan who puts his hand on the table and I’m more than happy to reach for him. He kisses my knuckles then my wrist. “I’m sorry,” he whispers against my racing pulse.
“I know you are, but what am I?” I give him a joking response to lighten the mood and it works somewhat.
As Evan’s lips pull into a smile and he relaxes his posture, he takes my hand in his.