Inhale, Exhale

by Matthews, C. L.

  “Yeah, but I’ve always wanted to say that, and please for all the love that is holy, don’t call me that,” I chastise, shutting him down.

  Yes, if we didn’t cuddle last night, I may light up at the gesture, but I’m a little broken right now, which means I’m vulnerable to falling further. There have been times Tobe and I have almost crossed the line, but we never ended up doing it. Unlike my husband, I won’t be that person.

  I didn’t notice at first, but as my gaze scans his face, I see a cut on his lip. His jaw is swollen, and my curiosity is piqued. What the hell happened before he got here?

  “What happened to your face?” I brave the question.

  “My brother and I had a disagreement.”

  “With your fists?”

  “With our fists.”

  “Do I dare ask why?”

  “Just defending the honor of my girl,” he says as if that’s answer enough.

  “Why?” I prod, wondering what set him off.

  “He’s a loser who needed reminding that you are the world, not some random hooker.”

  My mouth falls agape, “he was paying for sex?” I question, immediately feeling less of myself. A hooker, he had an affair with a hooker. What the ever loving fuck?

  “No, no. That’s just what I’m calling her. I know how you feel about the word slut.” I nod awkwardly, knowing I’ve thought and called the other woman many worse words in my head.

  “So, you hit him because you were angry?”

  “I hit him because he’s a worthless piece of shit for what he did and my anger got the best of me. I’m sorry, Sparkle. Though, I wouldn’t change a damn thing.”

  My eyes scan the floor, avoiding this entire conversation. I’m only now noticing the custom tiles. Each few are hand-painted. I can see the detail and extravagance of each design. Jase never comes here, and since the remodeling, I haven’t been here either. Toby has outdone himself.

  A warm hand lifts my chin up, and his eyes burn into mine. He can see everything I leave on display, making me feel barer than in my bed without my husband the last few months.

  “It won’t take a day to move on. Be patient. We’ll get through this together. I’m sorry I fought with him. Don’t be upset, baby.” His eyes are soft and caring. So not what I need right now.

  Do I even want to move on? Jase is all I’ve known. I won’t cry. I refuse to cry again in front of him. Do I care they fought? Yes. Do I care more about Tobe’s well-being than my husband’s? Also yes. Do I wish it was me punching Jase? That’d be a solid yes times ten.

  “I’m fine, really,” I don’t sound even remotely truthful. Absentmindedly, I tug my lip between my teeth, unable to keep my emotions in check.

  “Don’t lie to me, Loren. It’s me you’re talking to.” A growl emanates from him, making him seem fiercer than usual.

  Warmth spreads through his hand that grips my face and feathers across my body. If I wasn’t already absolutely sure about the oven being off, I’d have thought it had been left open.

  “I don’t want to talk about it again. We did that all last night.”

  Using what little strength I have left, I turn to the kitchen. We spoke enough last night, and we’re at work now. The separation between professional and personal needs to be solidified. Dinner prep will take me hours. We’ll need to get started. It’ll distract me from the gnawing feeling inside my stomach. There are three things I’m absolutely sure of... I love my husband. I also hate him. And lastly, this job will be my saving grace. Toby and my kids will be my saving grace.

  He doesn’t follow me, and I silently thank him for leaving me be. Tobe knows me better than anyone, and I’m grateful he caught my apprehension.

  Mexican food has always been my favorite, and Horchata is at the top of my must-have beverages. Usually, a recipe calls for rice, cinnamon, sugar, and vanilla extract if the company even goes for homemade. Truth is, most buy that instant mix crap, and believe me, there’s a huge difference in quality and flavor. When the first brush of the cinnamon touches my taste buds, I feel an explosion of pure bliss. It’s something that I crave, the differences in flavors.

  When I was in high school, I took a science course. They did a test to see which of us were “tasters.” Some people have what they call a “taster’s gene.” You're more prone to taste and identify especially impossible substances than what they call the “non-tasters.”

  It’s a burden and blessing. It’s a burden because you don’t enjoy broccoli, the stench of cigarettes is debilitating, and when milk is about to be rotten, you taste it before its sell-by date.

