Chapter 33
33
ZARA
I turn from my side toward the door and flip the white cover off myself and slip my feet out and into my plush pink slippers by the bed.
The silence from outside is not so silent anymore when I hear a car horn go off. The blaring is what woke me up about ten minutes ago, and it’s still going on. Even when I walk down the steps toward the kitchen, all I hear is that fucking car alarm going off over and over again. “How has no one heard that?” I ask myself as I take orange juice out of the fridge. I shake the plastic bottle and unscrew the top, drinking straight from the bottle. I’m aggravated this is even an option and pissed that I’ve come home and again nothing has been said.
My phone rings from upstairs and I think about running to it, but I drink another sip of orange juice instead. I walk over to the bread box, grabbing a bagel and slipping one in the toaster before walking to the fridge to get some cream cheese. “Let’s see if this is going to go over well today.” I look down at my belly. “It’s fifty-fifty these days.” I can love one thing one day and then the next day not so much. Or maybe I just want to eat toasties in the morning and am too lazy to make them.
The phone rings again from upstairs at the same time the toaster pops the bagel up. I grab a plate and go through with smearing the cream cheese on it. Sitting on the stool after taking a bite of it, I wait until I swallow it to decide how I feel about it. “It’s not horrible,” I tell the emptiness of the kitchen, “not great either.” I take a sip of the orange juice. I finish the whole bagel , and when I walk upstairs, I carry the bottle of orange juice with me.
I put it down on the bedside table beside the phone and see the two calls have been from Gabriel, also with a text message.
Gabriel: Morning, Sweetheart, no picture this morning.
“No,” I tell the phone as I make the bed. “There is no picture this morning,” I mumble. “You want a picture, come and get it.”
I’ve been home for three days, and in the past three days, I’ve been getting miserable and more miserable. I’m just tired of being here alone and tired that he’s doing nothing about it. Nor is he saying anything about it, but neither am I, so I’m pissed off at myself as well. With the hormones from the babies and then myself, I’ve been not that friendly of a person these past couple of days, and I know he feels it.
I pick up my phone and instead of telling him good morning, I stand in front of the mirror, pull my shirt up to show him my stomach, and then send him the picture. “There, done.” I put the phone down before changing out of my clothes and putting on a pair of tights but then feeling like they are suffocating me. So I rip them off, grabbing one of the sweater dresses that have been my go-to, especially since it feels like I double in size every day. The phone rings at the same time I slip on a pair of heels. Walking over, I see it’s Gabriel, which annoys me, and I know I shouldn’t answer but I do. “Hello.” I put the phone to my ear as I walk out and into my office to grab my stuff.
“Hey, Sweetheart.” His voice is soft and comforting, which again I want but then I want it in front of me and not on a stupid phone. “How are you feeling today?”
“Fine,” I answer with one word. It’s been like this for three days now, and every day he asks me if something is bothering me and about everything. I blame it on my being tired and traveling back and forth. Trying to give him the fucking hint that I don’t want to do this anymore.
“Did you sleep okay?” he asks.
“Not really. Someone’s car alarm was going off for about thirty minutes this morning.”
He laughs. “Is that why you are testy this morning?”
“No,” I quickly snap out, “that isn’t why I’m testy.”
“Care to tell me why you are testy?” I can hear his voice wanting to be calm, but at the same time, he’s also getting testy.
“What do you want from this?” I sit on the office chair.
“What are you asking?” he asks, his voice tight.
“I’m asking what do you want from this?” My voice goes a bit high. “It’s pretty self-explanatory.”
“What do I want from this?” His voice is definitely tight, and I can see him talking with his jaw going tight. “Or what do I want from you?”
“It’s the same thing, isn’t it?” My voice goes up a bit.
“It’s not the same thing at all. I’m going to tell you what is so different about it.”
“Please do,” I say sarcastically.
“Here it is,” he snaps. “What I want is to spend time with you. I miss you like crazy, and I mean, like crazy. You aren’t the only one pissed off by this,” he rambles, and I have never heard his voice so tight. “I want you to come back here and be with me. With Colson. With our children. If I could move there and build a life with you, I would. I would do it in a heartbeat. But I can’t. No matter how much I tried to do it, I just can’t. So that is what I want from you. I want to be with you.”
“Gabriel,” I say, his words bringing tears to my eyes.
“So now, I’ll tell you what I want from this.” He doesn’t even give me a second to say anything else. “I want it all. I want everything. I want forever.” His voice trails at the end. “There you have it.” He takes a deep breath. “That’s what I want from this and what I want from you. Now you have to think about what you want from this, and from me, and let me know.” I hear someone calling his name in the background. “I have to go.”
