The boys are at their friend Simon’s house for the night. Something I’ve learned about having twins is that when and where one goes, often does the other. Well, at least with my boys. They have mutual friends, and in a lot of ways they’re identical. Obviously in looks, but in the things they like to do; their interests. But in a lot of ways they’re different. Opposites. And I think that’s part of the appeal when their friends invite them over. They both bring something different to the table.

I’ve cleaned the kitchen, vacuumed, basically power washed their bathroom, and now understand why moms consistently complain about the fact that boys have shit for aim.

I shower, make myself something to eat, turn on Netflix, get bored, turn it off. Or rather, struggle to avoid thinking of Christine. Something I really had to do while showering.

I tug on my hair, glad my hair has grown out and is now longer to pull on as I pace in my living room. I feel like a bull, waiting its turn in the chute to rip into some cowboy who thinks he can overcome the beast.

The carpet under my feet getting more and more worn as I continue to walk the same path. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Storming into the kitchen, I rip open the fridge door and pull out a beer. Twisting the cap off, I throw it onto the counter, watching as it bounces a few times then spins on its top until it comes to a stop. Once again, the house is quiet and I can’t stand it. My thoughts threaten to take over, reminding me of the ass chewing I received from my friends a few days ago. Reminding me of what I lost.

Christine.

Son of a bitch.

My baby.

Our baby.

Fuck.

They’re right.

Of course, they’re right.

I know Christine.

Our love? It isn’t made up or misconstrued or created out of some wild revenge plot. It isn’t fake. Aside from the boys? It’s the most real thing in my life.

I chug down half the bottle in one pull, slamming it back onto the counter with a loud thud.

I know I should let it go.

Actually, I know that I was wrong to even accuse her in the first place.

I know it’s not her fault that Heather cheated eons ago.

I know she had no obligation to tell me. We didn’t even know each other very well then. And, she was not only dealing with learning of Todd’s dumb ass cheating, but also with the fact that he had cancer. Telling some guy she barely knew that his wife was a cheater was, I’m sure, the last thing on her mind.

But the bigger realization? I also know that she didn’t start anything with me to get revenge on Heather. It’s just one more of Heather’s stupid lies that I got trapped into believing.

Part of her venom.

I think back over the time Christine and I spent together.

From the time I walked into Dreamin’ Beans right after I caught Heather with her boy toy, every single moment we spent together brought me nothing but happiness.

I went to her.

Not the other way around.

Why am I letting Heather’s vindictive lies still get to me? Still change the course of my life?

Even divorced, with no legal ties to my boys, she’s still a cunning bitch, trying to control me.

And I let her.

Like an idiot.

With an animalistic roar, I grip the edge of the counter, jerking my body back and forth, trying to steady myself and my raging emotions.

Out of the corner of my eye, I glance at my keys in the bowl then look away quickly, not wanting to be tempted.

“Dammit,” I growl.

I storm over, pissed at myself that I couldn’t resist temptation for even two seconds and rip my keys out of the bowl, shoving them into the pocket of my jeans. I open the garage door and stand in place with my hands on my hips, wondering if I’m really going to leave. That lasts just a few seconds also. Once in my pickup, I push the button to start it up, throw it in reverse, and peel out of my driveway.

Driving around town, I’m feeling pretty proud of myself. I just needed out of the house. The quiet is what was making me go insane.

There’s this song that has a line about being tangled up in barbed wire. Damn it all if that’s not the truth. I feel like the time when I was a kid and went to a buddy’s house who lived in the country. He had four-wheelers and, like a typical city kid who had no clue what I was doing, somehow lost control of the four-wheeler his family let me drive and ended up in the barbed wire fence. I had no idea how it had happened, or what to do to remove it. But his mom came out, calm as you please, and pulled up on the top half of the wires, pushing down with her feet on the rest, and my buddy got it pushed out of the tangled mess I had created like it was no big deal.

That’s exactly how I feel. My heart is so tangled up in Christine and won’t let her go, and I’m starting to wonder if this is my life now or if I even need to keep fighting this. Get over myself, recognize I was the one who fucked up. Not her.

I need to just pull myself out of the mess and apologize. Grovel like the moron that I am.

And move on.

With Christine.

Because I’m not entirely sure I can really move on without her by my side.

I know all those things I’m feeling are totally illogical. And I also know that if I don’t pull my head out of my ass soon, I’ll not only lose her forever, but I’ll lose a little bit of my children, too. Not just the baby she’s growing in her beautiful stomach. But my boys, too, who have taken to her like she’s an angel who was dropped right into our path.