  The positive of it is that you taste flavors more vibrantly. They zing my tongue, giving it the workout of a lifetime when someone else can barely sense it, if at all. Something that is slight and subtle, you can differentiate wildly. It’s like knowing chili powder over cumin or cinnamon over nutmeg. Let’s say your secret ingredient is the tiniest morsel of a flavor. I can taste that flavor and single it out, knowing the exact fraction of spice you use. It allows everything to be unique and more satisfying when eaten.

  It makes cooking amazing for me as I can add in unique flavors that make recipes change drastically, yet they can’t tell. My Horchata recipe is one of them. Instead of grinding the rice, I let it soak for hours. Then, I strain it after and add in the normal ingredients. Nutmeg, cinnamon, a dash of milk, honey, and a pinch of cocoa are what separates my recipe from others, but not many will distinguish those differences. Being a taster gives me a better outlook on food.

  I made a batch this morning. In an hour or so, it’ll be ready for the staff to taste. It’ll also let me know who has a tasting gene or a fraction of the gene, too.

  Heading to Tobe’s office with a pitcher of Horchata and cups, I spot Renaldo and wave him over. He follows me to Tobe.

  “Try this.” I push the drink into both their hands, unable to help the boastful nature of my voice. “My recipe.”

  Tipping the heady liquid, they seem lost in the flavor. Their smiles are infectious, and I can’t help but smile in return.

  “Delicioso,” they both respond in unison.

  I watch Toby’s throat as he swallows. I didn’t think anything could be so erotic to watch. What’s wrong with me?

  I force my gaze elsewhere. If he catches me, there’ll be trouble, like him throwing me on his desk and thrusting into me.

  What the actual fuck? Stop thinking that way.

  When did I become this woman? The one who fantasizes about my brother-in-law? The one wanting to be unfaithful to the man I married?

  It happened a while ago, the change in me to mentally being single.

  I should probably start at the beginning, where everything went downhill. I can blame Jase for just about everything, but it would be a lie. It’s never one person’s fault, and this, this was my doing.

  When I turned twenty-four, my mom was diagnosed with kidney failure and COPD. She was my best friend. We talked about everything. A day didn't pass where we didn't talk for hours.

  Her COPD took her life. She smoked from the early age of eleven until right before her last breath. When she died, I lost myself. I'm a lover at heart. I give and give and give. I never ask for anything in return, and that's okay. It's just who I've always been. My heart is a tricky bastard. It loves without fault. It doesn't falter or pause to beat thoroughly before loving deeply. My heart betrays my mind. It eats at my soul, takes every part of me, and gives it away.

  Most people grieve one way or another, and when she left this world, my solace was nonexistent. I chose to not feel, and my kids lost their mother just as I lost mine. By that time, I already gave up my husband, too. He begged me to come back to him, to be the woman he fell in love with, the mother to his beautiful babies, but I couldn't. The numbness consumed me. It took and took until there wasn't a person left. When I came back, he wasn't mine anymore. Now, I need my husband to be the man I married, the one I love, and the best father to our kids. He's nowhere to be found, and he s
ought after someone else to fill his heart and bed with. As silly as it sounds, it’s essential for me to have someone I can depend on.

  No matter how hard I try, Tobe is always in my memories, the forefront of my mind, and here. He’s always fucking here, even when his brother isn’t. How can I not love him, not care, and have feelings I shouldn’t when he’s always been right here? He’s mine in his own way, and without trying, I’ve given him a piece of me.

  “We have to add this to the menu,” Tobe confirms after taking another huge gulp.

  “I’d love that,” I admit, nodding with a less enthusiastic smile.

  When I finished my first night, Tobe congratulated me, and we had tons of people complimenting my work.

  “Coming home with me?” Tobe asks while I untie my apron, preparing to leave. If the question came from any other person, I’d think of it as a come-on.

  “Please,” I nearly beg.

  I’m not ready to face reality. No matter how selfish it sounds, I can’t go home yet.

  “You’re always welcome, Sparkle. In my life, my home, and my heart.”

