by Roya Carmen
I swallow, trying to even out my voice, but I know I’m about to fall into sobs any second. “I’m calling from my home phone.”
“You don’t sound like yourself,” he says again.
My voice trembles as I tell him, “I-I’m not.”
I can hear the worry in his voice when he asks me, “What’s wrong, Mirella?”
I don’t want to tell him. I fall to pieces, not saying a word. My sobs and whimpers mixed with a hiccupping wail are the only sounds he hears.
“Tell me what’s wrong, Mirella,” he pleads. “You must tell me.”
I can hear the desperation in his voice. I think he already knows.
I wipe my nose with the sleeve of my sweater. “It’s…the baby,” I say softly. “I lost the baby.”
The line is silent and then…
“Oh, Mirella,” he says, his voice cracked at the edges. My heart sinks.
I hear a soft sob. I know he’s crying too. Neither one of us says anything. We both just sob into the phone for what seems like an eternity. I wonder where he is.
As the tears flow, the weight lifts. “I’m so sorry.”
He clears his throat. “Don’t be sorry, Mirella. It’s not your fault.”
I hug my knees, the receiver cradled in the nook of my neck. “I’m not sure what went wrong. Everything was fine. There were no medical conditions. They couldn’t really tell me.”
“Perhaps we shouldn’t have…” he says, the words so soft, I almost don’t hear them at all. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so forceful.”
He’s not making any sense. “Weston,” I tell him. “That has nothing to do with it. Sex does not cause miscarriages. Can you imagine if it did?”
He doesn’t say a word. I hear sniffles across the line.
“There would be no humans on earth,” I point out. Suddenly I’m the one who needs to be strong, to be the voice of reason. “That’s crazy talk.” I hear a soft laugh and my heart lifts. “You know what I’m saying, right?”
“I suppose you do make sense,” he concedes. “I’m just so…”
“Devastated?”
“Yes,” he says. “You have no idea how much I wanted this child.”
I think back to the blue and green room. “I think I do. I wanted him just as much as you did.”
“I’m so sorry,” he suddenly blurts out. “I didn’t even ask about you. How you’ve been?”
I bite my lip. “I’m fine, Weston. I was taken to the hospital where I had an ultrasound, and a procedure under general anesthesia. I didn’t feel a thing. There was a lot of cramping but I dealt with it. They even gave me a Popsicle after. There’s still is a little bit of a dull pain, but nothing I can’t fix with some Ibuprofen.”
“Who is taking care of you right now?”
I can’t tell him the truth. That would be adding the coarsest of salts to a very freshly incurred wound. “I’m fine. Gwen was here, helping me out. She was the first person I called.” I don’t quite lie. I suppose I lie by omission.
“I’m coming to see you as soon as I can,” he tells me, his words delivered with conviction. There is no question he’s hopping on the first plane out of California.
“No,” I plead. “Please don’t. Finish your business. You don’t need to come. I’m fine.”
“Nonsense, Mirella,” he presses. “I’m coming as soon as I can.”
Oh God.
“You should have contacted me as soon as this happened. Why didn’t you call me?”
“Uh…” I stammer. “I had too much going on. And I knew you were in California. I’m sorry.” The truth is, I didn’t have the strength to tell him.
“Are you going to be fine until I get there?” he asks. He has no clue Gabe is here. And Gabe will still be here when he shows up at God knows what time.
“Weston,” I struggle to say, “you should know… Gabe might be here,” I tell him but am very quick to add, “He’s getting some things for me. He should be back soon with a few supplies I need. Gwen had to go for a bit.”
Dreadful silence fills the line. Who knew silence could feel so heavy.
He sighs heavily. “That’s fine,” he says. I can tell he’s upset from the tone of his voice. “I’ll be there shortly,” he adds before hanging up.
I close my eyes, reminding myself I need to warn Gabe when he gets back.
I don’t wait up for Gabe, wanting this day to end. I sink into the sheets of my bed, hoping not to have any more nightmares. And I drift away…
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I know I didn’t love you right.
