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"Oh, you’re here,” Luka said, eyeing his wife with distaste as she entered the Village Bean. She just happened to frequent the same coffee shop as he did, as they used to together. He hadn’t seen her since they’d formalized their separation, so to run into her here… “Why?”
Marinette’s lip curled. She planted her feet in front of the counter. Thankfully there wasn’t a line so she wasn’t holding anyone up. “Why what?”
Luka rolled his eyes. Wasn’t the question obvious? “Why are you here?”
“You don’t own the world’s coffee shops, Couffaine,” Marinette spat, clenching her fists. “Don’t pretend you do.”
“Um,” the hapless barista at the Village Bean’s register said. “Are you two going to order anything?”
Luka ignored him. He jabbed a finger under Marinette’s nose. “I was here first.”
Marinette growled. “So? I have the right to come to the coffee shops I like just as you do.” She sneered. “Without you in them.”
“Do you even hear yourself speak?” Luka threw his hands in the air. “You claim you have the right to be here but don’t extend the same courtesy to me.”
“Um,” the barista said again. They both ignored him.
“What would you know about courtesy?” Marinette snarled, stepping into his space. She thrust her face forward, her chin jutting up towards his. Their mouths hovered centimeters apart, and Luka could smell the raspberries and cream on her breath.
He used to love kissing that mouth. But then Marinette had drifted apart from him, keeping secrets and never sharing what was on her mind. He knew she had one big secret that she wasn’t telling him, something so huge that it drove them apart from each other.
Eventually they’d begun to hate each other, though Luka had no idea how things had devolved to this point.
Luka jumped down her throat. “I know more about courtesy than you. You don't even know how to communicate about your issues--of which you have many."
Marinette reared back, opening her mouth and preparing to rip him a new one when the coffee shop's manager cut her off.
"You two really need to order something." The manager was giving them a nasty look. "Or you can get out."
"Sorry," Marinette and Luka both said and then glared at each other. Luka pulled his debit card out of his pocket and ordered a double dirty chai latte. Marinette fell into step behind him, and he could feel her eyes digging into the back of his head.
After finishing his order, Luka stepped aside, and as Marinette pushed past him, she shoved his shoulder with her own. Luka didn't have a drink in hand, so he had nothing to spill, but he was still left grinding his teeth.
He didn't want to pick another fight with his wife, especially not in public, so he willingly stepped back and stared at her stupid pigtails.
Marinette ordered her usual Americano, paid for it, and stomped over to the drinks counter. Luka reluctantly followed, jamming his card into his pocket. The barista set to work, preparing their beverages with all the speed of a lame duck.
"Marinette," Luka said.
"Luka," she fired back, slanting him a look.
He didn't know why he'd said her name, just that he used to enjoy saying it before, and was checking to see if he still did.
He didn't.
The barista finished Marinette's drink before Luka's. The employee set her Americano on the counter and called, "Dupain-Cheng?"
That's right, she never took my name, Luka thought, ignoring the twinge of sadness at the thought. Thank goodness.
Being happy about that fact rang hollow to him, but he disregarded that feeling as well.
Marinette snatched the coffee cup and strode off without a backward glance. Luka watched her go, stuffing the feelings of longing for what was her presence stirred up in him.
It’s better this way.
***
“What are you doing here,” Luka spoke over his red Solo cup at Alya’s party, gripping it as tightly as the plastic would allow without cracking, “Marinette?”
Marinette narrowed her eyes at him, looking very much she was about to dump her beer all over the front of his jeans. “Alya is my friend.”
Luka furrowed his brow. “Then she should know better to invite me to one of her parties.”
“Alya invited you?” Marinette raised her brows and then shot a loathsome look over to her journalist friend, who seemed entirely inured to Marinette’s disagreeable presence. Marinette jerked her head back to Luka. “Why?”
“I have no idea.” Luka sipped his wine cooler, wondering if he could abandon all dignity and get drunk off of it. “I genuinely didn’t think you’d be here.”
Marinette scoffed. “I should show you the door.”
Luka found himself smiling a little. “You’re too combative to do that. You’d rather fight with me all night.”
“No, I wouldn’t.” Marinette’s frown deepened; she seemed to have more stress wrinkles--that only showed up when she frowned--than Luka realized. “I don’t like fighting with you, Luka.”
