Recovery (7 page)

Walking into Nycole’s room, I turn on the light and as my eyes focus, I involuntarily cringe. I do it every single time I breach her living space. Words cannot express how much I hate the animal print patterns she used to decorate her
entire
room, but, I’m
glad she finally has a room of her own. I know it makes her happy, so I’ll let her keep her horrendous zebra print walls,
for now anyway
.

I bend over and swipe her
peace and love
covered pajama pants and matching cami up from the leopard print rug.

Or is it cheetah?

Jaguar, maybe?

Well, whatever the hell it is, I’m getting out of here ASAP before I’m caught in the middle of a stampede.

Closing the door behind me, my feet instantly become tangled in the pajama trail that Kyndall so lovingly left for fear that I wouldn’t be able to find my way to her room. Leaning over to scoop them up, I laugh to myself. It’s not the location that’s the problem. It’s getting lost upon actual entry. I tend to keep her door closed at all times because her room also freaks me out. Whenever I open it, I feel like I’m looking into Carol Anne’s bedroom from
Poltergeist,
record playing protractor and all. It’s absolute chaos in there! Honestly, I’m scared I’ll get sucked in through the closet and have to go through that nasty membrane jelly crap in order to get out again.

No thank you.

I glance back down at the puppy and kitten covered pajamas under my feet, letting out another sigh. This is the only bad thing about having Tatum watch the girls. They get so excited that they tend to just spontaneously combust, leaving their clothes right where they stand. She called right after our silent breakfast this morning, offering to take them to the movies, and I was more than happy to oblige.
Was
being the operative word. Now I kind of feel like I’d rather have them here to buffer the overwhelming tension between Blake and me, but still, I
am
glad they’re getting their Tatum time. Ever since the wedding they’ve been inseparable on the weekends. She loves them and they love her.

As I deposit Kyndall’s pants into the basket, my eyes make contact with Rylie’s door. The brand new one that has already been decorated with Crayola-colored hearts and smiley faces. I make the decision to skip her room altogether this morning. I don’t have the energy to clean up the tiaras, plastic shoes, wings, wands and anything else she keeps in the trunk that Blake gave her for her birthday. So, like any
decent
mother, I just pretend it doesn’t exist.

Now finished with my clothing pick-up service—
the tips suck by the way
—I retrace my steps back down their hallway towards the stairs.
At least the descent is easier.
I cross back through the living room, snagging a couple of socks on the way and enter our bedroom, where I find Blake excitedly throwing on his black v-neck t-shirt over his faded jeans. I note, before his shirt covers it, the very sexy lines that define his hips. As I metaphorically wipe the drool from my mouth, I glance down at my white “Warning: I Pee When I Laugh” tank top. Harlow gave it to me as a reminder of my
hopefully
temporary state of incontinence.

Oh, I have so many things planned for her pregnancy.

I sure hope we’re not going anywhere because I plan on wearing this getup all day long. In public or private.

Sliding his boots on, he looks up and smiles.
What?
Did I get sucked into Kyndall’s closet without knowing it and now reside in a parallel universe where Blake’s actually smiling again?

He looks down at the basket full of clothes. “Need any help?”

“Nope, I’m fine.” I signal to his boots. “What’s going on? Where are you going?”

His face falls a bit before answering. “I have an errand to run. I’ll be back soon. What time are the girls getting back?”

“They went to the noon movie, so probably around two-thirty-ish, I guess.” I narrow my eyes, still wondering where he’s going. Not that he sees me. He’s halfway down the hall already.

“Cool. I’ll be back soon.” I barely hear him over the clanking of his boots on the wood floors.

“Okay?” I ask because, number one, there’s no way he heard me over the front door shutting so why am I even saying it, and number two, I’m still questioning where he’s so eagerly going.

After a few seconds of staring out the doorway, like an idiot, I let out a yawn. Maybe I’m dreaming. Maybe, I should just go back to sleep.
Yes. Excellent plan, Alex.

