by R. S. Medina
"So what do you want to do?" I ask, focusing on the warm water spraying off the dishes in the sink. Small water droplets are spraying up onto the granite counter top.
He takes his time, giving my question some thought. He's quiet, and I almost want to repeat the question to make sure he heard me when he finally answers.
"I don't want Olivia to grow up in a broken home," he admits. That's all he ever says. But that's not an answer to my question, now is it?
"Yeah, that's not what I want either." To be honest, that's not the answer I expected. I expected a real answer, like yes or no. But I'm thankful he's at least thinking about Olivia through this painful bump in the road we are having. Olivia doesn't deserve a broken home, but Olivia also doesn't deserve to grow up with parents who fight all the time either. I want her to grow up with a better example for marriage and how men and women should treat each other.
"I just want us to be happy again," I sigh, my shoulders drooping. Finn doesn't even look up.
"I want to love you like I used to," he replies. Finn places the last dish in the dishwasher, and then closes and starts the wash cycle. We stare at each other, the only noise coming from the gentle roar of water shooting through the dishwasher. I drop my eyes to the linoleum flooring in the kitchen and closely inspect the scuffs, so I don't have to keep looking at Finn. I make a note to pull out the mop and give the floor another cleaning.
I feel like there should be miles between us and not feet. But I trudge over and wrap my arms around him— it shocks him, I think. It took a lot of effort, but nothing is going to get better unless one of us keeps trying. After a second, he wraps his arms around me, but he still feels rigid and cold. I tell him that I still love him. The hug is emotionless and empty, and it doesn't make me feel any better like I had hoped. I instantly compare it to Tristan and his hug at the grocery story. And how good hugging Finn used to feel.
"Do you remember when you used to come home from work?" I ask him. And I instantly panic and get tense, because I try not to ever bring up his military career so he doesn't get upset. He tenses as well.
"Yes," he says, his eyes guarded.
"I miss standing on your work boots when you got home," I admit. He doesn't say anything. I finally release him, and we both take an immediate step back, like being that close was taxing for both of us. He runs a hand through his messy light brown hair, and when he does it, his sculpted arm flexes.
"What are you going to do for the rest of the night?" he asks.
I shrug, keeping my eyes on the floor. It will probably be the same thing we do every night. He will sit on the couch with his Xbox controller and headset, and I'll read a book or lie in bed and watch TV by myself. Like I said, I'm better by myself anyway.
"I don't know," I shrug. Part of me wants him to just leave me alone, but the other part wants him to spend time with me, to want to spend time with me. "Do you want to watch a movie together?" I ask.
"Um," he hesitates. "I was going to play a few rounds with the guys," he says. He doesn't look me in the eyes. I hate this constant feeling of being torn between wants and emotions. Part of me is relieved I can be alone. The other part is sad that he doesn't want to spend time with me, again. Instead, he'd rather play a virtual video game with his battle buddies that he used to work with. I think he's so addicted because it's one of his last ties to the military life, but while I can sympathize, it's still bullshit. I'm his wife. He should want to spend time with me.
I feel the disappointment wash over my face.
"But I'll come hang out after I'm done," he adds.
"Yeah, sure. Okay," and I head to the bedroom because I really don't want to hear the gunshots and explosions. I am so sick and tired of that fucking game. I don't understand how Finn plays that shit. I understand that video games are an escape for him, and are his way of relaxing, but why video games where you're shooting people? He insists it's not the same, though. I slam the bedroom door behind me.
Before Olivia was born, Finn and I used to spend every night together. We would hole up in the living room, curled up on the couch under the same blanket and binge watch crappy TV together. I've spent more nights than I can count with my body half slung over Finn's sculpted, hard body, watching reality TV or Netflix and just enjoying spending time together. I'd often lay on the couch, with my feet or legs over his lap. Sometimes he'd give my calf or foot a little squeeze or rub, and we would joke and talk shit to each other affectionately or about the movie we were watching.
