Free Cherish (Covet #1.5) by Tracey Garvis Graves Page B

his attention span and concentration skills.
    I made a list of our favorite movies, and we’ve been working our way through them. We watch them on the couch together. Daniel holds my feet in his lap the way he always used to. It feels every bit as good as it did when we were together.
    Sleeping together feels good too. It took me a few nights to get used to it again, and even though there is nothing romantic about it, there is something peaceful about sleeping next to him again, especially because I’ve spent almost two years sleeping alone. It’s a king-sized bed and we stay on our respective sides, but I can feel his presence. I’m aware of the smell of his skin and the sound of his breathing. It calms me.
    One day while Daniel is walking on the treadmill, I make my way down to the basement to start tackling the Rubbermaid storage tubs that are lined up against one wall. I can’t even begin to imagine what’s in them. When Daniel moved out of our home, I spent the day with my parents so I wouldn’t have to be there. When I returned, not much had changed. He left all the furniture and took only his clothes and personal items. There appeared to be fewer things in the basement and garage, but I’d never taken the time to figure out exactly what was missing. Shortly after that, I sold the house and all the furniture I no longer needed and moved to my apartment.
    The basement is partially finished, but the tubs are in a room with a concrete floor next to the furnace and water heater. I pry off the lid of the first tub and come face-to-face with my old maternity clothes. I have a vague recollection of Daniel gathering up anything baby related and packing it away so I wouldn’t have to see it. But now that time has passed, the sight of the clothes doesn’t upset me as much. The pain is still there, but it’s outweighed by the memories of how happy I was during my pregnancy.
    After pulling out all the items, I lay them on the floor and sit down, not really caring that the concrete is hard and uncomfortable. I hold up each item, remembering the places I wore it. The clothes in this first tub aren’t actually maternity clothes at all, but rather regular clothes in bigger sizes. As I’d outgrown them, I’d washed them and put them back for the next pregnancy.
    The second tub holds the clothes I’d worn in the middle months. I pull out the striped long-sleeved T-shirt I wore when I first started to show. I’d been so excited to finally look like a pregnant woman instead of one who’d just gotten a bit thick around the middle. When I pointed out my barely-there bump, Daniel insisted on taking a picture of me while I was turned to the side. He took one every week after that as I grew bigger and bigger.
    The last tub holds the clothes from the end of my pregnancy. I remember telling Daniel that the baby needed to come soon because I only had a few things that fit by then, and I was tired of wearing them.
    We tried for another baby after Gabriel, because everyone thinks that all you need when you lose a child is a replacement. Our lovemaking took on a subtle, procreational vibe, with whispered inquiries from Daniel in the heat of the moment about whether or not it was a good time.
    When my depression really sank its teeth into me, the sex ended and so did Daniel’s hope for another baby.
    I don’t know what to do with the clothes, so I put the lid back on and pull out another tub.
    The contents take my breath away.
    Gabriel’s baby book is on top and underneath it a hodgepodge of items, as if Daniel packed everything away with urgency. There is the outfit we dressed Gabriel in to bring him home from the hospital. It’s yellow, because we didn’t want to know the sex of our baby in advance. There are giraffes and elephants on the front, and it came with a matching cap. I pick it up and hold it, as if Gabriel is still in it, and I hug it gently. My tears fall fast and furious, but I’m not sad or upset. I am filled with