Jace nodded, kissed the kids and my forehead, and headed for the door.
Another day, and nothing more said.
There were days when I wanted to ask him why he felt the need to distance so much of himself from me lately. But I didn’t.
I never held him, or myself, accountable.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
THE DAY of Amelia’s party, I had a hard time deciding on how I wanted to do the dirt cups for her. So I got on Pinterest.
You know what drove me insane?
Pinterest.
I wanted to punch the motherfucker who designed that website and then kiss their gifted ass.
I mostly hated it because it made me want to be crafty. And then I wanted to spend money.
And who has that?
Last time I checked, I did not.
After settling on horse pails to go with her Brave theme, I got them made up, and we headed out to the party.
I didn’t like taking the kids to birthday parties for the simple fact that I enjoyed my children; I just didn’t enjoy others. And why spend so much money on them?
What kid honestly remembers those birthday parties when they’re older?
I sure as shit didn’t.
Oh, that’s right. That’s because I never had birthday parties. My mom’s idea of a birthday was McDonald’s Play Land for five minutes.
As you can see, children’s birthday parties aren’t exactly the highlight of my day, but when it’s a Jennings family party, it’s entertaining as hell.
Just because I hated having, and attending, birthday parties didn’t mean I didn’t like children. I just didn’t like it when you got twenty of them together and gave them sugar.
Who would?
Regardless, we had a birthday party to attend.
Logan and Brooke had a condo on Hiawatha Place about ten minutes from our apartment. They were the only ones out of our friends who owned their own place. Jace and I rented still because we had yet to save enough for a down payment.
If we could stop having kids, we’d probably be able to afford it.
Like most firefighters in Seattle, Jace made decent money, but living in Seattle was also extremely expensive. Logan was in the same situation but had support from Brooke’s parents, who’d bought them a condo when Brooke and Logan had Amelia five years ago. Their condo was simple. Neither one of them had the taste for anything overly luxurious, but it was homey and comfortable to be there. It wasn’t like Shanna’s apartment in Alki Beach where you were afraid to touch anything. And it was better than Lauren’s apartment, with milk crates for end tables.
And how was Jace lately?
Working. He got off at eight this morning after his twenty-four-hour Saturday shift, came home and slept for an hour, and then we took the kids to the park, where we said very little to one another.
I was still pissed that he’d reacted that way about my mom and Ridley when I wasn’t trying to hide anything and he, well, who knew what the fuck his problem was. I was at the point where I didn’t even want to ask, because what if he said his problem was me? Was I ready to deal with that, too?
Nope.
So no talking about our shit.
Luckily, I hadn’t heard from my mom or Ridley again.
I guess I should say that it wasn’t like Jace and I weren’t talking at all. I should clear that up. We talked. Just not about anything of substance.
He was testy, seemed annoyed, and didn’t exactly start conversations with me. But should I start one, conversation flowed lightly, but it wasn’t like I initiated it, either.
I was curious as to how the birthday party was going to go, but, knowing Jace, he would pretend nothing was wrong for the sake of not having to explain to anyone. In public, we were fine. At home, that was another story.
Brooke and I were in the kitchen putting candles on Amelia’s Brave cupcakes when Logan walked in. His burly arm wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me into his tight chest. “Hey, beautiful.” His hip bumped mine, and then he looked up at Brooke and winked. “Nothin’ better than a little girl’s birthday party.” His voice was sarcastically amused.
As I looked closer at Logan, his arms wrapped around Brooke’s waist now, I realized that where there were normally brown looping curls were now bright orange flowing locks cascading down his shoulders and sporting a gold princess tiara.
Leaning into his wife, he pressed a kiss to the side of Brooke’s head, sweeping her hair from her face. “Need me to help with anything, baby?”
Brooke shook her head, winking at him and touching the tip of his nose. “Nope. Thank you for starting the burgers, though.”
“Anything for you, love.” He looked at me. “It’s revolting, I know.”
And this was why he’s friends with Jace. They talk the same, even.
Logan was special to a lot of people. He was my favorite of Jace’s friends by far, always smiling and ready to have a good time. What I loved most about him was his compassion and the way he treated Brooke with the utmost respect and love. He was a good guy all around, but he believed respect was earned, not given. I think that was why he and Jace got along so well.
Speaking of Jace, he came around the corner sporting the same wig, with a beer in hand and Jayden curled around his leg. “Now, that’s a good look for you.” I adjusted his tiara and righted his crooked wig.
I’m not sure why, but it seemed like we were getting along, but only in the company of others. When we were at home he didn’t act like this.
Jace winked and leaned in for a sweet kiss, his orange locks falling in his face.
Once our lips met — the action quick, staged, even — I realized he’d been eating all the gummy worm dirt cups I had made. “Those were for the kids.”
“Sorry.” He shifted slightly, turning his body from mine, easily distracted by the kids running between our legs. As he reached for a beer on the counter, it tipped slightly, but he caught it. “I was hungry.”
“You could have some fruit.” Knowing Jace hated watermelon, she pushed the plate in his face. “I know you like watermelon so much.”
