She wasn’t looking at Franz. She was looking at Lexx. "Even before he was born."
Franz didn’t answer. She was right. The pregnancy, the birth, the exhaustion, the return to work. He hadn’t pushed. He hadn’t wanted to. He’d noticed, though.
"It’s not that I don’t—" She stopped. Started again. "My body isn’t the same."
"That’s not a problem for me."
"I know." She adjusted Lexx in her arms. "That’s not what I mean."
He waited.
"I’ve been working," she said. "Getting up early, putting in time at the gym. And it’s not about the weight. I know that." She looked down at Lexx, who was pulling at her collar with one small fist. "I look at myself and nothing looks right. Like everything was put back a little wrong and I can’t find where."
"A little wrong how?"
"I don’t know." The admission cost her something. "That’s the worst part. I can’t name it. I just—" She stopped. "I don’t feel like myself yet."
"Has it been like this since he was born?" Franz asked.
"Before." She looked at the crib, then back at him. "I’ve been trying to work past it. The gym helps, some. Being back at work helps, some. None of it gets to the part that matters."
It was there in the way she was holding Lexx, the angle of her shoulders, the fact that she hadn’t looked at him since she’d started talking.
"You think I see that," Franz said.
"I think you might."
"And you think it changes something."
She didn’t answer.
She was standing in the lamp light, Lexx in her arms — the same and not the same, changed the way things are changed by what they’ve been through. Franz crossed to her.
"You don’t have to recognize it," he said. "I do."
Arianne looked at him. Her thumb had stopped pressing.
"Was it ever a problem?" Franz asked.
"I didn’t say it was."
"You didn’t have to say it."
She looked at him. The flatness had eased. Something was working toward the surface.
"Are you telling me you don’t want me?" Franz asked.
"I didn’t say that."
"What are you telling me?"
She looked at Lexx. "I’m telling you I’m not ready to want you back the way I used to. Not yet. And I don’t want you to—" She stopped. "I don’t want you to tell me it doesn’t matter. I want to know that it does. That you still—" Her jaw tightened. "That you haven’t stopped."
Franz looked at her. The line of her jaw. The way she was holding Lexx like a reason to keep her hands occupied.
"Arianne."
She looked at him.
"I haven’t stopped."
She held his gaze. Something in her expression changed. She’d expected reassurance — something careful, said to smooth things over. What he’d given her was plainer than that, and she hadn’t braced for plain.
Franz had known she was carrying it. The early mornings told him enough. She came back from the gym each morning and stood in front of the mirror, her hands at her sides and her jaw set, looking.
Franz moved to her. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, careful of Lexx between them. The baby looked up with his round dark eyes, one parent on each side of him, watching both of them.
Franz leaned in. His mouth was close to her ear. "It’s been hard," he said. "To keep myself in check."
Arianne didn’t move.
"I know you’re tired. I know you’re busy." He pressed his lips to her neck, just below her ear. "But I’ve been patient."
A sharp inhale. Then she said his name.
"Franz—"
He held her. He pressed closer. Lexx looked between them, making his small sounds, and Arianne didn’t move. Neither did Franz.
Her hand found the arm he had around her.
"Your fault," Franz said.
"My fault?"
"You came in here looking like that."
"Looking like what?"
"Like you."
Arianne said nothing. Lexx wiggled in her arms. She adjusted him. The color was high in her face.
Franz stepped back, just enough to give her room.
"We don’t have to do anything," he said. "I wanted you to know. That’s all."
Arianne held his gaze. The lamp was on. Lexx was in her arms. She had known this conversation was coming. She’d been the one putting it off.
Lexx made a sound.
"Ba," Lexx said.
Arianne looked down at him. Her face eased. "He’s talking."
"He’s been talking all day."
"He said ’ba’ to me."
"He said ’ba’ to the ceiling."
Arianne laughed. Franz watched her. The color hadn’t left her face.
"Put him down," Franz said. "He’ll fall asleep."
"Will he?"
"I’ll make sure he does."
Arianne looked at him. She didn’t move right away. Then she leaned down and placed Lexx in the crib. The baby looked up at her. His face scrunched.
"Don’t," Arianne said.
Lexx giggled. He didn’t cry. Arianne stepped back. Franz took her hand.
"Tonight," he said. "That’s all I’m asking. Tonight."
Arianne looked at him. Her thumb pressed into her palm. Then she stopped.
"Tonight," she said.
The door clicked shut. The hallway on the other side went dark.
Lexx was in his crib, watching the door. He babbled once. Then his eyes closed.
Franz turned to Arianne. She turned toward him, her back to the crib now. Lexx’s breathing had evened out behind them.
"Nine months," she said.
"Nine months."
"I’m sorry."
"Don’t be."
"I should have said something."
"You’re saying it now."
Arianne didn’t answer right away. Franz let it sit. That was something he’d learned about her over the years, the space she needed after something true wasn’t empty, and filling it never helped.
She looked at him, and for the first time in a long while, she didn’t look away.
"Tonight," she said.
Franz squeezed her hand. "Tonight."
He didn’t lead her anywhere. They were already where they needed to be.
The crib was in the corner. Lexx was asleep. Franz reached for the lamp on her side of the bed. The light went out.