Page 64 of Woman on the Verge

The girls are pleasantly busy with their chalk. Grace is showing Liv how to draw a heart, and I praise their cooperation: “Such sweet sisters, you two!”

Kyle watches. He doesn’t usually come hang with us during his workday, even just for a few minutes. Maybe he does want to talk about last night, or wants to say something, but can’t formulate the words. Much of our marriage has involved me waiting for him to formulate words.

“What’s for dinner?” he asks.

“You already hungry?” I nearly offer him a snack, as I would the girls.

He shrugs. “Just curious.”

“Lasagna.”

“You know I love your lasagna.”

He probably considers this statement a peace offering. I decide to try for some intimacy, some connection beyond our future food consumption:

“I got my dad’s test result,” I say. “He does have it.”

Kyle looks confused. “Test result?”

“Remember how I said they were doing a confirmatory test?”

“Oh, right,” he says, though I can tell he doesn’t remember.

“Yeah. It’s confirmed.”

He nods. “Okay, well, you expected that, right?”

“I guess I was hoping for a mistake or a miracle.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry, babe.”

He stands, as if ready to depart from the emotional breakdown he expects me to have. I think about Elijah. I am sure he would put his arm around me. He would hold me. He would let me cry without making me feel stupid about it. He would say, “Let’s get a babysitter so we can go out and talk.” He would never be a bull in a china shop in bed.

“Wait,” I say in a small voice.

He’s taken one step toward the door. He stops. Turns to me, waiting for further instruction. Why isn’t it natural for him to comfort me? Why does he need instruction?

“Can you just, like, hug me?” I ask him.

I feel stupid asking. Every woman’s fantasy is never having to ask—for help, for affection, for tenderness, for gratitude. I wouldn’t have to ask Elijah.

“Sure, yeah,” he says. He looks surprised by the request. I’ve never asked him this before.

He puts his arms around me, and I close my eyes to try to conjure the feeling of safety and love I feel with Elijah. It’s just not there, though. Hugging my husband is like hugging a tree trunk. He pulls away after just a few seconds and looks at me likeDid I do okay?and I want to cry. My dad is definitely dying, and my marriage is too.

“Daddy!” Liv says, running over to him, holding something in her hand. She waves it in front of his face as he kneels to receive her.

“Look what me found!”

He takes it from her, squints. It looks like one of the pretend credit cards that came with Grace’s toy cash register.

“What is this, Livvy?” he says, perplexed.

“What is it?” Grace asks, coming over to investigate.

“It looks like a key card for a hotel,” he says.

I glance down and see that’s exactly what it is, “Hilton” printed in red letters.