Man of My Dreams Page 8

  Or so I thought. When he does walk in, past the table and straight to the fridge for a beer, he looks flustered and stressed. My giddy mood takes a nose dive. Crap! This isn’t how it started with Uncle Jesse and Becky!

  “Hey, babe. How was work?” Tip toe around the elephant in the room. It’s hidden underneath your shirt for the time being.

  He pops off the cap of the Corona and walks over to me, planting a kiss at the corner of my mouth. I contemplate pulling him in and relieving his stress the good old fashioned way, but he’s already left my embrace before I can take it any further.

  He rakes his fingers through his perfectly, floppy hair, taking a swig of the beer. “Don’t ask. Shitty day and I have to go out of town next week for a few days.”

  Already? Damn, they weren’t kidding when they told him they were throwing him right into it. “Well, you’re home now. Let’s talk about it over dinner. I made your favorite.”

  I slide off his suit jacket, lingering at his broad shoulders, hoping to massage away his sour mood. I don’t want anything to spoil this moment I’ve created for us. All three of us.

  Patting the non-existent bump, I usher him into the dining room and watch as he blinks, taking in the overdone scene. Seeing it through his eyes, I’m kind of embarrassed that I went to all this trouble. What if he doesn’t take the news well? What if this isn’t what he wants?

  I see a faint transformation in his weary eyes as he makes a bee-line for one of the baby lamb chops. “What’s all this, babe?”

  “Oh...nothing.” I suppress a giddy grin. I am failing miserably at this playing it cool thing. There is no way I’m going to make it through an entire dinner without telling him.

  “These are incredible. You went through a lot of trouble, wifey. Let me pour you a glass of wine to go with this feast.”

  And there’s my cue. “Um. No wine for me. Just sit.” My lips tighten as I try to hide my secret.

  He eases into his chair, staring at me.

  I can almost see the wheels turning underneath his trendy, grunge inspired hair style. You can take the boy out of the ‘90s, but you can’t take the ‘90s out of the boy. “What’s up, Mia? You’re acting weird.”

  My lips and throat are suddenly as dry as a piece of too-burnt toast. I lick my lips then nervously nibble on the inside of my cheek. I can’t think of the just-right words to say. If we were older, if I had more time to prepare, I’d have the right thing to say. But that’s not the case now, is it?

  “I’m not acting weird, Dec. I’m...I’m acting...pregnant.” There I said it!

  Declan’s expression has the likeness of a white blank page. Okay, blank isn’t necessarily bad. This can go more than one way. Maybe he’s just speechless, at least he’s not...

  Oh, no! He is.

  His tensing hands stroke the temples of his forehead like he’s trying to knead a piece of hardened cement. When he’s finally done with the painful looking process, he looks at me with flaring nostrils and protruding eyes. The color of his face has gone from a flawless, healthy hue to a terrified, transparent sallow.

  “You’re what?”

  I flinch back in my chair, as if I’ve been slapped by the tone of disgust in his question. “I’m pregnant, Declan. You’re going to be a father.”

  Declan shoves himself away from the table, flying out of his chair. He paces the floor between the kitchen and the dining room. At this rate, he’ll wear out the finish on the hardwood floors.

  “Mia, how could this happen? We’re not ready for this. Why...why would you do this?”

  Um, what? “Are you kidding me, Declan? You think I did this on my own? Hello, it’s called sex and we’ve been having an awful lot of it. I went off the pill because I was waiting for your health insurance to kick in for the new prescription and if you recall you were the one who shot down the idea of condoms.”

  “Because who the fuck wants to use condoms with his wife? You’re the woman, Mia. You were supposed to take care of this kind of thing. We can’t have a baby now. Not yet. We’re not ready. We’re too young!”

  This is exactly how I didn’t want this to go, even though I had the same impulsive, initial reaction to the news. But just like me, he’s bound to come around. Right?

  I make the trip across the room to my irate husband, taking his hands in mine, trying to calm him down the way Grace calmed me down. “Babe, you’re wrong. Everything happens for a reason. This is a good thing, you’ll see.”