I go back to our bedroom and turn on Friends on Netflix. Nothing like some mindless TV I've seen a million times to numb myself. I'm getting undressed for bed when my phone alert goes off. I have one new message.
Tristan: what are you up to, pretty girl?
Me: not much... I bet you call all the girls that...
Tristan: nope, only you.
Again, I smile a goofy smile at my phone screen. Two compliments in one day. That's a record lately. I can't remember the last time someone told me I was pretty, or even gave me a compliment. I can't remember the last time I smiled this much.
Me: Somehow, I don't believe that. Anyway, I'm about to watch TV and lay in bed. What about you?
Tristan: Drinking a few beers with Billy and Dad. Spending some time with the family since we are back in town now.
Me: Awe, that's good. And drink one for me! Tell everyone I said hello. What's the plan now that you're back?
Tristan: Will do. Everyone says hello. And I don't know. I mean I don't have anything here anymore, you know? I like traveling. And I make good money when I travel for work. I'm trying to decide if I want to stay here or find work like I was doing.
I watch my phone cursor blink as I think of my response. I've got nothing. I suck at small talk. I mean, get me started on an interesting topic, I'm good. But other than that, I suck. Finally, I just decide to give up, and I lock my phone, and a few minutes later a snap chat notification pops up.
It's a Snapchat picture of a bonfire and a Budweiser beer. The caption says, "Drinking one for you!"
I respond back, "Thanks, but I don't drink horse piss! Haha!" I hit send.
Immediately I get a response back. All Tristan says is "Hey now."
Then another message comes through.
Tristan: "What do you drink now? I need to know since I'm buying you a drink sometime soon."
Me: Not beer. I drink liquor or wine. Anything but beer. It's seriously the grossest.
Tristan: ok, goober. If you say so. I used to hate beer in high school, but you acquire a taste for it. Especially when that's all anyone can afford!
Me: Who the hell says goober? And I do say so!
Tristan: Me. I say goober. Because that's what you are.
Me: I think that technically makes YOU the goober.
Tristan: No way. I'm a very serious person.
I smile. Back in high school when we were dating, I would tell Tristan all the time he was silly or adorable, and he would always respond that he was a very serious person, because apparently silly is the least manly thing a man can be, which I found hilarious. I wonder how much of high school and us he remembers. It was only a lifetime ago. I feel like I don't even know who that person was back then. I was so different.
Me: What have you been up to lately? I haven't seen or heard from you since high school.
Tristan: Yeah, not much. I've just been working.
Me: Adulting sucks. I don't want to do it anymore.
Tristan: Yeah. What about you? I saw on your Facebook you're married and have a baby now. What else is new?
Me: yeah. That's about it. Just working and taking care of Olivia. I'm pretty boring...
Tristan: well that's good, and there's nothing wrong with that. I'm happy for you.
Me: Thanks. Olivia is my world.
Tristan: ok what do you want to talk about?
Me: tell me something I don't know about you.
Tristan: I still have the stuffed penguin you gave me for my 16th bir
thday.
Me: No way!!! I forgot all about that. You loved penguins.
I'm instantly excited. That's crazy. For Tristan's sixteenth birthday, I didn't have a lot of money. And I was wracking my brain for something to get him. I spent hours obsessing over a present to get him. Something that would mean something.
Finally, out of desperation, I settled on a stuffed penguin that was adorable. It had bright blue eyes and was super soft. Tristan always told me that he wanted a pet penguin one day, and I would laugh and tell him he had nowhere to put a poor penguin, especially in the southern heat. But Tristan always had a smart ass answer for everything. He told me that he'd keep his pet penguin in his bathtub with water and ice. And I'd roll my eyes and smile.
On his birthday I gave him the stuffed penguin and a note that said "Happy birthday. I finally got you that pet penguin you wanted. I love you."
