Man of My Dreams Page 7

  “Of course not, babe.” He starts to walk into the house, a motion that’s so normal and habitual, but today watching him do it seems wrong...foreign...like he doesn’t belong here. And hearing him call me ‘babe’ makes me cringe. It’s too familiar, too soon. I can’t help but wonder if he called his whore that—or baby—during a heated moment of passion.

  Tears start to push their way to the surface like a rolling wave ready to break violently. I can’t do this in front of him again. I’ve been weak enough already. Without further thought, I thrust the coffee back into his hand and start to push him out the door. “No. This isn’t happening today. I’m still not ready. I need more time. Just go.”

  He looks at me astounded, completely stunned by my abhorrence to his presence. Is he kidding? What did he expect? A blink of his gorgeous eyes and a cup of Starbucks and I’d be forgiving him for his royal fuck-up? Nope, I’m not as weak as I seem.

  “Mia, please. We need to talk. If you kick me out again...I’ll...I’ll just keep coming back until you hear me out. Please! Don’t make me stand out here begging in front of all the neighbors. I mean, if that’s what it takes to get you to listen to me, fine, but I thought we could do this like adults.”

  Oh, so now he’s insinuating that I’m acting like something other than an adult. “How is someone who was cheated on and had her heart ripped out of her chest supposed to act, Declan? Maybe you should tell me how I should have reacted to the news that my marriage is over!” I’m screaming so loud my own ears hurt. So much for the neighbors not hearing.

  “Mia, our marriage isn’t over. See...this is why we need to talk. Please let me explain. I can’t lose you. I need you to understand.”

  “Why would I want to subject myself to listening to the tale of how you fucked some floozy after lying to me and your daughters about having to work. God, Declan, I’m not sure I can believe anything that comes out of your mouth. How can I ever...”

  “I didn’t sleep with her, Mia.” He lets out a lungful of air, as if he were suppressing his breath since I first opened the door.

  I stare at him in disbelief. Is this the truth? Or more lies? My demeanor softens, slightly. “Declan, how can I even believe that?”

  “Let me in and I’ll explain. Everything. Please. You’re basing this entire thing on half-truths. You deserve to know everything before you make your final decision.”

  I can’t ignore the regret in his eyes. At further inspection of his usually flawless face, it seems weathered, worn, full of grief and misery. Good! I hope the bastard hasn’t slept a wink since his Christmas party. But I can’t deny the fact that I am painfully curious to know if he’s telling the truth.

  “Fine. Come in.”

  Without really knowing why, we wind up in the kitchen. I take a seat at the table. He stands at the counter, leafing through the mail that’s been sitting there unopened.

  “Don’t make yourself so comfortable. And I’ve been making sure the bills get paid. I can get by without you. I’m not as dependant as you may think.”

  He chucks the pile of mail to the side and walks over to join me at the table. “I think you have this all turned around. I never once looked at you as dependent on me. It’s me who needs you. I haven’t been able to breathe these last few weeks. I miss you, Mia. I need you. I love you.” He reaches across the table, trying to touch my hand, but I retract, putting them under the table and out of his reach. I’m not ready to let him touch me and I’m still so very angry.

  “Isn’t it funny how these things work themselves out? A few weeks ago I felt like a worthless, unappreciated housewife with no purpose other than to raise my kids. This time apart has shown me that I can do...this...without you. I was always so afraid of being stripped of an identity without you, but other than the anger and hurt...the house is still standing, the kids are still perfect, and I’m still alive.” Barely. I know this is a lie, but I hope that stings as much as I meant it to.

  “You’re a strong woman, Mia. I never doubted that, but you’re talking about the end when it doesn’t have to be. I’m telling you it’s not how it seems. And if I have to spend the rest of my life making it up to you, I will.” The look of desperation on his beautiful face almost makes me cave. Almost.

  “Then explain, Declan.” Since he spit out the words that he didn’t sleep with her, whoever this her is, I’ve been working up the nerve to listen to what he has to say. I owe it to no one but myself to hear his explanation.

