by L. M. Carr
“You’ll never see that man again, Mia.”
My phone buzzes again and once again, but I ignore it.
“I guess it’s a good thing I’ve sold this house. There are too many bad memories here.” My mind drifts to the kitchen where I finally broke her heart. I remember the look on her face and the intensity of her eyes. It felt so surreal, like I was watching myself go through it. Part of me wanted to comfort her and tell her the truth, but the other part of me spewed lies to save her.
“That’s not true. I love this house. We’ve had some really good times here.” I don’t know how she does it, but once again she’s comforting me. “We were a family. Remember S’mores by the fireplace with the kids? Or game night with our friends? How about those nights we cooked and . . . well, we had to warm our food up.” She chuckles softly before her smile fades away replaced by a quivering chin. For as many good memories as we have here, I think that one weekend outweighs them all. How are we ever going to get past it?
She sits forward and wraps her arms around my neck, widening her legs to let me get closer as I squat before her. I feel her fingers run through the back of my hair like she’s grasping for something. Her whispered words warm my ears. “I wish we could go back. I wish it didn’t hurt so much. I wish you would’ve trusted me more.” Her tears soak my shirt as she buries her face in the crook of my neck. My big hand smooths circles on her back and I feel hot tears threaten to fall. “Shhh . . . I will make this right. I promise you.”
I hold her for what seems like forever even though I’m sure it’s really only just a few minutes. Her hold on me loosens and she sits straight up causing my hands to fall by her side. She inhales, forms her lips into an O and breathes out a puff of air. She pulls the tie from her long hair and runs her fingers through it before tying it into a ponytail. “Oh God, I’m sorry that I’m crying again. I’m such an emotional wreck lately.” Dark eyes flash to mine and I could practically see her mind at work. She’s thinking about something pretty serious.
“What is it?” I ask.
Her tongue darts out to moisten her lips, she bites her bottom lip and shakes her head. “Nothing. I’ll tell you later.”
“Are you sure? Whatever it is you can tell me now.” I wipe away the last tear from her cheek, hoping to God that she believes me.
“No, I think it can wait until later.” She cups my face and kisses my cheek. She fucking kisses my cheek like we’re old friends or something. My lips are offended, they want her; they need her, but I can’t push her too hard. I know that we have to take this slowly.
She rubs the spot on my shoulder that is now drenched from her tears. “I’m sorry. Do you want to grab another shirt?”
I glance down at the wet spot. “It’s just tears. It’ll dry.”
“I think there might be some snot mixed in there, too,” she teases.
“I’ll take your tears and your snot any day.” I smile and kiss her forehead, rising to stand, and pull her by the hand to stand with me. “I told you. I’ll take any part you’ll give me.”
“Thank you.” She steps forward and wraps her arms around my waist. I’m surprised when she tips her head back and finds my lips. It’s a quick kiss, but a kiss nonetheless.
I lead her out of the office, down the hall and into the kitchen where I see a pile of untouched mail on the back counter. I’ll have to remember to toss it in the trash when I get home later. It’s all junk mail, anyway.
My arm feels a pull of resistance. I glance back to see what’s wrong and find her slowing her step to almost a complete stop. “What?”
“Since this is the last time I’m ever going to be in this house, I’d like to make a new memory here to replace the one I have.” Holy fuck! She wants to have sex now? My dick springs to alert. “Mia . . .” I face her and take the few steps until our bodies are inches apart. I can’t decide if I want to look at her eyes or her mouth. I lower my mouth to meet hers and then I hear the words, “Dance with me,” and everything stops. She wants to dance? That is not what I thought she meant. My cock twitches in disapproval, too.
“You want to dance?”
Her eyes sparkle with delight and if I’m not mistaken, there’s a hint of humor there, too. She knows exactly what I was thinking. “Yes.” She nods.
I slide my hand onto the small of her back and lace our free hand. She braces herself with my bicep, like she’s fallen into our old routine.
“We don’t have any music.” I grin playfully.
“It’s never stopped us before.”
She’s right. I close my eyes, lean my cheek against the side of her strawberry- scented hair and sway back and forth as I remember the countless times we danced just like this after the kids went to bed. It never mattered where we were. We just danced.
I feel her body relax in my arms and smile knowing that we’re creating a new memory to replace the harsh, painful words I uttered all those months ago.
Her feet slowly come to a stop and she looks at me. “I’ll never forget this.” A terrifying chill shoots up my spine at her words like she’s saying goodbye. We have lots of memories to make together as far as I’m concerned.
“Let’s go. We have lots of memories to make today.” I smile as I swallow the lump in my throat at the thought of ever having to say goodbye to her again.
I lock the door behind us and follow her out to the Jeep. She looks beautiful in her sundress. She looks sexy. Some women wear short skirts or show their tits to be sexy, but she does it without even trying. That’s one of the things I love about her. She really has no idea how fucking gorgeous she is.
