"You look sexy in that apron." Emmett says, loosening his tie as he kicks his shoes off by the door. 

"You say that everytime I wear one," I shoot back, rolling my eyes. 

"That's because it's true every time," he says, chuckling when I wiggle my butt in response. 

"Where's Emmy?" 

"She's staying at my mom's, remember? Thought it would be easier if she was there while I'm at the reunion this weekend," I say, reminding him. 

"I still don't understand why we don't all go together." 

"I told you, I don't want her around those people. I don't even really want to go." "Then why are you? What is the point of you going through this?" he says. "Dr. Krit wants me to. She thinks it'll be good for me. That I can 'face my past as I am 

now, proving that that part of my life is over and has no power over me,' something like that anyway," I say, recounting the conversation I had been having with my therapist since receiving the invitation two months ago. 

"That sounds like a horrible plan to me." 

"Yeah, well I pay her a lot to make things better, so I'm gonna trust her judgment on this. Maybe it will help." 

"But why put yourself through this? You're still struggling with what happened back then, what good will seeing those people again do?" Emmett says. 

"I just- I just fucking need to do something! I have everything I want now, but I'm still scared to go on social media, I have nightmares about all of it, and I'm worried about seeing them anytime I go anywhere! We live 300 miles from Canton, it makes no fucking sense! I get that. The meds help, but I need to put the past to rest. Clementine deserves a mom that doesn't have panic attacks in the fucking canned food aisle! You deserve a wife that isn't scared to hold your hand in public! Both of you deserve so much better than me! I need to be better!" I take a shuddering breath, "I just- I think that I'll see how it goes. Okay?" 

"Fine." Emmett scrubs his face with his hands and sighs, pressing a kiss to my head, "what's for dinner, anyway?" 

"Cavatappi." I'm grateful for the change of topic, and he knows it. 

"Nonni's sauce?" 

"Of course! What am I, a heathen? She'd come back from the grave and beat my ass with that spoon of hers."

After dinner, we team up on washing the dishes. As Emmett scrubs at a plate, a little puff of bubbles floats up, landing on my arm. Picking up a handful of suds, I blow them at my husband, hurriedly going back to washing as though I never moved. He stands there for a second, and before I know it he's scooping up a tower of bubbles and wiping them on my head, laughing loudly as I splutter. 

"Oh it is on! Get ready to taste defeat!" I shout, laughing while I spray him with the sink hose. Emmett raises a challenging eyebrow, water dripping down his cheeks. "Bring it!"