4. Dom
Chapter four
Dom
I roll my head from shoulder to shoulder, attempting to shake the unease creeping up my spine. I never know what I’ll find when I step through the door from our garage into our home.
I kick off my shoes, finding the living room empty, and make my way to the kitchen, dropping my stuff on the counter. An echo of laughter reverberates down the hallway.
My heart skips.
Maybe today’s a good day.
Following the sound of an upbeat melody, interrupted by raucous giggles, I find myself at the bathroom door left slightly ajar. I quietly press my palm against the door and slowly push. I cross my arms and lean against the doorway, my grin growing as the sight before me floods every atom of my heart with hope.
Ellie’s sitting on the floor beside the tub, her back toward me, rocking her body from side to side, her arms moving dramatically as she sings an upbeat nursery rhyme Luca loves—one that I always seem to forget the words to causing me to fudge it a little bit every time I sing it. I catch glimpses of Luca’s face as Ellie acts out the lyrics and dances from her seat on the floor, making sound effects, all to Luca’s delight .
He’s beaming at her. He loves his momma so damn much.
I knew she’d fucking rock this. God, I wish she knew it too.
Giggles burst from our infant—soon-to-be toddler—as he claps off-rhythm and reaches for Ellie.
This is one of those moments.
Those moments that I desperately wish I could catch and cement into memory. But there are so many of those now that Luca’s in our life, I know I’ll never be able to hold tight enough for them to outlast the passing of time.
I know it’s a gift to feel this grateful, this happy that I want to remember everything with perfect clarity. But even my happiest memories from the last year are already blurred around the edges—whether from the fog of sleep deprivation or the normal fading of time, I can’t be sure. Either way, it feels like I’m grieving the days as they hurry by, wishing with every pulse in my veins I could slow them down to have more time in the present.
I watch my small family. Observe every detail, soak in every sound, and hold the warmth of this soon-to-be faded memory close.
Luca spots me and squeals.
Yeah, that’ll never get old.
Without hesitation, I storm into the bathroom, matching Luca’s excited squeal with one of my own, reaching for my son and wife, eager to join in the moment before it’s only another foggy memory.
***
“How was work?” Ellie asks as she puts laundry away in Luca’s closet.
“It was fine,” I say from my spot on the floor. Luca squirms as I attempt to dry him off with the towel and wrestle him into a diaper. Ever since he’s become mobile, every diaper change is a battle of wills. If we walk away without getting pee everywhere, it’s a win. “How was today for you two?”
“It was good. My mom came over for a bit. Neither of us could get Luca down for his nap.”
I wince. Shit .
I love my son, but I know bedtime is about to be a fucking shit show since he hasn’t napped today. I don’t state the obvious and neither does Ellie.
Bedtime is a daily source of stress, each of us doing our best to soothe a fussing baby who desperately needs to sleep but only wants to sleep on us and not in his crib.
It’s enough to make me feel insane some nights. And usually enough to cause Ellie and I to argue about one thing or another.
Lately, it feels like I can’t do anything right. Luca only wants her, and if I do manage to get him asleep, the second I lay him down in the crib, he’s crying out only for our cycle of attempts to start over again.
We’re both exhausted, drained, and burned out, leaving us without any energy or patience, unable to shut down any resentment we feel. Resentment that isn’t against each other—and certainly not against Luca—but toward the situation. We’re trying our best, but it’s hard to remember that at three in the morning when you haven’t slept for more than an hour. It’s been like this for almost a year.
“What do you want to do for dinner?” she asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
“I don’t know.”
Luca rolls over again, pulls himself onto all fours, and starts crawling toward Ellie’s feet. I swiftly pick him up and lay him onto a clean diaper, quickly securing the sides before he flails with all his strength and ends up back on his stomach, crawling away again. The clothes can wait—at least he’s got the diaper on.
“What do you feel like having?” I ask.
Her eyes flash to mine, and she huffs out an annoyed breath. Uh…okay?
“You good, El?”
“So do you just want me to figure it out?” She gives me her back while she stuffs more clothes into the closet.
