Merrily Ever After--A Novella Page 7

  Which was why she was lying there staring into the dark, unable to sleep despite her weariness. She had spent a lot of time recently—since she’d told him yesterday afternoon and he’d left—sobbing. But after leaving Jane’s this morning, she had stopped. She was run dry. Parched. Her body was a shell, empty of tears. Empty of everything.

  Well, not everything. She placed a hand over her still flat belly.

  She heard him sliding the deadbolt back into place on the front door, which should have been impossible given the racket from the wind and rain lashing the house, but she was suddenly extra-attuned to everything. Like all that emptiness had left room for the smallest sounds to ricochet around inside her. Amplify.

  His keys hitting the dish on the entryway table clanged like an out-of-tune bell.

  Usually, when he got home and he wasn’t sure if she was there, he called out, “Lise?” Or “Sweetheart?” which was his preferred term of endearment.

  There was no greeting this time, just the sounds of him walking through the house, then hitting the bottom step, which always squeaked. When they had first moved in, she’d thought to herself that no teenagers could sneak into this house late at night—that step would give them away.

  But then she’d remembered that there would be no teenagers in this house, at least not during their tenure.

  After the squeaking quieted, she heard the swish-swish of his socks against the rest of the hardwood steps.

  The swishes slowed as he got closer. Almost like he was afraid. But Jay wasn’t afraid of anything. Jay was brave.

  Despite the heightened hearing that had made his approach so excruciating, when he actually arrived, when he stopped moving, she could not hear him. She couldn’t see him, either, thanks to the blackness.

  But she felt him. Felt him like she always did. His steady presence. His care, which he had always wrapped her up in as surely as the duvets she was under.

  He came to stand right next to the bed, and then she could hear him. Someone had turned the sound back on. His breath came in short pants. Almost like the stairs had winded him. But nothing winded Jay. Jay was strong.

  “I do remember what I said in my wedding vows.” His voice was low but fierce. Laden with emotion. “Of course I remember.”

  He lifted the duvet and got into bed, just like he had four nights ago at the cabin. And like then, she was in her pajamas and he was fully dressed. He hadn’t even taken off his parka. He was wet from the rain. Drenched, really. But he either didn’t realize or didn’t care.

  She had turned away, instinctively, when he got in the bed, afraid to face him even in the dark. Usually when Jay wanted her body next to his, he just made it happen. Left no room—physically or figuratively—for doubt about how close he wanted them to be. This wasn’t like that. He was next to her, near enough that he was getting her wet, but he wasn’t pressing his body against hers. He was leaving some room. His arms, which usually would have banded around her, remained between them. He had them bent against his chest, and the wet nylon fabric of his sleeves rested lightly against her back.

  Was this the start of his pulling away? Her eyeballs ached at the thought but were still too parched to produce tears.

  “I remember exactly what I said,” he whispered fiercely. “I said I would always take care of you. I tried to lighten what I was saying with humor because I was cognizant of the audience and I didn’t want to make anyone, especially you, feel uncomfortable. So I said, ‘I will always take care of you, even when you don’t want me to.’ I got the laugh I was going for from everyone else, but you didn’t laugh. Because you knew I meant it. You heard what I meant.”

  She was still so dry everywhere that the involuntary gasp that ripped through her scraped against her throat like sandpaper.

  “I broke that vow today. And yesterday. And I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry, Elise.”

  It was so like Jay to be focused on what he saw as a broken vow. Her husband was a caretaker. Even though she’d been mad at him that morning for fixating on her diet, that’s where that concern had come from. And when she thought of it like that, she couldn’t be mad anymore.

  “You don’t have to be sorry,” she said slowly, forcing her voice through her aching throat. “You’re allowed to feel how you feel, Jay. I know you don’t want this. I know—”

  “That wasn’t all I said, though.”

  Elise was startled. Jay pretty much never interrupted her, but here he was talking right over her. And loudly, too. What she would even call rudely in any other situation.

  “I also said, ‘You turned my life upside-down. You walked into my life, and all my preconceived notions about how I wanted to live flew out the window. You remade me.’” He paused. “You remember that?”

  Of course she did. The vow had been surprising and savagely tender. Like him. She nodded, though he wouldn’t be able to see that in the dark. He wouldn’t be able to feel it, either, since he wasn’t holding her the way it was starting to feel like he should be. “I was too young for you,” she whispered.

  “Right. But that was just a proxy. I saw avoiding younger women as a kind of insurance policy.”

  “Insurance against what?” She knew, though.

  “Against this.” His hand came around and rested lightly on her belly, so lightly she could barely feel his touch.

  Right. He’d had nothing against younger women inherently, just against having kids.

  “But I was wrong.”

  She wanted to ask him what had changed. How had he gotten from you don’t mind ruining our lives to I was wrong in the space of twenty-four hours?

  But then his hand pressed down more firmly on her belly—possessively, even. “So keep remaking me, Elise. Both of you. Keep remaking me.”

  She had thought she was no longer capable of crying, that her body was permanently dried out by the river of tears that had passed through it. And she was partly right. She didn’t start crying exactly, but it was as if Jay’s hand, instead of coming to rest on her stomach, had pressed a button that suddenly activated a response. What came out was a single, sharp, ragged wail.