The ride to the beach is filled with playful banter and I’m happy to see her so relaxed. A bright sun shines in the blue sky with only a few grey clouds in the distance. It’s a picture perfect summer day.
***
TRYING TO FIND a parking spot in the crowed lot is no small feat. We circle around for over ten minutes before she points to where a car is leaving. She lets me take her hand in mine as we walk toward the wooden boardwalk that is home to small shops and a variety of family owned restaurants. In the distance, I can see the swells rising, gaining strength before crashing into people who either ride on their boards, jump over or duck beneath only to resurface when the wave has passed.
A spray of colorful umbrellas and sand chairs line the beach. I’m a little confused as to why Mia wanted to come here; she doesn’t usually like crowded beaches like this. My mind drifts to January when we flew to Puerto Rico for the weekend. Every evening we’d walk hand in hand along the beach. She’d stop every so often to pick up a shell for Maddie and Luke.
“Do you want to grab a bite to eat?” Her question draws my attention away from the memories of Culebra.
“Sure.” I scan the various restaurants before setting my sights on her. “I’m sure I can find something good to eat.”
“Behave, pervert!” She rolls her eyes and smacks my arms, pulling me into a little Mexican place where the sign reads “World’s Best Margaritas.” I know how much my girl loves her margaritas.
We are greeted by an older gentleman, who after noting that it’s just the two of us for lunch, encourages the “senorita” to follow him to a table on the patio. She is seated and tucked in gently. “Senor.” He smiles at me as I sit across from her.
I look over the cocktail menu quickly and ask her what kind of margarita she’s getting. Her eyes suddenly form wide circles; she looks like a deer in headlights.
A young waiter with a heavy Spanish accent comes over and greets us, placing a small bowl of nacho chips and fresh salsa in the middle of the table. His smile is bright for her. He better back the fuck up. He moves around the table and leans over her shoulder showing her the specialty margaritas and suggests a peach mango margarita.
“No, thanks. I’ll have water with lemon, please.”
I grab the table for effect. “Did Mia Delaney just say no to a margarita? I don’t believe it!”
She narrows her eyes at m
e and smirks. “Jerk.”
“And for you, senor?” the waiter asks.
“I’ll have a Corona, extra lime.”
There’s got to be a reason for her to turn down a margarita, especially if it’s the world’s best. “Why didn’t you get a margarita? I know you love them.”
With a quick shrug of her bare shoulders, she tries to placate me, but it only makes me curious.
“What did Shelby always call them? MM’s?” I know exactly what MMs are. Mia’s Margaritas. “What did you give them up for Lent or something?”
She purses her lips. “First of all, you know I’m not Catholic and secondly, if I were, I’m pretty sure Lent ended a long time ago.”
I watch as she picks up the menu, peers over the top at me and looks down quickly like she’s hiding something from me.
Manuel, the waiter, drops off our drinks and takes our order. We’ve decided to share a double portion of chicken and steak fajitas. The lemon is squeezed into her water and I do the same with my lime. The refreshing taste of the beer feels good on my lips. I remember how she used to love to kiss my lips after I had a sip of cold beer on game nights. In my mind, I get up and grab the back of her head and plant a big wet one on her mouth. She opens her mouth and slides her tongue into my mine, tasting the lime and malt.
“So we need to talk.” I’m pulled from my daydream at the sound of her quiet voice.
“Okay, so let’s talk. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” I’m surprised by the confidence I’m exuding because I know her questions won’t be easy to answer.
Her phone chirps, indicating a text message. She opens her bag, retrieves her phone and rolls her eyes. “Dude, chill out,” she whispers. “Why can’t you take the hint?” Her annoyance is clear.
“Who’s that?” I ask even though I shouldn’t.
She taps out a response and puts her phone down. “Shane.” I think she hesitates because she knows how I feel about him.
I hate the motherfucker. “What does he want?” I snap.
“Nothing really. He just texts me all the time to see how I’m doing. I know he wants to make sure I’m okay, but it’s kind of annoying.”
“He still wants you.” It’s a statement not a question.
She doesn’t have to answer; the look on her face says it all.
“Motherfucker,” I mumble under my breath.
“Listen,” she says and reaches across the table and takes my fingers in hers. “I don’t want to talk about Shane.” Like always, with a gentle swipe of her hand, she’s calming me.
“Fine.” I don’t want to waste my time or energy thinking about how he was there the day I left her or how he’s probably been with her since I’ve been gone. It pisses me off.
“Tell me more about the kids.” She sips her water slowly.
The tension in my shoulders slightly diminishes when I think about my kids. “They’re okay. They are going to flip out when I tell them what I’m planning. You are all they ever talk about.”