My heart knows I need to move on. Accept it, apologize, and crawl on my knees for her to forgive my jackassery.

But my head?

That’s in my way.

I didn’t think it possible to have more hatred for Heather, but in this moment, I do.

She didn’t only screw me and the boys over.

She screwed over Christine, too.

How many men did she try to seduce?

How many times was she successful?

Why wasn’t I enough for her?

Why weren’t the boys enough for her to realize that she was being selfish?

Why am I going through all these stupid questions again?

Before I know it, I’m sitting in front of Christine’s house.

I knew I would end up here, my hands itching to pull on the handle, letting me out of the confines of my safe space. The light in her living room is on, and I can see the shadow of her walking around before she disappears. I crane my head, hoping to get another glimpse of her. Needing it more than I need the air in my lungs.

The desire to storm up to her house, throw open the door and take her into my arms, begging her to give me another chance is heavy. Desperate for some feeling, I give in and rush across the street, bounding up the stairs.

Memories assault me the second I’m on her porch. The time the boys and I picked her up to go to the haunted house. When I picked her up to go to the cabin for a long weekend. When she stood in the kitchen and taught them not only how to cook, but how to bake a cake, only for them to sneakily help me ask her on our first date. Of the evening I picked her up at her house for the first time we would go out to dinner, ending up at the lake where we sat on a blanket on the beach under the stars.

The feeling of her pinky finger always linking with mine whenever we were near.

Of the first time my lips touched hers in this very spot I’m standing right now. It wasn’t our first kiss, but it is still burned into my memory.

I knew the flame between us would burn bright. Our first kiss only confirmed that. My lips touched hers, and I could feel the fire ignite. The longevity of what we were starting.

When I walked through this door, holding a bag from Walgreens full of pregnancy tests and bottles of vitamin water, dragging her behind me. I knew she was pregnant. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind. And I couldn’t even bring myself to be upset about it. I was, and still am, damn near giddy at the thought of her carrying my child.

So why can’t I get over it?

I bend over at the waist, feeling overwhelmed by the emotions clawing at my heart.

My love.

My baby.

My future is sitting inside this house.

Not being with her, my heart is torn to pieces.

She doesn’t deserve the words I spewed at her.

She doesn’t deserve the doubt I showed.

I don’t deserve to still be torn apart by Heather’s vicious lies.

It’s not fair to either of us. Or the boys.

Gaining the courage, I raise my hand to knock.

Planning to beg her to tell me that she’ll forgive me.

That she understands my head is screwed up and I’m blindly walking through this.

Just as my fist readies, the lights go out. Of the house and my heart.

I lower my hand, wondering if I should knock anyway, or if I should let it go.

Pissed at myself for losing courage so quickly. For doubting myself.

Punking out, I hang my head and sit down on the top step of the porch.

“Dammit,” I whisper into the wind.

Resting my elbows on my knees, I scrub my hands through my hair and link my fingers on the back of my head.

My throat closes up as I anxiously try to take in a breath.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

What am I going to do? Life shouldn’t be this complicated. Right now, it feels like an episode of Jerry Springer.

So, tell me, Andy, what brings you here today?

Well, gee, Jerry. See, my wife cheated on me, left me and our boys without a glance backward, which didn’t piss me off nearly as much as when I found out my pregnant-with-my-child girlfriend’s dead husband had an affair with my ex-wife years ago but had known for years that it had happened and never told me.

Why was I so hung up on the fact that she kept that from me?

Why did it feel like a betrayal?

Why did I have to be such an asshole to her when she did tell me? Rather than just listen to her and try to figure out how to move forward.

Did I really want to live this way? To find a way to live without Christine in my bed, in my life as nothing more than just the mother to my child? I decided I didn’t want to yesterday, but why am I still dragging my feet?

The answer to every single one of those questions?

Hell no.

The decision I made when I discovered she knew about Heather’s indiscretions years ago as well as the accusations I placed on her that she could have possibly planned this entire relationship and pregnancy snakes its way through my veins, turning them hot then ice cold. Recognition of my mistake takes over, and I know I messed up royally.

But I also know she deserves more than me just coming by in the middle of the night, begging for her forgiveness.

I messed up and need to own up to it.

The grand gesture.

She’s worth it.

And I know exactly what to do to prove that I’m all in.

I just hope I’m not too late.