The Ground Rules: Undone (4 page)

She fixes me with wide eyes. “What? What did you just say?”

I wince, not wanting to say the words again. “I’m pregnant.”

I’m not sure why I chose to go about it this way — fast and furious. I think I just wanted to get it done with.

She drops her bags on the ground.
Thump. Thump
. “Since when? How far along?”

“About eight weeks.” My gaze is still glued to the bags on the ground. I can’t quite seem to look at her.

“How did this happen?” It’s the exact same question I’ve asked myself about a thousand times. “Weren’t you on the pill?”

I grab her bags and make my way to the closest bench I can find. She takes a seat next to me, a deer-in-headlights look still plastered all over her face.

I tell her everything. And she listens without a word. I think she’s just too shocked to comment. I tell her about New York, the stomach flu, and the doctor’s appointment.

She rests a hand on my knee. “You haven’t told Gabe yet?”

I look away. “I can’t. I just don’t want to mess things up.”

“But sweetie, you really need to tell him.”

I shake my head. “I can’t. This could break us,” I tell her. Does she not realize this? Does she not realize what’s at stake here? “I’m just waiting a few more weeks, and then we’ll see what happens.”

She brings her hand to her opened mouth. “Are you considering…”

I bite back a tear, feeling the lump in my throat grow even bigger. “I don’t think so…”

She winces. “Oh Mirella, I know you…”

The tears finally make their way to the surface. “I know, but there are so many people to consider.”

She wraps an arm around me. “You shouldn’t make this decision by yourself. Talk to Gabe.”

I bury my face in her chest, and hold her tightly. I know if I had a mother, she’d be the one my face would be pressed against today, the one sitting with me on a bench, soaking in my tears. But as it stands, despite the fact that she’s five years younger than me, Gwen is the closest thing to a mother that I have.

CHAPTER THREE

I just can’t see it.

W
e enjoy another delicious dinner at ‘the dunes’ — grilled steak with Portobello mushrooms, a delicious dill potato salad and strawberry shortcake for dessert, made by me. Gwen and I exchange a few glances across the dinner table. I can tell she feels sorry for me, and pities Gabe even more. Her gaze rests occasionally on him as he carries on a conversation with Greg; a laugh here and then, a shrug, a flailing of the hand, his usual casual self. He’s completely clueless, unsuspecting. As far as he knows, we’re finally free of Bridget and Weston, and life is back to normal.

But Gwen and I know better.

I feel like a heavy weight has been lifted off me. It felt so good to finally confide in someone, to let someone in on my secret. And Gwen didn’t judge or preach. She simply listened. Truth be told, I don’t think she quite knew what to say. For once she didn’t have any wise advice. But I sure could have used some. I suppose just having someone to talk to is enough for now.

“So I hear the neighbors two houses down are doing a fireworks display again,” Gwen says, a glass of red in her hand. “We can watch them from our beach.”

“The Smiths,” Greg tells us. “They do it every summer.”

“Isn’t that illegal?” I ask. “Fireworks on residential property?”

Gabe laughs. “Always the rule follower, this one.”

Oh I wish…

If I had followed “The Rules” like I was supposed to, I wouldn’t be in this mess today.

Gabe drains his bottle of beer. “Legal or not, it sounds great to me.”

“We’ll bring lounge chairs and blankets out there,” Gwen tells him. “It’ll be fun.”

Yes…fun.

Just what we all need.

I cuddle with Chloe, wrapped in a cozy purple blanket on one of the lounge chairs we’ve set up on the beach. We have a fire going to keep us warm. Every now and then, Greg adds a log or stokes the fire, keeping it going. We’ve been sitting here for a while, watching the sunset, nursing drinks (virgin for me — but thankfully no one notices) and taking in the beauty before us. For a little while, I almost forget all my problems. But every single time Gwen shoots me a look, the expression on her face reminds me of what I’ve gotten myself into — pity still pools in her eyes.

Gabe and Claire are huddled together in the lounge chair right next to us, under their own blanket, a fleece reproduction of the American flag — very patriotic. Claire is such a daddy’s girl. She absolutely monopolizes him. Chloe doesn’t seem to mind too much. She’s almost at that age where girls start to pull from their dads.

