by Raquel Belle
***
The next morning, we talk with the doctors, and they take Eric for an MRI. Rob shows up while I wait. He’s brought Amy to the hospital, along with some more appropriate clothing and toiletries for me. I clean up and change, and then crawl onto Rob’s lap on the small couch.
“You okay?” he asks.
“I guess,” I say, sighing. He rubs my back lightly, a comforting gesture. I lean my head on his shoulder. “Thanks for taking care of Amy. Is she all right?”
“She’ll be fine. She helped me clean up the house and then insisted we camp out on the living room floor together.”
“Thank you for being so good to us,” I say. “Eric’s having an MRI. He should be back soon.”
“Have they given you any hints yet?”
“They tested for a bunch of things—took blood already. Nothing concrete, though. I’m worried about the bill I’ll get for this. My insurance isn’t …”
“Don’t. Just stop. We’ll figure it out.”
“It’s not ‘we,’ Rob. It’s me,” I say sharply. “Eric is my child. He’s on my crappy insurance. He’s my financial responsibility.”
I pull away and crawl to find my own space on the couch, rubbing my temples. Rob looks at me like I’m crazy.
He says, “Hope, we’re a team, now. Let me help you.”
I swallow loudly. “I’m thirsty. Can you go run and grab me something with caffeine?”
His mouth is open, his brows reaching for one another. I know he wants to talk, but I just can’t. He gets up and heads out of the room. I spend the next five minutes sobbing, managing to wash my face and stop the waterworks just in time for the staff to bring Eric back into the room.
When Rob returns, soda in hand, he focuses on Eric for a while before stating that he needs to go prep for his class tomorrow. I let him go, knowing he could cancel if he wanted, knowing that he needs space to nurse the wound I just caused.
Close to the dinner hour, I open my computer. There’s a message from Tate, saying he came to the house to take Eric fishing, but didn’t find us there. He’s left his cell phone number, so I text and tell him what happened.
Tate barrels in about thirty minutes later, just as the doctor is explaining to me that Eric’s seizure seems unprovoked. There’s no sign of head trauma, no sign of infection. They suspect Epilepsy but need to perform an EEG and other tests to be sure. Eric will need to remain in the hospital for another day.
As the doctor leaves, Amy starts to cry. I pull her out of the room, and we slide down the wall, hugging, a puddle of emotion. We talk for a while—mostly I just let her express her concerns—and then we decide we should order a pizza because hospital food is terrible.
Tate is sitting on the side of Eric’s bed. They’re talking about how they’d planned to go fishing. Tate promises my son that they’ll go as soon as he’s better. He offers to go pick up dinner for us, and we share our pizza plan.
An hour later, we’re all crowded on and around Eric’s bed, watching SpongeBob and cramming pizza into our faces. Rob comes in, his blue eyes narrowing at the sight of Tate.
“What’s he doing here?”
“He was supposed to take Eric fishing. I let him know what happened, and he came to check on us,” I say.
“I thought you hated him.”
“Right here, man,” Tate says. I can hear you.”
“Thought she hated you,” Rob says.
“Turns out, she does not,” Tate says with a shrug.
“Let’s not have a pissing match here in front of the kids, okay guys?” I ask.
Rob huffs. “This is fucking perfect.”
“Want some pizza?” Amy asks. “You seem hangry.”
I burst out laughing. Hangry is how we describe Eric when he’s underfed. Rob cuts me with a look.
“I’ll make myself scarce,” Tate says. I’ve obviously overstayed my welcome.”
“Not really,” Amy says with a shrug.
“I’ll walk you out,” I say.
We brush past a fuming Rob and head down the hall. At the elevators, I thank Tate for getting dinner.
He leans down and kisses me very lightly on the forehead. His lips linger, and I step away awkwardly, looking over my shoulder to see Rob staring at us from the hallway.
Chapter Seven
I’ve driven home to get Amy to bed and take a shower. Eric fell asleep, and it seemed like the best time to take a break from the hospital. Rob followed us home. He didn’t have to, and I didn’t expect him to.
When I come out of the shower, I find Rob sitting on my bed.
“Amy is asleep,” he says.
“Thank you. I need to call a sitter and see if I can …”
“Stop,” he says. “I’ll stay with her.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know I don’t have to. But why would you pay a sitter when you’re already worried about how this will impact your money situation? Do you not trust me all of the sudden?”
“Is this what you want to talk about, Rob?”
“Why was he kissing you? When did you go from hating him to letting him kiss you? And bring you dinner? Why was he there?”
“We’ve become … friends.”
“Friends.” The word lands with a thud.
I stare at him. What can I say?
“Have you fucked him, Hope?”
“No …”
“But?”
“We kissed. Before you and I started this …”
“And?”
“We kind of had … computer sex? Internet sex?”
“Virtual sex? Like talking dirty to each other online?”
I nod, my cheeks warming. I look away, biting my lip.
“Do you want to be with him?”
I don’t say anything.
“Hope? Do you want to be with him?”
