Chapter 27
The morning light was gray. Not the nice, cozy, stay-in-bed kind of gray. It was the sad, gloomy, my-heart-is-broken kind of gray.
I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling of my childhood bedroom.
The glow-in-the-dark stars were still there, stuck in the same constellations I made when I was twelve. There was the Big Dipper. And there was the "Aleesha's Sparkly Unicorn," which was just a random cluster of stars that looked like a potato.
Usually, waking up next to Gabriel is the highlight of my day.
I love looking at his sleeping face. He looks less like a grumpy villain and more like a prince who is just very, very tired from ruling his kingdom.
Usually, I would poke his cheek. Boop.
Or I would trace his eyebrows. Or I would whisper, "Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey! " until he groaned and opened one eye.
But today... my finger stayed under the duvet.
I turned my head slowly on the pillow.
Gabriel was asleep beside me. He was lying on his stomach, his face turned towards me, one arm tucked under the pillow. His breathing was deep and rhythmic. The sheet had slipped down to his waist.
And there it was.
His back.
Smooth, pale skin. Muscles that looked like they were carved out of marble. And right there, on his lower back, just peeking out from the waistband of his gray pajama pants... the ink.
N-a-t-a-l-i-a.
The name seemed to be mocking me. It was written in such a fancy, elegant font. Not Comic Sans. Not Times New Roman. It was a romantic font.
My chest felt tight. Like I had swallowed a whole lemon, peel and all.
Who is she?
Gabriel told me he had only one girlfriend before. Was that her? Was she the love of his life? The one who got away? Did she have long hair? Did she know how to drive a car properly? Did she know the difference between a wrench and a pliers?
He is married to me. He put a ring on my finger. But he has her name on his skin.
A ring can be taken off. A tattoo is... permanent. It's needles and ink and pain. You only do that for someone super special.
I looked at his cheek.
Poke him, my brain whispered. It's tradition.
No, my heart whispered back. Let Natalia poke him.
I huffed softly. I carefully, slowly, painfully rolled out of bed. I didn't want to wake him up. I didn't want to look at his beautiful eyes and wonder if he was wishing I was someone else. Someone named Natalia.
I tiptoed across the pink carpet, grabbed my oversized hoodie, and slipped out of the room.
★
The kitchen was warm and smelled like roasted coffee beans and nostalgia.
Mommy was sitting at the small round table, wrapping her hands around a steaming mug of hot chocolate. Daddy was reading the newspaper (he still buys the paper one!), sipping his black coffee.
"Good morning, pumpkin," Daddy said, lowering the paper.
"Morning," I whispered.
I walked over and sat in the chair between them. I pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. I rested my chin on my knees.
Mommy looked at me. She put her hand on my forehead.
"Are you sick?" she asked, her voice worried. "You look... deflated. Like a balloon after a party."
"I'm fine," I lied. Huhu.
I grabbed my favorite mug—the one with a chip on the rim that says 'Don't Talk To Me Until I've Had My Sugar'. I poured hot water from the thermos and dumped three scoops of powdered milk and two scoops of sugar. No coffee for me. Coffee makes me vibrate.
I stirred it slowly. Clink. Clink. Clink.
"Is it the storm?" Daddy asked, looking out the window where the sky was turning a dark, bruised purple. "Don't worry, sweetie. The house is old, but she's sturdy. She's seen worse than this."
I shrugged. "The storm is fine, Daddy."
I took a sip of my warm milk. It tasted sweet, but it didn't fix the hole in my tummy.
I wanted to tell them. I wanted to scream, "Daddy! Mommy! My husband has a tramp stamp of another woman's name! Kick him out! Hit him with the newspaper!"
But I couldn't.
If I told them, Daddy would get his shotgun (which is actually just a very aggressive broom, but still). Mommy would cry. They would think Gabriel is a bad man. And... and I don't want them to hate him. Because even though I am mad and sad and jealous... I still love him.
And he is still my husband.
But who is Natalia?!