  “Thursday night—the last night of the business trip—we were working late, never even had a decent break for dinner. A few of the guys decided to go back to their rooms to take showers, or rest their eyes before jumping into the next round of brainstorming. Instead of going back to my room, I went down to the bar for a drink. This woman was there, alone and she—before I say anything else, let me preface it for you. Not because I want sympathy, but you need to understand everything. I should have come to you as soon as I felt disconnected, but I kept thinking I was making things up in my head. I don’t know when exactly it started, but things between me and you felt...different, strained.”

  I want to jump up and stop him right there. I blink my eyes, in disbelief. My fists squeeze into tiny balls of fury. I take deep breaths in and out, unable to control the way my body wants to react to the unexpected news that Declan’s been feeling disconnected from me. But instead of interrupting—hell, I have no intelligible words to even interrupt with right now—I let him go on.

  “It’s no excuse. I know that, and I don’t know what I thought I would get out of some insignificant nobody at a hotel bar, but she was there and I was...”

  Okay, now I’ve heard enough. “You were what, Declan? Horny? Stressed? A fucking asshole? This is pure bullshit. I have never given you a reason to think I was uninterested or...strained? Really? I’ve spent the last seven years of my life completely devoted to you. When I met you I was okay with being single and playing the field for a long time. I never wanted marriage and kids straight out of college. It wasn’t the road I was headed on, but you came along and things changed. And I went with it, because you loved me and I loved you and it was all I needed. But obviously, my love for you isn’t enough. I can’t stand to hear you tell me that I wasn’t attentive, or that I gave you a reason to stray. This is your own fucked up problem! I will not sit here and let you put the blame on me!” I’m furious now. How dare he?

  Declan focuses on the vein that’s protruding out of my neck. I don’t need his alarmed stare to remind me it’s there. I can feel it thumping, on the verge of spontaneous combustion.

  He lowers his eyes to his hands now, fumbling and twisting them into uncomfortable-looking contortions. “I’m sorry, Mia. But what you said about this not being your plan—it wasn’t mine either. I never thought I would fall in love with the first girl I ever slept with. I didn’t have the chance to play the field and after meeting you, and falling so hard—I don’t know what you want me to say. Everything happened so fast and...”

  Nothing I haven’t heard before, unfortunately. “Who the hell told you to propose while we were still in college, Declan? My friends thought you were nuts, our parents were worried and I...I was in awe of how mature you were to know exactly what you wanted back then. But now...it’s all coming in to view. The marriage was one thing, but the minute you found out I was pregnant you felt trapped. I can’t believe I didn’t see this sooner. I just thought you were happy, that our little family was enough for you.” My tears stream down my face like a raging river, washing away any trace of the make-up I so carefully applied to please Grace and her scheming. Grace! Once I recover from the turmoil that’s taken place here today, I might have to rip her hair out of her head for subjecting me to this. Some friend.

  Declan is at my side now, his strong, beautiful, familiar arm enveloping my shaky shoulders. I don’t have the energy to push him off, even though his grasp makes me feel like I’m being held underwater, in desperate need of oxygen. He loosens his grip after
a long minute, sensing my unwillingness to respond to his touch, and sits in the chair directly next to me.

  “What I came here to tell you today is that I was wrong. I couldn’t go through with it. I thought I could. She flirted with me and it felt good. I felt wanted—like a twenty-six year old man, rather than a husband or a father for a minute. She gave me her room number and I told her that I had to get back to work, so we decided to meet up the following day to—I couldn’t go through with it, Mia. I just couldn’t. We did nothing more than kiss, and the second her lips brushed mine I knew it was a mistake. I made up an excuse about work and left, and I should have come right home, but I was too ashamed to face you.”

  I won’t lie, knowing that Declan didn’t sleep with this woman is a huge relief. I don’t doubt he’s telling the truth. In fact, the truth pours out of his remorseful eyes, reflected in the shallow breathing he’s struggling to maintain. But the heart of this matter is that Declan has become the prime example of a person wanting a sample of the grass that seems greener.