“Yeah, well, the feeling is completely mutual. I’ve thought about them almost every single day when you were . . .” She clears her throat, pushing her emotions back. “You got them a puppy? I can’t believe you finally caved.” Her eyes shine at me and her lips spread into a smile. “You’re such a good dad.”
If she only knew that it was because of guilt for tearing their lives upside down that I caved and got them a dog. Housetraining is not all it’s cracked up to be. Little piles of shit and piss on the floor throughout the house almost got him kicked to the curb a few times.
“I’ve not been the best father lately.” I swallow down the last of my beer.
“Nobody’s perfect. We all make mistakes and do things we wish we could change, but you’ve done so much for those kids. You are an amazing father.” How can she say these words and worse yet, believe them? She wasn’t there to witness the devastation on Maddie and Luke’s horrified faces when I told them we were leaving, but that Mia and Brady weren’t coming with us. That had to be one of the worst days of my life.
“You have a lot of faith in me. I don’t deserve it.” Fuck! There’s no doubt about that. I don’t deserve those two little kids who call me “Dad” or the beautiful woman sitting across from me who once thought I was worthy to spend the rest of her life with. I’m not worthy, but I’ll live every day trying to be the person she thinks I am, the man I need to be.
Manuel opens up a portable stand and sets the tray down. Steam rises and sizzles from our uncovered entrée. The table is covered with side dishes and plates for serving. I watch her face light up, smiling greedily, and bites down on her bottom lip. She rubs her hands together in anticipation as she looks at the food.
I watch her as she navigates through the dishes, piling on a variety of fixings before she hands the plate to me. She smiles. “Here.”
“Go ahead. You eat.”
“I will. I thought I should give you a little something before I devour everything else.” Her words mock me. Those were the words I used when I devoured and ravaged her body. I’m glad she remembers.
“Thank you.” I shake my head and conceal my smile between tight lips. “Always the comedian, aren’t you?”
She doesn’t waste any time filling her flour tortilla with a mound of meat, dressing it in all her favorites. Small moans escape her mouth and her eyes close in pleasure when she sinks her teeth into it. Fuck, she’ll have me hard again in no time.
“What?” she asks with a mouthful of food.
I smirk. “You’re really enjoying that aren’t you?”
“It’s delicious,” she mumbles, wiping sour cream from the corner of her lip with her thumb before sliding it into her mouth and licking slowly.
“You’re killing me here,” I admit even though she knows exactly what she’s doing to me. Being here with her feels like the beginning of what became “us,” back when things were simple and fun. I’m not sure how she can be so playful one minute and on the verge of tears the next.
Then it hits me like a wrecking ball. She’s nervous as shit. She’s hiding behind this banter. “What was it that you wanted to tell me earlier?” I ask. Whatever it is, I want to know now. Her face freezes mid-chew and the deer in headlights look is back. She puts her food down, wipes her face with the linen napkin and takes a long drink of water.
She’s gone pale and serious in an instant. “Are you sure you don’t want to finish your lunch?”
“I’m sure.” Suddenly, I’m eager to know what she has to tell me. I swear to God, I will punch someone if she tells me that she’s seeing someone or that she doesn’t want to try to work things out. I know it’s my own fault because I left, but I had to.
The waiter is there in an instant, refilling her glass. She smiles and thanks him. She lifts the glass with a trembling hand and takes another long drink before she speaks, keeping her intense eyes on me. “I’m pregnant.”
Everything spins around me. For a minute there I thought she said she was pregnant. I’m sure I heard wrong so I ask her to repeat her words, chuckling lightly. “What did you say?”
“I’m pregnant.”
Pregnant? As in a baby pregnant? My world stops. The floor drops out from underneath me and I’m freefalling. Small flashes of images of the life we had and what we could have run past my eyes like an old, black and white film. My heart hurts. I feel my chest begin to rise and fall as my breathing becomes heavy with anger. The thought that someone else took pleasure in her torments me. The thought that my leaving drove her into another man’s bed shreds me. The thought that a baby, someone else’s baby, is growing in her belly devastates me. My hands start to shake and I feel violent. I want to wrap my hands around his throat and choke the life out of the motherfucker who did this to her. He had no right to touch her. She’s fucking mine. The swell of my chest continues to rise and fall quickly while I try to rein in the explosion going on inside. This is my fault. I told her I would fuck her over and I did.
“You�
��re pregnant?” I know how I sound. My slow, enunciated words are laced with bitterness and possibly even hate, but they’re not for her. They’re for me. I hate that I forced her to find comfort with someone else. I hate that someone else has touched her. I hate that someone else has been inside of her. I don’t have a second to think. It’s as if someone is cutting of the air supply to my lungs and I can’t breathe. I need to get out of here. My chair makes a loud scraping noise and falls over as I stand abruptly and practically run for the door in desperate need of fresh air.
“I’m pregnant.” Her words, like an old, broken vinyl record, are stuck on repeat, playing over and over in my mind.
