21. Ellie
Chapter twenty-one
Ellie
I ’m brushing my teeth when Dom joins me in our en-suite bathroom. He steps up to the counter and loads his own toothbrush with far too much toothpaste before he starts brushing alongside me, his eyes finding mine in the mirror before he flashes me a wink.
I can’t help the clumsy smile that takes shape around my toothbrush, and I’m forced to spit the frothy bubbles into the sink. I start flossing, leaning my hip against the counter, turning to face him, and he does the same, still brushing.
I’ve learned to love the simple moments of two lives lived alongside each other, like this one. Quiet, seemingly unimportant moments, easily taken for granted.
But not by me. Not after what happened. Not when I thought there was a real possibility that I might not see any more of them. I wonder if everyone trying to make sense of some traumatic experience feels it. This weight of responsibility to appreciate all the little things, because now everything that used to feel small feels important, and everything I used to stress about feels small in comparison.
We finish getting ready for bed in comfortable silence before Dom turns down the forest-green duvet and beige sheets and I close the matching curtains. Dom turns off the light on his nightstand and I check the baby monitor one more time to make sure Luca is okay before settling under the covers. My brain tells me he’s fine before the intrusive thought jumps out like a fucking jack-in-the-box, and well…an obsessive habit is born.
“Did you finish your puzzle pieces today?” Dom asks. He’d given me about a dozen pieces earlier, my next batch. So far, I’ve been getting a handful of puzzle pieces every few weeks, but this time was different. I haven’t seen any new pieces since Chris and Dee took me to the rage room at the end of January. It’s the end of February now.
“I did, but there was no special piece. No Ellie piece this time?”
He boops my nose.
“Nice try. Here.” He hands me another puzzle piece, based on the feel of it in my hand.
“In bed?” If he could see me—which I’m not confident he can, given how dark our room is—he’d see my eyebrow raised in question.
I thought we were still waiting on sex. We haven’t talked about it lately. Is he bored? Is he tired of waiting? Is he feeling as affected by me as I have by him lately?
Something about sex being taken off the table has made me think more and more about how good it might feel to put it back on the table. Or folded over the table. Or on the edge of the table. Fuck, we should fuck on a table.
“Should have probably waited to turn off the light. Here,” he says, flicking the small bedside lamp on his nightstand.
I turn the puzzle piece over in my hand to find his scribbles.
Talk pillow to me.
“I’m going to need some help here, sweetie,” I say with a laugh, having no clue what this means.
“Ten minutes, Ellie. Every night before we fall asleep, I want ten minutes of pillow talk, without the sex, obviously.”
“Without the sex…for now.”
“For now,” he affirms with a reassuring smile. “I was thinking the other day about all the little things we used to do all the time, like cuddling or even holding hands. I know we’ve both tried to give our relationship a little TLC when we can, when we think of it, but I want intentional time set aside every day, just the two of us. I’m craving this in-between stuff. The stolen moments buried in our too-busy day.
“I think we forgot how to slow down. I want us both to sink into the quieter, unhurried moments together. We’ve been so busy trying to make big, loud memories, I forgot how to listen for the soft ones.
“Then…Christmas morning happened. We only had fifteen minutes. Fifteen uninterrupted minutes together. It made me realize how much we might need that kind of time. So, I’m asking you to gift me ten minutes at the end of the night. Even when we’re tired, even when we have to battle Luca at bedtime, even when your book just got good, or my video game kept me up too late.”
“You’d interrupt my book boyfriend for pillow talk?”
“I would.”
“Ballsy,” I say with a giggle. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Anything. Everything. I just want to hear you. I’m going to make an effort to slow down wherever I can. I want this time for us to slow down together.”
A lifetime ago, we would stay up late, into the early morning, talking on the phone or texting, filling the space between my college apartment and his in the city with banter, jokes, and love.
Then we moved in together and it was all sex and dates and sex and talking and more sex.
Then we got married and Dom found this home for us. Our focus shifted; nesting for our future, figuring out how to be real adults, talking, planning, dreaming, wishing, sharing, and loving.
Then we had Luca, and everything changed. He became our sun, and we orbit around him like two starstruck planets in awe of the force of gravity centering us around the most beautiful, joyful, and perfect little star.
The love between us is still there, but it’s different, transformed into energy spent on critical things like learning to keep a baby alive, playing, singing lullabies, making crafts, tracking milestones, a thousand pediatrician appointments, cautiously introducing allergens, and cringing while your baby tries to learn how to eat solids without choking, and remembering to take pictures and capture memories.