I wake up at around six in the morning — much too early. My head hurts and my body is tense, achy. Gabe’s loud voice has woken me up. I can’t quite hear what he’s saying. I slip on my housecoat and bound down the stairs, curious to see what’s going on. He’s shirtless, in grey sweats, standing at the door, speaking to someone.
“What part of ‘she’s fine’ don’t you understand, Hanson?” he barks.
He stands, arms hanging off the frame of the door. His tall shape blocks the doorway in a pose of male dominance of sorts.
Oh fuck. Not this again.
My heart starts to race. The last thing we all need is Gabe pounding into Weston again.
I scurry quickly to Gabe’s side. I can’t quite see Weston but I hear his voice. “I just want to see her for one second,” he pleads, his voice soft, laced with a hint of prudence.
I’m surprised he’s here at all, after what Gabe did to him. Weston sure has some balls on him.
I sneak in under Gabe’s outstretched arm. “Let him in, Gabe. Just for one second.”
Gabe scowls at both of us as he backs away, reluctant.
To say it is awkward is to not do the scene justice. It is beyond awkward. Weston stands there, quiet, looking at me with the saddest eyes I have ever seen. Weston has always towered over me, seemed bigger than life. But now, he just seems so small, vulnerable, and fragile. I almost want to reach out and give him a hug, but I can’t. Gabe won’t leave us — he stands there leering at us.
“How are you feeling?” Weston finally ventures.
I shoot him a small smile. “I’m fine, Weston. Thank you for coming. I really appreciate it. You didn’t have to.”
His eyes dart quickly from Gabe to me. “I wanted to.” I can tell he’s dying to take me in his arms, but I’m sure he knows it just wouldn’t be right. And perhaps he has no desire to be killed today.
My eyes prick and my throat tightens. This is so horrible.
I turn to Gabe. “This was his child too,” I say softly. The jagged edges of my voice betray my feeble attempt at composure. “Can we just have a moment?”
He glares at both of us. “Sure,” he snaps just before he turns on his heel and bounds down the stairs.
Weston stares without a word. He doesn’t budge. Doesn’t come to me. I inch closer, taking in the sorrow in his features. His face crumbles as he starts to cry. His shoulders quake as I wrap my arms around them. He buries his face into the plush fleece of my housecoat as he tightens his arms around my waist. His body is still quivering, and mine too. “This is for the best,” I whisper, finally uttering the words I hadn’t had the courage to say before.
“I want to be the one here for you,” he sobs. “I understand how you feel. I should be the—”
I pull away from him. “Stop it, Weston. I don’t want to hear that kind of talk. I’m glad you came but…”
“But he gets to take care of you now,” he cries. “Is he taking good care of you, at least?”
I nod, wiping my tears with the sleeve of my housecoat. “Yes. He’s been really good to me.”
He blows out a breath, staring down at the floor. I’ve never seen him look so tired, so weak. “I suppose I’m useless here, then.”
I smile at him. “Go home and get some sleep.”
His gaze lingers on me. His blood-shot eyes are still beautiful. “This doesn’t change anything…the house, the life I had planned,” he
goes on. “I still want it. I still want you, Mirella.”
I catch my breath. I don’t want to even think about those things. “Weston, you should go,” I say, my heart heavy. “I promise I’ll keep in touch.”
“I want to know how you’re faring. Please don’t leave me in the dark.”
“I won’t,” I tell him just before he turns to the door.
He gives me a soft smile before he leaves. “I love you,” he whispers.
We pretend it didn’t happen. There was no Weston — no confrontation, sobbing embraces, glares and cries of sorrow. It simply didn’t happen.
After the Weston fiasco (which didn’t really happen), Gabe goes out for a run and a trip to the grocery store around the corner. He picks up a bunch of stuff, including my favorite snacks: dill pickle chips, chocolate chip cookies (the chewy soft kind) and lemonade.
“You want me to get fat, don’t you?” I joke. “Is that your master plan?”
“I can’t lie.” He laughs. “I’ve always liked a little extra meat on the bones.”
I smile up at him, removing the contents from the thin plastic bags and setting them carefully in the cupboard.
