Still, I do what Moira does best. I pull back, give him a confident smile, and tell him, “No problem. We can go later if we can work it out.”
He looks at me hesitantly for a moment, but then I clearly see the moment… it’s just a look on his face… when he accepts what I say. It’s a look of immense relief as he chooses to believe that this doesn’t hurt my feelings.
Chapter 10
Zach
Moira and I stand at our open door and wave goodbye to Josh and Lila as they walk to their cars, both of them carrying a brown paper bag filled with Thanksgiving leftovers. I have to admit… Moira called that one right. Within just a few minutes of them being introduced to each other, it became clear that there was deep interest and attraction. Lila twirled her hair a lot in flirtation when she talked to Josh, and Josh seemed to be riveted by what she was saying. He certainly didn’t hide the appreciative looks he kept giving her.
Moira and I kept sneaking knowing glances at each other across the table as we chowed down on turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, cranberry sauce, and corn pudding. By the time Moira served dessert—choice of pumpkin, pecan, or apple pie—Josh had already asked Lila out to dinner for the following evening.
My wife is fucking brilliant.
We watch just a moment as Josh walks Lila to her car and they stand close to each other while they talk, but then I pull Moira back into the house, shutting the door behind us. She gives me a knowing wink, places a hand on my hip, and says, “I’m sure we’ll be invited to the wedding.”
I smirk at her and lean down to give her a kiss. “Hell, their firstborn should be named after you… whether it’s a girl or a boy.”
Moira gives me a laugh and pushes back. “Go in and help Randall put away the pie. I’ll go get the kids bathed and into their pajamas.”
“Deal,” I tell her as I turn toward the kitchen.
It’s been a great day indeed.
It wasn’t an intimate family dinner like I’d wanted, but I ended up truly enjoying our company. All of my doubts about Lila were put to rest when I saw just how interested she was in Josh. It almost embarrassed me to think she could be putting moves on me, because as I watched her flirt, banter, and giggle at him, I realized she truly was being nothing but professional with me. It was nice to see the prospect of perhaps new love blooming at our table, and I’m always more than happy to have Randall with us because he’s the closest thing I have to family here.
While my adoptive father, Parilla, still enjoys relatively good health back in Amazonia, I haven’t seen him since before Moira and I got married, and sadly, I’m not sure I will see him again. I’m lucky Father Gaul still sends us updates when he can on my former Caraican tribe, but that’s about all I can count on as satellite phones and even snail mail are just not a possibility as deep in the jungle as they live.
When I walk into the kitchen, I see Randall bent over the apple pie, eating a forkful directly from the pan. He looks up when he hears me, flushes guiltily for just a second, but then unapologetically digs his fork back in.
“There’s only a little bit left,” he mumbles around a mouthful. “No sense in dirtying up another plate.”
I shrug my shoulders, because that sounds like good logic to me, and then decide to join him. Rounding the kitchen island, I grab a fork from the utensil drawer on the way and stab into the flaky crust. I take a huge bit. As I chew on the sweetly tart goodness, Randall asks, “So, how are you doing with work?”
My head swivels to Randall, and I look at him in surprise. “Excuse me?”
“Work?” he repeats as he lays his fork on the counter and grabs a napkin to dab at his mouth. “How’s it going?”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” I tell him, setting my own fork down. “You and I talk pretty much every day about work. Why would you ask how it’s going?”
Randall shakes his head and smirks at me. “We talk about work, sure… but I want to know how you’re doing with it? How’s the stress? Do you like what you do? I know damn well you’re good at what you do, and I know you’re handling everything fantastically, but I’m asking how are you doing with it all?”
“I’m doing fine,” I say carefully… really still not sure what he’s getting at. I almost feel as if he’s searching for a particular answer from me, and I’m afraid of not giving him what he wants.
“You’re putting a lot of hours in,” Randall observes. For a split second, I wonder if Moira has said something to him. My eyes cut to the doorway that leads down the hall where she’s bathing the kids, and then back over to Randall. He just looks at me expectantly.
