Chapter 18 #2
A minute later, Charley strolls into the living room and hands me one of the sundaes she made, keeping one for herself as she plops down on the couch next to me and swipes the remote off the end table.
“Thank you, but I really could’ve made these for us.”
“Please, I make the better sundae, and you know it.” She snorts. “Besides, you cook dinner every single night. Sweet treat o’clock is the least I can do.”
Turning on Grey’s Anatomy where we left off last night, Charley grabs the blanket off the back of the couch and gets cozy while I do my best to watch the show and not think about how nice it would be to put her legs across my lap, or lean in and wrap my arm around her so she could lay her head on my chest. As much as I don’t want to because I know it’ll do me no good, I can’t help but remember all the nights we spent just like that.
I can’t help but remember the way her head felt on my chest, her arms around my body, her lips on mine.
My heart squeezes at the memory of what could’ve been.
I don’t know how I do it, but I manage to push those thoughts to the back of my mind and immerse myself in this ridiculous show. I’m not ready to admit it out loud yet, but unfortunately, I do see the appeal.
“Hold up,” I blurt out, sitting forward. “So, you’re telling me he’s married? He’s married, and has been sleeping with Meredith Grey this entire time? What?”
Throwing her head back, Charley laughs. “Welcome to the club. This show will fuck you seven different ways to Sunday. Man, I can’t wait for you to cry.”
“What makes you think I’m going to cry?”
“Because everybody does,” she explains. “You’re not immune, I promise you. And yup, Derek is married to Addison.”
We fall into comfortable silence as we watch the episode. I have to keep reminding myself to watch the TV, not Charley.
“Can I ask you something?” Charley asks. Her tone is almost timid, like she’s nervous.
I turn my head and meet her gaze. “Of course. What’s up?”
Her nose wrinkles. “Do you remember that night in the field when we talked about your dream of opening a restaurant?
Like it was yesterday. “Yeah,” I reply instead.
“Do you ever think about that dream?” she asks. “Is it still something you want to do?”
“I think about it all the time,” I say honestly. “And it’s something I do plan to do with time.”
“Yeah?” A smile stretches across her soft face. “You should. I really think you’d thrive and be so happy.”
Breathing out a chuckle, my cheeks heat at the sudden change of conversation in my direction. “Want to know something I’ve never shared with anybody before?”
Her eyes widen and she sits up straighter. “Obviously.”
“Before Megan died, I was taking online business classes,” I admit, my pulse racing, though I don’t know why. “I had a whole five-year plan written out. It was going to happen.”
“And then she died?”
I nod. “Yeah. It just wasn’t feasible with all that I had on my plate. But I’m sure once Ellie Mae gets school aged, I can get back to it.”
“What kind of food would you serve?”
With her head resting on the back of the couch and her legs tucked up underneath her, there’s a gentle innocence to Charley right now that I want to bottle up and keep forever.
My lips curve into a grin. Getting to talk about this with somebody instead of just thinking about it in my head is nice. “A little bit of everything, I think, but a heavy focus on good Southern food.”
“I love that,” she says, and I don’t even have to wonder if she means it. Somehow, I just know she does. “You could do daily specials, like Monday night meatloaf or something.”
“Meatloaf?” My chest rumbles with a chuckle. “Don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy me a good meatloaf, but why is that the first thing to come to mind?”
She laughs, and the sound is like warm sunshine. “It started with an M,” she says, her ice-blue eyes crinkled around the corner. “And I don’t know… Kind of sounds good.”
“Maybe I’ll make it for dinner one of these nights.”
“Yeah, Monday night.” She chuckles. It’s contagious. “Thanks for telling me about the classes and your plans. I like hearing about it.”
My chest tightens, and I have to clear my throat before I respond. “Well, thanks for listening.”
Charley’s quiet for a moment, but I can tell there’s something else she wants to say. Her gaze meets mine before looking away again. “When you say you’ve never told anybody about that, do you mean even…”
She doesn’t finish the sentence, but she doesn’t have to. I know what she’s asking. “Yeah, even Megan.”
“Why?” As soon as the question leaves her mouth, her eyes widen slightly, and she has a total foot-in-mouth moment that’s adorable. “You don’t have to answer that.”
I bite back a smile at the expression she’s wearing before I think about how I want to respond.
Other than the one time Charley not-so-subtly told me I deserved better than Megan, we haven’t talked about her.
Not because I’m against it or don’t want to share anything with Charley, but because it’s an uncomfortable topic to broach.
Not only was Megan my wife, but she was also the reason Charley and I drifted apart when we were younger, because I didn’t know how to be her friend while dating Megan.
Or rather, I didn’t know how to be just her friend.
And now Charley’s pregnant with my kid, so the whole situation feels a little awkward.
“She, uh…” Clearing my throat, I say, “She was never a fan of the idea. It was something I talked about, in somewhat of a far-off sense, when we were in college, but she always looked down on it, so after a while, I quit talking to her about it. When I started making real plans, I made the decision to keep it to myself until I had concrete plans and a decent idea about how it was going to be done.”
Chewing on the inside of her cheek, I can practically see the wheels turning in her mind.
“I know you’ve told me before that y’all weren’t happy, but did either of you ever talk about divorce?
At the risk of sounding insensitive, I guess I don’t understand why you guys stayed together, especially since it sounds like the problems started before Ellie Mae was even born. ”
“You don’t sound insensitive,” I reassure her, because she doesn’t.
Not only is it natural human curiosity, but we’re also having a baby together.
I would be concerned if Charley didn’t have questions.
Nodding, I say, “Yeah, we did—or rather, I did. Megan came from a very traditional family, where divorce isn’t an option, so any time it was brought up, she would say I needed to man up, or that divorce was for cowards.
And don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t all bad.
