"Sure," he said.
As soon as Bill went outside, Grace's stomach dropped. She knew why Maisie had gotten rid of him, and she knew exactly what this 'walkthrough' was going to consist of.
Sure enough, Maisie led Grace down her own hallway to a closed door and set her hand on the doorknob. Her eyes met Grace's, testing her, or maybe waiting to see if Grace would stop her from entering the room.
She didn't.
Maisie stepped into the room and, while she didn't say as much, Grace could tell from the surprised expression on her friend's face that she had been expecting to find the room boxed up.
"Nothing in here you want to take?" Maisie asked, her tone growing in concern.
Grace shook her head. "Nope. I'm done with this room."
"Grace," Maisie said with a light lecture, but Grace wouldn't be moved.
The room was a nursery. Or, what should have been a nursery.
She and Aaron had begun decorating two months into Grace's pregnancy. So far, they had painted the room taupe and had a bright white crib, pom-pom curtains, and other soft white accents.
Maisie ran her hand along the railing of the crib and then turned to Grace sympathetically. "You sure? We can pack it up and put it into storage."
"No," she said, refusing to box up the memories of the child that almost existed. "I told Aaron this was his mess to clean up."
Maisie nodded, and it was clear she was trying to be understanding. Still, she couldn't help herself as she suggested, "You may want these things one day."
Grace knew her friend was probably right, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. She'd packed away a onesie that said 'Baby Payne,' bought for their pregnancy announcement, and a pacifier with a wood handle she'd bought from an artist online. The rest of the things—the blankets, crib, wardrobe—they were all Aaron's problem now.
In the first few weeks after he left, Grace idealized her marriage. She couldn’t seem to remember why things weren’t working. All she could focus on were the little, insignificant moments she shared with him that turned out to be anything but insignificant.
Hearing him breathe against her skin.
Simple I love you’s before work.
Lying on the back porch and looking up at the sky against the backdrop of their favorite music.
Aaron had been a romantic partner to her. He was the kind of guy who put candles all over the floor and then invited her to follow them down the hallway and into the bedroom. He was the man who would run her bubble baths and plan date nights every Friday night.
When she told him she was pregnant, he almost cried in happiness. He lifted her into his arms and raced her through their house, shouting in laughter as their tri-color Shih Tzu, Murray, raced after them barking.
But it was funny what a couple of weeks could do to one’s psyche.
If the seven stages of grief were to be believed, it seemed Grace has slipped out of the shock and denial portion of her divorce and right into anger.
Suddenly, she felt an outpouring of bottled-up emotion, and instead of looking back fondly on her marriage, she looked back and wondered how they stayed together for as long as they did.
Logically, she knew.
Aaron was a good guy. Or he had been, anyway. But he was a mess—a child of divorce who wasn’t looking for love with Grace as much as he was looking for a solid family. People who would never leave.
Unlike anyone else Grace knew who had gone through a divorce, her separation with Aaron wasn’t brought on by the usual suspects. Neither of them had someone on the side, they weren’t void of trust, nor did they hide money from one another.
The separation was brought on by something much worse. Loss.
She had been five months pregnant when she lost the baby, just one doctor's appointment away from finding out the gender of the baby.
Grace had gone out for a late-night drive with Aaron. They went to an overlook and stared down at the city below them. The stars were shining furiously that night, practically sparkling. They talked in the warmth of the car, windows down and heat on, staring up through the moonroof and wondering what it would be like to be parents and guessing whether their baby was going to be a boy or a girl.
Their car was clipped by an oncoming truck as they pulled out of the parking lot, leaving Grace in the hospital for four days with minor injuries and a placental abruption.
The little family they had been working so hard to create and care for was suddenly gone before her eyes. Grace cried for weeks. She missed so much work, she ended up losing her job.
Then one day, she woke up and felt like she could breathe again. She felt empowered to take her life back. To start over.
But Aaron wasn't there yet.
"He'll heal," she told herself repeatedly. But the months they spent together after the miscarriage seemed like a long strain of numbness.
Then one day, Aaron came home from work and barely spoke to her. When she finally got him talking, he blurted out, "I want out."
She didn't play dumb. She knew exactly what he meant.
"I can't look at you without seeing...without reliving it,” he said.
"What do you mean?”
"Whenever I look at you,” he said, his eyes glazed over with memory, practically wincing as he replayed the scene in his mind while he spoke. “All I see is the car coming toward us and the hospital and I keep reliving that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I can't make it stop.”
"We should go to therapy,” she said, sounding much calmer than she felt. “It will be good for both of us. What your talking about is PTSD or something. We need to learn how to handle it and move forward.”
"Maybe. Maybe therapy would help in the long run, but right now, I need it to stop. I need to stop living in that memory, and I can't do that if...” Aaron trailed off, running a hand through his blond hair.
"If we're together?” she assumed aloud.
"I see it in you,” he repeated.
"Are you telling me that when you look at me, you see death?” she said, her face slowly drawing into a pained frown. “Seriously, Aaron?”
"I feel what I feel,” he said, unable to look at her then.
"It'll go away,” she said.
"Are you kidding me?” he snapped. “This will never go away.”
"I mean looking at me is going to hurt for a while. Looking at you is going to hurt for a while. But then the pain will subside, and we can...”
"What?” he scoffed. “Try again?”
"Well, why not?” she asked, completely innocent.
Grace was a notorious under-reactor. Besides the fact that she felt so numb after losing her child that it was difficult to get upset about anything. It was hard to feel.
But she wanted their marriage to work. She knew that much.
"Grace, you're not hearing me,” Aaron said, quiet but firm.
Grace blinked rapidly, looking at him with concern and trying desperately to read the expression on his face. "Aaron, what?"
Her husband bit his lip and looked up to catch her eyes.
"I don't think I love you anymore,” he said.
"What? That's ridiculous,” she said, surprising herself. “A month ago, you were ready to have a family with me!”
"And now we're not.”