Page 76 of Loving at 40

How can the girls give in to him so easily? He’s a charmer, that’s why. He’s ensnared them under his spell, and there’s no turning back. Archer is alive. He didn’t disappear into thin air. He didn’t die. He survived wherever he went, whatever happened to him, and he’s here.

I came here first.

“You should let Anna know you’re back.” But for how long?

“I will,” he states, and I watch him struggle to stand. His hands flatten on the floor, and he uses more of his upper body strength to press himself upward. Is he hurt? Is his leg worse? Was he shot again? I take a few steps forward and then stop myself once he’s upright.

“So what are we doing today?” Archer asks like he hasn’t been missing for three months and two days.

“Mommy is shoveling, and we’re playing Barbies.”

Archer glances up at me. “I can help you with the shoveling.”

“I’ve got it,” I say.

“Ba—” He stops himself. “’Locks, I can do it.”

“So can I.” I need to shovel the snow and give myself a few minutes to wrap my head around his sudden presence and the fact he just weaseled his way into a night on my couch. I also need to dispel this energy under my skin.

Slap him? Kiss him? The struggle is real.

Archer must read the conflict in my face because he says, “Okay, Barbies it is then.”

+ + +

After clearing every flake of snow I can remove from the stoop, the front walkway, and my driveway, I have nothing left to clear unless I want to start tackling the street with only a hand shovel. With my muscles straining, I’m a sweaty mess and decide I’ve avoided Archer long enough. When I enter my kitchen through the side door, Archer is rummaging through my refrigerator.

“’Locks, you’ve got nothing to eat.”

“I have plenty to eat,” I snap. Anticipating the snow and knowing I’d have a late night from parent-teacher conferences, I went to the store just the other day.

“Babe, you need substance, not this frozen food crap or processed pasta.”

I freeze where I am, hand poised on my zipper pull. My boots are making a puddle on the mat. Sensing the danger in my sudden silence, Archer closes the refrigerator door and turns to face me. Seeing me statue still, his mouth opens then shuts. He props his hands on his hips, and he glances to the side before looking back at me.

“It’s going to take time, but in my head, they don’t mean the same thing. I’m not calling you babe because I’m thinking of her, and when I say it to you, it feels natural. It feels right. With her, it was all . . .” He leaves me hanging like he did that night.

“Pretend?” My voice cracks. “Tell me what I’m missing because I’m confused. I saw you with her, Archer. I saw you. She couldn’t look away from you, and you didn’t look away from her.”

You love me. The memory of how he addressed her rumbles through my head.

“Five years, Archer? For five years, you were with that woman. That’s not some woman. That’s . . . that’s a relationship. That’s longer than my marriage.” I huff, my adrenaline rising. I’m ready to turn back for the snow outside and reconsider clearing the street. “How can that be pretend? How do I know you weren’t pretending with me? You were with me less than two weeks.”

Less than two weeks and it felt so real. To me.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” His hands lift while his brows rise. “Where did you hear all that?”

“I should have heard it from you,” I whisper-hiss

Archer lowers his hands and nods. “You’re right. And you will, but first, let me feed you and the girls. Let me make you ladies dinner.”

“Using my food?” I don’t know why I say such a thing. Him preparing anything causing me not to make dinner would be a treat, but I don’t want treats. I want the truth.

“I’ll go to the store,” he states without hesitation.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” I’d say I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I do. He’s standing in my kitchen, and I don’t know what to think of him here.

“But you’re right. I can contribute. I’ll go to the store tomorrow. How about spaghetti tonight?”