“I got you these too,” he says handing me a mixed bunch of colorful flowers — pink carnations, mixed with a few small irises and daisies. My face lights up at the sight of them.
God, the man is killing me. He’s being so sweet, and I feel so guilty.
“Thank you,” I say with a kiss on his cheek. I notice he smells good this morning — very good — the familiar body wash fills my nostrils. “I’ll put them in my grandmother’s vase.”
He smiles. “I’ll take care of breakfast.”
Everything is just rosy when the girls wake up to their dad’s famous pancakes, complete with strawberries and whipped cream smiley faces.
“I might take an extra week off work,” Gabe tells me over eggs and pancakes. “There’s only a week left before school. I thought it would be nice to spend some quality family time together.”
My spirits instantly lift. “Are you sure you can get away with that?”
He shrugs. “Yeah, it’s slow right now. Summer, you know. It’s no big deal.”
“I would love that.”
“Can we go to the city, to the aquarium?” Chloe ventures.
“Yay,” Claire cheers. “We could go to the zoo again.”
“Well, today is McDonalds and the park. Maybe we’ll go to the one with the splash pad.”
If I surround myself with my family, and keep busy, maybe I’ll stop thinking about Oliver. If I put on a smile, maybe it will come naturally. Perhaps I can be happy again, if I try very hard.
I may not be perfectly happy but my stomach sure is post Coke, Big Mac and fries. Gabe sits beside me on the bench, his long legs stretched out. He shoots me a smile here and there, but doesn’t say much. He looks as gorgeous as ever, in his white tee and loose linen shorts, his hair in need of a haircut, a bohemian necklace hanging off his neck. But when he smiles at me, it isn’t that old familiar playful, impish smile — that ‘panty-snatcher’ smile. No, this smile is soft and sweet. It’s more of an ‘I want to take care of you’ smile.
An ‘I love you’ smile.
I take his hand in mine, lace my fingers with his. The gesture surprises him, and even me. He looks at me cautiously and smiles again.
We don’t say a word. We simply sit there, watching our girls as they splash around under the fountains in their matching blue polka-dot bathing suits.
This is happiness.
It wasn’t so hard to find again, after all. It was there all along. I simply chose not to see it.
Gwen pops by later in the afternoon. Greg is working this week and she’s a little bored. She looks as fabulous as always in a tangerine summer romper with a cream-colored gold-accented belt and wedged sandals, her toes painted a matching coral.
“So what does Manny have on the menu tonight?” she asks, all smiles.
I bring my finger to my lips, shushing her. The last thing I need is Gabe finding out I had a personal chef. He would never let me live it down.
“I let him go,” I tell her. “Didn’t really need his services anymore. Who cares what I eat now, right?”
“Damn,” she says, her perfectly groomed brows furrowed. “I’m going to miss that little French hottie.”
I laugh. “Uh-huh…”
“You know…because of the delicious food and all.”
“Riiiight,” I tease.
“Aren’t you going to miss those adorable tiny bowls of mousse?”
“I will,” I admit. “You know how I like tiny things.”
She smiles with a head-to-toe sweep of Gabe who’s just bounded down the stairs. “Apparently not with everything.”
I glare at her with a huge grin.
“Hi Gwen,” Gabe says, completely clueless. “How are you?”
She shrugs. “I’ve had better days. I just lost my very cute and talented personal chef.”
He cocks a brow. “Wow, didn’t realize you had your own chef. You sure are living the life.”
“I try,” she says with a tilt of her head.
“Well, tonight you’re going to have to make due with Gabe’s spaghetti and meatballs,” I tell her.
She winces. “Is it edible?”
I laugh. “Yes. It better be. He won’t let me cook.”
“Hold on to that one,” she says. “Hold on tight.”
We have a wonderful dinner together, talking about anything and everything. I almost forget about the whole drama. Both Gwen and I are impressed with Gabe’s spaghetti, which is amazing. It’s his mom’s recipe. I know how his mother loves to cook and I know she’s taught him a thing or two. I suppose he simply chose not to practice his skills before.
I like this new Gabe.
