Picture Imperfect

by Lea Santos

  “Naw. Just stay here for a little bit.”

  “Okay.” She indulged in the pleasure of cradling her son, considering he was at the age where he didn’t allow it all the time. When Pep’s body had relaxed, she cleared her throat. “That was pretty scary tonight, huh?”

  “Yeah. Lotsa blood.”

  “Now you know why I’m always nagging you yard monkeys not to run.” She tickled him, and he squirmed and giggled. A moment later he fell silent again. “What are you thinking about, Pep?”

  “Stuff.”

  “What stuff, m’ijo?”

  Round, solemn eyes rose to implore hers. “Does Mommy get to come home now for real? She said she was sorry, and you always say it’s not good to hold a crutch.”

  She swallowed thickly. “Grudge.”

  “Yeah, a grudge.”

  Her stomach contracted. Damn. Pep had heard them arguing at the hospital. She sighed. “It’s not as simple as that…but I don’t want you to worry about—”

  “But why not?” His voice wobbled, and his eyes filled with moisture. “We’re a family, and she ’pologized. It should be simple. It should be that simple. She’s my mommy. I don’t wanna divorce her.”

  “Oh, sweetheart, you won’t ever div—” She sighed, sickened over Pep’s anguish and hopelessly inept at easing it. “Listen. She’ll always be your mommy. No matter what.”

  “But I want her here. I miss her every day, Mama. I love her.”

  “I—” Love her, too, she was about to say. She bit her lip, hating that Pep was troubled. “I know you do, Pep. She loves you, too. And so do I.”

  “But do you love Mommy?”

  She looked away, plucking at a yarn tie on Pep’s quilt. Her eldest son always cut to the chase. He wanted to know what he wanted to know, when he wanted to know it. Period. Such her little man.

  “Do you, Mama? Because families are ’sposed to love each other.”

  He’d know if she lied. “Of course I do, bug.”

  Pep flapped his arms as if Paloma were the worst kind of idiot. “So why don’t you just tell her that so we can be a family again? In this house, like always.”

  Sadness took hold at his simplistic view of things. She kissed his forehead. “This is between me and your mommy. I don’t want you to worry”—she tapped his nose—“okay? No matter what, we’re still your mama and mommy, and we love you to pieces. Now go to sleep.”

  “Okay,” he said grudgingly.

  She waited until he’d snuggled down, until his eyelids grew heavy, then rose and walked to the door, switching off his light. Her eyes adjusted to the dim orange glow from his racecar night-light.

  As she was closing the door, Pep stopped her. “Mama?”

  “Yes?” For a moment, she wondered if she imagined he’d called her. When he finally spoke, she could barely hear him.

  “I cherish you,” he whispered. “Can that be enough so Mommy can come home? Please?”

  Awed and humbled, she leaned her cheek against the edge of the door and stared through the darkness at the wonderful little soul she was so lucky to have as a son. She carefully sidestepped his question. “Honey,” she said, on a sigh. “I cherish you, too.”

  *

  In the moments before wakefulness took grasp, Deanne imagined the breakup had been a bad dream. She heard Paloma’s gentle words, smelled her spicy-sweet skin, and figured Paloma was waking her to make love, like she’d used to do. God, Deanne loved her supple body. Even more so since childbirth had left a few marks, like beautiful badges of honor. They only served to make her more womanly in Deanne’s eyes, softer and more enticing. Mine alone.

  Eyes closed in decadent drowsiness, Deanne rolled toward the sound of Paloma’s voice and reached out, thrilled when her palm made contact with her lush, round breast. She heard Paloma gasp, and a smile curved Deanne’s lips. One of the best things about Paloma was her lack of vocal inhibition. Deanne never had to wonder what Paloma wanted or liked—she made it abundantly clear, and that was so goddamned sexy.

  Dee kneaded Paloma’s soft flesh, the moan low and rough in her throat. Paloma’s nipple hardened against her hand, and her body reacted in a rush of heat and tightness. “I want to be inside you, baby girl.” Deanne pulled her closer. “Let me feel you—”

  Something like a handcuff clamped Dee’s wrist, stopping the wicked caress. “Deanne!” came Paloma’s voice. Raspy. Stern.