I bet she hates pink. I bet she wears black leather and drinks espresso without sugar and knows how to do taxes. I hate her. I hate her so much.
Creak.
The floorboards in the hallway groaned.
We all looked up.
Gabriel emerged from the shadows of the hallway.
He was wearing a fresh black t-shirt and those gray pajama pants. His hair was messy—like, sexy messy, falling over his forehead. His eyes were sleepy and half-lidded. He looked so cozy.
My heart did a traitorous little flutter. Stop it, heart! We are mad at him!
"Good morning," Gabriel rumbled. His voice was deep and gravelly, like rocks tumbling down a mountain.
"Good morning, Gabriel!" Mommy beamed. "Did you sleep well? Was the bed too small? Aleesha kicks in her sleep, I know."
"It was... adequate," Gabriel said, walking toward us. He rested his hand on the back of my chair for a second.
Usually, I would lean back into his touch. Today, I stiffened. I leaned forward, away from his hand.
Gabriel paused. I felt his gaze on the back of my head. He didn't say anything, but the air felt a little colder.
He walked around the table and sat in the chair opposite me.
He looked at the empty table in front of him. Then he looked at the coffee pot.
My instincts kicked in.
Wife Mode: Activated.
I stood up immediately. I grabbed a clean mug. I poured the black coffee. I added one teaspoon of sugar, just how he likes it (even though he pretends he drinks it black, I know the truth!).
I placed the mug in front of him.
"Here," I said softly.
Gabriel looked at the coffee. Then he looked up at me. His eyes were searching my face, looking for the smile I usually give him.
"Thank you," he said.
I sat back down and stared at my milk.
Does Natalia make him coffee?
The thought popped into my head like an unwanted ad.
Maybe Natalia makes better coffee. Maybe she grows her own beans. Maybe she grinds them with her bare hands because she is so strong and perfect. Maybe she makes latte art with hearts and swans and Gabriel's face on it.
WAAAAHHH! NO!
I bit my lip to stop the tears from stinging my eyes. I aggressively stirred my milk again. Clinkclinkclinkclink.
"Is everything okay?" Mommy asked, looking back and forth between us. "It's very quiet. Usually, Aleesha is talking about... penguins or sparkles by now."
"I am contemplating," I said, using a big word to sound serious. "About... coding."
"Ah," Gabriel said. He took a sip of his coffee. "Coding."
He didn't sound convinced.
We ate breakfast. Mommy made pancakes. They were fluffy and delicious, but they tasted like cardboard to me.
Then, the rain started.
Patter. Patter. Patter.
Then WHOOSH.
The sky opened up. It wasn't just raining; it was pouring buckets. The wind howled around the corners of the house, rattling the windowpanes.
"Here she comes," Daddy muttered. He stood up and grabbed a stack of plastic bowls from the cupboard.
Drip. Drip.
A drop of water fell from the ceiling in the living room.
"Gotcha," Daddy said, placing a bowl under it. Plink.
Drip. Another one near the TV.
"Double gotcha." Daddy placed another bowl. Plink.
It was our storm ritual. The house leaked, but we caught the tears.
Mommy yawned. "I think I will go lie down for a bit. The barometric pressure gives me a headache."
"Go rest, Maria," Daddy said. "I'll man the buckets."
Mommy went to their room. Daddy stayed in the kitchen to fix a loose hinge on the cabinet, humming to himself.
That left me and Gabriel in the living room.
I sat on the floral sofa, my legs crossed. I had my laptop open on my lap. I wasn't actually coding. I was watching a tutorial called "Python for Beginners: How to Make the Green Letters Dance" but I wasn't listening.
Gabriel sat down beside me.
Not on the armchair. Beside me. On the small loveseat.
His thigh brushed against my knee.
I scooted away. Just an inch.
Gabriel looked at the space I created. His jaw tightened.
"Aleesha," he said.
"Hmm?" I typed aggressively. Clack. Clack. Clack.
"How was your sleep?"