He made a gagging sound and then pushed her, laughing.
Before anything more was said, he was tugged away by Logan, laughter following them.
“Come on, hot stuff,” Logan said, locking arms with Jace and heading toward Gracie and Amelia in the living room. “We got some ladies waiting on us.”
“That we do.” Jace’s hand found his hair and twirled a strand between his fingers. “This fucking thing itches.”
“Fifty bucks says Denny gets that stuck in his leg,” Logan said, motioning toward Denny, another firefighter on Ladder 1 with them, as they walked into the family room.
“Nah, I’m not betting against you on that one.” Jace laughed. “But fifty bucks says he stabs Axe with it before the night’s out.”
“You’re on, brother.” Logan made bets on everything. Didn’t matter what it was — he just liked to bet, and he wanted to win.
“They look hideous.” Lauren sat down on the bar stool next to us with a beer in hand and a glass of wine in the other, prepared for the evening. “Why aren’t they dressed as a prince or something cool?”
“Gracie said they had to be Merida with her.” Brooke took the plate of veggies and set them on the table. Tiny hands grabbed at the carrots and left anything green.
“Are they starting a cult or something?” Lauren chuckled. “There’s a lot of Meridas running around here.”
“They’re being supportive fathers.” Taking a dish towel soaked in what smelled like bleach, Brooke wiped down the counter she had just chopped the vegetables on. She was a bit of a clean freak.
“At least the girls are cute.” She laughed when Jace walked by again and slapped his ass. “You look hot.” Walking backward, he looked around to see if any kids were watching and then grabbed his junk to tease her, giving her a jeering wink.
Those two were constantly at it. Someone once asked if it mad
e me jealous that they had this relationship that bordered on flirting at times.
My answer was always no. My sister was never that girl, and Jace, that wasn’t him, either. He just like to give her shit.
I started laughing when Lauren began to gag. “And you tell me Axe is a nasty boy. Jace is way worse.”
Lauren turned and looked at Brooke. “Please tell me those are plastic arrows you gave them?” Both Brooke and I glanced at the boys.
I for one hoped like hell they were plastic, but unfortunately Logan didn’t think that would be very cool.
It took exactly ten minutes and thirty-six seconds for Denny to get one of those arrows stuck in his thigh.
“I knew there would be blood, but I thought it would be from that little street brawler Gavin.”
“Hey, my boy can defend himself.” Lauren had just finished her beer and a glass of wine, and was working on the second glass.
“Matter of fact” —Brooke reached for Gavin’s plastic fork on the plate Lauren had set out for him— “let’s go ahead and give the little gangster a spoon.”
“If anyone could shank someone with a spoon, it would be Gavin Gillian,” I had to point out.
When Gavin was two, he stabbed Jace in the ear with a G.I. Joe. Ruptured his eardrum.
I wouldn’t put it past him if he did the same thing today.
Just about the time cupcakes were being served, Brooke refilled my glass with wine. I needed lots and lots of wine.
My eyes stayed on Jace most of the evening. His eyes watched me every so often but never really made the contact I so desperately wanted. When I looked at him lately, I could see an emptiness in his eyes. As if he was struggling with something and couldn’t see it clearly.
So many times I wanted to approach him at the party, wrap my arms around his waist like I used to, and sink into his warm body. Would he push me away?
Probably not. But would he enjoy the contact?
My gut told me he would. After all, we had the time in his truck when everything seemed good. But where did that leave us but lost in more smoke?
The party for the most part wasn’t bad. Amelia had a great time, as did our kids.
On the way home that night was when the first of what hadn’t been said was revealed.
I’m not sure why but over time arguments between us had become more heated, and the words ignited both of us.
The kids were fast asleep, and there we were, brushing our teeth and getting ready for bed. Not touching, both looking at the sink. The same sink where I once got my ass stuck when playful hips tackled me in the bathroom.
I could tell Jace was conflicted. It was in the way he stared at the wall late at night and his uncertain movements around me. He was lost, lost in what, I didn’t know, because he never said what he was thinking.
“Has your mom called you yet?”
The question caught me off guard. My silence caused him to look up and watch my reaction in the mirror.
“No.”
His lips parted, and I thought for a moment he might say something that would make me feel better, assure me that what we had wasn’t lost and this void wasn’t really there.
Instead, he set his toothbrush in the holder and left the room, closing the door with a soft click. I wanted him to slam it. I wanted him to because if he did, it meant he had some fire left in him.
I followed him into the bedroom, where his hands were at the button of his jeans. The scene here was the same as a few nights ago. Same words, same doubtful thoughts.
“Why do you care if she’s called?”
He shrugged.
“Why do you do that? You say things and act like I’m just supposed to read your mind. What is it that’s bothering you?”
“Nothing.”
Yeah right.
“So I’m imagining this space between us?” Both of us stood on either side of the bed, the space between us now revealed in our stance. He was on one side, and I was on the other. “I’m imagining that you’re never here and when you are, you’re quiet?”
“I didn’t say that, Aubrey,” he said forcefully, but I shook my head. He looked back and forth between my eyes.