  I hear him confess about his resentments, only experiencing love with one woman, feeling dead-ended by two small kids at such a young age, a marriage proposal that seemed right at the time but seems hasty and impulsive now. Those may have not been the words he used, but that’s exactly what I heard anyway. No matter how much I want to take him back and pretend like none of this ever happened, I know I’d be a fool to overlook the blaring S.O.S Declan has unknowingly sent out today.

  “What are you thinking, Mia? Please tell me you understand?” I take in his tear stained face—the way the dampness glistens in his overgrown stubble, the way his captivating blue eyes are sullied with bloodshot red—and I want to reach out and heal his hurt. But I can’t. Because my own hurt overpowers everything, and for the first time since that retched night at his Christmas party, I know that what I’ve been putting off is inevitable.

  “I understand, Declan.”

  His downturned lips jerk up with hopefulness. But it’s not for long.

  “I understand that we need some time apart. Everything you said here today...I can’t ignore what you’re really saying. How will I know you won’t feel this way the next time some hot little number walks into your office or if the Starbucks barista flirts with you while filling an order? I can’t live with you resenting me for holding you back. I’m not that girl.”

  Now it’s Declan’s vein that pops out of his thick, red neck. “What? Are you serious? I told you nothing happened. I don’t want anyone else, Mia. I never did...it was a momentary lapse of judgment. These last few weeks apart have been torture. I won’t survive more separation from you, from the kids. Please, Mia.”

  I hate hearing him so helpless, lost, desperate. But I have to do this, as much as it’s tearing me apart to let go of the only man I’ve ever loved. I know this is the right thing to do.

  I want to reach out to him, to tell him it’s going to be okay. That after this time apart things will be clear—we will survive this temporary split. But I can’t, because I’m not sure we will. Temporary might very well turn into permanent. Within the four walls of our French country kitchen, a place usually vibrant with our family’s rowdy activity, a place filled with so many ordinary, yet unforgettable memories, the two of us weep inconsolable tears. I might be making the worst mistake of my life right now, stubborn bitch that I am. But this stubborn bitch will be damned if her husband is going to make her feel like she trapped him, caged him and declawed him of his manhood.

  “Grace, I’m pretty flipping sure it’s two pink lines. Look!”

  “Lemme see,” she says, grabbing the plastic stick from my shaking grip.

  Grace flips the pink box from back to front, then from front to back as if juggling the damn box is going to make the directions any different.

  “Give it to me, Grace! It says it right here...two lines means positive! And this is the third damn test.”

  “Congratulations?” Grace shrugs her shoulders, crinkling her perfectly upturned nose.

  I slump down on the toilet seat, staring at the bright pink lines that seem to be flashing like an obnoxious neon sign. Before I can even control it, I start to cry, lifting my hands and the urine-soaked, evil piece of plastic to my eyes. “What the hell am I going to do, Grace? We’re not ready yet.”

  I couldn’t have painted this grim picture this way even if I’d planned it. And it’s pretty obvious that nothing about this scenario was planned. I’ve been Mrs. Declan Murphy all of two months. This cannot be happening!

  Grace kneels in front of me on the cold tile floor, the mosaic pattern of light and dark blues blurred by my onslaught of tears. I swipe at the droplets, reaching behind me for a wad of toilet paper to blow my runny nose. I search Grace’s face for her true reaction to this unexpected news. I need her strength right now. And if there is one measly ounce of fear, panic, or dread on her always cheery face, I am in for it.

  Set amidst those expressive grey blue eyes, behind the minor detection of concern, I see genuine happiness. And she’s smiling. Not just any insignificant smile but one of those Duchenne smiles I’d read about. According to scientists this is the sincerest of smiles. The kind that reach up to the eyes—in this case, very evident in Grace’s glowing gaze—something about the eye muscles only being triggered by a genuine, heartfelt grin.

  Whatever...she’s obviously happy, why can’t it rub off on me?