Luka pursed his lips. “Could have fooled me.”
Marinette shifted on her feet, looking distinctly uncomfortable. She bit her lower lip, which Luka noted was a gorgeous shade of red; apparently she’d been using a different type of lip gloss. He wondered idly what she tasted like before remembering that he was supposed to hate her.
“I…” Marinette glanced away, throwing her gaze anywhere but at his face. Her words came out in a broken whisper Luka had to strain his ears to hear over the bustle of the other party guests. “I really don’t.”
Luka stepped forward, reaching out for her with his empty hand but then dropped it to his side. He didn’t have the right to touch her; he’d been hating her for so long.
“How’d we get this way, Marinette?” Luka wondered aloud, a sigh escaping his lips in a soft hiss. “We used to be so happy.”
Tears welled in Marinette’s eyes. She was still steadfastly refusing to look at him. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
And with that, she’d answered his question. Luka’s heart, which had softened at her pitiful look, hardened again at her words. “You never want to talk,” he spat. “That’s been the problem all along.”
Marinette faced him, her eyes scalding his own like a pot of boiling water. “You can’t force me to talk, Couffaine.”
“Oh, we’re back to last names now?” Luka sneered. A laugh bubbled up from a place that he couldn’t say, escaping his lips in a torrent of bitterness. His next words were said on impulse as he shook a finger under her nose. “Well, Dupain-Cheng, we have ways of making you talk.”
Marinette blinked at him. “Wait, what?”
“We have ways of making you talk?” Luka blinked back. “You know, what evil goons say right before they’re about to interrogate someone?”
Marinette smirked. “You’re going to interrogate me?”
Luka shrugged. “If it would work…?”
Marinette chewed on her lower lip again. “You really want to hear me talk?”
Luka put his Solo cup down on a nearby nightstand. He stepped into Marinette’s space, taking her hand in between his own. She didn’t shy away at the contact, looking up at him with wide, beseeching eyes. His palms began to sweat, and he hoped that she wouldn’t mind. “More than anything.”
Marinette set her cup down next to his. “Even after…” She made a gesture with her free hand, as if to take in all of him. “Everything?”
Luka drew a deep breath. His mouth tasted of cheap wine, and he wondered if that was why he was acting so soft with her. “Especially after everything.”
Marinette’s gaze flicked away. Her shoulders slumped. “I…”
Emboldened by her not pulling her hand out of his loose grip, Luka gripped her chin between his fingers. “Listen, Marinette. If… if you’re not ready, I don’t want to force you. But when you are, I’m here, okay?”
He released her hand and scrubbed a hand over his hair. “I’m just… At a loss. I don’t know why you decided to shut me out two years ago. I honestly don’t know how things got to this point. But…”
Marinette stared up at him as if she couldn’t get enough of his face. “But?”
Luka didn’t know why he was confessing this at a party of all things. But he knew if he wasn’t honest with her, he wouldn’t get another chance. He swallowed hard. “I’m willing to try again.”
Marinette inhaled sharply. She jerked her face out of his fingers, pulling her hand away and wrapping her arms around herself. Before Luka knew it, she’d turned halfway away, shutting him out again.
His eyes betrayed him: they prickled with tears. “Marinette…” Luka hated how broken his voice sounded, how desperate was his plea. “Please.”
Marinette shuddered. She turned to him again, lifting her eyes to his. “I’m not ready.”
Luka dropped his chin to his chest. He clenched and unclenched his fists, so full of despair and frustration, they were like physical weights on his chest. Sudden heartburn seared the space between his ribs, making breathing difficult. The pressure was too much to bear.
Then her next words caused all that stress to evaporate.
“But I could be.”
Luka gasped. He whipped his head up to look at her, to determine whether this was some trick, some lie of hers.
Marinette wasn’t that cruel. Her eyes held nothing but hope.
Luka took her hand again and kissed her fingers. “I’ll wait.”
***
Waiting was unbearable. Luka was on tenterhooks.
He’d frequented the Village Bean, the coffee shop that Marinette liked to visit--and that they’d often visited together before the separation. He’d order a double dirty chai latte and wait for her, but she never showed.
Not for weeks.
Luka didn’t want to think that she was avoiding him, but that was the only natural conclusion he could draw. He yearned for Alya to throw another party, but she was apparently done with issuing him invitations.