“Sure, I’m putting in some hours,” I tell him with confidence, going back in for another forkful of pie. “But it’s all good. You know I’m a hard worker, and you also know I don’t know any other way to be.”
Randall studies me for a moment, weighing my words and testing my veracity. I stare back at him unflinchingly, because the last thing I want him thinking about me is that I’m overworked. I know his protective instinct, and he’ll step in and make me back off.
He finally gives me a nod of acceptance before picking his fork back up. He holds it poised over the pie. Just before going in for another bite, he says, “I’m just worried… what with Moira being offered that full-time position at Emory, I know it’s going to be stressful on both of you having busy careers and trying to raise a family. So if you need me to—”
“What full-time position?” I ask as my muscles go tense all over because I have no clue what he’s fucking talking about.
Randall doesn’t mistake the hint of anger in my tone. His face flushes red and ducks his face slightly in guilt. “God… I’m so sorry. I just assumed Moira told you about it. It’s actually not really an offer, but more of an inquiry by the anthropology department to see if she’s interested… But she seemed so excited…”
Randall’s voice trails off as he seemingly deflates right before my eyes. My lips are flattened in a grim line, and his shoulders slump even further.
“She hasn’t said a word about it to me,” I mutter as I set my fork down on the counter.
“Well, you’ve been gone the last few days. Maybe she was just waiting—”
“When did she tell you about it?” I cut in.
“Only day before yesterday,” Randall says quickly, trying to appease my hurt. “When she found out… she called me…”
His voice dies again as he realizes that sounds even worse. That my own wife called him with important news rather than me.
Just then, Moira walks into the kitchen carrying Jaime. Her fine brown hair is still wet from her bath, and she looks beyond adorable in a yellow-and-white set of pajamas with little duck’s heads on the feet. Moira takes one look at my face, and I can see her tense up.
I don’t make her wait.
“You got a full-time job offer from Emory?” I ask her, not even trying to hide the accusing nature of my question.
Moira immediately turns to hand Jaime to Randall. He takes her without even a word being spoken, and I watch as something else unsaid passes between their eyes. They’ve definitely been talking, and this pisses me off. I’ve no doubt seeing the look they just shared that said conversation has included dismay over the long hours I’m putting in, as well as Moira’s concern over taking a full-time job.
All the things she should have been fucking talking about with me.
Randall had no sooner turned and cleared the kitchen with Jaime before I’m leaning in to Moira. With a hushed voice, but still no less pissed off, I ask her, “You got a full-time job offer and you didn’t bother to tell me?”
Moira at least has the grace to look embarrassed, and she whispers back to me. “It’s not a formal offer… really just a conversation with a friend of mine in the anthropology department. I was curious about the potential—”
“Wait a fucking minute,” I practically hiss at her. “You instigated this? I thought we agreed you weren’t going to go back to
work until Jaime was old enough to go to Pre-K?”
“Zach,” Moira says in a placating tone, even laying a calming hand on my chest. “I was just curious. Doing this work for Senpace made me realize how much I miss teaching. I was just having a friendly chat with—”
“And you couldn’t bother to tell me that?” I cut her off. “Don’t you think that’s something we should have discussed first?”
Now Moira’s face gets red, not from embarrassment or guilt, but from anger. It’s a true Irish red, and it makes her eyes also go darker as her rage builds. “Just when was I supposed to talk to you about it, Zach? In the five minutes it takes you to get ready for bed when you come home late at night, or perhaps the next morning when you’re rushing out the door? Oh, wait… I know… maybe while you’re taking your morning fucking constitutional, I could schedule some time to sit down and talk to you about my life’s ambitions and the ways in which I’m totally fucking dissatisfied.”
I ignore her sarcasm and attempts to deflect. In a low voice, I tell her, “With something that important, you know I would have made time to talk. Do you realize how stupid that makes me look that I heard about this from Randall rather than my wife?”