“Uh, no. I was just asking if you wanted anything specific for dinner.”
Why do I feel like I’m already fucked here?
“It’s fine. I’ll figure something out. Can you watch Luca while I get his food ready?”
“Ellie, I can take care of dinner. I wasn’t trying to put that on you.”
I hate this. Things between Ellie and I are…strained. It’s never been like this between us. I’ve never worried about our relationship like I have these past few months.
Every time I feel like we fall into a good rhythm, something comes along to disrupt everything, leaving tension high, our stress levels peaking, and we fall into some stupid, bickering fuck fest and we’re starting over.
I can’t shake this feeling between me and the woman I love more than anything. We keep drifting further apart and I feel helpless to stop it.
The look Ellie’s giving me now tells me that tonight is going to be another one full of passive comments where both of us are just trying to survive the sleep struggle so we can find a second to ourselves to recover from the exhaustion.
I need to fix what’s cracked between us. I want to cross this divide, wrap her in my arms, kiss her, and tell her how much I love her. But every time I get close, Ellie puts even more distance between us. Emotionally and physically. I don’t know what to do here, and while I love her endlessly, Ellie’s not really making it any easier. She won’t talk to me until everything is boiling over.
Like now.
“It’s not about dinner, Dom. Your answers are so clipped, you might as well not even respond. It’s fine. I don’t know. Are you hearing me? Did you hear me say our son didn’t nap ?” She jerks her arms around as she struggles to hang a pair of corduroy overalls onto a clothes hanger before she gives up, tossing everything onto the closet floor and closing the door.
“Is this what our communication is going to be like now? Us coordinating and surviving one day-to-day task to the next with no real substance?” Her voice is pitchy, shaky as she crosses her arms over her stomach.
I want to calm the winds of this brewing storm, but I’m tired, work was a shit show this week, and I can’t seem to pull any patience from my arsenal.
“Ellie, I just got home, and in case you haven’t noticed, our son is a D1 wrestler now. It takes at least seventy-five percent of my brain power to Houdini him into a diaper before he pisses everywhere. Let’s figure out what we’re doing for dinner, and then we’ll talk, I promise.”
Wrong. Everything I just said was very wrong.
Ellie glares at me while she picks up the laundry basket and wordlessly leaves me and Luca alone in his room.
Fuck.
“Looks like Dad screwed up, my guy. Any advice for your old man?” Luca gives me a look that says, psh, you’re on your own before blowing raspberries and spitting everywhere.
Yup, sounds about right.
***
Dinner could have gone better. Ellie mostly talked to Luca, only addressing me or looking at me when necessary.
My stomach sinks knowing it’s only a matter of time before all this unresolved shit between us explodes, but I can’t figure out what I need to do to fix any of it. I don’t know what she needs from me and everything I say only seems to piss her off.
We’re cleaning the kitchen while Luca crawls around his gated play area in the living room, babbling, shrieking, and playing with his toys.
“Hey, come here.” I reach for her hand, hoping to pull her in for a hug, but she shakes off my attempt. “El, I want to apologize.”
“For what?” she says, her voice soft and hollow, and her expectant eyes find mine, waiting for me to go on.
“For not…I mean, you wanted me to say more earlier and help plan dinner and I was focused on Luca. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t get it,” she says, turning away to load another dish into the dishwasher. “I don’t want to talk about this now. Not in front of Luca.”
I get it. She doesn’t want to argue in front of Luca. I don’t want to argue, period. Can’t we just talk about this ?
We both know Luca isn’t going to go down for bed easy tonight, and I can’t wait that long to know what’s bothering my wife.
“Just tell me what I don’t get, please.”
“I said not now. Please,” she whispers, squeezing her eyes shut like she’s holding back tears.
After a moment, I nod, picking up a rag to wipe the kitchen table and clean off Luca’s high chair.
But the night comes and goes as it usually does, and we never get to talk about it or about us. It takes almost three hours to get an overtired Luca to bed and we both crash immediately afterward, only to be woken by him two hours later and start over.
The cycle repeats, and we shove our shit to the back burner…again.
I’m so fucking tired.