As Luka sat at the Village Bean’s tables two months after Alya’s fateful party, watching the door, his knee jiggled. He’d taken to biting his nails in the past few days, chewing them down to the quick despite having painted them black. He nibbled on his thumb now, taking sips of his latte.
Marinette’s not going to show, his brain reminded him. He knew he shouldn’t get his hopes up, and yet here he was. She doesn’t love you anymore.
Luka’s shoulders sagged. He rested his elbows on the table, scrubbing his hands over his face. Tears stained his palms.
Just as he was preparing to go and drink himself into oblivion, the bell rang. He jerked his head up only to see Marinette step nervously into the shop.
Luka leapt to his feet, ready to stride over there and demand why she’d kept him hanging but then thought better of it. He lowered himself into his seat, waiting for her to order her Americano.
She smiled at the barista, asking him how his day was, and Luka wondered how he could ever have hated her. The pair at the register chattered away, and as Marinette’s laughter rang out, Luka’s heart beat in his palate.
She’d closed her eyes, and it was only then that Luka could see the tears leaking out the corners. She’s crying? Did I make her sad?
Marinette collected her drink and turned towards the sitting area, her gaze roaming over the rest of the empty tables. Luka felt the moment her eyes landed on him, and realized he’d been holding his breath.
Her gaze flicked to the door and back to him. Now or never. Luka raised a hand, an olive branch.
He could see her thinking over her options. She took one step back, towards the door, but then took three steps forward, towards him. The knot behind Luka’s breastbone loosened with every step forward she took, until she was standing at his table, weaning a smile he could only describe as quaking.
Her lip quivered as she stopped in front of his table. “Is this seat taken?”
A soft laugh left Luka before he could stop himself. The phrase was an inside joke between them when they’d come to the coffee shop together.
When they were in love.
“No,” Luka said, his vision blurring with tears. “No, please, sit down?”
Whereas previously, the offer would have been a playful demand, he left it open as a question. He still didn’t know where he stood with her, and though he wanted more than anything to go back to the way things used to be, he knew he had to step carefully.
Marinette sat, buoying Luka’s heart. Lacking something to do with his hands, he laced his fingers together and unlaced them, eventually wringing them out. “So, um,” he said. “You’re here.”
“Yeah.” Marinette glanced over her shoulder at the door but then turned back to him. “I’m here.”
“Are you ready to talk? Luka blurted out. Shoot! That wasn’t what he’d meant to say! He knew that he’d just blown whatever chance he’d had of making her comfortable. He shouldn’t be demanding anything of her; if she’d been ready before, she clearly wouldn’t be now.
But then Marinette did something he did not expect.
She nodded.
Then she stood, looking like she might bolt. Her fingers gripped her travel cup. Luka didn’t know what she wanted from him until she spoke. “We can’t have a conversation here. Come with me.”
Luka jumped to his feet, scooping up his backpack that he’d hung on his chair and grabbing his cup. He gestured to her. “Lead the way.”
Marinette turned on her heel and marched out the door, stunning him. She seemed to find a second wind, and Luka hastened to catch up. Marinette pushed the doors open with her back, turning to face Luka.
She wasn’t smiling, and Luka found himself unable to breathe.
Marinette turned away again, striding away from him, her long legs eating up the distance. Luka followed helplessly, not knowing what she was doing or why. He had a nagging thought that she was running away from him.
Marinette didn’t slow until they reached a park. Their park. She took a pensive sip of her coffee, her feet plodding along the gravel paths among the trees. Luka kept pace with her, wishing more than anything that he could take her hand but refraining just in case he’d spook her.
Marinette approached the fence and trailed her fingers along the slats, which she’d always done when she was thinking. Finally relaxing now that he was in familiar territory, Luka gave her her space.
By the time she’d stopped walking, Luka estimated that she’d plowed through about half her coffee--quicker than what her pace used to be, but he hardly knew her after two years of hate.
On impulse, Luka bumped her shoulder with his. “Penny for your thoughts?”
She chuckled, and the sound reached down into Luka’s soul and pulled. He would do anything to make her laugh, and that was when he realized he was still deeply, painfully in love with her.
“So…” she began, and Luka swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I’m… I’m sorry.”
