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She exaggerated the kick of her legs out to the sides, whooping as she did so. Her face glistened with sweat, making her skin glow and her eyes shine. Sometimes it was hard to believe this exuberant person was the same woman who’d quietly played solitaire in his apartment and knit him a cap. He knew better than anyone the difference between public and private faces. But what amazed him about his wife was how her public face invited people in.
Karl knew how to smile and shake hands. He could ask questions and get people to talk with him, but he also knew that—even at his most friendly—he intimidated people. He was a serious person and people took him seriously. Until now, he’d been content to raise his eyebrow and have people tell him their problems out of fear. Fear, intimidation or friendliness—he didn’t really care why they told him about city problems, just so long as they told him. He had a responsibility to the city and he couldn’t fulfill his duty without the help of the citizenry.
However, watching Vivian, he wished people would tell him out of love. Because people loved her. His neighborhood adored her. His family treasured her. Everyone she met warmed to her immediately. When she’d been cooped up in his apartment, terrified he’d learn about her past and kick her out into the street, he’d been completely unaware of how welcoming a person she was. Wasn’t that how the saying went? He couldn’t see the forest for the trees? Karl had been so close to Vivian that he’d only been able to see her fear. Now, with a little distance, he could see her courage, too.
She tripped over her feet, stumbled into Mr. Biadala and laughed. When Mr. Biadala turned back with concern on his face, she waved him off.
What a terrible shame it would have been if he’d won the argument over her working at Healthy Food or living with his mom. If his suspicions of her had triumphed, he would never have gotten to know this lively, laughing woman. Knowing this vivacious side of her made the quiet, contemplative side more special. That was the side she saved for him, just as he saved his macabre sense of humor for her.
The song ended. Vivian had one hand on the slight bulge of her stomach and was resting the other on Mr. Biadala’s shoulder. She looked happy and was smiling but the skin around her eyes was tight and… My mother died in childbirth. His heart stopped at the memory of those words. The doctors said everything was fine, there were no complications, but what if they were missing something?
When he stood up the chair scraped against the floor and would’ve toppled if he’d not grabbed on to it. He didn’t bother to tuck it under the table. Worries over Vivian trumped manners.
By the time he’d stumbled past other wedding guests and up to Vivian, her hand was off her stomach and resting at her side again.
“Are you okay?” he asked. She was more than just the mother of his child—she was a part of his life, and he didn’t want anything to happen to her.
“Hmm?” Her voice was dreamy as she smiled up at him, her skin electric with joy. He cushioned her face in his hand and rubbed his thumb over her cheek, which was puffy and still lovely. “Hmm…” she murmured, as she rested the weight of her head in his palm. He relaxed with her, able to support and help her for the first time in what felt like months. Since she’d moved in with his mother and started working, he felt as if she didn’t need him anymore. Being needed by his wife, if only as a headrest, felt nice.
“Are you okay?” he repeated. “You were holding your stomach and I’m…” He was scared to lose her and scared to say that fact out loud.
“I’m fine.” Her cheek curved as she smiled against the palm of his hand, and she turned to kiss the fleshy part of his thumb. “I’m a little out of breath, but I’m afraid if I lean over, I’ll get light-headed.” His worry must have shown on his face because she kissed his palm, the tip of her tongue brushing against the hollow of his hand, and said, “It’s normal for me to get breathless and light-headed at this point in my pregnancy. It’s fine. I’m fine.”
She might be fine, but he wasn’t. The kiss she’d pressed into his hand had woken up all the atoms in his body, and all he wanted to do was take his wife back to his apartment—what should be their home—and make love to her. And he wanted her to still be there when he woke up the next morning.