Hurt flashes deep in Moira’s eyes, and she takes a deep breath before slowly letting it out. Always the voice of reason when we fight, she says quietly, “I’m sorry, Zach. It was just conversation, nothing more. It’s what I do… I talk. I talk to those who are there for me and around me, and I’m really, really sorry to say that it happened to be Randall at that moment.”
Crushing pain stabs straight through me. “Are you saying I’m not there for you?”
She quickly shakes her head. “No, of course not. That’s not what I’m saying. It’s just… I’ve been thinking about it but not very seriously, and then this colleague said they were hiring, and I got excited about it and called—”
“Randall,” I supply bitterly. “You called Randall.”
“You were working… in another state,” she points out to me, anger again flashing in her eyes.
Guilt stabs at me, so I do what comes naturally.
I deflect, just as she did.
“Let’s forget about that for a minute,” I tell her with no small level of disdain. “How about we focus in on the part where you’re just moving forward with changing plans that we made as a couple, without even having the decency to care how I feel about that. We agreed, Moira… you were going to stay home with the kids until they started school. We both agreed that was important.”
“I know,” she says, and I can see she’s ready to launch into all the reasons why she’s reconsidering, but I don’t want to hear it.
At least not right now because I’m on a roll.
“You say all you want, Moira, that I’m working too hard and I’m too busy to even discuss these things with you, and you keep saying it if it makes you feel better, but we both know that’s not true. I may have been gone these last few days, but don’t pretend this is just something that came up and you couldn’t reach me. You’ve clearly been thinking about this for a while, and rather than address it, you used Randall as a sounding board rather than your husband.
“All you had to do was ask… ask for time for us to sit down and talk about something that was important, and I would have given it to you. But the truth is, you get just as busy as I do and caught up with your own things, and you really just didn’t want to put the effort into the hard discussion we both know this would be. Instead, I’m guessing you went to Randall because you knew he’d support you if you wanted to go back to work. Just as he’d support any endeavor I wanted to take. It was easy. It made you feel good. It gave you what you needed because you clearly didn’t think I could provide it for you. Now, I don’t know if you really want to go back to work full time as a teacher, or if you’re just chasing windmills, but the next time you want to make major upheavals to our life, I suggest you discuss it with me before anyone else.”
And before she has a chance to even tear into me, as I can see she wants to do, I grab my keys that hang from the hook on the wall beside the laundry room and walk out. I intend to take a nice, long drive until I cool down.
The way I’m feeling right now, I expect I’ll return home sometime next week.
Chapter 11
Christmas morning…
Moira
Curling my feet up underneath me on the couch, I blow air across the steaming cup of coffee in my hand. I let my gaze fall on the Christmas tree lights and enjoy this moment of utter silence and alone time. I love the warm glow casting ambient light over the darkened, pre-dawn living room, filling me with peace and serenity, which is not something I tend to feel a lot of these days
Things have just been… off.
Ever since our fight a month ago, we can’t seem to get ourselves on track. The fight itself blew over fairly quickly. Zach went out for a drive, and when he came back, he apologized very specifically for getting so upset with me and for leaving. I quickly forgave him because let’s face it, he had reason to be hurt and angry. Upon reflection, I know it was wrong what I did.
Oh, it wasn’t wrong that I had dreams that I realized were unfulfilled, but it was wrong of me to have them and not discuss them with Zach first and foremost. He’s my best friend, my confidant, my mentor, and my biggest champion. He’s my soulmate, the yin to my yang, and the universe created him solely for me, and I for him. It was wrong of me to ever let things get to a point where I took the easy way out. When Zach said I reached out to Randall rather than him with the job prospect, he was absolutely right. I did it because I didn’t want to have the tough conversation with Zach. I was afraid of what my husband might say, and I didn’t give him the benefit of the doubt. I still have tremors of guilt over that, but as I said, the fight was over and apologies were accepted.
Except… things are just a little weird.