Her apology floored him, but Luka knew better than to ask ‘for what?’ He sniffled. “I’m sorry, too.”
Marinette nodded, as if she’d expected that. Luka wondered how predictable he was. “The past few years… I was pretty toxic.” She gave him a pained grimace. “No wonder you didn’t want to stick around.”
“I’m sorry I left.” Luka’s chest tightened around his confession. “I should have--”
Marinette pressed a finger to his lips, effectively silencing him. “No, Luka. We’re both at fault for this. I…” She drew her hand back. “I shut you out. And you reacted poorly. I fired back and when you couldn’t stand it anymore, you left.”
Luka rubbed his temple with his free hand. “And that’s what I don’t get. Why did you do it?” She raised her brows, so Luka pressed on, whispering, “Why did you shut me out, Marinette? Please, please tell me.”
Marinette’s breath hitched. She began shaking, her hand coming up to her lips so she could bite her knuckles. She shook her head. “I’m not re--”
“When?” Luka gently extricated her hand from her mouth. “When will you be ready?” His eyes tightened at the corners, prickling with tears again. “I can’t live like this, always wondering what I did to turn you away.”
Marinette swallowed. Her gaze flicked down to their conjoined hands. She mumbled something he didn’t catch.
“What?”
“It wasn’t you!” she shouted, tearing his hand out of his loose grip. She paced in front of him. “You didn’t do anything to me, Luka. Not at first.”
Luka covered his forehead. He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Then… why?”
Marinette panted in front of him, her coffee cup trembling in her fingers. When she spoke, she said the words so quietly, Luka thought he’d misheard. “I’m infertile.”
“You’re…” Luka’s eyes widened. “You can’t have children?”
Tears rolled down Marinette’s cheeks. Her breaths came thick and fast. “Yeah.”
Luka dropped his chai latte and threw his arms around her, cupping the back of her head and threading his fingers into her pigtails. “That’s your big secret?” Luka’s heart rattled around in his ribcage. He was absurdly relieved--it wasn’t his fault she’d shut him out--but he knew that was unfair to her. “Marinette, I--”
“No, Luka,” Marinette murmured, her cup joining his on the ground. Her shaking hands came up to grip his shoulder blades. “I knew how much you wanted a baby. I knew, and yet I couldn’t give that to you.” She let loose a choked-off sob. “I wanted you to be with someone who could.”
Anger flooded Luka’s vision. He didn’t dare draw back to look at Marinette, lest his ugly look scare her away. “You had no right to make that decision on your own,” he said, his voice thready and rough, scraping across his throat.
When she stiffened in his hold, his rage was snuffed out by waves of grief. “I wanted you, Marinette. It doesn’t matter that you can’t--”
“Of course it matters.” Marinette shook in his arms, pressing her forehead against his shoulder and speaking to his chest. “You’re not thinking clearly. Infertility is a big deal.”
Luka buried his nose in her hair, breathing in her aromas of floral shampoo and coffee. “It is and it isn’t.” He felt his shirt growing wet from Marinette’s tears and sighed. “I do want children. Did.” He gulped at the misstep. “But if I had the choice between being with someone who could give me children and being with you, I’d choose you every time.”
Marinette gasped. “You can’t know that, Luka.” She pulled back to gaze into his eyes. Slowly, her hand came up to smooth his bangs off his forehead. Luka leaned into the touch. “You can’t know that you wouldn’t have fallen in love with someone else instead, if you only gave them a chance.”
Luka shook his head. “I love you, Marinette. You. No one else.”
Marinette whimpered. “Even after everything?”
“Yeah.” Luka cupped her cheeks in his hands, drawing her gaze to him. He pressed a soft, gentle kiss to her lips. “Even after everything.”
Marinette sucked a breath over her teeth. “And we can start over?”
Luka smiled. “Please.”
Marinette gripped his face, raising up on her tiptoes to pepper his face with kisses. Luka laughed and met her lips with his, running his thumbs over her cheeks. “I’ve missed you,” she said. “I’ve missed you so much.”
“I’ve missed you, too.” Luka beamed against her mouth. He couldn’t get enough of her and he couldn’t stop smiling. “Now that we’re starting over, what do you want our first date to be?”
Marinette giggled. “The Village Bean?”
Luka grinned, rubbing his nose on hers. “The Village Bean.”