  “Mia, this is good news. I know it’s sudden, but—Declan is madly in love with you, your mother made a speech at the wedding about getting started on grandbabies, and I get to be an aunt! Oh my God, I get to be an aunt!”

  I actually feel like I’m disappointing her by not being excited about this. I want to be excited about this, I really do. Grace and I have talked about being mothers since we used to play house as little kids. We always pretended we were sisters, married to brothers, each with a bundled up baby of our own. We dressed them up in the old clothes my parents saved from when I was a baby, strolling them around in little plastic carriages and shopping carts. It kept us busy for hours because those babies never cried, or needed changing, or were unplanned!

  “Grace, Declan’s going to flip. We’re only just starting out. He’s finally working full-time at the firm and he has to put in a lot of time—a lot of travel, to prove himself. And what about my job? I love teaching. I can’t leave those kids.” A million different images flash through my mind. We’re not prepared, this will change everything. But beyond all the fear and doubt, when I hone in on the fuzzy image of a beautiful, pink-faced newborn with Declan’s stunning blue eyes, my fears start to melt away. Things could be a lot worse. I’m a married college graduate who owns a home and has a great job—it’s not the end of the world. I’m pregnant. I’m going to be a mom and I know Declan is going to be an amazing dad.

  With a compelling surge of baby bliss, I suddenly can’t wait to tell him the news. Grace recognizes the shift in my behavior, both of our tears now representing joy. She takes the pee-stick out of my hand, the little plastic nothing that just informed me of the single most life changing moment of my existence, and places it behind me on the tank of the toilet.

  “You are going to be one hell of a mom, Mia Page Murphy! And I am going to spoil the crap out of her, so you better watch out.”

  “Her? It’s a fifty-fifty chance, Grace. A baby boy could be brewing in here.” I point to my belly with the uncontrollable impulse to rub the part of me that contains the little seedling Declan and I have created.

  “It’s a girl. Mark my words. I just know it. You’ve always wanted a girl—your little Cara Jean—and this is her.”

  Leave it to Grace to remember the name I’d picked all those years ago. The miniature doll I toted around was my Cara Jean. Grace’s doll went by Pippi, after her favorite childhood stories of Pippi Longstocking. Something tells me that if it were Grace holding onto the stick with the two pink lines, Pippi would be far from her top ten baby names. But for me, Cara Jean was always
number one. And if Grace is right and this tiny beginning of a baby inside of me is going to be my first daughter, then Cara Jean it is.

  “Come on, Mommy. Let’s think of a way to tell Cara’s daddy.”

  Mommy. Wow, I really like the sound of that. I cannot believe I’m going to be a mom!

  Okay, this is going to sound super cheesy. But I grew up on Full House. I don’t think there’s an episode I didn’t see, or commit to memory. Who doesn’t remember Uncle Jesse and Danny Tanner pep talking DJ or Stephanie about the meaning of life—well their meaning of life anyway—accompanied by corny background music and theatrical, mushy hugs? But damn it if those episodes warped my brain into thinking that everything could be solved by the end of a thirty minute sitcom.

  Like when Becky was ready to tell Uncle Jesse the news about being pregnant. She prepared him a meal of baby shrimp, baby corn and baby back ribs, in the hopes that he would get the picture. Of course, after a whole bit of silly antics, melodramatic misunderstandings and studio-audience ohs and ahs, Becky and Jesse happily accepted that life, or more likely the creators of the show, was turning them into parents.

  Foolproof plan, no? How could I go wrong with replicating a Full House scene? Grace cheered me along the whole time and usually what Grace thought was a good idea, was a good idea.

  The table is set with the china my parents gave me as part of their wedding present, a pair of turquoise candlesticks that we bought on our honeymoon to Greece to match the linens we received from Declan’s aunt and uncle as a housewarming gift, and all the “baby” sized food I could find at the supermarket. I am most proud of my preparation of his favorite: baby lamb chops with rosemary and garlic. Since being married, I’ve gotten used to preparing a nice dinner almost every night, but this screams special, and Declan will know something’s up the minute he walks into the dining room.