The Ground Rules: Undone (17 page)

“Where’s the daddy?” I ask Claire.

“He’s gone,” she says simply with pursed lips, not quite looking at me. She sits the little girl on her pink bed, and gives her a tiny little bear to play with.

“Oh, he’s staying at a friend’s for a little while, right?”

She turns to me. “No, he’s gone because he’s mad at the mommy.”

My heart sinks. Sometimes, we underestimate how much children really take in, how much they understand. She’s only seven but she knows what’s going on and it’s probably breaking her to pieces. I should have known, of all people. I’m a kindergarten teacher. I should have known how intelligent and perceptive children really are. And I should have realized Claire and Chloe are not stupid. We can’t hide this from them much longer.

My eyes well up when I ask her,” “Why is the daddy mad at the mommy?”

She pauses for a second, her tiny brows knitting together. “I don’t know,” she says. “But whatever the mommy did, it was really bad.”

Yes…yes it was.

I swallow hard, willing the tears away. I need to be strong for her. “I think we should all go for a bike ride later. What’d you think?”

Her face lights up. “I could practice some more.”

“Yep, those training wheels are coming off, sweetie.”

I haven’t felt the baby move yet, but I’m looking forward to that first little hint of a tug inside me. I’m starting to show and I’ve been wearing loose cotton t-shirts, and shorts and leggings. And I’ve been careful not to be naked around the girls.

I’ve been thinking about the baby so much lately. I’ve also been thinking about names. I’ve even been to the baby store to look at the nursery furniture, the blankets and mobiles, the tiny adorable outfits. The lady kindly asked me if she could help me. I politely declined, happy to just look.

I’m already falling in love with this unborn child.

I’ve been thinking about Gabe too, wondering how he’s doing, hoping he hasn’t turned to Bridget, or someone else. I’m hoping the pain has lessened, and that one day soon, he might be able to forgive me. I haven’t tried to talk to him because I know he needs his space.

He’s been over to see the kids, mow the lawn, and still helps with the house and yard. Despite everything that has happened, he hasn’t completely abandoned me.

But for the life of me, I can’t imagine how this could all work out between us — Gabe and I and the girls…and Weston’s child.

I just can’t see it.

It’s our twelfth anniversary this week. We decided long ago we wouldn’t make a big deal out of anniversaries — no fancy gifts. There are just too many gift (money spending) occasions with birthdays, and Christmas, Mother’s day and Father’s day. What we’ve been doing instead is getting each other cards. He also gets me a girly magazine I like, usually
Glamour
, or
Marie Claire
. And I get him a Mr. Big bar. It’s his favorite and it’s also kind of an inside joke, because he’s such a big guy. I can only find it in this small specialty candy store, but it’s worth the effort. This little tradition saves us a lot of stress and money. I wasn’t sure what to do this year since we’ve broken up. For the first time ever. The first time in twenty years.

And I know he hates me.

The girls are bickering again. This time, it’s over little squares of sticky foam. They both want to stick the gold ones on and I have to play referee again. I tell Chloe she gets to do it because she’s older. That always seems to be my go-to conflict resolution method.

“But it’s not fair,” Claire wails. “Chloe always gets everything. She gets to do everything. And I… I get nothing. Just because I’m smaller. And I’ll always be smaller,” she snaps. “It will
never
change.” Her tears soak the corner of the mosaic princess picture.

Chloe glares at her. “Drama queen.”

“Don’t you dare,” I scold. I take Claire into my arms, squeezing her tight. “I’m sorry. Next time you glue on the gold ones.” It seems so silly to cry over such a small matter, but I know this is what’s important in her little world right now. My heart is heavy as I think about what I’ll have to tell her and her sister soon, what I’ve been avoiding. It will need to be addressed soon and I just know it will shatter them. And I’ll have no one to blame but myself.

I grab a tissue from the box sitting on the coffee table and gently wipe her face. “Here, you don’t want to look all teary when daddy picks you up. You look so pretty.”

Gabe has picked them up for a visit, two or three times so far. I always make sure their hair is combed, their outfits are cute and clean, and their teeth are brushed. As if seeing his daughters looking perfect might trick him into thinking his marriage is perfect too.

I always doll myself up too, wanting him to see me again, to want me again, to look at me the way he used to. I go all out — curl my hair, put on make-up. I wear my most flattering oversized top — the bohemian one with the laced trimmed collar — the one he likes. I even dab on his favorite perfume, a patchouli scented oil. I curl my lashes too. You know I’m really trying to impress when I get the eyelash curler out.

But so far, it hasn’t helped.

He doesn’t seem to see me at all.

My stomach feels heavy when I hear the door. It’s him…about five minutes late, as usual. He’s been knocking since he doesn’t consider this his home anymore. I wish he’d just come in. My hands tremble as I open the door.

I feel the familiar flutter in my belly as he looks at me, for a fraction of a second.

He comes in the house, his eyes glued to the floor. I know he has no intention of talking to me, so I don’t say a word.

Look at me.

The girls come rushing in and make a beeline for him. He kneels and hugs them both. The sight always makes me well up. I turn on my heel, not able to look.

“Come see,” Claire cheers. “We’re working on a pretty picture.”

He comes in reluctantly, dragged in by his pint-sized daughter. I smile at him and he shoots me a thin smile. It’s a start. I’ll grab onto to anything.

He stares down at the hundreds of little squares making up the almost-completed colorful sparkly picture. “Wow, this looks like it needs a lot of patience. It’s a good thing you have mommy here,” he says as he catches my eye.