Those little moments between Dom and I just…faded quietly into the background. Like I’m sitting in the front row of a theater, and those special rituals all stepped back, silently finding places to wait in the seats farthest from the stage, bordering the edges of the room, filling up the nosebleeds. Dom and I let these moments get pushed further away until neither of us realized they were missing. The seats next to me are the tasks I can’t ignore, demanding all of my attention and energy.
“This may be my favorite piece yet,” I say, my eyes filling with tears. This man is wholly, unapologetically, unfairly a pile of lovey, gooey, selfless affection. I find myself glowing as he focuses all that energy entirely on me. On us .
“I have one small stipulation I’d like to add, if you agree to it,” I say.
“What’s that, gorgeous?”
I’m almost embarrassed to say it out loud. Embarrassed in front of the man who watched me struggle through gross and way-to-real pregnancy moments, birth insanity, and then postpartum, which is just a science experiment on the human body while hormones have a fucking field day in your system. I force myself to ask anyway, knowing I’ll regret it if I don’t.
“I want you to hold me. I want us to hold each other for the ten minutes.”
The grin that explodes on his face forces any lingering embarrassment to slip away, and I answer his smile with one of my own.
“I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. Of course, Ellie. Get over here,” he demands, opening his arms wide across the bed.
He’s lying on his back, so I throw my leg over one of his and snuggle my head to his chest, wrapping one arm over his waist. I breathe in his freshly showered scent. The smell of his body wash and the comforting scent of him underneath releases all the tension from my muscles as I melt against him. Our bodies taking the same position we’ve lied in together a thousand times over the years, but we’re so different now. Our bodies a little worn, a little softer. Our minds a little scattered, a little tired.
“So, where do we start?” I ask .
“Well, you could start by telling me why I got a text from a rage room offering me a frequent customer card for repeat visitors.”
I laugh, turning my face into his side to muffle the sound for fear of waking the sleeping babe in his room down the hall.
“Dee may have bonded with the owner of the fine establishment that Chris took us to last month, and now we’re friends with her on social media. Dee was trying to help Ms. Ruby with her business page and one thing led to another. Now we’re in a group chat working on how to help her market her business. Ruby doesn’t like to text, so she ignores our messages and keeps calling one of us to fill her in on the conversation. I forgot to warn you that Dee was using all our phone numbers for the test messages.”
“Hmm.” The hum of his chest reverberates against my cheek pressed to his pec muscle. “Checks out. Count me in next time.”
“While we’re at it, why did I get an email confirmation that a package shipped to us from Silhouettes and Sapphire? I looked up the company and I know you’re buying shit from a sex toy website, Dominic.”
I peek at his face, my chin resting on his chest as Dom blushes…actually blushes, sweeping his arm over his face and hiding in the crook of his elbow.
“I’m gonna kill Aiden,” he mutters. “He and Bec were reminiscing about the time Aiden sent a vibrator to her apartment, only for it to accidentally be delivered to her elderly neighbor instead. I might have asked him what website he used. I thought maybe, when we were ready—when you were ready—it wouldn’t hurt to try a few new things. The computer must have auto-filled your email when I ordered…the things.”
An embarrassed Dom is a rare sight, normally so full of confidence, but I love this sheepish version of him as much as the rest. My stomach drops when I realize what he’s implying, a nervous but excited anticipation drawing up my thighs at the idea that Dom was shopping for sex toys.
“That could be fun,” I say.
He peeks at me from beneath his elbow before lowering his arm entirely, his fingers beginning to slowly trail up and down my back in a comforting rhythm. “Really? I don’t want to push you, which is why I wasn’t going to mention it until later. We never have to open them if you’re not interested in trying anything new.”
“Dom,” I say, sitting up and placing a palm on his chest over his heart. “I promise, I like the idea. When the time comes, if it’s too much, I’ll tell you.”
We don’t talk for ten minutes. We don’t talk for thirty. It’s well over an hour later I fall asleep in his arms, listening to the steady hum of his voice. I wake up the next day after a dreamless sleep to find Dom’s already left for work, as usual. I squint in the darkness at the baby monitor on my nightstand. Luca is sleeping peacefully. In the light from the screen, I see the familiar shape of a puzzle piece resting on my nightstand, left behind for me.