  Deanne frowned and squinted, just in time to see Paloma shove her hand away. Dee’s eyes snapped open fully as Paloma backed toward the door.

  Lurching up so quickly it brought stars to her vision, Deanne scrubbed her hands over her face and fought for her bearings. The guest room. Reality struck like a punch to the solar plexus. Oh yeah. “Paloma. Baby, I-I’m sorry. I was dreaming.”

  A flare of…awareness sapped the shuttered look from Paloma’s eyes. Making no move to leave, no move to come closer, she crossed her arms over her chest and moistened her lips with a nervous flick of her tongue. “It’s your turn.”

  God, Dee slept too heavily. Must have something to do with being home, in a bed that didn’t feel like a medieval torture device. Something to do with being between sheets that smelled like…Paloma’s fabric softener.

  Damn. Teddy!

  Immediately sobered, Deanne ripped back the covers and swung her feet to the floor, reaching up to rub her eyes. “Shoot. Did I oversleep?”

  “No—” Paloma started forward, then stopped, and Dee realized she was wearing sleep boxers…and nothing else. The telltale wash of color rose up Paloma’s neck, and her gaze fluttered away. She felt the wanting, too. Deanne could see it all over her like a full-body tattoo. For now, she’d leave it alone. For now.

  With a deep breath, Paloma raised her gaze. “He’s fine. I woke him half an hour ago. But I thought I’d try and get some sleep…”

  “Yeah, of course. You go on.” Deanne crossed to the chair in the corner to retrieve the T-shirt she’d shed earlier. She wouldn’t normally cover her bare chest in front of her wife, but things were different now. Paloma clearly didn’t want to see her naked body. As Dee pulled the wear-softened cotton over her head, she tried to wash the night-blurred images of Paloma, the dream feel of her body from her mind.

  “You want me to make you some coffee?”

  Always so thoughtful, her Paloma. Even now. “You don’t have to wait on me. I’ve told you that before.”

  “Yes, but your coffee sucks.”

  Dee chuckled softly. “True. I’m fine, though. Go on to bed.”

  She would’ve thought Paloma would take advantage of the opportunity to flee, but instead, she leaned against the doorjamb, feet crossed. Deanne’s gaze dropped to those damned ridiculous cow slippers Paloma so dearly loved, and she bit the inside corner of her mouth to keep from smiling. “Something on your mind?”

  “Pep heard us.”

  Deanne frowned. “Come again?”

  “At the hospital. Pep heard us talking.” She swept her hair into a loose ponytail and held it. Deanne tried not to notice the little tendril curls that escaped to dance against her neck. “He said, ‘I cherish you, Mama. Can that be enough so Mommy can come home?’”

  “Jesus,” Deanne said, on an exhale.

  Paloma pressed her lips in a line. “I don’t want him thinking he can control things, Dee. That this is, in any way, his fault. It’s too big a burden for a little boy.” She released a small growl. “I’d hoped this separation wouldn’t affect them.”

  Even as she tried to repress it, Deanne could feel gaping disbelief on her face. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No.” Paloma gave a few fluttery blinks and her chin jutted stubbornly. “Our relationship is between us, not them.”

  “Baby, they’re our sons. Take it from me, children become an unwitting part of any relationship problems.” Deanne moved closer, drawn by the softness of Paloma. Unable to resist, she reached out and ran the backs of her fingers down the silk of Paloma’s cheek. Paloma didn’t pull
back, but Deanne watched her neck move with a tight swallow. “There’s nothing we can do about it if you insist on a legal split.”

  “You’re just trying to make me feel guilty.”

  “No, I’m being realistic.” Dee tried to lighten her tone, because the sight of Paloma in the doorway, forlorn and torn and chewing her lip, sprang a well of compassion inside her. “If you go through with this, you’ll live here. I’ll live somewhere else. It’s called a broken home. Broken.” Dee let that sink in. “You understand the implications of that, right?”

  “Yeah, but we can make sure it doesn’t…affect them,” Paloma offered, seeming none too sure of herself.

