“PAUL, WAKE UP.”
It’s very early Friday morning, and I am deeply asleep until my lovely ex-wife violently shakes me awake.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, sitting bolt upright as adrenaline floods my body.
Isabel is dressed for her early morning barre class, and she’s sitting on the edge of her bed. Her bed, because we stayed at her shoebox apartment at SoHo last night, and sitting because she has to sit on the bed to talk to me—there’s not enough room between the bed and the wall for her to stand.
“I need to tell you something,” she says, and then she draws a sharp breath. “I want to come home. I’m ready to move back home. I mean, we’re spending every night together anyway and it’s silly for us to keep two places—” She breaks off, then draws in another breath. “But the main reason I want to come home is that I love you, I miss living with you, and I’m ready to come home. That’s it.”
I blink at her. Then I rub the sleep from my eyes and study her—I see the anxiety in her expression as she waits for my reaction and the determination in her gaze, as if I’m going to try to convince her that’s a bad idea.
Clearly, she’s forgotten I’m a genius. I know an excellent idea when I hear one. I grin and then pull her down onto my chest for a kiss.
“Yes.” Kiss. “Please, Bel.” More kisses. “Come home.” Many more kisses. “I’m so proud of you.”
“I’m so proud of us,” Isabel says, relief brightening her gaze. “These last few months have been amazing, Paul. Honestly, I couldn’t be happier.”
We’ll see about that. I just smile and nuzzle her nose with mine. “Me, too, Isabel. God, me, too.”
It hasn’t all been smooth sailing since Bel and I got back together. It’s taken real work to rebuild our relationship in a way that will last, including hours of therapy with Alison that’s been frustrating and difficult for both of us at times.
But Isabel is worth it. And we are worth it. Sometimes our progress has felt glacially slow, but I realized just how far we’ve come last week when Alison pointed out that we’d had three sessions with her where she’d barely said a word. That was the day Isabel and I decided it was time for us to step back from couples therapy and to trust in the strength of our relationship again.
That’s when I started planning for Isabel to move back into my life permanently. We’re divorced now, but still madly in love, and that means I get to propose again—something I’m well and truly ready to do.
But I’m not upset that she’s suggested we move in together now. It just shows that I don’t need to wonder if we’re on the same page these days, because she actually tells me when something is on her mind.
“I really have to get going.” She reluctantly sits up, pulling away from my embrace.
“I might see you later,” I say tenderly. She brushes her lips against mine.
“Tonight?”
“Sure,” I say noncommittally, because I have a feeling it will be a little sooner than that.