5
Just as before, Alejandro and I sit and hold one another as we come down from the sex high. The passion has faded for the moment, both of us sated. Thoughts of bringing him inside, into my home, plague me. I wish so badly that he could stay here, in this state, instead of returning to his own. I want more than anything to have full, uninterrupted access to him, but I know that right now, it’s impossible.
We both have lives that need tending. Whereas I have a job that allows me total flexibility, he does not. For the time being, I have to be satisfied with what time we can steal with one another, unless or until either he or I can relocate.
Plus, it’s too early yet. We haven’t been together long enough to make such a permanent leap.
Are we even together?
In my heart, yes, we are. The moment I returned his declaration of love, there was no other man for me. Which is why I will never be able to understand how someone—like my husband—can run around having sex with random strangers. How do they live with themselves? The guilt and shame alone would be enough to kill me. It speaks volumes to their character, their dishonest, disloyal nature making them the ugliest of God’s creatures.
Wrapped tight around Alejandro, I lean back and gaze into those shimmering brown eyes and see only beauty. Honesty. I imagine he’s as stripped bare as I feel, completely open to me as I am to him.
This is why I get lost in Alejandro. When I look at him, I feel as though I’m seeing into his soul. He’s genuine—a rare and prized commodity in this modern world.
“What are you going to do when you get back home?” I ask him, my fingers flirting with the collar of his T-shirt.
His hands skim a path up and down my sides and he blows out a breath. “Sleep. Work. What about you? What you going to do when I’m gone?”
Smirking, I say, “Sleep. Work.”
He smiles briefly, finding humor in my words as I intended him to. Then his expression falls and he traces a finger across my abdomen. “When do you find out for sure?”
I don’t need to ask to understand his meaning. The question of the pregnancy test I took a few weeks ago is a constant factor in my daily life. “I have an appointment in a few days. I should know then.”
“What are you going to do if you are?”
Now it’s my turn to breathe deep. “I don’t know. I wasn’t exactly planning on having more kids right now.” Hell, neither of us were.
“Would you abort?”
Instantly, I make a face. “No. God no.”
“So, you’d want a Latin baby?”
I smile softly and lean forward to place a soft kiss on his lips, then I whisper, “Yes.” The background of a child—my child—doesn’t matter to me, especially if it’s his. Hell, in my current state of mind, I’d have a dozen with Alejandro and wouldn’t think twice about it. It’s all about where the heart resides, and mine is firmly with him.
“I think you are,” he says, and we both look down at my stomach.
“Mmm, no, I don’t think so.”
“You’re going to be changing diapers soon.” I arch an eyebrow, and he quickly revises. “Okay, okay, we both will.”
Pursing my lips, I relent, because I have enough experience by now to know that he’s relentless. Plus, he’s too cute for words. “Yeah, sure, whatever you say.”
“Ah, Mami, you not mad at me, are you?” I shrug and he chuckles. Sitting up, he starts kissing the side of my neck saying, “You can’t be mad. It’s too soon.”
I’m not mad, and we both know it, but I continue playing along. “I should smack you.”
“Why such violence?” he says, his voice shaking with laughter.
“Fine, I won’t smack you,” I relent. “I’ll just kiss you really aggressively, and we’ll have angry make-up sex.”
A deep, purr-like sound rumbles in his chest and he tips his head back to peer into my eyes. “Mmm, I like the sound of that.”
So do I. And considering the fire burning in his eyes, I’m so glad I suggested it. We fool around a bit more, taking and giving pleasure to one another, then holding and talking afterward. When the quiet morning hours begin to weigh heavily, we part ways with the promise of more to come.
It kills me knowing that he won’t be here when I wake up, and that promise is all that gets me through the days ahead. The distance is killer, chewing away at the mind, heart, and soul and the only thing that buoys me are our frequent-but-not-nearly-enough texts.
I’m texting back and forth with Jean, my best friend since grade school, the following week while sitting in the waiting room at the local courthouse. Mark is in the bathroom—nervous pees, apparently—while we wait for the caseworker to call us back and set child support.
Me: Test results will be back in a couple days.
J: That’s too long! I need to know now!!!
Me: lol Well we’re gonna have to wait missy
J: :’(
J: What does Alejandro have to say about this?
Me: He seems okay with it?
J: I still can’t believe he came back. I thought for sure he was gone forever
Me: Me too
J: Are you relieved?
Me: Hellz yeah!