  He allows me to hold on for a second, giving me reason to believe that we’ll be okay. But then he throws my hands down, raising his arms in rejection. “No, you’re wrong. How can you say this is a good thing? We can’t have a baby yet.” Declan wears a horrifying look of disgust.

  How can someone so sweet and caring be this tortured by the idea of procreating with the woman he vowed to love until the day he dies?

  “I can’t do this right now, Mia. I don’t want a baby. I don’t want to be a father right now. I have no idea how to raise a kid, how to provide for a family.” He pauses, but I can tell that his mind is still reeling.

  Finally he spits it out without actually finishing, leaving me to figure out the rest. “You need to...”

  I’m suddenly very protective of my blossoming Cara. It’s not like I have another choice right now. She’s planted her budding root in my womb, which made its way right to my heart in the matter of hours.

  “I need to what? If you think for a second we’re getting rid of this baby, you’ve lost your mind. I’m not some knocked-up teenager, Declan. We are a married couple. We have careers, a house. Yes, we’re young. Yes, this is sudden. But we have family and friends who will support us and help us get through it.”

  Get through it. Like I’m talking about a death or a tragedy and not a newborn life. I want to be angry at him, but the overpowering joy of imagining his parents and mine as doting grandparents, Connor as an excited uncle and Grace as an overzealous aunt—these are all precious images. I can’t help but smile.

  “What the hell are you smiling about? I’m not kidding, Mia. I’m not ready for this. It’s too fast. This is all too fast.”

  Whoa, buddy. All. Too. Fast. The three words resonate in my ears like a deafening gong. So I repeat them, this time as a question; and I’m fearful of the answer. “All too fast? Define all.”

  He doesn’t even hesitate or try to spare my feelings. “This. All of it. Everything. We’re still kids ourselves. We were stupid to think we could play house and it would all just fall into place. For Christ’s sake, Mia, I just graduated college. I’m not even twenty-two years old!”

  It’s hard to wrap my brain around what he’s just said. I’ve never seen this side of him…all cynical, uncertain, hesitant. All along Declan’s been the one convincing me that we could do this. “You weren’t worried about how old you were when you proposed to me at the Alibi on stage in front of all of our classmates, were you? Then it all seemed romantic, it seemed right. But now that we’re about to solidify this marriage, take the next logical step, you think you’ve made a mistake?” Life as I know it feels like it’s come to a disastrous ending. The apocalypse, Armageddon, Judgment Day…whatever you want to call it. “God, Declan, why didn’t you tell me this before you put that ring on my finger two months ago? You are such a coward. And an asshole!”

  His inability to look me in the eyes, his silence, speaks volumes. Everything about this night is ruined and cold—the dinner, the ambiance, the mood, the love I thought was stronger than this. How did I not see this before? He was always the one so sure of our future. His hopefulness had me believing that all you need is love. Turns out, now that Declan’s been given a dose of reality he’s acting like a petrified, immature little boy.

  I have the sudden urge to defend myself and our child, but the tears block my voice from making its way out. It’s probably better this way. I have too many irrational things to say. Too much I will probably end up regretting.

  I watch my husband as he ev
ens out his sharp breathing, trying so hard not to erupt with what he must be holding back. He rakes his hands through his hair again, still silent. In this moment, I feel so alone.

  I’d always imagined being overjoyed at the news of becoming a parent and then sharing that news with my husband. We’d talk about baby names, and colors for the nursery, call our families and friends to spread the wonderful news. Today, instead of all that joy, I’m stuck worrying about what comes next. And not in the good, nervous, expectant parent way. Instead of wondering when this baby will be born, I’m stuck worrying if this baby will be born. No! I’m keeping this baby. Whether Declan wants to be a part of his or her life or not.

  As the tears finally free themselves, I get the courage to speak, “What do we do, Declan?”

  He shakes his head, eyebrows arched, emulating the disappointed expression of a parent who’s been lied to. It’s belittling and it makes me cry harder. I am in this alone, but I certainly didn’t get here alone. This baby is as much his as it is mine and we have to figure this out together. Even though, for me, there isn’t much to figure out.