  And that, in turn, seemed to activate something in Jay. He inhaled sharply, and it was like his old way of being with her was back. He closed the distance between them, pulling her hard against his chest. But then, belatedly realizing that he was wearing a wet parka, said, “Fuck. What am I doing? I’ve been getting you all wet.”

  He pulled away. Got out of bed entirely. She knew—with her rational mind—that he was doing it because he didn’t want to keep getting her wet. Her body did not know that, though. It sent another embarrassing wail out of her mouth.

  “Hold on, sweetheart,” he whispered, and she could hear him getting undressed. “I’m coming.”

  * * *

  He was so scared.

  Jay got back into bed with Elise, pulled her tightly against him, and tried to tamp down the panic.

  There wasn’t just panic, though. That was important to note. There was also relief. His wife was back in his arms, where she belonged.

  The relief was stronger than the panic. That was also important to note. To keep noting. He was more scared to lose Elise than he was to have a baby. Which told him he’d answered Cameron’s question correctly. That this was the correct path.

  She started squirming. He didn’t want to, but he loosened his hold on her. She would sit up now, and they would talk. She would have so much to say, his perfectionist, detail-oriented wife. His beloved.

  He didn’t want to talk. He understood that they would need to. Just not yet. He just needed…to be with her.

  But she would need to talk. She would need words, more words than he had already given her, and he couldn’t deny her that. Not after the last two days.

  At least it was dark.

  She surprised him, though. She wasn’t sitting up, merely turning over. Rotating in his arms so she was facing him. She burrowed right up against him and notched her head under his chin. He hugged
her tight and inhaled the faint lemon aroma that always clung to her hair. Sometimes, when she was out of town and he was in the shower, he would open her shampoo, which was the source of her scented hair, and inhale, thinking it might make him miss her less. It never worked. It had to be her actual hair. The combination of lemon and her. Now, as always, it sent a wave of calm through his body.

  They stayed like that, in blessed silence, for a long time. Finally, she spoke, her lips moving against his chest.

  “I wish it would snow.”

  A rush of love so intense it hurt erupted in his chest. “I know, sweetheart.” He stroked her hair. “I know.”

  Chapter Eight

  When Elise woke up in Jay’s arms the next morning, the storm was over. Literally. As in it was no longer raining. The curtains on the door were partially opened, and if she’d nursed a hope that the rain had turned to snow while they slept, it was dashed by the fact that the branches of the maple tree in the backyard were bare.

  She had shifted her head only a little to be able to see outside, but it was enough to rouse Jay, ever attuned as he was to her. He rolled her under him, lifted her hair, and pressed a kiss to her throat.

  Embarrassment flooded in and swept away any snow-related disappointment. Her face heated, like she was an oven and someone had turned on the “broil” function.

  That was how she had felt sometimes, early in their relationship, after they’d done something that had felt particularly dirty. She’d felt then, as now, like she had overexposed herself. Sometimes literally but mostly emotionally. Like he’d seen her vulnerable, the woman she was underneath all her ambition. It wasn’t that her ambition was false, that it wasn’t also her, but it was sometimes a convenient, comfortable cloak with which to cover herself.

  But that embarrassment had gradually gone away. Faded in the face of Jay’s relentless, unwavering attention. “Radical honesty,” she had called it, right from the beginning, when she’d been marveling over how easy it was to be truthful with him. He had met her when she was in the process of changing her life—of breaking with her family and starting her company. Everything had been in flux, but somehow he had cut through all the bullshit and seen…her.

  He had forced her to practice being vulnerable, she supposed, and just like building up a muscle, she’d gotten better at it. She’d found strength in it, even. She’d become better. They’d become better.

  But she had never told Jay she wanted a baby. And now he knew. It felt like the biggest vulnerability she had ever shown him but also a grossly unfair secret to have kept from him. What had happened to the radical honesty that was the glue of their relationship?

  It was just that a baby had seemed impossible, so she hadn’t seen the point in saying anything. But today, with the sun shining both into the room and into the dark corners of her heart, she understood that just because she couldn’t get pregnant—she’d thought—that had been no reason not to tell him how she was feeling. My God, the girls had even talked to her about considering adoption or surrogacy. How could she have been having those kinds of conversations with them and not given him any hint?

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” He was still nuzzling her neck, so she hadn’t had to look at him, which was pretty much the only way she had the guts to say that.

  “I get why you didn’t. Look how I overreacted.” He rolled over onto his back, but he took her with him so she ended up half draped over his chest. “Anyway, it was only a weekend.”

  “No. I mean, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” Her face was maybe six inches from his, but she looked at his throat instead of his eyes.

  He was silent for a moment, but then he tipped her chin up and forced her to look at him. “You’re sorry you didn’t tell me what?”

  He was going to make her look at him and spell it out.

  Well, that’s what Jay did, right? That’s what made him Jay.

  So she inhaled a shaky breath and whispered, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I wanted a baby.”

  He didn’t say anything, just kept drilling into her soul with those impossible blue-green eyes that saw everything.

