Chapter 12
Daniel
My eyes blink open in the darkness and I stare at the familiar elephant decals covering the wall. My gaze shifts to the shelf of colorful cardboard books above the changing table and the huge stuffed dinosaur sitting on the floor. I’m in Sebastian’s bedroom. I’m in my house.
A sudden buzzing along the side of my leg causes me to jump. I realize that it’s my phone vibrating in my pants. I shift a little and stretch my leg out to shove my hand into my pocket.
I groan quietly. I may be wide-awake but my left butt cheek is definitely still sleeping.
Swiping across the screen of the phone, I realize that it’s a text message from my work colleague, Prescott Brooks. At 2:17 on a Sunday morning.
Prescott: I was just looking over the Shinewell deposition and I spotted a hole in the defendant’s arguments.
Prescott: Call me when you get this.
Prescott: Are you up???
I mutter under my breath. “Dude – 2:17 on a Sunday morning!”
I take great pride in my work, I enjoy the prestige that comes with being a lawyer of such a high caliber and I definitely like looking at my bank account balance every now and then. But sometimes, the trade-off isn’t worth it. Because yes, I have all those things but I lost the things that really matter. My family, my sleep, the right to say, “It’s 2:17 on a Sunday morning so fuck off until Monday between the hours of 9:00 and 5:00.”
A little noise comes from Sebastian’s crib and I quickly pocket the phone. The boy has a hard enough time sleeping. I won’t wake him up.
I twist my neck from side to side to soothe the ache. Shaking out my leg, I try to encourage the blood to start circulating again. After a minute or so, I finally venture into a standing position and a blanket slides off of my body, pooling at my feet.
I rack my brain trying to remember when I’d draped it over my body. It takes me a long minute to finally accept that it must be Grace who pulled it over me when I fell asleep in the rocking chair.
A little thrill zings through me at the realization but I can’t let myself get carried away. I try not to make it mean anything. I do my best to remind myself that in the grand scheme of our toxic relationship, throwing a damn blanket over me is insignificant. But man, I’d be lying if I said that this little act of kindness doesn’t put all sorts of ideas into my head.
Can’t keep doing this to yourself, man. It’s over.
A cold chill seeps through my skin. I walk over to the thermostat on the wall and turn it up a few degrees. But I know that the temperature isn’t the problem. The problem is that I don’t want to leave my home tonight. I don’t want to walk out of my son’s room and jump into my car and drive back to my sterile apartment across town.
I want to stroll down the hall and climb into bed with my wife and smell her sweet scent rising off of the comforter. I want to spoon behind her and slide my hand between her thighs and find her wet for me. I want to hear her moan as I press my cock through her folds, breaching her entrance in one smooth jab. I want her to rock back against me as I brush my fingers over her clit and tell her she’s the most beautiful woman in the world and I can’t stand to live my life without her.
I think back to the way she used to look at me when we’d just met. Shy adoration glowing in her big doe eyes and pale cheeks blazing red every time I smiled at her. These days, there's a brumous fog of disdain and rage when she watches me. But in moments like tonight, the cloud parts for a split second and I see traces of the longing still lingering beneath all the other emotions. It gives me hope.
I press my eyes shut to fight off the emotions pooling there. She doesn’t want you. She doesn’t want you. I repeat it like a mantra as I lean over my son’s crib and watch him sleeping peacefully.
Careful not to wake him, I inch away from his tiny bed and out the nursery door. I creep down the shadowy hall to the staircase. I haven’t walked through this house in months and tonight, everything has a strange, eerie glow. The walls are haunted by memories of the happy days, the days that have slipped through my fingers.
My eyes fall on the bathroom doorjamb. That’s where Grace was leaning the day that she walked out of the bathroom with pure wonder in her eyes and told me she was pregnant. My heart tightens.
I climb the top step, yanking at my tie. It’s well past midnight. I hate working this late. I’d rather be home with my new wife but I’m paying my dues at the law firm. My boss has started planting a seed in my head. Although I was sworn to the bar only a short while ago, he’s already started throwing the term ‘junior partner’ around. Call me over-ambitious but I want it so bad I can taste it. Almost as bad as I want to taste Grace’s lips tonight.
Lifting my gaze, I see her standing in the doorway. All the lights are off aside from the dim glow coming from the bathroom.
My pulse accelerates ever so slightly. “Grace?” She’s anxious. I see the faint smile on her lips and the arch of her brows as she twists her hands in front of her. “Angel, is everything okay?”
I glance past her shoulder and see them lined up on the counter. An army of slim pink and white tubes. My eyes bulge and her grin widens across her pretty face.
Sidestepping her, I charge into the bathroom. My heart swells when I see the plus signs displayed clearly on all of the tests. “Are you…?”
She giggles. “I’m pregnant…”
My gaze zips back to her. “Holy shit! Holy shit!” It’s all I can say as I smush her little body to mine and bury my face in her hair to hide the tears of joy. “We’re having a baby!”
I go down the stairs slowly, taking in the pictures lining the wall. Our wedding photos. Some snaps from our honeymoon in New York City. Pictures of Sebastian’s first day at home. My heart tightens as each memory floats through my mind like ghosts, wisps of smoke that I can’t quite hold on to.