I’m in the middle of a book when Gabe knocks at my (our) bedroom door. The book in question is a little spicy. I know I really shouldn’t be reading these kinds of novels in my present state of abstinence. He shoots me an adorable off-kilter smile. He’s shirtless again. This somehow bothers me now. He always walks around the house shirtless, especially in the summer months. This is nothing new. I’ve never really paid attention before, but for some reason, I notice now. I really notice; the tanned inked skin, the gorgeous shoulders, the sculpted six-pack, the V shape of his lower abs. I notice it all.
Put on a shirt.
I sit up straight, keeping the book wide open on my lap. I don’t want him to see what I’m reading. “Um…yes, Gabe?”
My heart actually starts to beat a little faster as he steps into our bedroom, taking in his surroundings like he’s never been in here before. “I wanted to give you something,” he tells me with a smile.
“Sure,” I say, curious.
He sits at the edge of the bed and pulls two small pieces of paper from his pocket. “I wanted to do something nice for you,” he tells me as he hands them to me.
They’re adorable homemade coupons: one for a ‘Foot Massage’ and one for a ‘Back Massage’.
I smile. “Wow, you haven’t given me one of these in a while.”
“I know. It’s been too long.”
Why is he being so good to me? After everything I’ve done? He has always followed the rules, but I didn’t. I got emotionally involved, and deep down, I always knew I would. Yet, despite knowing this, I still chose to fall into this arrangement, and I betrayed my husband knowingly. The last thing I deserve is a foot massage.
I bite my lip. “You don’t need to do this. I know you’re just trying to make me feel better, but I’m fine. I promise.”
He shakes his head. “You know you want it,” he teases with a playful smile.
He’s right. I do. The idea of a massage sounds real good right now.
Damn.
A huge smile stretches wide across my face. “So, when can I cash these in?”
He smiles, a hint of playfulness. “Whenever you want. The spa is open.”
I cock a b
row. “Uh-huh.”
He laughs. “I swear. I’ll be strictly professional. My hands will not wander.”
Pity.
“Not sure I can trust you, Mister,” I say, trying to pretend I’m not affected.
“I swear.”
I look at him and, then…I really look at him, down to the gold speckles of his eyes.
“What?” he says.
“Why are you doing all this? Why are you being so nice to me? After all I’ve put you through?”
He puts his hand softly on my knee. I catch my breath at the feel of his touch. He hasn’t touched me in ages. He’s been very careful thus far. “Because I love you.”
I smile at him, not saying a word, wanting him to take me in his arms.
He fixes me with emotion. His face falls as he tells me, “I know I didn’t love you right, Ella.”
The admission brings out something in me. I bite back the lump in my throat, confused. “What do you mean?”
He pulls his gaze away from mine. “While we were apart, I thought about us a lot,” he says, “about what happened between us…this whole Weston-Bridget thing.”
I nod and take his hand in mine.
“I’ve tried to figure out where we went wrong, and why we did it…” he trails off and looks at me again. “Why would any happily married couple, why would anyone in their right mind? I think we were bored. We wanted an adventure. We wanted excitement.”
I pull a lock of my hair, wondering about that too. “I was shocked when you were willing to go for it,” I tell him. “I didn’t quite get it. I know Bridget is gorgeous, but I was shocked you were willing to let another man have me.”
He fixes me, his eyes intense. “It wasn’t just about Bridget, you know. It was about you too. I knew you wanted him. And I knew you’d never had the chance to be with anyone other than me, and I wanted to give you that.”
I smile at him. “You’re crazy.”
He shakes his head. “God, I know that…now,” he says. “The truth is,” he goes on with an unfading intensity in his eyes. “I never imagined you could fall for him.”
I squeeze his hand. “I’m sorry.”
“He seemed so cold to me, so uptight,” he says. “I thought he’d be horrible in the sack, you’d get it out of your system, and come right back to me and I’d get to have a little fun with Bridget once or twice. Because as much as I like to flirt, I’ve never stepped out on you, Ella. Not once. I figured we’d both get to sow our wild oats, and then get back to our perfect little life.”
