The Way We Feel

Chapter 32

I knew she'd like that one. I'd found myself looking it up to see if it was true after I read it, and found that it is, in fact. Which blew my mind, too.

She'd sent another text just beneath the emojis: Love you, have a safe flight! Can't wait to see you!!!!!

Still no indication of who I was supposed to meet at baggage claim today.

Mads had sighed on the phone last night. I'd called her once I'd gotten through security, and she'd answered even though it was well past midnight for her. "I'll just cancel it, Harry. It's not a big deal."

"No, I don't want you to do that," I'd said, trying hard not to meet anyone's eye while walking to my gate for fear that they'd recognize me. "I'll just call for a car."

Mads was upset because she'd realized that she had a therapy appointment scheduled to start twenty minutes after I landed, which meant she wouldn't be able to come to the airport to pick me up.

She clicked her tongue. "Are you sure? I can just call and reschedule—"

"I'd rather you didn't," I said, realizing in the moment that she might take offense and hoping that she wouldn't. "You've only just started up again. I'll be happier if you go. We'll see each other as soon as you're home."

When she spoke next, I could tell I'd won. "Fine. But don't call for a car. I'll have someone come get you. I think Mom has to work, but I can probably get Emily or Mark or someone to come."

"Deal," I'd said, glad that it was settled. "Just let me know who to look for."

"Of course," she'd said then, her voice changing a bit—because she was smiling. "You have no idea how excited I am to see you."

It was a strange mix of emotions, hearing her say that, then ending the call soon afterwards with exchanges of love and eager anticipation. I was pretty sure I did have a clue how excited she was. Little did she know that I'd had to fight the urge to drop everything and get on a flight ever since the day she left. Because our house—without her, without Lila—I didn't want to live there. Even though things had gotten bad between us. Even though she'd needed to leave, to be with her family again, to have more support than I could give her... Even knowing all that, I'd never wanted her to go.

And coming home to that empty house day after day, even if it was only for a week and half—it reminded me too much of another time in my life. A time when Mads wasn't there. When it was just me, missing her, thinking about everything I'd done wrong, everything I'd done to push her away, even if I hadn't realized I was doing it.

I couldn't help but do the same thing this time.

I'd spent the last ten days sitting in our empty house, looking at all of our pictures together, and it was like I could hear her humming as she walked through it—the creak of her steps, the distant sounds of her exclamations when Lila did something that made her laugh or get excited. I would imagine her standing at the kitchen sink, her dark hair falling to one side, giving me a shy smile when she looked up and caught me staring. Or leaning against the doorjamb to Lila's room, her feet bare, her legs long, her smile soft as she watched me sing our daughter to sleep. I almost couldn't sleep in our room because of all the memories of her. She was everywhere—standing at her dresser, tying her hair up in front of the mirror, sifting through her closet, walking to the bathroom, padding to the bed, sighing as she settled beside me under the sheets—but she was nowhere.

And neither was Lila. That little, warm presence that I'd grown so used to these last six months—the first six months of her life. That little expressive face I'd come to look forward to seeing every morning, even the earliest ones. Her little personality, which was clearly becoming a big personality with each passing day. I would picture her in her high chair, mouth covered with green or orange or yellowish baby food, smacking her lips away trying to get it all down. Or asleep in her swing, her tiny pink lips parted in her slumber. Or flat on her back while I changed her diaper, her focus completely on me as I sang to her—sometimes "The Boxer", and sometimes I'd fit her name into whatever song was stuck in my head. Or her blue eyes fixed on mine, her lashes long and her gaze steady—intent. And that little smile, her giggle, both of which could bring me to my knees.