Thomas thought of all the calls he had ended believing they had gone well because nothing difficult had been said.
“I mistook quiet for okay.”
“I helped you do that.”
He looked up.
Leah continued. “I got good at giving you edited versions. I didn’t want every call to become a crisis you couldn’t fix from far away. But after a while, I couldn’t tell whether I was protecting you or disappearing.”
The server approached with menus. Neither had opened one.
Leah ordered toast. Thomas ordered eggs because making a decision about breakfast felt absurdly important.
When the server left, Leah said, “I’m not moving home today.”
Thomas had known that was possible. Hearing it still emptied the room.
“Okay.”
She searched his face.
“That’s all?”
“No. It’s not all. I want you home. I want us to be okay. I want to say I’ll fix everything. But you asked me to listen, and you’re telling me you’re not moving home today.”
Leah looked down.
“Thank you.”
Thomas breathed.
“Are you leaving me?”
“I don’t know.”
The answer hurt more than a no would have, because no could have become something to fight. I don’t know required patience.
“What do you know?” he asked.
Leah considered it.
“I know I still love you. I know love has not been enough to make our marriage feel shared. I know I don’t want another reunion where we act grateful for three days and then slide back into the same arrangement.”
Thomas nodded.
“What would shared look like?”
“I don’t know that either. That’s the problem. We’ve spent so long adapting around departures that we never designed anything.”
Their food arrived.
They ate badly and talked carefully for almost two hours.
Thomas learned that Leah had started sleeping with the television on during the last deployment because the house felt too quiet. She learned that he sometimes walked past the communications room three times before calling because he was afraid of hearing another problem he could not solve.
“So you avoided me because you missed me,” she said.
“That sounds stupid when you say it.”