  God, Deanne wanted to hold her. Or shake some sense into her. “Punky—” Hands on her hips, Deanne hung her head and expelled a breath. Her words would hurt Paloma, and she hated that. More than anything, she wanted to repair things between them. Why did it seem so fucking impossible at every turn? “It will affect them. I’m not saying it’ll destroy them, but joint custody, splitting their time between two houses—I’m sorry. It will affect them. It’s a fact.” Deanne toyed with the wisdom of going on. Screw it. Paloma needed to hear the ugly truth. “If you insist on breaking up our family, that’s a by-product you’ll have to accept.”

  A maelstrom of emotions crossed Paloma’s face. Guilt, indecision, anger, futility. Finally she slid her back down the wall until she sat on the ground. “Damnit, why does this have to be so difficult?”

  Paloma wasn’t a weeper, yet Deanne could tell she was way past due for a good cry. But she knew Punky well enough to realize she’d die before letting anyone see what she’d perceive as weakness. Her mother’s daughter.

  Deanne shook her head, filled with a tangle of frustration and tenderness. If only Paloma would express her dissatisfaction instead of letting it fester. She needed to learn that Deanne didn’t expect her to smile prettily and endure a life with which she was unhappy. But Deanne also wanted Paloma to realize she didn’t have to cold-turkey end things to find that elusive happiness, and if she did choose that path, there were repercussions. “Because it is difficult, P. It’s a life-changing decision for all of us.”

  Paloma’s stoic silence tore at Deanne’s heart. Part of her wanted to wrap Paloma in an embrace. Another wanted to force her to see how wrong this was for all of them. But instead, Deanne grudgingly told Paloma what she needed to hear. Just this once.

  “Look, it’s going to be okay.” Dee nudged her arm until she lifted her dry, drawn face, then offered her hand. Paloma took it, and Dee pulled her straight up into a hug, rocking her side to side. “We’ll figure it out for the boys, Paloma. I won’t lie—you’ll never convince me splitting up is for the best—”

  “I don’t want to ar—”

  “Shh.” Dee pressed warm fingers gently against Paloma’s luscious lips. “I’m not trying to argue. Hear me out.”

  Paloma’s body stiffened. Held. Relaxed.

  “From now on, we’ll work out what we can for the boys. That’s all I’m saying. Okay? I don’t want them hurt either.”

  Paloma’s hackles lowered. “But they will be hurt.”

  A beat passed. “I’d say they probably already are.”

  The shuddering sigh Paloma expelled seemed to deplete her of energy. “Jesus Christ, I’m a terrible, selfish mother.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. The boys worship you. Now, come on. You’re exhausted.” Deanne tucked an arm around her and steered her to the hallway. “It’s been one hell of a day. You need some rest.”

  Defeated, Paloma shuffled next to Deanne. Their cadence was off, and she jostled under Deanne’s arm with every step as though they were sluggish participants in a three-legged race. Deanne’s lips twisted ruefully. How symbolic. Walking next to each other through life, yet hearing wildly different beats. But were they, really? Or did one of them just have two left feet?

  When Deanne had settled Paloma into bed—their bed—she reluctantly backed off. There’d be time for discussion…and hopefully more…when Paloma wasn’t exhausted almost to the point of incoherence.

  They murmured good nights, and Deanne turned to leave, but in the doorway, she stopped. What had Sgt. Obermeyer said about women needing more than what she’d, apparently, always given Paloma? She stared through the semidarkness at Paloma’s tiny form. “How about I bring you some of that tea you like? It’ll relax you. Help you sleep.”

  Paloma’s liquid brown eyes warmed, cautiously, hopefully. “If you don’t mind. That’d be really nice.” She pulled the comforter up around her chest and pressed it down with her arms, looking almost embarrassed by the offer. “Thanks.”

  Deanne’s smile came slowly. “Baby girl, it’s my pleasure.”

  Ten minutes later, Deanne carried the steaming tea back down the hall and paused to check the boys before taking it in to Paloma. She peeked in on Pep first—sleeping soundly. Next stop, Teddy’s room. Deanne set the cup on the bureau and crossed over, angling her head as she peered down on her black-and-blue son. She placed her palm on Teddy’s scraped-up tummy.

  Teddy stirred, then opened his eyes. “Mommy…”

  “Hey, little man.” Deanne tucked the quilt Grandma had made for Teddy when he was a baby. “How’re you feeling?”

  Teddy’s eyelids drooped, and he made little chewing motions before murmuring, “Head hurts.”

