I can sense the question in that statement. He wants to know why I’m happily married and he’s unexpectedly single when his girl always seemed much more open to a wild and unconventional relationship than mine. Normally when anyone asks me too many questions about Laurelyn and me, I tell him it’s none of his business, but I legit want to help C figure this out, so he can get Zoe back. I can tell it’s what he wants, even if he’s not showing the signs outwardly.
“I don't know exactly how things changed for Laurel and me,” I say. “At the beginning, I expected everything to be my way. I pushed hard at her boundaries to see how she’d react. I wanted to be sure she’d stay in this with me. I probably pushed her farther than I should have. In fact, I’m sure I did. But I also told her the truth. She’s the love of my life.”
I run a hand over the table’s smooth edge. “Kathleen helped me out, too, by telling Laurelyn what I’m like as a family man. That made a difference for sure.” My thumb taps slowly on the table’s edge. “When Laurelyn married me, that was a huge deal for me, in terms of my trusting her to stay. It made me want to earn her trust, too, in all the ways that matter. We’re in this for good, so we’re both trying to give the other person what they need to be happy. She does things for me that she knows are important to me. It’s really fucking sweet. I know I’m not easy to live with, so I try to counterbalance all the demands by doingthings that’ll make her life easier. And to show that it matters to me that she’s all right. Like, I hired a full-time chef who’s on call for us. She was like, we don’t need that. And I was like, I want that in place so there’s no pressure about cooking. She can cook if she feels like it, but the rest of the time that’s covered. Housekeeping too. We keep things pretty clean and orderly, but the heavy duty stuff, I’ve got someone to do it. We’re both working, and a baby’s a lot of work, especially for a woman who’s working from home. When the baby comes, I don’t want her whole life to feel like work. That grinds people down. So I just moved forward with the chef. We tested some people out and now the guy’s living across the street. The groceries, menus, meal prep and clean up are all covered now. There are some ready-made things in the fridge and freezer so he doesn’t need to come to the house until she texts him. But when my sister and mom were over for brunch, all Laurelyn had to do was open the door for them. Eggs Benedict, French toast, omelettes. Whatever they wanted, he made. By a week into having him, the routine is down and she said, when the time comes, the guy says he can make fresh, organic baby food for the kid. So just like that, I’m the wonderful, genius husband who provided the means for her baby to get food with no chemicals in it. That’s something she wouldn’t have had time to do herself while trying to navigate her new life as a working wife and mother.”
C nods. “A personal chef. No wonder you’re popular.”
I chalk my cue. “I working that angle, for sure. Because I am hardcore in the bedroom and she plays along.”
“But how’d you even think to hire a chef?”
“I’m the analyst, so I read a bunch of parenting blogs to see what normal people struggle with and worry about. Then I started coming up with strategies to do what I can to make being a new mom less overwhelming for her. Not that I think she needs me to. She’s really fucking tough. Tougher than I realized. Shenever complains or acts worried. And I guess that makes me want to do even more things. I feel like if she’s not going to ask for anything, it’s up to me to figure out how to help her.”
C rubs his jaw and then nods.
I glance over at him. There’s one thing we haven’t talked about yet. I’m hesitant to bring it up, but I know that if we’re having this conversation, it needs get addressed.
“C, Zoe made it known that there was one thing she wanted. Have you thought about playing that card?”
“No,” he says without looking at me. He examines the table. “The timing wasn’t right. It’s still not.”
I don’t answer because I disagree. She wanted to marry him. He claimed she wasn’t ready for that. She left. It seems to me that the person in the relationship who wasn’t ready to get married wasn’t Zoe. If that occurred to her too, it might be what made her decide it was time to move on.
“C—”
“Come on, let’s play,” he says, nodding at the table.
Apparently we’re done talking about Zoe for the moment. I let it go, but I’d bet someone six figures C’s not done with her, which means no matter how easily he let her leave, they are not done.
Chapter
Twelve
RACHEL
The baby’s fussing wakes me. I frown when I see that I’m still alone in our bed. Sasha has been working late into the night several days this week, body-guarding C. I push the covers back to get up, but then go still when I hear Sasha’svoice through the baby monitor, speaking to Irina in Russian. I smile.
It took months for him to feel comfortable enough to be a hands-on dad. In the beginning when she was so small, he couldn’t be persuaded to pick her up by himself. I blame the nurses on the Labor & Delivery ward. At the hospital, the nurses looked at my gigantic rough-looking husband with his scars and perpetual scowl and grew very concerned. On the day she was born, they talked sternly to us about how fragile the baby was with her wafer thin skull bones that hadn’t completely come together yet to protect her precious little brain. This news hit Sasha as the most dire warning imaginable.
On the drive home, he took only surface streets and drove more slowly than I’ve ever seen. Revisiting the issue of her delicate unfused bones, he murmured in frustration, “It’s a bad design. No protection for the most vital organ? Fucking dangerous. Nature could’ve done better.”
Over the early weeks, nothing I said could persuade him to pick her up himself. Instead he would get situated in a chair with padded arms and would have me place Irina in the crook of his arm like it was a cradle. Then he proceeded tonot move. He would look at her and speak to her gently, and then, when it was time to move her, he insisted I be the one to do it.
“Bones like egg shells,” he said, continuing to guard her so fiercely it bordered on crazy. He didn’t like to see her jostled or jarred. Car rides were approached like presidential motorcades, except rather than just security being considered, particular routes were chosen by the smoothness of the roads and lack of congestion.
I worried she wouldn’t bond with him as well with such limited and careful contact, so I started a nightly routine for all three of us. Before we put her to bed, I curled up on his lap with the baby in my arms and leaned us both against his chest. Shequickly got into the habit of putting a little ear against his chest to listen to his voice as it reverberated through his body while he was talking or reading aloud. When all three of us were curled up together, Irina seemed to settle down faster, so Sasha moved a big leather chair and ottoman into the nursery. Every night, he’d kick back in that chair with us cuddled under a soft blanket on his lap and his left arm around us. Then he read her bedtime stories out loud. It was perfect and sweet and eventually paved the way for more.
We both noticed she likes his voice. Anytime he comes into a room to speak to me, her little brows wrinkle with fascination, and her eyes follow him. He began to sit near her and direct more conversation to her. In turn, she did all the irresistible things babies do, smiling, making excited noises, and reaching. That’s what got him in the end. Her holding out her arms for him to pick her up was something he finally couldn’t resist. One day as I started to walk over to help, he held out a hand for me to wait and then unstrapped her from her protective seat and lifted her out of it. From then on, he carried her around the house constantly when he was home.
Sometimes on Sundays, she spends about ninety percent of the day six feet above the ground, like a baby bird in a nest atop a tree. This arrangement seems to suit them both.
He’s still cautious when carrying her, never approaching the stovetop or oven when they’re in use. He also never wants to give her a bath lest she slip from his hands and bump her precious head. Otherwise though, when he’s home, she’s his constant companion until she’s safely asleep in her baby bed.
I love how much he loves her and how content she is when he’s got her. Which is why at one am, instead of getting up, I curl into the pillows and go back to sleep.
ANVIL
It’s nearly three am,and I’d like to punch Trick in the face. The birth of his kid is still months away and instead of taking his share of late nights, he’s at home asleep. He says that, as always, he’s available for emergencies and any high priority situation, but his days of covering C on a routine night out are over.