“You didn’t have to. I see it on your face. You know it’s there, but you’re not doing anything to save it, either.”
His lips curved at the corners, but not from amusement. It never was. “You couldn’t be more wrong if you tried . . . ” He wanted to say so much more right then. I felt it.
Jace wasn’t the type of person who would hurt me. Not purposely.
“You’re reading too much into it. It’s nothing.”
It was just like him to say that right then. He was wrong, though. This wasn’t nothing. It was everything.
His body stiffened, and when I looked up again, his expression was intense. His mouth opened as if he were going to say something. But he didn’t.
Say something!
When he didn’t, this time I was the one walking away. To the couch.
It hurt to do so. I wanted to crawl inside his chest and hold his heart. I wanted to beg him to save this, me, us, and ask him where it had gone wrong. Had we not smelled smoke before it was too late?
As I lay there, my eyes on the ceiling and the faint glow from the city lights streaming in through our blinds, I thought back to how we got here and when these problems first began.
I couldn’t pinpoint any date specifically. It was gradual.
Just as the rain outside picked up, Jace came out of the bedroom, his eyes finding mine in the dark. He wanted to say something, but as usual didn’t. His hand found his hair, tugging, and then he sighed, retreating back to the bedroom. The door closed behind him.
Lately this was what we did.
Tired remarks and so many words unsaid. We argued, but most of all, we ignored. But never had we sat and talked and ventilated to clear the smoke and see where the fire was coming from. Most of us never assume life in general can tear two people apart. It can. And it will if you let it.
I felt like we were no longer a couple making decisions together but more like two people living separate lives, linked by the two children we’d created.
As my head hit the pillow and tears soaked it, I dreaded doing this again tomorrow.
When would it stop? When would be able to talk? Or would it always be like this?
We used to be one person, one heart and one soul fighting fire together. Now we’re struggling to find our own way, our safety line cut, lost in clouds of smoke with no visibility.
We’re trapped.
Ladder 1 on scene. Transmit a second alarm.
Spend all units available.
Dispatch to command, there are reports of two children and a mother trapped on four.
10-4
* * *
Tuesday, November 20, 2013
Jace
AS I left for work that morning, Aubrey was in Jayden’s room, where she’d once again fallen asleep. I watched the two of them for a moment, my mind stuck between why I couldn’t have carried her into our room and said everything that needed to be said, and not knowing how to say it.
We were growing apart, and that’s a hard thing to grasp, let alone deal with. Especially when two great kids are involved.
Sighing, I left her there with them without so much as a kiss goodbye. Once I was in my truck, I got a sharp pain in my gut that told me if I should fall victim to my job today, what memory would she be left with of me?
The one of me walking away.
So much went unsaid, but I hated arguing. I didn’t see the point in it. Too many times the wrong words get said, and you’re left doing more explaining than actually communicating. Like the other night after Amelia’s birthday party. She sensed the separation between us, and I wanted to take her in my arms and tell her I saw it, too. Beg her not to give up on us, but I didn’t. She said I wasn’t doing anything to save us, and I said she was wrong. Sadly, she was right. I wasn’t.
My drive to work wasn’t f
ar — about ten minutes, depending on traffic.
I worked ladder 1 with the Seattle Fire Department. Whenever I tell someone that, they ask me what the difference is between an engine company and a ladder company. There are a few.
Engine trucks carry water, a hose, and a pump. Ladders don’t.
Biggest difference?
Ladder trucks have a hundred-foot aerial ladder and several ground ladders. Engines only have a few ground ladders.
Truck response (ladder) is a fast search-and-rescue operation. We don’t go in with a hose, and it’s very dangerous. But we do this in a controlled and fast manner. Our primary goal is searching for victims and getting them out fast.
As I parked alongside the station, I caught sight of her shop, knowing that in a few hours I would see her in there, living her life, the one she had while I was gone all the time. I took comfort in knowing she was right there within my sight, safe.
When I walked through the door, the guys were shuffling in as the shift changes began.
“Did you break her hip?” was what I heard as soon as I walked in.
Gathered in the lounge, Logan and Axe were already talking, loud and bright-eyed. The two of them were never late to anything, and if they could have predicted a fire, I was sure they would have been right there and ready for it five minutes before it started.
“Fuck you,” Denny Harlin, our new probationary firefighter (probie), on the job four months, grumbled as they shit-talked his new girlfriend. Hell, she could have been his mom.
“Let me ask you something.” Logan leaned forward, getting serious now. “Does she go to brunch with your grandma?”
“She’s only forty-two.” He blinked his long curly black eyelashes, as if forty-two was an okay age. Whenever he’s listening to someone talk, he scrunches up his nose. It makes him look like he’s taking a shit or something.
“And you’re twenty.” Logan shook his head, his feet moving from the floor to the table. “That’s weird. Can’t your smooth-talkin’ ass find a girl your own age?”
Denny looked at Logan’s boots on the table, rolled his eyes, and tried to ignore us by finding the container of peanuts interesting.
Something Worth Saving Page 8