At the foot of the stairs, I glance over to the kitchen and see the spot where she was standing, three days overdue, dancing her ass off to a Black Eyed Peas song when she went into labor. I chuckle to myself at the memory.
“What are you doing?” I ask, peering up at her as she shimmies in front of the stove.
She makes a face at me as she sings, waggling a finger in the air. “Tonight’s gonna be a good night. Tonight’s gonna be a good night.”
She’s off tune as ever but she’s cute with her big belly straining against the fabric of my Reyfield High football t-shirt. Her bump causes the fabric to rise up in the front, barely covering her underwear.
I laugh. “That’s what you said yesterday. And the day before yesterday.” My fingers fly across the keyboard of my laptop as I review the final draft of a subpoena that I’m working on to force some chump to testify in some case.
She shakes her head as she dances over to me. “Nah, babe. Today is the day. I can feel it.”
“If you say so,” I mutter, my eyes on the screen. “In the meantime, just keep putting down those sexy dance moves. My cock’s getting heavy just watching you.”
Rolling her eyes, she waves me away. “Please! I’m a whale. Nothing sexy about that!”
“Have you seen your ass?” I scoff. “I want to come all over those lovely lady humps!”
She laughs again. So happy. We’re so happy. We’re going to be happy forever. We’re going to fill up this house with so many kids that we’ll be breaking the fire code. We’ll make love every single night for the rest of our lives. On our dying bed, they’ll have to pry us off of each other.
At least, that’s the plan…
I glimpse in her direction. Now, she’s bent over with her hands on her knees, chortling and jerking her luscious hips back and forth. She’s aiming to be silly but she has no idea how sexy I find her. I push my computer aside, taking a break from my work to enjoy her.
Then in a flash, her expression changes. Her eyes go wide and her mouth hangs in a wide ‘O’.
I leap out of my chair. “Grace, what is it?” My hand is on her back and I help her stand upright.
She looks down at her feet and then her eyes jerk up to my face before diving back to the floor. A clear liquid slicks her legs, pooling around her thick, stripped socks. “My water just broke…”
I step into my shoes, one at a time. My ribcage is tight enough to explode. Nostalgia continues to batter my senses, making me relive events that happened in this room months, or even years, ago. And not all of it is good.
“God! Would you get out of your damn head for a minute, Grace? Would you stop overanalyzing everything?” I throw up my hands in frustration as I pace the living room floor. I’m so tired of arguing over every single little thing.
Her face is red, her chest puffed out, her eyes rimmed with tears that refuse to spill down her cheeks. “You really don’t think this is important, do you?” Her voice trembles with anger.
“You complain about everything. I just don’t know when what you’re whining about is actually a legitimate concern. I’ve lost track.” I spit the words out at her with vile contempt.
“You are unbelievable!” she yells. “You arrogant, selfish, self-centered son of a –”
My eyebrow jerks up. “Watch it now, Angel!” I warn.
She stalks off toward the kitchen, growling under her breath. “I can’t fucking do this anymore. You don’t give a fuck and I can’t make you…”
I look past the curtains to the snow twirling to the white-blanketed ground. I’m too tired for this. It’s nearly two in the morning and I spent thirteen hours at the office today. I want to grab something to eat and then catch a few hours of sleep. So tired of this bickering.
“You’re trying to drive me crazy. You want me to live inside your sad, little doom and gloom world with you. That’s what you’re doing.”
She spins on her heel and charges back into my space, so much rage beaming off this tiny woman. “Y’know what? You don’t want to live in my crazy, little doom and gloom world? Then get out!”
The air stills and neither of us say a word. We’re both shocked by what she just said. All of a sudden, the blinking lights on the Christmas tree are disorienting. The ho-ho-ho of the Santa Claus ornament on the fireplace seems to be mocking me. Is she really telling me to leave?
“Get out,” she repeats again. This time, the glint in her eye tells me she knows exactly what she’s saying. She marches over to the couch and grabs my coat from the cushion where I’d dropped it when I stepped into the house ten minutes ago. “Leave, Daniel! Go!”
My brain tells me to take a deep breath. Calm her down. Tell her to go to bed. Make myself comfortable on the couch for the night. We can talk about this in the morning. When we’ve both calmed down.
But I won’t beg. Hell no! My pride takes over from logic. I snatch the coat out of her hand.
I see the fractures deepen, I see her crumble to pieces as she realizes that I’m actually going to leave.
But that doesn’t stop me from walking out the door.
Standing in that same spot nine months later, I swallow hard. I’m such a fucking idiot. I shouldn’t have left that night. We could have worked it out. I had a choice and I chose wrong.
I reach for the door handle and step out into the dark, windy night. The cold air hits my face and man, I wish I could go back and change the decision I made that night nine months ago.
The phone in my pocket buzzes again. More text messages from Prescott, I’m sure.
I take one glance back at the split-level, two-story colonial. This place is no longer my home.
My name is on the mortgage but my key no longer fits in the lock, my shoes no longer sit by the door.
My wife no longer loves me.