  When he says things like this, my heart breaks more for him. He started calling me Sparkle when we were teens. He’s always been in love with me, but I chose Jase. I’d always chosen Jase. I love Tobe, but I’m bad news for him. We can never be what he needs, and we both know it.

  “Thank you, Tobe. Will you come with me to see the kids first? I can’t not see them.”

  “Of course. Plus, they love Uncle T.”

  “Yes, they do,” I whisper, knowing it’s the truth.

  I wonder if Ellie ended up with the kids, or if Jase had his mom watch them. Millie, Jase and Tobe’s mom, is the sweetest soul. After I lost my mom, she stepped into that position, always supporting me and visiting often. I can’t thank her enough for her part in my life.

  The kids love her. Hell, I love her.

  chapter nineteen

  Past

  Night of the Christmas Party

  Lo

  “You have to talk about her, Sparkle,” Toby coaxes, rubbing circles into my palm.

  He’s probably right. For the past few months, he’s been able to get me to talk about my mom. It’s like splitting the skin, digging out the veins, and hoping they’d survive in the outside world. It still hurts more than I care to admit, but it’s a start.

  He hasn’t given up on me.

  He swears he’ll stay, even when I hurt him. Jase, though, he’s hardly home. And when he is, he’s angry, telling me to try harder.

  “Talk,” he berates, the vein in his head pulsing along with his heart. My mouth opens to speak but nothing comes out. Forcing the words, the emotions, the explanation of why it hurts so much just won’t spill through. “Goddammit, Loren. You can’t live a life in the dark, even with that, you need light, sustenance, life...” His words come to a halt, his eyes shutting. “I’m sorry, Peaches. I didn’t mean to yell.”

  But it’s too late, I’m already thinking of the place of peace while tears streak my face one after another.

  I’m waiting for the day, for him to file the papers, for him to finally be done. I’m not back to being me, nowhere close, but I do shut down less.

  “I know, Tobe. It just hurts.” I shudder, thinking of her.

  It’s not that I can’t think of the good. It’s the fact that the good hurts so much that I can’t think of never hearing her voice again. Happiness is a bitch when pain lights a match and consumes it.

  I can’t remember her voice sometimes. I’ll recall a memory of us cooking family dinners, when she would tell me she loves me, when she would show me the right way of doing things... but her voice is gone. It’s a whisper in the wind while a tornado takes over. And that decimates me. It hasn’t been long enough to forget the softness in her tone, but I do, especially on my bad days.

  “She’d be proud of you for trying, though,” he whispers near my ear.

  I nod slowly, not believing him. She’d be pissed I let my life pass me by. Especially since she loved Jase so much. She knew, even before we did, that he was the one for me.

  We’re cuddling, something we shouldn’t be doing, but this is our routine—binge-watching Law & Order SVU and cuddling on the couch. This time, Jase is angry with me for not going to the party.

  Jason hasn’t been home much lately. That makes it impossible to sleep, so most days, I fall asleep in Tobe’s arms. He’s safe.

  It’s not sexual, but in many ways, it’s worse.

  Toby is going to get me in trouble. I’m emotionally cheating on my husband, and I'm enjoying it. The attention makes my days lighter. Jase isn’t there anymore. I’ve tried. When I finally woke up, realizing how much life we missed out on together, I tried winning him back, but it’s too late. Now, it’s a suffer in silence kind of ordeal, or better yet, with his kid brother.

  Tonight, we’re not watching Law & Order. We’re watching Dirty Dancing. There’s no sadness left to be had, and Patrick Swayze always knows how to put a smile on my face.

  “Did you two fight?” Toby asks, imploring me since I stopped talking. “It’s not that I care. I love when you seek me out, but he’s not here, and it’s Friday.”

  Fridays are unspoken date nights. Tobe doesn’t know they haven’t happened in years. It’s one thing that’s kept between Jase and me. We’ve created a room with walls covered in lies, no matter how many times they’re peeled away, we patch them back up and add more.

  The kids usually go to Allison’s for the night, and Jase and I do whatever it is we do. Me, usually opting to sleep. Him, usually opting to disappear. He says it’s to work or go to the bar. Both unpleasant to my heart, but I don’t stop him.

