A Missing Heart(26)

It takes a few minutes before the front door opens, and when it does, it’s quiet, slow, and cautious. She must not realize I’m sitting five feet away on the couch.

“Oh my God, you scared me,” she says, startled, when she does notice me.

“I scared you? I’m sitting here quietly watching TV alone on a Monday night while my wife is doing God knows what.” Yup, I wasn’t going to go there, but I did, and I don’t think I even care right now.

“You knew where I was, AJ,” she explains.

I stand up, needing space, because even the five-foot distance between us doesn’t feel like enough right now. “I knew where you were? Yeah, four hours ago when you told me you were running to your therapist.”

“Yeah?”

“Your therapist. T, how dumb do you think I am?”

She looks at me with question in her eyes. “What are you talking about? Or what are you inferring, rather?”

“Hmm, let’s see here.” I scratch at my chin for a second and narrow my eyes as I look past her and up to the ceiling. “My wife tells me she can’t do ‘this’ anymore. Whatever the hell ‘this’ is. She has a mental breakdown on the side of the road, then runs off to a therapist for four hours and comes home with glossy eyes. You think I’m brand new, Tori? You think I don’t know how this game works?”

Tori’s cheeks brighten, and a red tinge creeps along the side of her cheeks and wraps around the back of her ears. “Are you accusing me of having an affair?”

“Do I have to accuse you or will you just admit it to me and save all the extra work of me prying it out of you.” What other explanation is there? She’s been acting crazy since Gavin was born, she’s running off to her therapist twice a week, random tantrums on the side of the road…yeah, I guess that one does point to an affair…secrets, more secrets, and just…screw this.

“You have no f*cking idea what you’re saying.”

“Keep your voice down,” I tell her. “Gavin just fell asleep an hour ago. Not like you’d need to know that since we both know you won’t be the one getting up with him in the middle of the night.”

“You’re a prick,” she snarls at me. “Do you know how many times a day I have to pump breast milk?”

“I don’t know. I guess it would depend on how many calories you’re trying to burn in a day. That’s the reason you’re doing it, remember? You told me that the day he was born, when all you cared about was the loose skin on your stomach.”

She glares at me for a long minute, probably trying her best to launch a rebuttal, but everything I just said was the truth, the truth spoken from her very own lips. “You are such a prick.” You just said that.

“A prick, or a damn good dad that you are lucky to have for our son?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. I’m ready for this fight, and I’m raging right now.

“Ha,” she laughs. “I’m sooooo lucky. Thanks for knocking me up, AJ. Thanks for saying this was all such a great f*cking idea, AJ. Thanks for not giving two shits about what I want, AJ.”

I grab my plastic cup from the coffee table, left over from dinner, and squeeze the life out of it, hearing it crackle and snap all around. I toss it past her, watching as it hits the wall and bounces back. Just like me, always f*cking bouncing back. I’m like a goddamn Solo cup. Fucking awesome. “Screw you. Just screw, f*cking, you.”

“Yeah, no thanks. Did that one too many times,” she seethes, pausing as she stares me in the eyes, until I understand the meaning behind her terrible words.

“Do you even love him, Tori?” Because, Jesus, you get to be with our son. Today is my daughter’s birthday and I don’t know where the hell she is right now, but I haven’t stopped loving her since the day she was born and yet, I haven’t seen her since then. Love isn’t optional when you put a child on this earth, it should be instinctual. It should be instant. It should be relentless and incredible. It should never have to be pondered.

“What kind of question is that?” she snaps at me, dropping her purse to the ground. Her precious Louis Vuitton purse that must never make contact with a speck of dirt is lying on the floor, right where we all wipe our feet when we walk into the house. Hell has frozen over here, folks!

“It’s a question you should be able to answer without asking me what kind of question it is.”





CHAPTER EIGHT





TWELVE YEARS AGO


“OKAY SON, THE car is packed up. Are you ready to leave the nest?” Dad asks, with a fake grin stretched across his quivering lips. He’s standing in the doorframe of my nearly empty bedroom. Except for the comforter, my desk, bureau, and every poster, trophy, and medal I have hanging from the wall, my room screams kid at college.

Three months ago, I considered giving it all up at the chance of running off somewhere with Cammy, but we were both too scared to do it. Maybe it was partially the adult breaking through our teenage souls as we prepare for whatever the next adventure is in life. Of course, we promised to find a way to see each other whenever possible, for which neither of us have an actual plan in order to make that work, but it felt less painful to say it, rather than goodbye forever.

She’s been gone, in D.C. for more than six weeks now, and every day since then I have been struggling to find a way to make this work. We’ve kept up with the phone calls and texts, but at the same time, there’s something missing too. It would be so much easier to convince myself this will all work out, but part of me wants to endure the pain now so I can go to school and start fresh without pain. Not like it’s that easy, though.