  She pressed on, suddenly seized with a late-breaking fear that he would think she’d entrapped him into fatherhood. “But I swear I didn’t do this on purpose. I honestly thought it was impossible.”

  “I know that,” he said instantly, and she felt a certain amount of relief.

  It was short-lived, though, because, really, did it matter that she hadn’t entrapped him on purpose? She had entrapped him all the same. The outcome was the same. He didn’t want a child—he had been very clear about that—and now he had to have one.

  The alarm on her phone went off. It was set to its usual weekday six a.m. chimes—it was set that early because they usually had sex in the mornings. Or if she was in one of her bouts of pain, or someone had to leave unusually early for a meeting, they had a quick cuddle instead.

  But what about now? God. This was awful. They’d never had a day like this. She had never, ever looked at her husband and thought, Maybe he doesn’t want me today.

  “How big is the baby?”

  Huh?

  Her confusion must have shown on her face, because he said, “Yesterday you said the baby was the size of a kidney bean. Was that just an estimate or is it actually the size of a kidney bean?”

  She reached for her phone to silence the alarm, but she didn’t lie back down; she sat up, leaning against the headboard. “It’s actually the size of a kidney bean. I found this website where they tell you what size it is at every week of gestation. Poppy seed, sesame seed, lentil, chickpea…and now we’re on kidney bean.”

  He rolled onto one side and propped his head up with one hand. “Seeds and legumes.”

  “Grape is next. We graduate to fruit, I guess.”

  “But it’s always food?”

  “Seems to be.”

  “They could at least make it food that actually tastes good. Like…” He screwed up his face. “A jelly bean. That’s about the size of a kidney bean and vastly more fun. But, really, why does it always have to be food?”

  It was a little unsettling how mundane this conversation had become. And she was due on a job site. Life went on. But he had not acknowledged her apology, not really. He’d said he understood that she hadn’t done this on purpose, but he hadn’t addressed the fact that she’d kept this secret desire of her heart from him. That, as a result, he was stuck.

  “Jay.”

  He’d been staring into the distance like he was thinking really hard, but when she said his name, he whipped his gaze to her.

  “I have to go to meet a contractor. But I need you to understand that what I was saying before is true. I know you didn’t sign up for this. So I’ll…” Oh, God. She could hardly get the words out. The tight, dry throat from last night was back. “I’ll understand if you…don’t want to do this anymore.” It would kill her, but she would understand.

  He moved so fast, she gasped. He was hovering over her all of a sudden, his hands splayed at the juncture where her thighs met her hips. He pressed her down on the mattress. This was one of his moves. Not that he probably thought of it as a move. It was just something he did. Held her down with his hands right there. But he had never done it outside of sex. When they were having sex, it always felt thrillingly possessive. Like he was staking his claim.

  And it did now, too, in a way that was different but no less vehement.

  He got right up in her face as he pressed on her legs. His voice was low but sure. “I did sign up for this. I signed up for you. So I signed up for this.”

  * * *

  “What’s this?”

  Aww, shit. Jay had forgotten to stick the stupid LEGO piece back in his desk.

  “It’s a piece of LEGO.” What were the chances his brother would let that be a sufficient answer? Probably not high, so he added, “It’s part of the dining area in a LEGO camper van.”

  Because, yeah, that would help if his goal w
as to distract Cameron from the fact that he had a piece of LEGO on his desk. He needed to get his shit together.

  But mercifully, Cameron didn’t do more than look at him funny. Then he sank into the guest chair at Jay’s desk and handed over a sandwich. Jay had invited Cam to the office for lunch to tell him that things were okay with Elise. And…well, to thank him for helping him to get his head out of his ass. He just wasn’t quite sure how to voice either of those things now that they were face-to-face.

  “Having a little appetizer?” Cam was moving some stuff around on the edge of Jay’s desk to make room for his lunch, and shit. He’d forgotten to move that, too. That was worse than the LEGO.

  That being an open can of kidney beans. The average specimen of which measured 1.6 centimeters by 0.4 centimeters.

  He knew because he had measured. Asked Patricia for a ruler, plopped a goddamn kidney bean on his desk, and fucking measured it.

  So, fuck it, why not just tell the truth? That would solve his what words to use? problem.

  He reached his fingers into the goopy bean sludge and produced one. After blotting it on a napkin, he held it up. “Apparently this is the size of my baby right now.” He held up the LEGO piece with his other hand. “So is this.”

  If he’d been thinking ahead, doing anything beyond flying by the seat of his pants—which he was beginning to understand was going to be his new normal—he would have expected his brother to give him some shit. Or at least a gentle ribbing.

  He would not have expected Cameron to expel a breath that was sort of a laugh but also sort of…a cry? Shit. Those were tears gathered in Cam’s eyes.

  And they were contagious. Jay swallowed hard. Turned away for a minute to look out the window and get control of himself. Which was why he didn’t realize Cam had gotten up. When he turned back, his brother was right there. He yanked Jay up and hugged him, hard and quick.

  When he pulled back, though, he looked more like the little brother Jay knew. His eyes were twinkling mischievously. “Kidney beans? LEGO? What are you smoking?”