  Brant used to drink heavily.

  Millie used to, too.

  He’s starting to give up, it’s a feeling deep in my bones.

  “Yeah, he wanted me to go to that dumb party at work,” I complain on a groan. In reality it pains me. How did we get so far apart? When did work parties become more pertinent than my wellbeing? When did he start enjoying time away from me? When did I fail this marriage?

  “Ah, that one,” he says with a nod, interrupting my rampant thoughts.

  “I couldn’t do it, Tobe. Couldn’t pretend our marriage is okay. Couldn’t pretend that I know he’s abandoned us like I did while grieving.”

  Toby pulls me to his chest, his heart beating wildly in my ear. He rubs a hand down my back, comforting me. This is so wrong. But there’s not much right in the world anymore.

  Toby holding me.

  Jase working.

  My kids going to bed with only one parent.

  Ellie being standoffish.

  Me enjoying Toby’s company.

  “He’ll be better. He needs time,” he defends gently. It’s nice. Seeing both my husband and best friend working past their differences. Even if we’re both one move away from fucking it up entirely.

  “He won’t, Tobe. The love is dead. Our love is dead. It no longer shows in anything he does. When he looks at me, his eyes seem devastated. Like I’m nothing. Worthless, even.”

  Toby pulls back, palming my cheeks in his hands. His eyes implore, his love at the forefront, his sadness even more so.

  “What can I do, Sparkle? How can I ease your pain?”

  My heart gallops in my chest, my face burning from his touch. I stare into his caring eyes, hoping to find answers to his questions.

  “I-I...” My voice gets caught in my throat.

  Before I can catch my breath, his lips are on mine. My eyes bulge, my chest beating frantically, and my body warms up to him. Jase hasn’t kissed me on the lips in months. He hasn’t slept with me in an even longer time. I don’t kiss Tobe back, but I don’t move either.

  When his tongue brushes my bottom lip, I freak out, pushing him off me. What the hell? Staring open mouthed and speechless, I blink several times. I’ve had fantasies of Toby before. I won’t lie. When he brings comfort that my husband refuses to give, I think of him. I
think and dream of more and imagine what ifs, but not like this.

  I’m married.

  “Lo, I’m so sor—”

  “Save it, Toby. I-I can’t do this. You should go.”

  “Sparkle, please,” he begs, his eyes shutting in pain.

  “He’s your brother,” I cry, my eyes stinging at the corners.

  Toby made me cheat. Jase. I just cheated on Jase. My entire body shakes from my sobs, my heart hollowing at the realization that another person’s lips touched mine. And I can’t take that betrayal back.

  “Loren,” he says, his voice breaking.

  When I chance a look at him, I can barely see his face through my wet eyes. I can just see that his face is full of anguish. And it only makes the ache worse.

  “I’m sorry, Sparkle. I’m so fucking sorry.”

  He hugs me, bringing me into his embrace. His arms wrap around my small malnourished body. He holds me like I’m his. He holds me like it’s the only thing keeping me together.

  It is.

  Inhale, exhale.

  Breathe.

  I don’t know how long we both cry together, how long he holds me to his chest, but eventually, I fall asleep. As soon as I wake up, it’s obvious we’re in an awkward cuddle on the couch. Rubbing the tiredness from my eyes, I get up. Tobe doesn’t stir. He rolls over, and his snoring fills the house.

  When I reach the kitchen, I see the clock on the stove.

  Three in the morning?

  My stomach churns, but I make my way to my bedroom. Jase wouldn’t take me in his brother’s arms lightly. It was innocent, though. Toby didn’t mean to kiss me, and I didn’t want him to. It didn’t mean anything.

  With each step to our room, the anxiety hits me, burrowing in deep.

  As soon as I open the door, I see the bed. Empty.

  It’s still made from yesterday morning, and he’s not here. Where is he? He’s never stayed at the holiday party this long. Is he that mad at me? Avoiding me? Is he okay?

  I can’t blame him. I’m a mess.