Recovery (6 page)

After dinner, I grab the pizza boxes and start carrying them to the kitchen, when Blake steps in front of me, removing them from my hands. Smiling appreciatively, I automatically turn to resume my clean-up of the living room. As soon as I reach the coffee table and start to pick up the paper plates, I hear Blake’s voice booming from the kitchen. “Girls, why don’t you help your mom clean up, huh?” I hate to tell him they’ve already disappeared and most likely won’t reappear until about two minutes before we leave for fireworks at the lake. I
really
need to figure out their super, secret hidey hole. I would like to use it now and then.

“It’s okay, Blake, I’ve got it. It’s just a couple of paper plates.” He pokes his head out from the kitchen, exhaling a long sigh that catches my attention as I’m sure he intended. “Not the point, Alex.”

“I
really
don’t feel like getting into this with you again.” We lock eyes and it’s a long while before he breaks our stare. “Fine. Whatever.” I hear the trash bag shuffling around and rush to grab the plates. On a mission, I speed toward the kitchen, hoping to sneak them in there before he takes it out, and nearly trip over the “Books” box I packed earlier.
“Damn it,”
I hiss. My poor toe is throbbing.

Setting the plates on the counter, my hand remains on the bar, supplying balance while I rub my foot. “Stupid box.” I try to shove it with my pulsating foot which does absolutely no good.
Damn it.

I bend at the waist in preparation to move the box. Wrapping my arms around the sides, I breathe out a long breath before lifting; I have a feeling it’s going to be heavy because I packed
a lot
of books inside. Just when I start to raise my body, I hear, “Alex! What the hell? Let me do that!”

Blake slams the trash bag down and stalks his way over to me and my box. I let go and turn to face him. “Blake, I’ve–”

“Yeah, I know,
you’ve got it
,” he says. “But, if you don’t mind, for my own peace of mind, would you please just let me move it?”

“Don’t you think you’re being a tad overprotective? I mean, I
have
done this child-bearing thing before, you know,” I say, gesturing towards the girls’ bedrooms.

“No. I don’t. At all.” Blake exhales a small breath, trying to calm himself. “Look, Alex. We’ve started this life,
together
. So, we eat together, we laugh together, we sleep together, and now we’re moving boxes
together
. I would like to take
this
one.”

I roll my eyes at his unacceptable use of sarcasm.

Fine.

I let him carry the stupid box. But,
for the record
, I didn’t need him to.

While he takes the garbage outside, I change clothes, now donning my red retro Coca-Cola t-shirt that doesn’t really fit me anymore, black capri yoga pants and flip flops. “Blake, are the girls ready?” I shout from the bedroom.

“Not sure! Let me check!”

Grabbing my purse off the bed, I step into the living room to wait for the magical reappearance of my kiddos from Narnia, or wherever it is they always disappear to. After about five minutes, I’m getting a little irritated.
Fireworks don’t last all night people.

Hearing Blake’s voice once again coming out of Nycole and Kyndall’s room, which evidently is where the
cool
kids hang out now, I once again find myself traveling down the hallway. Stepping towards their room, I hear Kyndall’s sweet little voice next. “This one is of me and Daddy.”

“That’s a great picture, Kyndall. You look so beautiful in it, and your Daddy looks very happy too. You should keep that one out so that you remember to put it in your new room.”

Kyndall stalls a little before answering. “You wouldn’t mind? I mean, if I had a picture of him in the
new
house?” I press against the door to watch their interaction. Both of them are sitting on Kyndall’s bed, with an old photo album she must have found while packing up her room. Her bare feet dangle off the side of the bed while the photo album rests in her lap. Blake sits next to her, watching her intently.

“Kyndall.” When she looks up at him, he takes her hand into his as he speaks. “Please, never, ever think that you shouldn’t have a picture of your daddy.
Ever.
He is, and always will be, your father. I want you to remember him
always
. You can wallpaper your room with his pictures if you want to.” Blake wraps his arms securely around her. Running his hand down her smooth, light brown hair, he adds, “You know, I was friends with your daddy. I think I might have a picture of us when we were kids. If I can find it, would you like to have it…for your room?”

Excitedly, Kyndall releases him and nods her head, smile stretching all the way across her beautiful face. “My two favorite men in the world!” she exclaims. From the loving expression on his face, I can tell her words touch him deeply. He runs his hand down her hair one more time and gently strokes her cheek before standing up. “I’m flattered to be able to be with such great company. You know, your daddy loved you very much and I hope that you know that I love you too. You never have to worry about keeping his memory alive in our house. He was an amazing man and I’m honored to be able to follow in his footsteps in raising you girls.”

As Kyndall moves to embrace him, I step back from the door and hurry towards the living room, not wanting to ruin this beautiful moment, for either of them.

After a few seconds, I call for everyone to meet in the living room and we load up in the car. Blake drives, singing along with the girls to the radio. He says very little to me, I notice, and I’m still upset too. I know it’s probably just hormones, but I feel as though he’s attacking everything I do.

The way I raise the girls.

The way I lift boxes.

The way I pick duct tape off of the floor.

Once we arrive at the lake, I grab the blanket from the back of the Suburban and spread it on the ground. We just barely make it, but,
hey
…we make it.