"Fine."
"You woke up early."
"Hungry."
"You did not wake me."
"Tired."
One-word answers. The ultimate weapon. Take that, Mr. Who Can't Move On from His Ex!
Gabriel sighed. It was a long, frustrated exhale through his nose. He leaned back against the sofa, stretching his arm out along the backrest behind me. He wasn't touching me, but his presence was like a heavy blanket. He smelled like rain and cedarwood and... husband.
I tried to focus on the screen.
If variable X equals Y, then print "Hello World".
If variable Husband equals Tattooed with Ex's Name, then print "SCREAM".
I could feel him watching me. He was watching my fingers move. He was watching my face.
A mischievous, petty idea sparked in my brain.
Mwehehehe.
He thinks he can just sit there with another woman's name on his back and act like everything is normal? No way! Two can play at this game!
I need to make him jealous. I need to make him feel the burn!
I remembered the Eli. The one Gabriel seemed so annoyed about before. The citrus boy.
I took a deep breath.
"Eli," I said loud and clear. "Can you hand me the pen?"
I pointed to the pen on the coffee table.
My heart was pounding. Dub-dub. Dub-dub.
I waited for the explosion. I waited for Gabriel to growl, "Who is Eli? Why are you calling me Eli? I am Gabriel, the King of Darkness!"
I waited for him to grab my shoulders and demand to know if I loved Eli more.
But...
Gabriel didn't flinch.
He didn't growl.
He simply reached forward, picked up the pen with his long, elegant fingers, and held it out to me.
"Here," he said calmly.
"Oh..." I stammered, taking the pen. "I mean... Gabby. Hehehe. Oops."
I looked at his face.
Nothing. No anger. No jealousy. No red-rimmed eyes of fury. He looked... bored. He looked like I had just asked for a napkin.
WHYYY??
Why didn't he get jealous?!
Does he not care? Is he so confident that he knows Eli is just a random guy? Or... does he not care because he doesn't love me? Because he loves Natalia?!
Maybe he's thinking about Natalia right now! Maybe he wishes Natalia was asking for the pen!
I felt my lower lip tremble. I bit it hard.
I turned back to my laptop. I stared at the code until the letters blurred into green blobs.
I hate him. I hate him to the max!
My lips puckered out. My eyebrows furrowed so hard they were practically touching. I typed furiously.
dsjfksdjfkdsjflkdsjf
That is not code. That is pure rage.
"Aleesha," Gabriel's voice cut through my angry typing.
I ignored him. Type type type.
"Aleesha, look at me."
I kept typing.
"What is wrong?" he asked. His voice was getting that edge to it. The dangerous edge. "You have been acting... strange. Since you woke up. You did not poke me. You are avoiding my touch. You called me by the wrong name."
He paused.
"Tell me."
I stopped typing.
The silence in the room was heavy. The only sound was the plink, plink of the rain falling into Daddy's bowls.
I stared at the blinking cursor on my screen.
The anger bubbled up inside me like a soda bottle that had been shaken too hard. I couldn't hold it in. I couldn't be the bubbly, happy Aleesha when there was a giant name stamped on my husband's back.
I spun around to face him.
"I don't know!" I blurted out, my voice high and pitchy. "Maybe you can ask Natalia?"
The name hung in the air.
Gabriel froze.
His eyes widened slightly. His hand, which had been resting on his knee, clenched into a fist.
For a moment, he looked... shocked. Like he hadn't expected me to know the secret code.
"Natalia," he repeated slowly.
"Yes!" I crossed my arms over my chest. "Natalia! The name! On your back! In fancy cursive! Who is she, huh? Is she your girlfriend? Is she your true love? Does she make better coffee than me?"
I felt tears prickling the corners of my eyes. Huhu. Don't cry, Aleesha. Be fierce!
"You have a tattoo," I accused, pointing a shaking finger at him. "A permanent tattoo! You are married to me! But you have her name!"
Gabriel stared at me. He gulped. I saw his Adam's apple bob.
