My nipples tighten as I remember the way he touches me, his sighs when he’s inside of me, and the looks he gives me when he’s ready to claim me. Damn, I’ve missed him. My body aches for him by the time I finish bathing. Although we’re not on the best terms, I hope we’re able to reconnect. In a perfect world, we’d make love to reestablish our bond then peacefully hash out our differences. That’s the scenario I hold close to my heart as I wrap myself in his charcoal robe.
It takes me a moment, but I’m able to find the laundry, put my clothes in the wash, and make my way back to the kitchen. I’m starving. I scan the refrigerator, but it’s practically empty save for a few take out containers. I pass on those since I don’t know how long he’s had them. I check the expiration date on the almond milk; cereal is an option if he has some. I check my phone again just in case I missed something while I was showering. Nothing.
Disappointed, I pour the non-descript bran cereal I found into a bowl and take an unenthusiastic bite. Trudy would have fed me by now. If he had groceries, I would have fed me by now as well. Angry or not, leaving me in an unfamiliar place by myself with little to eat, and no correspondence, is disrespectful.
I have my clothes in the dryer by the time he arrives with a deli sandwich and a lame-ass excuse for his whereabouts. My best-case scenario reunion seems highly unlikely, but I don’t want to argue either. The lone sandwich in the bag confirms he’s eaten dinner without me. Falling into old habits, I suppress my sigh and remain quiet. When Wes was in this type of mood, I avoided him at all costs.
I return to the couch and press play on the movie I started right before he showed up.
“You’re welcome.” I hear him mumble, but I ignore that, too. I will not engage his attempts to argue.
Upon inspection, I find sprouts and feta on the sandwich. I rub my face to rein in my irritation, but it doesn’t work. Opting to take my frustration out on the sandwich, I storm back into the kitchen where he’s still standing like a jackass and slam the sandwich into the trash.
“What in the hell is your problem; you need to eat.”
“Don’t act concerned about me eating. If you really cared, you wouldn’t have left me here over five hours with a damn-near empty kitchen. If it mattered, you would know I cannot eat feta or sprouts while I’m pregnant…”
His eyes shoot green daggers as me, and his chest heaves with irritation.
“I don’t know a damn thing about pregnancy because it’s something that was thrown at me. I didn’t have five months to learn the rules.”
“Nothing was thrown at you. You got impatient and followed me. I would have told you at the right time—”
“When was that going to be? After the child was a few years old, so you can cash in on back child support?”
Ouch. That hurts more than one of Wes’ slaps. I look down at my feet. “Damn, I’m stupid. I did it twice.”
“What?”
“Found my way into the home of a rich man who doesn’t want me here.” I move out of the kitchen toward the guest bedroom.
Beau turns red, his anger pulsates off his body. “Don’t ever compare me to—”
Cutting him off, I turn to face him again. “Sara was the lawyer—”
“My wife has nothing—”
“Stop cutting me off!” I half-yell. “Stop looking for a rebuttal to everything I say. Sara was a lawyer, just like you. Both of you were wired to get the last word. Arguing was probably fun for you two. I’m not wired that way. Arguing stresses me out, which isn’t good for a pregnant woman. I’m not negating your feelings. Without knowing the facts, you have every right to be upset. I’d just hoped we could make love and settle this peacefully.” I rub my hand through my hair because it hurts to say it. “If all you want to do is harbor resentment and yell at me, just take me back to where I was living. I’ve already lived the other life.”
I make my way toward one of the guestrooms, ignoring my desire to cry.
“The master bedroom is to the left,” Beau informs me just above a whisper.
I snort and turn right. I can feel him watching me as I enter the guest bedroom, close the door, then lock it. I find the bed in the low light, curl up in the center, and let the tears that have been threatening flow. This is not the reunion I wanted.
Celeste
I wakeup the next morning, tired, hungry, and dejected. The man I imagined Beau to be may not exist. It’s not his anger. He has a right to not be happy with the way he found out about the baby. It’s his willingness to believe the worst of me without asking for an explanation. I may have delayed the information, but we did talk every day once I gave him my number. I thought we were bonding, but I was wrong.
I stay in bed staring at the ceiling until it is impossible to ignore my body. I relieve my bladder although my hunger surpasses my need to pee. I’m certain I can fix one issue. The other may be just as dismal as it was last night. I lean against the door listening for a sign of Beau. I’m not ready to deal with him right now. I crack the door and peek around. The stillness of the house confirms he’s already left for work.
I find my phone charging in the kitchen. I’d left it in my haste to separate myself from Beau. At least he made sure my battery is full, I think bitterly as I disconnect it from the charger.
Beau: I had an early client.
I roll my eyes at the message. It’s the electronic version of leaving a note. Translation: I’m not talking to you, either. I pray this isn’t the new norm. I miss what we had. I jump when the doorbell chimes. I walk as quietly as I can and peek through the peephole. I recognize the security guard from downstairs.
“Yes?” I ask through the door. I have to be overly cautious.
