Graham and I end up having a great afternoon at the dog park.
He brought a rubber ball for Ziggy. The two of us take turns throwing it, and Ziggy brings it back for us. Although it’s hard not to notice that my dog is not a fan of Graham. No matter which one of us throws the ball, he always brings it back to me.
“He doesn’t like men,” Graham explains. I laugh. “Really? Why not?”
“Well,” he says thoughtfully, “I think he wants to be the only man in your life. I can’t blame him.”
Ziggy trots back to me with the now sopping wet ball. I toss it underhanded across the enclosed area. “Tell me something interesting about yourself,” I say to Graham.
“Hmm. Let’s see.” He taps his chin, and I’m pleased he has to think about it. Maybe this isn’t something I ask him every single day. “I’m ambidextrous. Is that interesting?”
“A little. What else?”
“Um… I can do a superb French accent.” I raise my eyebrows at him. “Really?” “Oui, mademoiselle. This iz the true.”
I allow myself to laugh at Graham’s truly terrible French accent. “Do you speak French?”
“No. Just English. I’m not cultured.” “Me too. Just English.”
“I know.”
My smile slips. “Oh. Yeah, I guess you know most things about me.” Ziggy runs up to me and deposits the moist ball in my hand. I give it to Graham so he can have a turn throwing it. My fingers briefly brush against his, and I can’t tell if he notices. “What was our wedding like?”
His blue eyes grow distant. “It was nice. Not too big. We did it in a church, and your dad gave you away. Lucy was your maid of honor. The guests got a choice of lobster or steak at the reception.”
“Did we write our own vows or something cheesy like that?”
“No.” He laughs. He has a nice laugh that makes little lines crinkle around his eyes. I can see why I might have fallen in love with this man. “You were emphatic about that. No writing our own vows, no reading of poetry, nothing cheesy like that.”
“Did anybody object during the ceremony?” He snorts. “You mean like Harry?”
I flinch. “Sorry. I just…”
He pushes his glasses at the bridge of his nose. “It’s okay, Tess. I get it. The last thing you remember is being engaged to Harry Finch. But you need to know… He wasn’t good to you. You had a good reason for breaking up with him.”
So I ended it. I’m the one who broke up with Harry. I want to ask Graham what happened, but it’s too weird. He’s my husband—we’ve been married for four whole years. I can’t ask him about my ex-boyfriend.
Even though I can’t stop thinking about him.
Ziggy returns the ball to me again, panting excitedly. I nearly throw it, but instead, I hold it out to Graham to take from me. He reaches for it, and once again, his fingers brush against mine. This time he definitely notices. His eyes lock with mine for a moment, then he looks away.
“Graham?” I say. “Yes?”
“Do we ever have sex?”
He coughs into his hand. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked that. But I’m curious. We’ve been living like this for a year. I wake up most mornings not even knowing who he is,
thinking I’m engaged to another man. It’s hard to imagine we’re making passionate love every night.
“Tess.” His cheeks turn pink. It’s very cute. “That’s… a complicated question.”
“I kind of think it’s a yes/no question.”
Graham tugs on his tie, loosening it a few notches. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. I would never ask that of you.”
“But do we? I mean, sometimes?”
“Sometimes,” he says quietly. “On your better days.
When you remember me.”
I want to ask him how often that happens, but from what Camila has told me, it seems pretty rare. I look at my husband in his expensive gray suit that enhances his muscular build. There’s nothing distasteful about him—most women would find him attractive. But I’ve never been the kind of person who did one-night stands. I can’t imagine making love to this man tonight.
At the very least, it would require quite a lot of wine.
Graham doesn’t say anything else on the topic, and I’m grateful. Instead, he tells me about our honeymoon in Aruba. (Apparently, I got my wish of going someplace hot with lots of beaches.) He tells me about how when we got home from our honeymoon, our luggage was lost and the basement of the house was flooded. I assume he must’ve told me these stories at least a dozen times in the last year, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
After another hour, he glances down at his watch. “We better get back home. I still have work to do, but I can do it from my office upstairs.”
“Oh. Sorry to keep you from your work.”
He grins at me. “Well, it’s your company. I’m just stepping in until…”
Until my brain injury heals. Which—let’s face it—will be never. I’m just glad I’ve got Graham to keep my company
from falling apart. I might not remember my husband, but it’s pretty clear I’m lucky to have him.