  “I don’t know, Mia. But right now I feel like I can’t breathe.”

  He walks past me, into the kitchen to retrieve his suit jacket from the chair I draped it over. He grabs his car keys from the table and leaves through the back door, turning his back on me and his unborn child.

  I turn over to the bedside table to look at the clock. Three thirty in the morning. My bed is still half empty and my head is still pounding from all the crying.

  I dangle my legs over the bed, unwilling to move. If I had my way I’d stay in this bed forever, but I have to pee. Yup, the pregnancy symptoms have already kicked in. Thank you, baby, for this and scaring off the love of my life.

  I walk into the bathroom, dimly lit by the tiny motion-detected night light. I reach to flip the switch and that’s when I hear the sound of clanking dishes coming from downstairs.

  My first instinct is to grab the aluminum bat underneath Declan’s side of the bed. We live in a good neighborhood—this can’t be a break in. Can it? But just in case it is, I ignore my screaming bladder and tip toe to the door of my bedroom to test the waters. But as I stumble in the dark to my destination, I trip on the bag of Declan’s clothes I packed when I was trying to prove a point to myself earlier. I was proving I didn’t need him and that I could do this alone. But right now, lying scared and hurt on my bedroom floor, I am proving nothing other than how helpless I am without him.

  “Mia?” By the grace of God, I recognize Declan’s voice from downstairs. “Are you okay?” And now it’s getting closer.

  I inch my way up from my embarrassing face plant, kicking the duffel bag aside. Partly because I’m angry at the inanimate object and everything it represents. But also out of shame—I don’t want Declan to see it and think I too gave up on us.

  The bright light from the ceiling fan in our bedroom flicks on, revealing a disheveled Declan and a nice bruise forming on my bare knee. I squeeze my knee while making a wincing, hissing sound. My little trip is going to leave a not-so-little mark. And it already hurts.

  “Babe, are you okay?” Declan, is down on his knees now, assessing the situation. “Are you hurt? What about the baby?”

  The baby! Oh my God, I hadn’t even thought about the baby. When I try to remember the exact details of the way I fell, I can’t seem to recollect if I’d protected my stomach. Maybe Declan will get his wish after all. Now I’m angry again.

  “What do you care about the baby, Declan? You made it pretty obvious that you don’t. I bet you’re happy I fell. Maybe I’ll lose it and we can pretend this night never happened.” I start to cry again, the physical pain of the fall, the emotional pain of my possible loss and the culmination of this whole disastrous night coming to a head.

  “Mia, please don’t say that. I’m so sorry I made you feel that way. I was stupid. I was scared. But right now, the only thing I’m scared of is losing you and our baby.” He frames my face with his hands, wiping away my tears. “I’m sorry, baby. It was an epic mistake walking out on you tonight. I will never turn my back on you, or our baby, again. I love you more than life and I’m in this thing for the long haul.”

  “I’ve never wanted to kiss someone so badly, Mia.”

  Um, me either. His soft, seductive whisper distracts me from the kiss that’s about to rock my world. But not for long. Soon all I can focus on is that mouth.

  He leans in, pinning me to the wall, caging me in strong arms covered by a green and white letterman jacket. My eyes focus on those lips. The refreshing scent of his Cool Water, mixed with spearmint, wafts seductively through the tiny space between us. He slowly licks his delectable lips with his equally delectable tongue and I close my eyes, readying myself for him.

  Before I can make any sense of the myriad of serendipitous emotions tackling my body, my arms curl themselves around his neck and I fall further into our hypnotic first kiss. I’ve wanted this for years and not even the most vivid of my imaginings could compare to this beautiful reality. I am kissing Noah Matheson and he is kissing me back. Finally!

  “Mia, do you know how much I like you? How much I’ve wanted you?”

  I want to scream out “yes,” and tell him that I know exactly how he feels, but I hate that we’ve stopped kissing and talking will just prolong it even more.