J: Me too. I thought I was going to have to hire a hitman.
Me: lmao
J: My bank acct wouldn’t have liked that very much
Me: Well I’m glad you don’t have to do that
J: Yep
J: So how do you feel? Are you still spotting? What did the doc say about that?
My attempt to reply is cut short when Mark suddenly drops into the seat next to mine and says, “What’s going on with Jean? She sick or something?”
It’s then I realize he’s read my text. For as quickly as he gleaned that information, he must have snuck up from behind and read our conversation before sitting down, something that’s not uncommon with him. Whenever I’m on my phone, Mark becomes a creeper, leaning in and around, trying to see who I’m talking to and what about. I try to keep it from sight whenever he’s around, but sometimes, like now, he sneaks up on me.
I clench my teeth, wanting to lay into him, but this isn’t the time nor place for an argument. I get ready to tell him it’s none of his business, not wanting him involved in any part of my life that doesn’t include the kids, but then I remember the way he cried after finding out about me and Alejandro, and an evil part inside of me wants to see it happen again.
“No, she’s fine,” I say truthfully, as I let Jean know I’ll be back later and tuck the phone back into my pants pocket.
“Then what’s that about the spotting and doctor and all that.”
“Man, you’re nosey,” I remark, my hostility bleeding through.
It slides right off his back, though, and he presses on. “You weren’t talking about you, right?”
I bite the inside of my cheek, debating on how much to tell him. But in typical Mark fashion, he fills in the blanks for me.
“Are you sick?”
“No, I’m fine.”
He stares at me, and I stare right back, and then after a moment he says, “You’re not pregnant, are you?”
Not one to lie, I shrug and look away. “That’s what I’m waiting to find out.”
The silence is thick and oppressive, unlike the kind that Alejandro and I share. It’s the perfect representation of what Mark’s and my relationship has become though.
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah.”
“Jesus Christ,” he hisses. “Didn’t he use a condom?”
“We kind of got carried away. It was the last thought on either of our minds.”
He looks at me with utter bafflement and a heavy dose of shock. It’s easy to see that this bit of news has hit him hard. Good, I laugh to myself. He should be affected.
“So, you don’t know if you are or not yet?”
“I had a positive test a couple weeks ago and I have a lot of symptoms telling me I am. I’m just waiting for blood test to confirm it.”
This sends him into another bout of reflection in which I silently cheer. Call me a bitch, but it feels good to see him hurting. And he is hurting. He might deny it later, but he’s barely holding it together right now. I can see the pain in his eyes, and when he gets up and walks off toward the bathroom again and doesn’t return for nearly ten minutes, I know he’s been crying again.
It’s hard not to wonder what his little mistress would think if she knew how utterly affected he is by my involvement with another man, that he runs off to cry it out. To me it says that he’s not nearly done with me, but the problem is, I am beyond finished with him. It becomes clearer every day, through odd behavior like this, that Mark will come crawling back someday, but my door is now forever closed to him. When someone you pledged to love the rest of your life inflicts soul-deep pain like he has, the wounds cut deep and never truly heal. After coming as far as I have, going back to him would be a death sentence.
When the woman calls us back to sort out the support order, Mark is still pulling himself together, but knowing him as well as I do, I’m the only one who sees how broken he really is.
We drove here together, since Mark was too nervous to try to find the place by himself, and we drive back to my house afterward so he can see the kids for a brief visit before returning to his cramped apartment to play the dutiful boyfriend.
The talks between us are friendly, amicable, and he attempts to pry more private information out of me. As usual, I only give him the bits and pieces I’m willing to share, things that leave him wanting more and are designed to drive him crazy later. I can tell by the way he presses for information that I’m doing a fine job of it, which pleases me. I hope he loses tons of sleep tonight.
Thankfully, we arrive back at the house, offering the perfect distraction, and I can break away. I let Alejandro know that the hearing went well and ask how his day is going. He asks for a picture and I’m thankful I put in some practice earlier so I have one on standby. I send it and then I get started on dinner. Mark lingers long enough to eat before running off to make dinner for the tramp who doesn’t cook at all because “it’s not her thing.”
The peace that settles over the house once he’s gone is like a warm blanket on a cold winter’s night—soft and cozy. In fact, everything is calmer since Mark has been gone, making me realize what a negative presence he was all these years. I’ve heard distance makes the heart grow fonder, but sometimes, it serves as an eye-opening experience instead.