Finding the Rhythm Together
I watched until she was gone.
When I looked back, Mia was crying silently, and I still didn’t know how to reach for her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought saying no to her meant I was standing up for us. But I kept you outside it.”
“You did fight her. I heard that.”
“I should have told you.”
I looked at the woman who’d stepped onto that stool before she knew what it would cost her.
She hadn’t been ashamed to stand beside me.
She’d been afraid to lose her mother, and she’d made choices that hurt me to avoid it.
“You don’t have to repeat every insult,” I said. “But when someone tries to change my place in our life, I need to know.”
“You will. From now on, I promise.”
She held out her hand.
I took it.
Her fingers closed around mine, and for the first time since the photographs, I believed we were both standing in the same marriage.
“I still want this,” I told her. “I still want you.”
She pressed her lips together, then nodded.
“Can we go in together?”
“Yes.”
We found the photographer by the doors.
“Would you like a picture before you go in?” she asked.
Mia looked at me and waited.
“Yes. Right here,” I said.
I stood beside my wife and took her hand. She smiled at me as the photographer raised her camera.
Inside, people stood as we entered.
Mia’s eyes caught on her mother’s empty place, and I squeezed her hand.
She squeezed back.
When our song began, we took the hold we’d worked out in our kitchen.
At the first turn, Mia moved too soon.
“You’re doing it again,” I murmured.
She looked at me, uncertain for half a second. Then I smiled.
May you like
She laughed, missed the next step, and waited for me.
We found the rhythm together.
