30. My Heart on the Kitchen Floor
Chapter 30
My Heart on the Kitchen Floor
Darcy || 4 weeks old, March
T rue to his word, every day since Tatum showed back up at the condo and apologized, he’s been making time to see Hayden. I want to think that he’s coming to see me, but I refuse to let myself believe it. His week-long vanishing act lingers in the back of my head and the idea he might do it again when things get hard roils within me.
When he arrives, he’s never empty handed. Some days he comes with lilies, and he’s brought lasagna—he even asked if we could eat together but I wasn’t ready. I can’t sit across from him and have a conversation, when my heart has hardly even healed from last week.
I’ve been using Rose as a way to get me out of talking to him. She’s been helping me with Hayden and holding me when I cry, she validates my fear and anger towards her son. While I know that deep down she wants to shake us both and tell us not to throw this all away. On the other side of the coin, my mother won’t leave me alone. She calls everyday and when I don’t pick up, she calls three more times. I know she’s fine because she texts afterward, but I can’t deal with her on top of this.
Today, though, it’s just me and Hayden, so when the elevator dings open I take a deep breath and steel myself to face Tate unassisted. Hayden sleeps quietly in his crib so I turn from the kitchen counter to find Tate standing there and looking at me with trepidation in his eyes, a box of diapers in hand.
“Hi. I brought more diapers, I noticed they were getting low.” He sets them on the island and waits.
“Thank you.”
“Could we talk before he gets up?”
“I was actually going to shower before he wakes up if you want to watch him on the monitor app.” I still don’t feel ready to have this conversation, the one where he sits in front of me and tells me all the things I believe and know in an effort to bring us back together.
“Ma-” He stops himself, “Darcy please.”
“I… I can’t Tatum.” I turn on my heel to head down the hallway but before I can breach the entranceway, he’s in front of me. His desperate, hazel eyes shout a million truths that I don’t want to hear right now. I squeeze my eyes shut, warding off the tears and eye contact threatening to break me at this moment.
“Darcy please,” pleads Tate, his voice breaking. I let myself take another deep breath before opening my eyes, but he is no longer standing in front of me. He’s fallen to his knees, his shoulders rising and falling aggressively as he bawls, “Please just talk to me. You don’t have to forgive me today, tomorrow, or even next week. Please just have a conversation with me, my heart can’t handle being iced out by you. I miss you just as much as I missed him. I love you more than I ever imagined was possible and it’s eating me from the inside out that you can’t look at me without disgust in your eyes.”
My resolve is rapidly dwindling as I look down into his eyes, bearing witness to the pain trapped behind them, but something is still preventing me from giving in to him. I can’t bring myself to say anything, just gently shaking my head and continuing down the hallway leaving Tatum and my heart behind on the kitchen floor.