I was so anxious and felt so guilty. I was convinced he would hate it. On his birthday, I thrust the present at him, and before he had a chance to open it, I was tripping over myself to apologize.
"I'm sorry, it's stupid. It's not much. I'm broke and couldn't afford anything nice, so I'm sorry. And I'm sorry if you hate it," I was talking so fast, I'm not sure how he understood anything I said.
But when he opened it and read the card, he smiled. He took me into his arms and held me. It had instantly washed away any worry I'd had. He leaned his head down and gently pressed his soft lips to mine. I felt his tongue graze my lips, and when he pulled away, his eyes were soft. He kissed my forehead and simply said, "Thank you, I love it. And I love you, too."
"I'm sorry it's not more," I had said. He just smiled.
"It's perfect," he replied. And a week later, for my birthday, I got the most beautiful bouquet of red roses. To this day, I don't know how he afforded those roses, but he way outdid me in the gift department.
Later on, he admitted to me that he slept with the penguin every night. He loved that penguin. And he told me that if I ever told anyone, he would totally deny it because sleeping with a stuffed penguin wasn't a manly thing to do, but I seriously thought it was the sweetest, cutest thing anyone had ever done for me.
Tristan: yeah, I don't tell anyone that. But I kept it.
Me: that was YEARS ago.
Tristan: ok your turn. Tell me something I don't know.
I curl up further under the covers. The backlight on the cell phone illuminates my face and burns my eyes a little bit.
Me: what do you want to know?
Tristan: anything.
Me: well that doesn't help... I still hate zombies. It's my worst fear. The idea of a loved one coming back from the dead to rip you apart and eat you terrifies me. I know it's irrational, but still.
Tristan: OMG, are you serious?
Me: Yes, and if I remember correctly, a certain someone promised to be my zombie apocalypse partner...
Tristan and I used to have long, drawn out conversations about how we would survive the zombie apocalypse. He was convinced if it ever happened, he would be a survivor; however, I, on the other hand, was not so sure I'd make it. I'd freeze up and get eaten. That's my luck.
Tristan and I used to love curling up and watching all the zombie movies we could get our hands on. As much as zombies terrified me, zombie movies were my favorite horror movies, because they were the only ones that could truly terrify me. Tristan would wrap his arms around me (and often try to cop a feel, if I'm honest) and when the super gory, scary parts would come, I'd bury my head in his chest and make him tell me when it was over and safe to continue watching.
I think he secretly enjoyed those movies as much as I did, just so there was an excuse to be next to him and lay my head on his chest.
Tristan: that I did, and I guess I'll keep that promise. But I have to grab Zoe first.
Me: Zoe?
Tristan: Yes. My dog, Zoe.
A snap chat picture pops up. I open it, and it's a picture of a beautiful Pit Bull. The caption says: Zoe.
Me: A dog is more important than me?
Tristan: Zoe knows she's my main girl.
Me: I see how it is...
Tristan: She's my girl, Blair.
Me: I'll let her have that one. But I hope you know that when I get bitten and turn into a zombie, I'm coming for you for not choosing me first. Zombies don't go after dogs. Haven't you seen the movies?
Tristan: you won't get bitten. You'll be fine.
Me: Tristan, you don't know me. I'll DIE.
Tristan: fine, fine. I'll come get you... right after I get Zoe.
Me: you suck.
Tristan: You still love me.
Me: Debatable.
Tristan: Rude.
Me: the only thing that's rude here is you telling me the life of a dog, no matter how cute she is, is more important than mine. She isn't even at risk in this scenario! Zombies don't even eat dogs!
Tristan: whatever.
Me: right. Well it is what it is. I work early in the morning. I'm crashing. Text me tomorrow if you want.
Tristan: ok. Goodnight, pretty girl.
I plug my phone into the charger and crawl out of bed to brush my teeth. I still hear explosions coming from the living room. I roll my eyes. I peek out of the bedroom door as I'm brushing and Finn is still there, talking into his headset to his buddies. He doesn't look like he's going to be getting off anytime soon.