“Okay,” I reply softly, and he just hangs up the phone.
The tears run down my face, one after another, dripping onto the papers in front of me. I pick up the phone and call my mother. “Hey,” she answers the phone, and I try to pretend I’m not crying, but I fail.
“Mom,” I say, “can you come over?”
“I’ll be right there.” I can hear her rushing around on her end. “Are you okay?”
“I just need to talk to someone,” I answer honestly. “I just?—”
“Ten minutes, I’ll be there.” I hear the door shut on her end and get up from my desk, kicking off the shoes and walking back into my bedroom. I get on the bed and lay my head on the pillow and look over at the frames of the babies from my side table. My hand goes to my stomach as the tears run across my face.
The front door opens and then slams shut, and I hear her running up the steps. “Zara!” she shouts my name before walking down the hall and spotting me on the bed. “Oh my God, what happened?” She shrugs off her jacket and scarf, coming over and sitting on the side of my bed, like she used to do when I was sick. “Are you sick?” she asks, putting her hand on my forehead to feel. “You aren’t hot.”
“It’s not that,” I say, wiping my nose with my hand. “It’s just so much.”
“Well, why don’t you start at what got you crying.” She moves my hair off my face.
“Gabriel,” I admit to her. “It’s a mess, Mom.”
“What is, sweetie?” She rubs my arm.
“I’m in love with him,” I share with her, my heart feeling like it’s being crushed.
“Then what are you doing here?” she asks, and I shrug.
“I don’t know.” It’s almost a whisper.
“You need to go to him.” She smiles, and I see her own tears in her eyes.
“Isn’t it too soon?” I ask.
“Says who?” she questions me. “Who says it’s too soon?”
“Everyone,” I answer her, and her eyebrows shoot up. “Like three months ago, I was in love with someone else and getting married to him.”
She laughs and shakes her head. “You have a man who loves you and treats you like a queen.”
“I don’t know if he loves me,” I admit. “He just said that he wants me to be there with him to live with him.”
“So go.” She throws up her hands. “Again, what are you doing here?”
“My life is here.” I get up on my elbow. “But I hate it here,” I tell her. “I hate the noise and the crowds. I hate that I can’t go for a walk in the forest, and I hate he’s not here with me.”
“Oh, you silly girl.” She kisses my cheek before getting up and going to her phone and pulling it out of her pocket.
“What are you doing?” I ask, and she ignores me but puts the phone to her ear. “Baby,” she says, and I know she’s speaking to my father, “you can come upstairs now.” My mouth opens, and I hear the front door open and then close. “We’re in the bedroom.” His footsteps are coming up the stairs.
“Was he really downstairs hiding?” I ask my mother, who just shrugs.
“I left like a bat out of hell,” she says. “He wasn’t going to let me come by myself.”
“Hey,” my father says, coming into the room and looking at me, “what’s going on?” He puts his hands on his hips.
“We are going to need your help to pack stuff.” My mother looks over at him, and I watch his eyebrows go up.
“She’s finally moving down there?” he asks my mother, who nods. “It’s about time.”
“What are you talking about?” I sit up and put my feet on the floor.
“Honey, how in the hell did you think this was going to work with you living here and Gabriel living there?”
“Well—” I start to say, but he cuts in.
“You can’t take his children away from him.”
“I wasn’t taking his children away from him. I live here.” My voice rises.
“Yes, but you love it down there,” he tells me, and I gawk at him. “You are so happy there. Every time you come back home, it’s like you turn all depressed and mopey.”
“I do not,” I defend myself. “I just don’t.”
“You don’t want to be here,” my father states, “so go be there.”
“I have clients here, and I have that big deal I’m working with.”
“So come down on those days and then go back. There is no need for you to be here for weeks on end while he’s there.”
“I wasn’t going to just move in with him without him inviting me there.” I get up and fold my arms over my chest.
He comes to me. “Baby, the man has a child. Do you expect him to leave his child there and come to you?”
“Yes,” I answer selfishly, and my father laughs.
“If he didn’t have Colson, he would be here,” he explains. “Trust me, I know. I asked him.”
“You what?” my mother and I both shout at the same time.
“What?” my father deflects. “I wanted to know where this was going.” He turns to my mother. “She’s having his children. What was going to happen?”
“Don’t you think they should have figured it out?” My mother tilts her head to the side.
“You would think. But him with the ‘I don’t want to pressure her to do anything’ and her ‘I’m independent and I can do things myself,’ where was that getting us?”
“I cannot believe you,” I hiss at him.
“Either way, I’m here, and you have to get packed,” he says as if what he did was okay. “By the way, you’re welcome.” I shake my head and laugh, but still don’t admit he is right. The only thing in my head is getting to him.