We’re just… existing.
Our conversation is polite. We laugh easily with each other, and we go to great lengths to show our support for one another. Zach’s been trying to make it home for dinner most nights, and I certainly haven’t brought up the prospect of returning to teaching, even though Zach told me Thanksgiving night that if I wanted to do it, he’d support me no matter what.
We are saying all the right words, doing all the right things, and yet… it all just seems so very wrong.
Our “connection” is gone, and I’m terrified that we may have a deep fracture between us that can’t be repaired.
I can hear Jaime stirring in her crib, and because Zach is a light sleeper, I know at this moment he’s probably sitting up in our bed. Not even the prospect of Santa Claus coming last night would be enough to rouse Cannon from his sound sleep, so I know Zach will stop off in his room to wake him up.
I’m sure Zach will be surprised to find me already out of bed since I’m not a morning person, but Christmas is always different. There’s always a hum of excitement that seems to buzz within my veins, made even more apparent because we have the kids’ excitement playing into it. Jaime’s still not quite sure about the concept of Santa Claus, but Cannon was so excited he was beside himself last night. He must have asked me a dozen times if I thought he’d been good enough all year to warrant presents.
The tiny patter of feet coming down the hallway has me turning my gaze, and I see Cannon skid to a halt before the tree. His eyes are wide and disbelieving as he takes in all the presents. I had actually wrapped all the gifts from “Santa” in gold foil paper and dressed them with red velveteen bows for Jaime and green for Cannon.
“Are those all for me?” Cannon whispers to me, not daring to turn his face from the bounty.
“Santa left a note and said the ones with the green bows are for you and the red bows are for Jaime.”
He looks slightly disappointed to have to share with his sister, but then he drops to his knees with eagerness sparkling in his eyes.
“Let’s wait for Jaime,” I tell him, and I see a look of t
orture roll across his face. “I can hear Daddy getting her up now.”
Turning, I set my coffee cup on the table beside the couch and then walk over to Cannon. I sit down beside him, pulling a large, gold box with a green bow toward me. “This looks like a good present here,” I suggest as I hand it to him.
Poor Cannon looks ready to pee his pants as he takes the box, but his little bladder is saved as Zach walks into the living room holding Jaime. She squeals when she sees the presents and starts chanting, “Santa, Santa, Santa.”
“Here,” Zach says as he bends over and passes Jaime to me. I settle her on my lap and watch as Zach sits on the opposite side of Cannon.
Jaime leans forward, grabs a box with a green bow, and promptly gets yelled at by Cannon. “That’s mine!”
“Hey,” Zach chides as he puts Cannon in a light headlock and pulls him into his side. He kisses him on the head—which never fails to warm my heart—and says, “Don’t yell at your sister. Santa might come and take these back.”
I gently pull the box away from Jaime and hand her one with a red bow. “The red ones are for you,” I tell her, but she’s too young to understand colors, so I’ll have to monitor her thieving little hands.
Both kids tear into the paper, Cannon unfurling his prize first… a Transformers Lego set. He shrieks with glee and starts to open the box.
“Wait a minute, kiddo,” Zach says softly. “How about we unwrap everything first, then you can play with all the toys after. Okay?”
Cannon grins, and Zach starts handing out the presents.
For the next twenty minutes, there’s a flurry of ribbon pulling, paper shredding, and cries of joy from the kids. Zach and I just lean back and watch it all unfurl, stupid grins on our faces, and I’m pretty sure we’re getting more out of this than the kids. It’s our one opportunity every year to truly spoil them with no resulting guilt.
While the kids play with their new toys and Zach cleans up the paper, I make some cinnamon rolls for breakfast. It takes some finesse and a stern daddy voice to finally get the kids to the table to eat, and I’ve never seen food go down so fast. At one point, I think Cannon tried to swallow half a roll without chewing, and I was afraid I’d have to try the Heimlich maneuver.
Love: Uncivilized (Uncivilized #1.5) Page 7