He whispers something in Claire’s ear and she laughs. Her sweet little giggle makes me smile. I kind of wish I was cuddling under that American flag with them. I’ve missed him. He catches my eye and shoots me a wink, almost as if he can read my mind.

The sky darkens, and the voices around us get louder and rowdier. At about ten or so, we are all stunned by the first explosion of lights in the dark sky — a large blue starburst. I, for one, did not expect anything this big from a private fireworks show.

Claire stands tall on the chair. “Wow,” she says with wide eyes.

“Color me impressed,” I say to Gwen.

“Yeah, they always put on quite a show,” she tells me. “They must spend a fortune.”

Burst after burst, the show goes on before us, leaving everyone speechless. The loud conversations and rowdiness a thing of the past. This is the first time we’ve spent the Fourth of July here and I make a mental note to do it again. But then I think, I’m not sure we’ll all be together a year from now. Somehow I can’t picture Gabe and I and the girls…and Weston’s baby. The scene is all wrong in my head — all distorted and odd angles and shapes, as fucked up as a Picasso. I just can’t see it. I feel the familiar lump in my throat as I watch the final display — a series of fast shooting bangs and burst of colors mixing, turning the sky into a work of art.

I just can’t see it.

Gwen takes Claire into her arms. “You look exhausted, sweetie,” she whispers against her ear. “You want auntie Gwinnie to put you to bed?”

She rests her head against Gwen’s shoulder. “Yes,” she mumbles with lazy lids. Her body is limp like a ragdoll’s.

“You too,” Gwen says to Chloe. “Time for bed.”

Chloe gives us a kiss goodnight.

Gabe kisses her on the forehead. “Goodnight, little monkey.”

“Thank you,” I say to Gwen. “We’ll be in soon.”

“Take all the time you need,” she tells us. “Spend all night here if you want. Talk and stuff,” she adds with a tight smile as she sets off toward the house.

I know exactly what she means by ‘talk and stuff’. And I know this is my opportunity but I don’t want to ruin this perfect weekend. But then again, it is almost over — we’re leaving tomorrow morning. Maybe this is the time. But… perhaps I should just wait. I’ve never been so confused.

Gabe buries his empty bottle of beer in the sand. And he studies me. His gaze lingers on me for what seems like an eternity. “Where have you been this weekend, Ella?”

I look up at him, not able to say a word.

“You seem distracted…distant. Are you not having a good time?”

I smile at him. “I am. It’s been the best trip.”

“It’s been great,” he agrees, looking up at the dark sky. And then he turns to me with a playful smile. “But I think it’s been missing a little something.”

I can’t help but smile. I know exactly what he’s saying.

He sits up and pulls off his fleece throw. “You think you have room on that chair of yours?”

I smile at him. “I don’t know…you’re a pretty big guy.”

He laughs. “I think you can make room,” he says with a wicked smile. “I think you want to make room.”

“Oh do I, now?”

He bites his lip. “Oh, you do,” he says as he stands and joins me under the purple blanket. The warmth of his body against mine feels amazing. I hadn’t realized how cold I was.

“Much better,” he says, his eyes glued to mine.

“Much better.”

Suddenly I find myself speechless. It’s so wonderful being close to him like this again. I try to forget about everything else. I just want to enjoy being next to him. He shoots me a playful grin — the kind of smile that says it all. Unsuspecting, he’s so carefree, so happy and it absolutely tears me apart. Maybe just tonight, I can pretend it’s just us two, like it used to be. I can let go of everything else and give him the fun wife he’s known forever. I don’t need to drag him down with me just yet.

I want him to kiss me. We haven’t kissed in ages. We haven’t touched each other in forever. I crave him, and I’m sure he craves me just as much.

He leans in and presses his mouth against mine. His kiss is soft and warm, and perfect. I trail my finger along the rough scruff on his face. I relish the feel of his tongue on mine. This is the kind of kiss which is really hard to stop. I get lost in it and savor it a little longer.

And when the sensation of his kiss travels to my sex, I finally manage to pull away. “You…better be careful…kissing me like that,” I warn him, the words caught between ragged breaths. “That kind of kiss usually leads places.”

His smile is playful. “That’s exactly the point.”

I smile a nervous grin. “We can’t…here…they can see us. Everyone can see us.”

“It’s pitch dark,” he whispers against my ear. “No one can see.”

