Chapter 7
Daniel
I hit the doorbell.
Yes, at my own goddamned house, I hit the doorbell. Because my wife kicked me out and changed the locks and I let her. Goddammit, Grace!
After an eternity, she swings the door open. She’s wearing a washed-out gray t-shirt that’s torn at the neck together with pajama bottoms and fluffy bedroom slippers.
It’s 4:45 in the afternoon.
Her voice is scratchy and her hair is matted to her forehead. "Hi..."
She tries to stand tall but her pale cheeks and her swollen eyes betray her. I know that look. She's been crying. A part of me wants to pull her into my arms and kiss her until she’s beautifully flushed and her eyes shine with wanting me. The other part of me wants to scream at her. Look what you did to us!
But that's not fair and I know it.
Look what we did to us. Look at the mess we made.
I'm not man enough to say that, of course. Instead, I bark at her. "Where’s my son?"
She looks taken aback by my brusque tone but after what she did, why is she surprised?
Was she expecting me to show up here on a white horse, shirtless and oiled up, chest hairs blowing in the wind with a red rose clenched between my teeth to sweep her off her feet like this is a fucking Harlequin romance? Hell no!
Ending our marriage was her idea. She’s got to stomach the consequences now.
Her eyes drop to the floor and she sniffles softly. “Let me go get him.”
God – I hate the little part of me that wants to comfort her, the little part of me that breaks when I see her broken. I chastise myself internally. You’re weak. Don’t let her get to you. She deserves to be miserable.
That’s the propaganda I try to feed myself as I stand on the front stoop, waiting for her to come back with our baby. But the truth is, after spending so many years with a person, it’s hard to turn off your feelings just because one day they wake up and decide that they’re better off without you.
Sebastian’s little face lights up from all the way down the hall when he spots me standing at the door. He stretches his arms out to me, pulling away from his mother’s body as they approach.
“Hey, buddy,” I say as I swoop him into my arms and ruffle his white-blond hair. “Hey!”
A smile pulls across his drooly lips. “Da-da! Da-da-da!”
Grace slips a little fisherman hat onto his head. “Make sure to keep his hat on if you take him to the park,” she tells me as she puts on his rain boots, “and his sunscreen is in the bag. I know it’s cloudy but still put it on. You might have to reapply it a few times depending on how long you stay outside. I packed his favorite toy car. Don’t go to the park without it–”
Seething, I cut off her nervous rambling. “Grace, I know how to take care of my son.” She does this every time I pick him up. It’s annoying as hell.
She flinches again. “Sorry,” she says quietly, “it’s just so hard to watch him leave every other weekend.”
This woman can’t be serious. “Really? It’s hard to watch him leave for two measly days every other weekend?” I bark. “How do you think I feel when I drop him off on Sunday nights, knowing that I won’t see him again for nearly fifteen days?”
“Don’t do this, Daniel,” she pleads softly.
“No, it’s your fault. All of this is your fault,” I snarl, flinging an arm in the air. “If you hadn’t torn our family apart–”
“I tore our family apart?” she barges in. “You didn’t play any role in this? You’re just an innocent party?”
Here we go again. Fighting is what we’re best at. The subject doesn’t really matter as long as we’re at each other’s throats. And now, Sebastian is wailing. His confused little eyes squeeze shut and he buries his face in my shirt.
Both of us go mute. Grace’s lips press flat and so do mine. Our eyes hook onto each other in a hateful silent exchange.
Wordlessly, she stretches the diaper bag out to me. I take it without a squeak.
She kisses her fingers and runs them across our son’s cheek. I ignore the tenderness in her watery eyes. I ignore the tugging in my own chest.
I spin on my heel and stomp across the driveway to my car.