He leaned back against the sofa, running a hand down his face. He let out a long, heavy breath.
"You saw it," he stated. Not a question.
"Hard to miss when you're changing right in front of my glitter lamp!" I snapped.
"Aleesha," he said, his voice dropping to a low, serious tone. "Natalia... is in the past."
I didn't say anything. I just stared at him. The past? That's what they all say in the movies!
"She was... someone I knew. Before. Long before you."
I nodded. Stiff nod.
"We are... no more," he continued, watching my reaction carefully. "It ended years ago. She is... gone."
Gone? Like dead? Or gone like moved to Paris?
"And the tattoo?" I asked, my voice trembling. "Why is it still there? If she is gone, why is her name still hugging your love handles?"
Gabriel blinked. "Love handles?"
"Your lower back muscles!" I corrected. "Why, Gabriel?"
He looked away. He looked at the rain hitting the window.
"I..." He hesitated. "I forgot."
My jaw dropped.
"You forgot?" I screeched. "You forgot you had a woman's name tattooed on your body?!"
"It is on my back," he said defensively. "I do not see it. It is... out of sight, out of mind. I have had other priorities. Business. Survival. You."
He looked back at me.
"I simply... neglected to have it removed. It holds no meaning. It is just ink. Old ink."
I stared at him.
He forgot.
He just... forgot.
I didn't know if that made it better or worse. On one hand, it means he wasn't keeping it as a shrine to his lost love. On the other hand, how do you forget a tattoo?!
I turned back to my laptop.
I didn't answer him. I just pursed my lips and started typing again.
Click. Clack. Click.
"Aleesha," he said.
I nodded. Just a nod. I hear you, but I am not speaking to you.
"Say something."
I shook my head.
Silence.
I could feel his frustration radiating off him like heat waves. He hates being ignored. He is the Boss. Everyone listens to him.
But I am the Wife. And I am mad.
I am going to get a tattoo, I thought viciously. Right on my tummy. Big block letters. E-L-I. Maybe with a heart. And a citrus fruit.
Hehehe. See how he likes that.
Gabriel watched me for another minute. He watched me ignoring him. He watched my angry nodding.
He sighed. It was a loud, exasperated sound.
He stood up abruptly. The sofa springs creaked.
"Fine," he muttered.
I stopped typing, but didn't look up.
"I will get it removed," he announced.
I paused.
"Now," he added.
My head snapped up. "What?"
"I am going to get it removed," he said, adjusting his t-shirt. "Today. Immediately."
"But..." I looked at the window. "It's storming! It's pouring rain! The wind is howling!"
"I do not care," Gabriel said. His face was set in stone. He looked determined. He looked like a man on a mission to destroy some ink. "I will not have you looking at me with... that face. I will not have you doubting."
He walked toward the door where his shoes were.
"I will call Sean. He knows a specialist. It will be gone by tonight."
"But Gabby!" I stood up. "The leak! The floods! Daddy said—"
"I will be back," he cut me off. He looked at me, his dark eyes intense. "And when I return, there will be no name on my back. Only skin."
He grabbed his keys. He grabbed the black raincoat I made him buy (ha! I knew he would need it!).
"Stay inside," he ordered. "Do not open the door for anyone but me."
"Okay," I whispered, nodding again.
He opened the front door. The wind roared, blowing rain into the hallway.
Gabriel stepped out into the storm.
He turned back once to look at me.
"And Aleesha?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't tattoo 'Eli' on your stomach," he said.
Then he slammed the door shut.
I stood there, blinking.
How did he know?!
Is he a mind reader?!
I listened to the sound of the Aston Martin roaring to life in the driveway, fighting the sound of the thunder.
He left. In a typhoon. To laser off an ex-girlfriend's name.
I sank back onto the sofa. I hugged a cushion to my chest. A tiny, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of my lips.
Okay. Maybe he doesn't love Natalia anymore.
But he is still crazy.
My crazy husband.