“I don’t know. I kind of want to be with both of you,” I blurt. “Being with you is amazing. You are my best friend, a father to my kids, an amazing lover. You’re part of our family. Being with you is easy. I want it. But …”
“But you want him as well?”
“I do.” It’s a simple thing. It hangs in the air like a bubble, ready to burst. “I think it’s just sexual chemistry, nothing more. And … well, you’ve slept with other people.”
Rob rubs his eyes, and then scrunches his hands into his hair like he might pull it out. “Why did you start this with me, then?”
“At first … I was scared. I wanted to hate Tate, but I was thawing. I needed release, and I trusted you. I trust you most of all. And after we started, I felt like I couldn’t do anything to lose you. You are so, so important to us, Rob. You have to know that we love you.”
“But you have feelings for him, too?”
“I have lust for him. I kind of feel like I know him more now. I sort of like him. And apparently, the kids do, too.”
“So what do we do?”
“We take care of Amy and Eric. We make sure my son is okay. We try to act like adults and not let this shit get in the way of what the kids need right now. Then, when things settle down, we talk about it.”
Rob nods. His lips are downturned, his eyes vacant.
“I never wanted to hurt you. Or make you feel used.”
“I know,” he says. “I’ve pushed for this so many times. I’ve wanted it so badly. I should have known you were just placating me.”
“I wasn’t. I’m not. My feelings for you, my attraction to you, it’s real. It’s real, Rob. But it doesn’t stop my body’s reaction to him. I’m sorry about this timing. About making you feel used. I don’t blame you if you hate me.”
He doesn’t argue with me, but he doesn’t say he doesn’t hate me either. Doesn’t try to fight for me, or tell me all the reasons he’s better than Tate. Instead, he stares at the floor, a muscle in his jaw ticking angrily.
After a few long heartbeats, he says, “I need to get some sleep. Head on back to Eric. I’ll take care of things here and see you
sometime tomorrow.”
He lays down and closes his eyes. I watch him a long time, waiting for his breathing to even out. It never does.
***
After two more days of tests, Eric is released from the hospital. The good news? They didn’t find evidence of Epilepsy. The bad news? The cause of his seizure is still a mystery. They’ve ruled out cancer, thankfully. At this point, they think he’s got some kind of infection, and his blood sugar is out of whack, so they’ve also suggested diabetes but we’ll have to go back for sugar testing when he’s feeling a bit better.
I’m relieved, kind of. I don’t like not knowing for sure, and it takes everything I have to not be a complete helicopter parent.
Rob’s been around, helping me juggle things, but he hasn’t been himself, and he hasn’t touched me at all. Not that sex is a priority right now, anyway. Honestly, I’m glad for the break from it. I went a little crazy there for a while, letting my body overtake my common sense. This is better. More … normal. Simple.
***
We’re rounding the last days of the school year now, and there is always a ridiculous amount of crap to do. I mean, seriously … there’s some kind of weird spirit week that entails crazy hair and dressing like a teacher and wearing mismatched socks. There are projects to finish and class parties for which I’m required to provide some nut-free something or another. It’s the worst.
I don’t have much time for either of the two men, which kind of suits me fine. While I enjoyed the orgasms and the feeling of being wanted, I don’t need the drama. They don’t need the drama. And I still don’t know what to do about it, anyway.
Eric’s got a coach-pitch baseball tournament happening for the sandlot league. This means double-headers, lots of competition for playing time, and parents being essentially on their absolute worst behavior.
My son is in the outfield as a kid who, I swear, looks like he’s twelve, and not in the first or second grade, comes up to bat. He swings and misses on the first pitch, but cranks the ball on the second swing. Eric, still a little sluggish from a few days in the hospital, catches it but lets it drop. With the batter rounding toward third, there are some crazy-ass parents screaming at him, and not in an encouraging way. Eric throws the ball toward home but the runner stays at third.
His hangdog expression says it all, but one parent screams that his dog could’ve made that catch. I shoot the woman, who wears a shirt that reads, Kiss My Ass, the evil eye, and she just shoots me the middle finger as if there aren’t a bunch of small children around.
Meredith plops down on the bleachers next to me. “That woman’s on crack. What is wrong with her?”
“She’s special, that’s for sure,” I say.
“How’s the little guy doing?”
“He’s okay, I think,” I say, letting out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “I didn’t want to let him play today but he assured me I’d earn a parenting fail award if he had to miss tournament games.”
“No news, then?”
I shake my head.
“And what’s going on with you and Rob?”
“Not much,” I say. “He’s been helpful but he hasn’t touched me in days.”
“Well, you admitted to—you know—with Tate …”
“There was no point in lying,” I say. “It’s not fair to him.”
Meredith makes a sound, but I can’t tell if it’s affirmative or not. Eric’s team makes a third out and runs for the dugout. I yell some words of encouragement before turning back to my friend.
“I feel like a bad, horrible, no-good parent for letting myself get so caught up in these two. I shouldn’t be doing what I’ve been doing anyway. My kids should be my priority.”
“Oh my god, Hope,” Meredith says. “That’s ridiculous. You think that just because you have a sex life, all the sudden you’re a bad parent? Seriously? You’re not in a convent. You’re still young and attractive. You have needs.”