So much for hanging out after "a few rounds with the guys."
I crawl back into bed after turning off the lights. I reach for the phone after a moment of thought and go to the settings. I put a lock on my phone for the first time in my marriage and my life. Now every time I want to get into my phone, I enter a lock pin.
Finn must have noticed the lights go off and the TV turn off because I hear him tell his friends he's getting off for the night.
I don't say anything as he gets undressed to crawl into bed. My back is to him when he crawls under the covers. I feel him throw his arm over me and pull me against him like he does every night. I think it helps him feel better. Nights are hard for Finn. A lot of times he wakes up sweating and gasping for breath. He won't tell me what he dreams about. I'm not sure I want to know. A lot of times he chooses not to sleep.
For once, the night doesn't feel so empty.
Present
After Blair tells me she's going to bed, I grab my beer from the coffee table and head to the bedroom. Billy is still on the couch with his feet on the coffee table watching TV. He's texting some chick he met at the bar the other night, so he doesn't say anything when I leave the room. The guy never goes home. I'm the only real family he has. I don't mind as long as he cleans up after himself, which we are working on.
Mom packed a lot of my old stuff from my childhood bedroom when I moved out and gave it to me when I bought my new house, even though I only moved down the road. I go to my closet and find the box. I pull it out into the middle of my bedroom and sit on the floor with my beer.
When I open it, memories come flooding back. Mom kept everything. And now, I'm glad she did. There's so much in here—my old high school letter jacket, yearbooks, old notes. I find a picture of Blair and me together. It was a photo from our first real date. We had pizza and watched a movie. Her hair was way longer back then. It went down to her lower back, and she used to curl it in the prettiest way. She was wearing my letter jacket in the photo, and it swallowed her, but she looked so delighted to be wearing it. Her face lit up her eyes, and she had the brightest smile. She was beautiful. Still is.
I used to tell my mom that Blair was "my baby." Mom and Dad loved to tease me about Blair, but I didn't care. Blair was my girl, and I was fiercely proud of that.
I wonder if Blair even remembers that this picture exists? I have to remember to show it to her later. She'll get a kick out of it. I bet she would love old memories like that. I put it to the side.
After more rifling through old junk, I find what I'm looking for. It's still super soft, but it's kind of musty. Pu
lling the penguin out of the box, I try to dust it off. I replace the lid on the box and put it back in the closet.
I take the penguin and my Budweiser to my bed and just kind of stare at it. I take a gulp of beer and finish off the bottle. I would never admit that I still have this stupid stuffed animal to anyone but Blair, but I can't part with it.
It's the simplest gift anyone has ever given me, but honestly, one of the most thoughtful. Blair has always been like that. She has a wonderful simplicity about her, but her thoughtfulness and loving heart are what draw people to her. When she gave me that gift, her nervousness was so cute. It was then that I realized I loved her, truly loved her.
I put the penguin back on my pillow where it used to sit after Blair first gave it to me. I'll just keep it out for tonight. But in the morning, I'll put him back up where he belongs.
Present
Blair has always needed me to fall asleep. She curls her tiny body into my chest, and we fit together perfectly. I wrap my arm around her and pull her to me. Even when she's sleeping, she nuzzles into me. It's the only time I feel like I connect with her anymore. The rest of the time, I feel like we are two different people with two separate lives. I feel disconnected and numb—from Blair, from Olivia, from life.
Her cold feet always end up gravitating to my bare legs, and it's a shock compared to the warmth under the covers. I suck in a breath. I hate when she does that. If she was awake, I'd make her move them off of me, but by her deep, even breathing, I can tell she's already out, so I just slightly move my legs back a little, so she's not touching me anymore. It's a relief when her cold ass feet are off me. She has perpetually cold hands and feet. She jokes that it's a reflection of her icy heart, but I worry that she has circulation issues. She says that I'm being silly, and that it's just who she is.