Taking a seat by Nycole, I watch Blake as he continues to stand, holding onto Kyndall’s hand with Rylie on his shoulders. As the fireworks start, Rylie gasps as they explode over her head. She and Blake point toward the sky and I watch the shimmering light reflecting off her face. Her eyes are almost as wide as her smile, and my heart warms knowing she’s so happy. Blake lifts Kyndall’s hand, pointing and guiding her eyes to a beautiful red, white and blue displays in the sky. When he drops it back down, she leans her head and places it on his forearm as she continues to look at the sky, beautiful eyes widened with excitement and joy.

I glance over at Nycole sitting next to me and put my arm around her. Pressing her head down on my shoulder, I lay my cheek on her forehead as we watch in silence. Halfway through, I glance back up at Blake, who’s in almost as much awe as the girls. The look of wonderment in his eyes makes me grin. Pushing myself off the ground, I stand and move to his side, taking his hand into mine. He smiles, but something’s different. Something is looming between us, and I don’t like it, not one bit.

Sadly, I have a gut feeling that like two pieces of flint rock, the tension filled shift between us tonight ignited a spark, lighting the fuse to our very own Morgan family firework show.

One capable of blowing us
completely
apart.

“Alex, please, let me help you with that,” Blake huffs at me after asking for what must be the twentieth time today. The clanking of the dishes as I stack them reminds me of the uncharacteristically quiet breakfast I just experienced.
Well, not true.
We’ve been having a lot of silent meals lately. The girls still have their stories and usual high-pitched banter, but there’s been an unusual lack of conversation between Blake and I.

My brand new, unimproved husband.
Brand new sucks.

“I’ve got it. Don’t worry about it.” Grabbing the last plate, I throw the fork on top of it and set it on top of the others. I can tell he just rolled his eyes, but I don’t feel like fighting, so I ignore it.

Grabbing the stack of plates off of our brand new kitchen table, I silently carry them into our brand new kitchen, in our
brand new house. While I do, my mind’s bombarded with the same thought over and over.
What the hell is his problem?

Rinsing the dishes in our brand new sink, I find myself lost in my own thoughts. As the warm water cascades over them, removing all remnants of our tension loaded first meal of the day, Blake makes his way into the kitchen, setting the glasses of orange juice and milk right beside the sink. He leans against the counter, right next to me, and crosses his arms, staring at me the entire time. I can feel the green lasers being shot at my head and I fight the instinct to punch him.

“What?” I ask, staring into the sink. As the eggs circle around the drain, my thoughts are drawn to our relationship. Circling around and around. Going nowhere.

He continues his unyielding glare. I can feel my blood pressure rising, which isn’t a good sign. It’s been happening a lot lately. He continues to watch me for a couple of seconds before pushing himself off of the counter. “Nothing, Alex.” He forcefully runs his hand through his hair and lets out a deep sigh before walking out of the room without saying another word.

What the hell
is
going on?

What the hell
has been
going on?

We had been one of those annoying perfect couples that I love to make fun of up until a month ago. But these last few weeks, something’s changed. I know it’s not the girls, or work, or the house. Blake seems only increasingly agitated at
me
. And he won’t talk to me about it.

Welcome to my brand new life.

I shake my head in frustration.
I want to scream my head off
. I want to run up to him, push him, shake him, smack him on the arm…whatever it takes to get him to talk to me. But, I don’t. I just let the frustration simmer in my heart, heating my nerves and raising my blood pressure.

Letting out my own sigh, I finish rinsing off the dishes, and decide to leave them in the sink. I’m just too tired to put them in the dishwasher right now. I’ve been tired a lot lately, which is really weird considering I’m only eighteen weeks pregnant. None of my other pregnancies affected me this way. Wiping my fingers with the dishtowel, I throw it on the sink and move on to my next set of chores. I’m exhausted, but I have to get to them before the girls get home, or they’ll never get done. Resigning to this fact, I head off quickly, hoping to be able to squeeze in a nap afterwards.

Swiping my hands along the top of my yoga pants, the only type of pants I seem to want to wear these days, I shuffle my way across the living room. Harlow’s getting really tired of these babies. She actually told me I couldn’t wear them to work anymore, even after I explained that I’d already bought at least ten pair. So, in an effort to make her
happy
, I traded up for a pair of baggy sweat pants. Now, I get to wear my trusty ol’ yoga pants to the office as much as I want.

I laugh an evil laugh silently to myself.
She’s so easy.

Once I’m inside the laundry room, I raise my hand to flip on the light switch. Nothing happens. I try flipping it again, but still nothing.
Shit.

Well, I’m definitely not asking Blake to fix it. I’ll just have to take care of it later. Practically blind, I feel around for the basket. Once it’s located, I grab it off the washer and start on my clothes collecting journey.

Slowly, I approach the one and only thing I hate about this house, well, except my new mute husband. My nemesis…
the God awful stairs.

This hate started when we moved into our brand new house, and it grows exponentially every day that I become more pregnant. With a whimper of detest, I place the basket under my arm and start the tedious climb. Once at the top, I take a second to catch my breath and continue on to the girls’ rooms.
I really should start working out. Or...