I sit down on our brand new bed, and lay back, watching the ceiling fan go around and around as I think and sigh.
More circles.

Where exactly did Blake and I get off of Loving Couple Road and turn on to Distant Marriage Avenue. I shut my eyes because I feel the tears coming.
Damn hormones.
I wipe the first tear as it escapes my eye, but after the tenth one, I just let them fall.

After a long while, I manage to emotionally exhaust myself. Feeling myself drifting to sleep, the last thought on my mind is Blake and his arms around me, bringing me the reassuring comfort and peace that my mind and body long for.

I wake to the blissful noise of my cell, dinging over and over again, reminding me that next week Blake and I head to Dr. Young’s office to find out if we’re having a boy or a girl. Normally, I’d jump up, smile, and set it to remind me again tomorrow.

But not today.

Today, my heart hurts and I can’t seem find it in me to conjure up one bit of excitement.

I miss my husband.

Stretching my arms above my head, I make sure my body is fully awake before hauling my ass off the bed. Finally, when I feel ready to stand, I grab the basket off the floor and open the bedroom door. My eyes immediately make contact with the reason for one of our latest arguments.

Poking my head just barely into the room across from ours, I flip on the light and my chest aches at the barren sight before me. Crib, changing table, dresser…all still in their boxes. Stuffed animals, toys, clothes…still in store bags. Swatches of paint all over the wall. We have been at an outright standoff regarding the color of the baby’s room. He wants light yellow.
Puke
. I would prefer a darker color because I have
serious
issues with pastels for some reason. Always have, always will. Blake, however, is obviously very secure in his manhood, because he loves them.

So, I put my foot down. And that’s where it ended.

The subject has not been broached since and,
obviously
, neither has the room. Shaking my head, I back out. As the door closes, my eardrums are pummeled by the shrieking, squealing, laughing and, of course, arguing of my daughters.

I enter the living room, just barely making out the tops of the girls’ heads over the brand new couches. As they’re excitedly jumping around on their knees, my eyes move to where Blake’s standing with Trace and Tatum, all watching the girls with smiles on their faces. Off in the distance I catch sight of Harlow, who’s also grinning from ear to ear, but when we make eye contact she quickly loses the grin, replacing it with an “
Oh, shit”
look.

I set the basket down on the brand new end table and turn the corner to find out just what the hell is worth the
“Oh, shit”
grimace on my friend’s face. As soon as my toes hit the floor rug, my feet stall and I can move no further. Because right in front of me, my giggling children are playing tug-of-war with:

A
brand new
puppy.

Umm, no. This is unacceptable. When did I agree to this?

This dog better be Harlow and Trace’s dry run at raising a child because I’m pretty sure we don’t have a puppy.
Unless I’m still stuck in that damn parallel universe.

I look to Harlow first, praying I’m right. “Yours?”

No words, just wide eyes and the shaking of her head. Next, I turn to Tatum. “Yours?”

She’s giving me the same response as Harlow, but follows it up with a giggle when she reads my shirt. I turn to Trace, but the man’s intelligent enough to shake his head no before I can ask the question. I can tell he’s stifling a wicked grin knowing his best friend’s about to get an ass chewing. A boyish charm fills his light blue eyes as he casts a glance to Blake.

The puppy yips and I break my stare from Trace to see Rylie petting his tummy while the other two rub his ears. He looks up at me, paws in the air, and I swear he’s smiling. Actually, he
is
kind of cute but, unfortunately for him, I’m immune to cute.

For right now at least
.

I tear my eyes from the golden ball of fur, seeking out the only possible person who could be responsible for this.

As soon as my eyes find his, Blake throws his hands up proclaiming his innocence. “What?”

My eyes triple in size.
I’m sorry. Is it supposed to be an invisible dog? Am I not supposed to see it?

“That!” I shout. The girls look up at me from the floor, all excitement disappearing from their faces.