He sees me. Finally, he sees me again.

This is my chance. I just know it. I need to try to get closer to him.

“How have you been, Gabe?” I venture, my stomach tied up in knots. I know I have to thread carefully. “Have you been well?”

He sneers. “I’ve been better.”

Yes, right.

I inch closer to him. “The girls have missed you.”

He turns to look at me. His gaze travels from my lips down slowly to the red tips of my toes, and back up. Finally, it settles on the scoop of my neckline. “I know.”

He still wants me. I can tell by the way he’s looking at me. I know him too well. I know all his tells.

He wants me.

He still wants me despite everything.

“I’ve missed you too,” I say quietly. “So much.”

He looks away and jerks back. He’s put up his armor, but I’m willing to fight, knock that armor right off.

He clears his throat. “Girls, we should get going now.”

“But Daddy,” Chloe moans. “Can we just finish this? We’re almost done. It’ll just take five minutes.”

He bites his lip. I can tell he’s itching to go. “I’d really like to get going.”

“Please, Daddy. Just five minutes,” Claire pleads. “And then we’ll go. We’re all ready.”

He stares up at the ceiling. “Fine. Five minutes. Not a second more.”

He’s never seemed so large, so stoic, and insurmountable. I look up at him, trying to work out my next move.

He turns on his heel and leaves the living room. “I’ll go wait in the front.”

I follow him to the door. There’s no way he’s shaking me. I know I’m pathetic but I just don’t care.

His gaze is glued to the family photo hung in the front hall. He doesn’t look at me. It’s like I’m a blazing sun, and if he looks at me, even for a second, he might go blind.

“It’s our twelfth anniversary this week,” I remind him, my words soft. “Did you remember?”

He nods, still avoiding eye contact at all costs.

“Look at me,” I beg. “Please look at me.”

He turns to me, his gaze rests on my eyes, and I see a mix of emotions in him; anger, regret, sorrow. So much sorrow. That’s what gets me the most. But there’s also a flicker of desire in his eyes and I hold on to that.

“I got you something,” I tell him.

“Yeah, what?” he says, half-interested. I can see he’s determined to not let me in.

I smile. “What I always get you.”

He smiles and his expression softens.

I close the distance between us. I rest my hand gently on his stomach. I can feel his heat through the thin cotton of his shirt. We both stand still for the longest time. He closes his eyes and takes my hand in his. The warmth and familiar feel of his large hand on mine makes my whole body heat. And I can feel a pressure deep within me.

He pulls my hand off softly. “Please don’t, Ella,” he pleads as his eyes gloss over, soften.

I know I’ve got him. Do I let go? Or do I hold on? It almost feels like a game I’m playing. But it’s not. I want him so desperately and it’s not just about sex. I just want to be close to him again. I love him so much.

“Please come,” I tell him, pulling his hand. “I’ll show you.”

He jerks his hand from mine so fast, it makes my heart jump. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” he snaps. “Bring it to me.”

I bite back the tears. “I-I’m sorry. I just wanted to bring you to the den. That’s where…”

His gaze softens and I can tell he’s sorry he was cross with me. He bites his lip and stares down at the floor, wrecked. “Sure,” he finally concedes. “Let’s see.”

He follows me to the den, tucked at the left side of the house. He stands cautiously by the desk. I open the desk drawer and pull out the card and the chocolate bar. I walk over to him and hand them to him with a smile, my eyes still wet with tears.

He smiles back, a beautiful precious genuine smile. I haven’t seen it in forever and that’s all I need. Even if I can’t touch him.

“Thanks,” he says, looking down at the card. “I didn’t get you anything.”

“That’s okay. I understand,” I tell him. “Open it.”

He winces and shakes his head. “I can’t, Ella. I don’t want to. Maybe I’ll open it at my place, away from you.”

I inch closer to him, and press my hand against his stomach again. I can’t help myself. The pull is powerful. The chemistry between us is still there and still so very strong. “I understand.”

He doesn’t retreat. He just looks at me, like he used to. I know I’ve hooked him. He wants this as much as I do. I don’t know if this is the right thing to do. It seems so very wrong. I almost want him to push me away one last time.

But he doesn’t.

I gaze up at him as I pull up the fabric of his shirt. His eyes darken. I stroke his warm skin, just above the waistband of his pants, the touch of my fingers feather soft. His skin is just as warm and beautiful as I remember. He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t even breathe, it seems. The only evidence of his desire is the darkness in his eyes, the intensity in them.

In one swift move, he drops the card and the chocolate bar in a hard thud on the floor, grabs my face hard with both hands and pulls me to him. His mouth takes mine, his tongue frantically seeking mine. His hands are forceful. His mouth too. It isn’t slow and tender. It is swift, raw, filled with passion. His kiss is hurried, desperate. He sucks my bottom lip between his, bites at it gently. I feel him hard against me. My entire being melts. I’m a puddle on the floor. I don’t want him to ever stop.

He drags his hands to my hair and pulls at it. I trail my hands along his stomach, my nails digging into skin. He grabs the underside of my legs and jerks me up against him. I wrap my legs tightly around him. His actions are hostile but I’m not scared.

I want this as much as he does.

He carries me to the powder room next to the den and flattens me against the wall, my legs splayed around him.

“Lock the door,” I manage to choke out, my breathing labored. I reach out and turn on the fan. I don’t want the girls to hear us.