The feel of his warm hand on the inside of my thigh is very distracting. “I don’t think…” I can’t really see us having sex here and now. Because I know the way I feel. Despite the crushing guilt, my body desperately wants him, craves his familiar touch. I’d lose control — I just know it. And people might
definitely
see that.

“Why don’t we go inside?” I suggest, trying to talk some sense into the man.

His hand slides further north, to the warm crook of my thighs, and I find myself spreading my legs for him. “But we’re so comfy here,” he breathes.

I close my eyes. Now, I can’t seem to move…can’t seem to think straight.

He pulls down the thin strap of my summer dress, and kisses my shoulder softly. “I was thinking about you last night, when Greg and I were playing cards.”

I was thinking about you too.

His tongue trails down my collarbone as his hand presses softly against my sex, over the cotton of my panties. “Remember when we used to play cards in my dorm room in college?”

I smile at the memory. “How can I forget?”

“You used to always win and I’d have to give you a back rub.”

I close my eyes, feeling the pressure building in me. Part of me wants him to take it further and take off my panties. He seems to be taking things slowly. “But you’d always turn it into more,” I remind him with a playful smile.

“I did,” he laughs softly against my ear. “I always ended up fingering you, didn’t I?”

Damn
. He’s officially turning me on. There’s no going back now. “You did.”

His mouth tugs at my ear. “You liked it?”

“I think you know the answer to that,” I breathe, the words almost inaudible. Oh God, I did. I loved it.

He toys with the trim of my cotton panties, playing with me. “Do you still like it?”

“I do,” I tell him, and the words come out high-pitched, almost pleading, like I’m just about to beg.

He trails his finger, skirts the edges of my curls, teasing. “It’s been ages since I’ve done that to you.”

“It has...”

He pulls his hand away and trails it back to my thigh, and I almost want to kill him. He cannot tease me like that.

“You know why I used to do it so much?”

I slide my hand under his shirt and feel the heat of his stomach. He’s not the only one who can play. “Because I liked it?”

He laughs. His breath is warm against my neck. “Well, that too, but it was more because I wanted to get you off before we had sex because…” He laughs — his adorable off-kilter smile stretches wide across his face. “Remember, I only lasted about fifteen seconds back then.”

I smile at the memory. “Yes, I remember,” I tell him, kissing his rough beard. “You’ve definitely improved in that department.”

His hand makes its way back to my panties. “Yeah, but I haven’t had you for so long, I probably wouldn’t be any better tonight.”

I bite my lip. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to…” I trail off and swallow hard.

He smiles, a devilish look on his face. “Finger you?”

I nod a yes and he smiles. I’m not quite sure if he’s being serious or just kidding around, if he’s teasing, but then…

He finally slips his hand under the cotton. His hand is warm and feels rough against the softness of my sex.

I close my eyes at the wonderful sensation of his fingers sliding slowly against me. He stares at me as he touches me. It’s dark, but the moonlight gives off enough light for me to see the expression on his face — intense, playful — I can tell he’s seriously turned on.

He slides his fingers down and presses them inside, hard and deep. “Damn, Ella, you’re so wet.”

“We’ve been…” I breathe, barely able to speak, “talking about this for five minutes... what… did you…”

I grab onto him and slide my free hand under his navel, trailing my fingers along the band of his pants, teasing him. As he touches me still, I undo his fly and reach for him.

He groans into my mouth. “I’ve got a pretty serious stiffy going,” he mumbles against my lips.

My smile presses against his mouth. “Yes, I can see that.”

He presses the palm of his hand into me in long hard pushes, the up-and-down movements of his arm hidden under the blanket.

I just let go. I want to be young and free again…wild. I want to forget about everything else. About all my problems. I want to pretend they don’t exist. I just want to feel pleasure, if only for a minute. I haven’t let myself have pleasure in weeks — I’ve been strong. But in his skilled hands, my body is silently screaming. “Don’t stop,” I whisper.

Any thread of composure I had left is lost as I hold on to him tight, my face buried in the cotton of his shirt. I press down hard against his hand, up and down, feeling the delicious pressure build. I remind myself no one can see or hear us in the complete darkness of the starry night… and I let go. His free arm wraps tighter around me as I’m brought to climax, he buries his face in my hair. My moans are muffled against him.