Harlow claps her hands together. “Alright girls, let’s go get some ice cream,” she says, grabbing her purse and keys off the couch. Trace and Tatum are nowhere to be found.

Smart
.

“Can we bring the puppy, please?” Kyndall pleads. Harlow looks from me to the animal slobbering and shedding all over my rug, assessing the situation, and nods. “Yes, Kyndall. I think that would be best.”

I watch them all scramble out of the living room and race out the door, puppy in tow. Looking back to Blake, I shift my weight and place my hand on my hip, still waiting for my answer. He looks just as pissed as I feel. I can see the blood rushing to his cheeks and feel my face heating as well.

“What the hell, Alex?” My heart rate is increasing to an immeasurable BPM.

“
My dear
,” I plaster a sugary smile on my face, “I don’t remember being consulted about bringing a puppy into this house. I know I’m pregnant and my brain is shrinking on a daily basis, but I would like to think I would have remembered that conversation.”
Or at least I hope so.

“No, you’re right. I didn’t ask you because it would have been pointless. You would’ve shot it down without even listening. Just like you do when I approach you with
anything
having to do with the girls. They
need
this, Alex.”

What? I do not. Do I?

And, for the record, I love puppies. Only evil people don’t like puppies and kittens. If he would have bothered to
ask
me, he would have known this. But I’m much too pissed right now to approach the problem in a civil manner.

“Nice, Blake! Is that what you’re teaching my girls? To avoid issues and confrontation? To just do what you want without considering the feelings of anyone else involved?”

Blake balls his fists tightly, as though refraining from punching a hole in our brand new wall. His face turns a deeper shade of red, his jaw muscles working overtime as he clenches his teeth in anger.

“The puppy stays, Alex. End of story.” We stare at each other for at least a minute. No words are said. Just the glares of two very, very angry people. Tears begin pooling in my eyes out of pure fury; my body obviously looking for another outlet since I’m no longer yelling.

I look down at the red and gold corded rug that separates us. The physical distance between us may only be a few feet, but emotionally he might as well be in China. I exhale a defeated breath.

Raising my head to look at Blake, a single tear runs down my cheek while I speak.

“Fine. I have a
new
house and a
new
baby and a
new
husband who just does things on a whim, without even discussing them with me. Sure, I guess I can take care of a
new
puppy, too. Why not, right? Did you even bother to think, for one minute, about how much time I
don’t
have for house-training and feeding him four times a day and whatever else it may require?”

Anger overtakes Blake’s face as I watch it turn a lovely shade of purple. His boots pound the floor, anger driving him forward until he’s standing right in front of me.

“Bullshit, Alex. I did think about it, and that’s exactly why I got it.
Your
girls, as you insist on calling them, need to learn to be accountable for their actions and should have some type of responsibility. They need to have chores. They should be learning how to do things. Not only picking up their rooms, but around the house too. It’s good for them. They
need
that.” I roll my eyes, releasing more tears.

They do things…kind of.

Blake continues his rant, his expression still saturated with outrage. “So no, it doesn’t fall on you. It falls on them, as
the responsibility that
I
give them since you refuse to give them any at all.”

“Bla—”

“Kyndall is eight years old and you still
fucking
tie her
shoes, Alex!” I wince and take a rather large step away from him. He never swears like that at me.
Ever.

“You coddle them. You’re
exhausting
yourself and it’s completely unnecessary. If you would teach them to clean up their own messes, instead of doing it
yourself, something you seem to be dead set on these days, I guarantee you’ll find yourself a lot less worn out.” Rivers are now running down my face, but I hold his stare. Unable to speak, I watch as he turns to leave, but not before he delivers one last heartbreaking revelation.

“You’re so worried about what
I’m
teaching them?” He shakes his head in disgust. “Maybe you should spend more time worrying about what you’re
not
teaching them.”

Marching out of the living room towards the front door; his words hit me almost as hard as the door he slams on his way out.

With the house now empty, I’m left alone to cry alone...

In my brand new guest bathroom.