  I’ll bet. “You know why?”

  He shifted beneath the patchwork, settling into a tight fetal position, his back to Deanne. “I fell at the school,” came his sleep-slurred answer. “’Cuz I was runnin’ and Mama says not to run.”

  Deanne’s heart expanded, and she smiled. “It’s okay to run, hijito, as long as you watch where you’re going.”

  “And those doctors cut my Broncos jersey.”

  A soft laugh lifted Deanne’s shoulders, and love filled her chest. “We’ll get you a new jersey, don’t worry. Go to sleep, buddy.” But the suggestion was unnecessary. Teddy was out cold.

  As Deanne turned to retrieve the teacup, the night-light illuminated cover of Paloma’s journal grabbed her attention. Read me, it whispered seductively. Dee stood at-gunpoint still, heart pounding with warning. What in the hell? In almost two decades, she had never invaded Paloma’s privacy. Paloma had hundreds of journals stored somewhere in this house, and Deanne had never so much as cracked a single binding.

  But there it was.

  Beckoning.

  If she could just get a little bit into Paloma’s head, get some kind of handle on where she stood…

  No. It wasn’t right. Deanne threw a guilty glance over her shoulder and clasped her fingers together behind her neck. Did she dare?

  The journal drew her again. She tugged at the bottom of her T-shirt and crossed her arms. Then…uncrossed them. Busy movement. Ridiculous. She moved toward the journal as if she were stalking it. Squatting, she lifted the sleek red notebook and smoothed her palm over the buttery leather cover.

  Yes?

  No?

  This was one of those no-turning-back moments, like committing a crime.

  Once she’d crossed the line, no going back. Period. Her seventeen-year record of never having invaded Paloma’s privacy would be forever lost.

  Worth the risk?

  She fanned the page edges thoughtfully…considering. Hadn’t she claimed all was fair in love and war? If the key to winning Paloma back was inked on the pages of this book and Dee didn’t look, she’d never forgive herself. Ruben told her to do whatever it took.

  All’s fair.

  Desperate times called for desperate measures. What other clichés could she apply to rationalize her actions?

  A jolt of nerves lifted her gaze to the door once, then fully committed, she released a tense breath and opened the book. Damnit, she wanted her wife back. She didn’t know where else to look for answers, and Paloma certainly wasn’t offering any. What do I have to lose?

  *

  Deanne crept silently into the master bedroom. Paloma’s back
was turned toward her, the profile of her body an inviting, womanly undulation beneath the comforter. For a moment Dee thought Paloma might have drifted off. But when she set the teacup on the nightstand, Paloma’s movement rustled the sheets and her eyes found Deanne’s.

  Her skin looked velvety in the golden lamp glow. Wavy auburn hair spilled over the pillow, and her eyelids drooped drowsily. The down comforter had tugged her silk nightgown tightly against her breasts, and Deanne couldn’t make herself look away. Such aching beauty. The mother of their sons.

  She feared she couldn’t speak, but then Paloma scooted up and sat against the brass headboard pipes, breaking the spell.

  Deanne gestured toward the cup. “Your tea, milady.”

  “You found the tea bags and everything. Wow.” Paloma tucked her hair behind those ears Deanne loved to nibble and reached for the cup, blowing steam off the front as she held it. Her round, wary eyes tracked Deanne’s movements. In between blowing, she cleared the sleepiness from her throat. “What took you so long?”

  “I checked the boys. Hung out for a bit.” Deanne sat on the end of the bed, smiling in a way she hoped would convey her unspoken, secret agreement—being friends was a good place to start. Dee’s heart soared remembering the words of confusion and desire Paloma had written. Deep inside, Paloma wanted Dee to navigate her way back into her heart…and she would. That was all Deanne needed to know.

  “Everything okay?” She still hadn’t sipped the tea.

  “Yeah. Pep’s out cold and Teddy woke up to talk to me.”

  “Good. What did he say?”

  “He said he got hurt at school because he was running and ‘Mama says not to run.’”

  Paloma laughed. “At least some of my nagging is sinking in. That’s a good sign.” As though their easy camaraderie had taken her by surprise, she blinked and let her gaze flutter down into the cup.

  “I added one sugar cube and a big squirt of lemon juice.”