We had plenty of good times, so it’s not like we were living in complete misery for years.
Then when we found out she was pregnant with Ellie Mae, I think we both thought—and hoped—having a kid would help us find our way back to each other. ”
Charley’s gaze is soft as it holds mine but, thankfully, I don’t see any pity reflecting back at me. “But it didn’t?” she asks.
Shaking my head, I say, “It did not.”
“Do you know how long the affair was going on?”
“A hell of a lot longer than she told me it was,” I quip, offering her a forced smile. “Remember that box I told you about that night at the bar?”
She nods.
“Those date back to at least four years before Ellie Mae was conceived. My guess is that it began back when Landon and his wife were going through a rough time. Megan and his wife were friends, and I think she got close to him during the time they separated because he ended up staying with us for about a month before he found a place to live, and they, I don’t know, maybe bonded over their shitty spouses. ”
Eyes wide, Charley says, “You think it started while he was staying with you guys?”
“I don’t know, maybe? After about a year and a half, Landon and his wife decided to reconcile, and I’m guessing when he moved back home, he might’ve ended things with Megan because, around that time, things got a little better between us.
Things weren’t so tense at home; we were talking more, going out on dates more often, and we were”—I clear my throat—“intimate more frequently, hence getting pregnant with Ellie Mae.”
“So you don’t think she was sneaking around when she was pregnant?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I mean, she could’ve been, but I’d be surprised.
After Ellie Mae was born, she struggled with postpartum depression pretty badly, so when she pulled back from me and was angry more often, I thought it was because of that.
She talked to a postpartum counselor and got on medication, and I think she felt more like herself, but we never got better.
And you know, I probably could’ve done more.
I was so consumed by adjusting to being a dad and working to provide for all three of us, that I didn’t put in much effort to rekindle our marriage either.
Sure, I pushed for her to talk to someone so she could feel better, but I never made much of an effort to… romance her, I guess.”
“Don’t do that,” Charley mutters. “Don’t blame yourself for what she chose to do.”
“But the way our marriage ended up wasn’t just her fault,” I say. “I could’ve done more to be a better husband too.”
Her jaw is tense, and I can see it in her eyes that she wants to say more about it, but instead she asks, “How are you dealing with everything? Despite your troubles, it still had to be hard losing your wife and the mother of your child so suddenly.”
“I’m okay,” I reply honestly. “It was hard at first, mostly because I felt in over my head. Ellie Mae was a little older than six months old, and I was just getting the hang of the dad thing and, suddenly, it was only me.”
“You’re an incredible dad, Graham.” Charley places her hand over her belly before adding, “You were dealt a difficult hand, and instead of letting it consume you, you persevered. That’s admirable. Ellie Mae is a lucky girl to have you, and I know this baby will be just as lucky.”
My cheeks heat, and my stomach dips. “Thank you, but you don’t have to say that.”
“Oh hush, it’s the truth.” She chuckles as she stands and gestures toward the bowl in my lap. “Done with yours?”
“Yeah, but I got it.”
I don’t miss the way she rolls her eyes, or the slight uptick in her lips as she walks past me. After I rinse the bowls and set them in the dishwasher, I grab a glass from the cupboard and fill it up with water, guzzling it while Charley switches off the TV and turns off the living room light.
“Night,” she calls out, waving me off as she starts down the hallway.
“Night, Char.”
Then she gasps and rushes into the kitchen. “Graham…” Coming to a stop in front of me, Charley grabs my wrist, bringing my hand to her stomach. “Peanut’s kicks are getting a little stronger. I think you may be able to feel it finally.”
Charley’s hand covers mine, guiding it to the right side of her stomach. Her blue eyes peer up at me as we both wait on bated breath.
“Come on, baby,” she coos. “Can you let your daddy feel you movin’ around in there?
” Her other hand rubs along the top of her belly.
My heart thrashes in my chest, and when I finally feel a subtle thump against my palm, I’m sure I imagined it until Charley’s eyes dart up to mine.
“Did you feel that?” she asks excitedly.
“I… Yeah, I think I did!”
“It’s such a weird feeling,” she breathes out with a chuckle. “Good weird, obviously. But feeling this little life move around inside my body is surreal.”
“I can’t imagine what that must be like.” My hand is still on her stomach when it happens again. “There they go again!”
Charley’s soft, warm hand covers mine again, and the touch spreads like electricity through the rest of my body. “I think you like hearing Mommy and Daddy talk, don’t you, baby?”
“I think it’s you they like hearing,” I murmur. Charley peers up at me. “You have a very soothing voice,” I add, unease creeping up my spine. What a weird thing to say.
A smirk tugs on the corner of her mouth. “So, what you’re saying is, you like my voice?”
What the hell? I already said something weird, so why not go with honesty? “There’s a whole lot I like about you and, yes, your voice is one of them.”
Her smile turns shy as pink splashes her cheeks. Swallowing harshly, she murmurs, “Good to know.”
As we continue to gaze at each other, the air turns thick, and I wonder if she feels it too.
My hand is still on her stomach, with hers covering mine, and it would be so easy to lean in and kiss her, and god, do I want to.
But then I remember what she said the last time we almost kissed, and I know I can’t.
“Probably for the best.”
My stomach clenches as I drop my hand and clear my throat. “Well, should probably get to bed,” I mutter, taking a step back.
Something passes in Charley’s eyes that I can’t make out before she smiles and nods. “Yeah, me too. I’m exhausted.”
The walk down the hall feels awkward, and so does the wave I give her when she reaches her room. “Goodnight.”
“Night, Graham.”
After I strip down and climb into bed, I stare up at the ceiling, frustration welling up inside of me.
This is torture.
Living under the same roof as Charley, wanting her with every fiber of my being, but knowing I can’t have her. Torture.