  As I inch my lips closer to his, possessing his mouth with mine this time, I utter a barely distinguishable “mmmhmm.” It’s halfway between an answer to his questions and a pleasurable moan. Oh my God! His lips are like heaven. Please don’t let this end.

  And then I hear the buzzing, followed by the unmistakable ring tone I’ve assigned to my husband’s cell phone number.

  Damn it all to hell! Another dream about Noah interrupted by Declan! Declan, the ever-persistent, groveling ex, (or not ex. I’m not sure what to call him these days) who just can’t grasp the concept of taking space.

  I silence the phone and slam it down on my nightstand with an angry thud. Not even a minute later, the phone buzzes with an incoming text message. I pick it up, already knowing what it’s going to say…the same thing he writes every morning since I made him leave.

  I miss you, Mia. Please let me come home. I will never stop fighting for us. I love you!

  I wonder when he’ll take the hint, especially now that I’ve stopped entertaining his requests with my replies of ‘leave me alone,’ ‘you need more time,’ or the more recent, ‘fuck off!’

  Truth is, this is agonizing. All of it. Dealing with the kids alone on a daily basis. Lying to them about where their daddy is. Avoiding the meddling from my parents and in-laws. Dodging phone calls, surprise visits and unexpected deliveries from Declan. And the worst…the pain of trying to ignore the emptiness in my heart. The emptiness only Declan can fill.

  But I can’t give in to the aching loneliness. Not yet. Right now he’s remorseful, regretful even, but that’s not the same thing as knowing what he wants. And a few weeks ago he thought he wanted another woman, someone other than his wife and the mother of his kids. He needs more time to let it all marinate. To decide if he’s sure he can live the rest of his life with just me. If I am enough to make him happy, to satisfy all of his…needs.

  I’ve played around with these haunting thoughts over and over again, but I will not do that today. My girls have suffered for it, and I already promised myself, after a really crappy, grumpy night, that today would be a better day. They deserve at least one present parent, and I’m guilty of not really being here since Declan and I split.

  I hop out of the bed and walk into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. Both girls are still sleeping, so I decide to jump in a quick shower. Seems those are a luxury these days, though few and far between. I reach on the top shelf of the linen closest for a fresh towel and a tiny glass nail polish bottle flies out of nowhere and comes crashing onto the tile floor. Damn it! This shower may have to wait too.

  I’m thoroug
hly annoyed when I look down at the little particles of glass sprinkled across the floor, but I want to scream when I see the dark purple splatters of shimmery paint all over the walls, staining the grout in the tiles, smearing too many surfaces to even think of cleaning this early in the morning.

  “Nail polish?” I yelp, wondering where the hell it came from. And then I remember...I hid it behind the towels, out of their reach, when I found the kids messing around with it last week. In hindsight, their mess probably wouldn’t have been as big as this one. What a way to start a day!

  I try to sop up the spill with a paper towel, but apparently that’s not going to do the trick. The Insta-Dry formula has already started to harden and make itself permanent in places nail polish shouldn’t be permanent. I search the medicine cabinet for nail polish remover and cotton balls, cursing as the towel I placed around my naked body falls to the floor. And then, as if I have nothing better to do at this moment, the phone rings. After looking at the caller ID, I thank God it’s not Declan. I decide to answer when I see it’s Grace. Maybe she can shed some light on this rather inconvenient start to my day.

  I answer, already exasperated, “How do you get nail polish out of grout?”

  “Good morning to you, too. Dare I ask why?”

  “No, don’t. But think of something quick, I’m getting high from the fumes.”

  “Nail polish remover,” she says matter-of-factly as I eye the bottle already in my hand.

  “Hold on a sec, okay?” I place the phone on the countertop and pour the remover on the worst spot before coming back to Grace.

  “Great! Now I really feel high. The girls are going to walk in and find me passed out, naked on the bathroom floor and instead of calling 911 they are going to paint their damn nails!”

  Grace snorts as she laughs and I visualize her holding her belly. The sound is contagious, so I go with it and laugh too. If I don’t I’m going to cry. “It’s actually working. Thanks, Grace.”