I shush her, as people around us are obviously hear the conversation, and she’s getting louder and louder as my cheeks, undoubtedly, are probably getting redder and redder.
She whispers, “You deserve orgasms, friend. You are a parenting phenomenon, and you still deserve orgasms.”
I bury my face in my hands, bending over, laughing because it’s the only alternative to dying on the spot of embarrassment. Meredith just grins through the rest of the game.
Eric’s team loses the first game by two runs and wins the second game by one run. We get the schedule for the next week and head home. When we get there, Tate is waiting on the front steps. He’s a muscled, black-t-shirted, rock of a man, and he annoys me at this particular moment.
I raise an eyebrow as we approach. Tate says, “I brought my fishing gear. Thought I’d see if the little guy wants to cash in his raincheck.”
“Would’ve been good for you to call me and ask first,” I say.
“Can I go, Mom?” Eric asks.
“Head in and change,” I say. As Eric and Amy head back inside, I say to Tate, “He’s still not a hundred percent. And you can’t just show up here whenever you want.”
Tate shrugs. “I made a promise to take him, Hope. It’s not some evil plan to mess up your weird mojo with Uncle Rob.”
The way he says it makes me grind my teeth. “Don’t be an ass.”
“I’m done playing nice about this, Hope. That guy is a shield. He’s been around for a long time, I get it, but you don’t love him. And I think, if you gave it a chance, you might find that you and I have a lot more between us.”
“It’s not going to happen, Tate,” I say.
He huffs an angry laugh. “You’re maybe the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met. But whatever. Look, it’s not hard work, fishing. I can take Amy, too, if you want. Give you some girly time.”
I wrinkle my nose at him. “Girly time?”
“What? I just mean …”
“I know what you mean, Tate, but do you have to be such a pig about it? You’re such a chauvinist. Reason one-hundred-fifty-one that you and I are not compatible.”
“Who got your panties in a twist? I thought we were friends, here.”
“Just … I’ll go get Eric.”
I push past him and let the screen door slam behind me as I go inside. Eric’s already changed. Funny, I can’t get the kid to get dressed for school, but for this guy, he’s ready in like fourteen seconds. Traitor.
“Buddy, you’ve had a busy day. You sure you’re up for this?”
“Yep!” he says. “I feel fine, mama.”
I brush his face with the back of my hand. “Okay, well, be careful, and listen to Tate, okay?”
He nods and heads for the door. Tate stands, wiping his hands on the front of his pants. He ruffles Eric’s hair, then looks at me “I’ll take him for dinner on the way back. Have him home by seven, okay?”
I nod.
As Eric trots out to the car, practically bouncing at the idea of riding in something other than my shit-mobile, Tate says, “There’s more we need to talk about. This isn’t over.”
“Leave it alone,” I say. “Let’s just keep things professional. I need to focus on the kids.”
He frowns. “Whatever you say, then.”
After they leave, Amy asks if she can go to her friend’s house for the afternoon. The family just lives down the street, so I walk her down and make sure it’s okay for her to be there. When I get home, I plop on the couch. I look down and realize there’s mustard on the front of my white tank top. My baseball game hotdog did quite a number on me. I cringe thinking about how many people saw me walking around with a big yellow glob on my shirt today. Sigh.
With a few hours of peace, I head for the shower. I take my time in the hot water, thinking a lot about the current situation. I have made a real mess of things, and I seriously don’t know what to do about it. Rob is usually my go-to-guy, the one who helps me think through my raging life problems.
Before I can second-guess myself, I reach for
my phone and dial his number. He answers on the first ring.
“Everything okay?” He sounds a little out of breath. “Eric okay?”
“Yes, yeah, he’s totally fine. I, uh, actually just called to talk to you. Like, in general.”
There’s a long beat of silence on the other end of the phone. Then he says, “Oh.”
“Is this a bad time?” I ask. “I just have a rare minute of alone-time and thought I’d give a call. But I can call later. If you want.”
“No, no, it’s fine. I’m just … how do you have alone time?”
“Amy’s with the neighbors. Eric’s gone fishing.”
“With him?”
“With Tate, yes. But it was unexpected. He was here when we got home from baseball.”
He grunts a noise of disapproval.
I change the subject. “Rob … I just wanted to say I miss you. I don’t want things to be weird between us.”
“It’s weird. No going back.”
“You promised me you’d always be here for us. For me,” I say. “And you’ve always been my rock. My problem-solver. I feel … untethered. And I need you.”
“I have been there,” he says sharply. “I was the one sleeping over with Amy while Eric was in the hospital. I was the one making sure you had a partner through all of this. I didn’t go anywhere, but maybe you were too busy with that Neanderthal to realize it.”
“Yeah, you’re right. You’re right.”
It’s quiet between us. He finally says, “Fuck, Hope. Don’t you understand how much I love you?”
I wipe tears from my eyes, but they won’t stop coming. “I do.”
“Well then surely you understand that it kills me to think you’ve been … intimate … with a guy you’ve professed your undying hate for these past two years?”
