Come clean.

I have repeatedly held back important information from the people I love most. It can be safer to keep it inside. It can also be disastrous. I need to press Eden to think about which outcome is more likely for her.

“That’s your free will. There’s nothing in your chart that can answer that. So I’ll ask the obvious question—why haven’t you come clean already?”

“If I tell Rick, he’ll put a stop to it immediately. When I imagine that conversation, I see Rick as one of the people I was trying to get away from when I married him. Someone who is going to impose his will over me, deny me what I want to do.”

“But you both agreed to the rules.”

“And we’d both broken rules before, but we keep each other honest. That’s a vital part of polyamory, the openness of it. Now I’m just a plain old cheater.”

“And yet the solution is simple. You can put an end to this deception in several ways,” I say.

“There’s something inside me that can’t do it. I know I should, and yet…”

“And yet, what?” I repeat.

Eden and I have been so conversational and connected that I struggle to keep my frustration locked away. Eden gets to choose. She gets to make mistakes and try to correct them. I no longer have those luxuries.

“Unlike Rick, he’s the first man who has ever felt like enough for me. He is so attentive, but also gives me my space. I think I understand monogamy now.”

That was all I needed to spark more insight from her chart and drop my personal angst. I turn to her twelfth house, the unseen, the subconscious.

“Your rejection of monogamy might be a fear of rejection. Tell me about your parents,” I say.

“I was an only child. A miracle baby. My parents smothered me with love. I’ve never met a man who could love me as much as they did, and in dating that felt like constant rejection. Even when we were in love, it wasn’t enough.”

“So multiple partners seemed necessary to replicate that intense love.”

Eden nods solemnly. I let the impact of this series of revelations set in with silence. Which also gives me time to recover my own unwieldy emotions about love and rejection, honesty and protection. I shine on the optimism.

“Well, I have good news. You aren’t choosing between two guys. You’re choosing between two versions of yourself. You’re caught between a loyalty to a past decision and exploring a future promise. Which Eden do you want to be?”

Eden’s whole face lights up as soon as I finish the question.

“I guess you already know,” I say.

After Eden leaves, I consider my own behavior. Which Rini do I want to be? You get what you get and you don’t get upset doesn’t mean you don’t have choices. I never want to be someone who throws in the towel and gives up when they believe they know exactly what’s going to happen. Where’s the room for surprise? The room for growth? I haven’t limited myself in building Stars Harbor, or planning this weekend’s guests, so why have I done it with Eric, the love of my life? I’ve given up not only my free will, but his.

Before I summon Ted, I pull my phone from the drawer where I hide it during readings. I text Eric with the urgency I feel in my heart.

Hi, sorry to bother you. I might be having a joist issue with the floorboards in the study. Do you think you could drop by so I can show you? Schedule is the same as always.

I reread the text. It’s got the urgency I feel in my heart, if not the words. Gotta start somewhere. I hit send and put the phone away before he can respond, but the joy I feel from taking action is undeniable.

When we are our highest, most practiced selves, that kind of lightning-bolt clarity comes from the wisest parts of the psyche. That’s why I’m certain that text was the right thing to do, even though it will unwind the last six months of distance I’ve put between me and Eric.

I can only hope for Eden that she’s not jumping out of one proverbial pot of boiling water directly into another, clinging to the belief that the pot will make all the difference.

AIMEE

I’m trying really hard to focus on the positive: Adam is here on this trip, we broke our sex drought, and he got a bit of writing done before the first night’s dinner kicked off. But Adam is quiet and refuses to engage after his reading. He responds in one- or two-word answers when I ask him a question, and draws away when I reach for his hand. I know in my gut that something is wrong.

Going into this weekend, I knew Adam and I weren’t in our best phase, but I would have said we are rock-solid. That this is not a repeat of our first year of marriage. I had assumed whatever distance was between us now would be fixed with time away from the kids and some intimacy, but that hasn’t been the magic bullet.

After dinner while everyone moves into the living room, refreshing their drinks and ambling around the first floor, I excuse myself to our room. I’m on a hunt for clues.

Maybe it’s Adam’s deadline that’s got him on edge. I asked him if he’d figured out the ending yet and his stony gaze turned fiery. I wanted to offer to help brainstorm, but I didn’t even read his last book.

The weight of this fact slams me. It’s the first time I’ve ever skipped a book. Thirteen published novels plus three in a drawer that will never see the light of day—I’ve read every word. Yet I couldn’t even tell you the names of the hero and his love interest in this last one. How has the past caught up with me like this all of a sudden?

At his last deadline I had a newborn, a preschooler, and a first grader. How much can he expect of me? The world. Of course I know he expects the world. It’s what we promised each other.

“Hey,” Farah says, opening the suite door a crack.

“I’m looking for Advil,” I say, trying to hide the fact that she startled me.

Farah closes the door behind her, and the din of the party fades. “I have some. Do you want me to go get it?”

I shake my head but continue to root around Adam’s things.

“Are you okay?” Farah asks.

I’m surprised that with those three words my anger and confusion turn into something else. Something ooey gooey. I consider telling Farah that I don’t know what’s going on between me and Adam. I can imagine saying I’m a little bit scared, and maybe increasingly desperate. That beneath those more obvious reactions might be deep sadness.

“It’s my lashes. This one’s irritating me,” I respond while fixing my eye in the mirror.

Farah can tell I’m not fine, but she lets it go. That’s when the emotion overwhelms me and I confess.

“I’m scared Adam’s going to leave me and I’m trying not to lose it,” I blurt.

“Oh, Aimee. What can I do?” Farah asks, the doctor always to my rescue.

I suspect she wants me to cry or bad-mouth Adam, but I’ve got something else in mind. “Help me go through his things. I need proof.”

Farah is more game than I expected. She doesn’t exactly love Adam, but I figured she’d object on the principle of invading his privacy. I was wrong about her.

“Did you try his laptop?” she asks. She sits at the small desk and opens his computer, staring at the keys.

“His last password was Clara321.”

“Really?” she asks.

“Yeah, why?”

“His daughter’s name is his password? I would have thought it was I’m-God’s-gift-to-women321.”

“Stop it. You know Adam is an amazing dad. He does everything I do. Just less of it.”