Chapter 14
Otto
If I was honest, I wasn’t sure how living with Esther was going to go.
I liked her. She was funny, and she made me see stars when we were in bed, but beyond that I’d been a little skeptical.
I’d never lived with a woman before and I figured there would probably be a ton of shit that came up while we were trying to get used to each other.
Turns out, there wasn’t. Going from barely knowing each other to living together was surprisingly seamless. It was fucking weird.
We spent the week after the wedding just fucking around and having sex.
A lot of sex. We explored the property, and I showed her all the shit I’d done and all the shit I wanted to do to make the place a showstopper.
She searched through the kitchen cabinets and laughingly told me all of the stuff I was missing in order to actually cook a full meal.
We watched movies. Ordered takeout and ate it at the kitchen table.
Rearranged my dresser and closet so she had some room for her things.
We never ran out of shit to talk about. School, our families, memories of our childhoods, favorite foods, the baby, the house, it was getting to know someone in fast-forward and thank Christ, the more I knew about Esther, the better I liked her.
She’d grown up with an abusive dad and a doormat mom, a brother that her parents thought walked on water, and a little sister that was treated like a princess, and she never said it but I had a feeling that she’d gotten a little lost in the middle.
Ironically, it may have been the thing that saved her from being completely indoctrinated into their way of life.
She’d been able to skate past, quietly making her own decisions and coming to her own conclusions.
I really fucking liked her. So, I was imagining that it would be smooth sailing and I was patting myself on the back when I got to work the Monday after our honeymoon week.
“You’re late,” Rumi yelled as I strode in, practically strutting. Morning sex was a really nice benefit of living with someone.
“Nobody gives a fuck,” I countered, grabbing my coveralls.
“How’d the honeymoon go?” he asked, walking over. “Find out she’s got a tail or anything?”
“Think I woulda noticed a tail the first time around,” I muttered. He was such an ass.
“Come on, baby brother,” he joked, leaning against the car in my bay. “Speak. Was it everything you hoped for? Shit workin’ out?”
“It’s good.” I shrugged.
“That’s it?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“That married sex is fuckin’ incredible, that havin’ a wife is the best thing ever, that Esther cooks like a fuckin’ Michelin chef, I don’t know, man, somethin’.”
“Not talkin’ to you about our sex life,” I replied, lifting one finger. “I’ve been married for a week, if you want to talk about married life go ask literally anyone else.” I lifted a second finger and then a third. “And we’ve been gettin’ takeout.”
Rumi laughed. “You’re a fuckin’ joy to be around, you know that?”
“Don’t you have someone else to bother?”
“No one else that just got married,” he replied, pushing my shoulder. “Come on, how’s it been?”
I sighed. He wasn’t going to let up until I gave him something. Rumi was worse than the women when it came to gossiping.
“The sex is fantastic, which wasn’t surprising because it was good the first time.”
Rumi whooped, and I shook my head. He was such a fucking child.
“I like Esther,” he said, pointing at me. “She seems super fuckin’ nice and she doesn’t take your shit.”
“What shit?”
“This whole pissed-in-my-cereal attitude you’ve had since you were five. She doesn’t even seem to notice it.”
“I don’t have an attitude.”
“Boy, you’ve had an attitude since the womb,” my dad countered as he rounded the car. “How’s things?”
“All good.”
“We’ve been watchin’ the Sons of Calgary all week, and no one’s fuckin’ movin’,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Goin’ around actin’ like they don’t have thousands of dollars in stolen weapons stashed somewhere.”
“It’s been a real bore,” Rumi added, scratching absently at the side of his face.
“Esther hasn’t had any problems? Not tryin’ to call home or anythin’?”
“How would she?” I asked. “She’s been at the house this week. No phone, remember?”
“You still haven’t gotten her a phone?” Rumi asked in disbelief, standing up straight.
“What?” I looked at him and then my dad. “We didn’t even leave the house.”
“You’re here.” Dad was frowning.
“And?”
“You left her at your house in the boonies with no phone,” Rumi muttered.
“She’s fine. She’s at my place,” I shot back defensively.
“Son, she needs a phone.”
“I’ll get her one.”
“Today,” my dad ordered. “For fuck’s sake, she’s pregnant.”
“Yeah, I’m aware of that.” I’d explored the little curve of her belly more times than I could count in the last week.
“What the fuck’s she supposed to do in an emergency?” Rumi asked. His look of disbelief had morphed into a glare that made me even more defensive.
“She’s fine.”
“At least this cabin has electricity and runnin’ water,” he scoffed, shaking his head. “I’ll give you that.”
“Say what?” I barked, taking a step forward.
“She a fuckin’ prisoner or your wife?”
“Jesus Christ,” my dad muttered, shoving me back a step. “The two of you are on my last goddamn nerve. Knock it off.”
“I’m gonna get her a phone.”
“Right,” Rumi spit.
“We weren’t exactly thinkin’ about phones!”
My dad’s lips twitched. “Did you even leave the bed?” he asked knowingly.
“Yes.”
He laughed. “Get her a phone today, yeah? She needs one in case there’s an emergency or you know, if your mom wants to call her.”
“Why would Mom need to call her?” I asked suspiciously.
“You’re a fuckin’ idiot,” Rumi muttered, walking away.
I flipped him off.
“They can’t maintain this nothin’-to-see-here game forever,” my dad said, leaning his ass against the car where Rumi had been. “But I have a feelin’ that when shit starts happenin’ it’s goin’ to be a surprise, and it’s gonna get ugly. You need a way to get ahold of your wife when that happens.”
“She’s not a fuckin’ prisoner,” I mumbled, feeling like an asshole.
We really hadn’t thought about getting her a new phone.
She didn’t have anyone to call, and it wasn’t as if I’d spent the week with mine out.
I’d put it on the kitchen counter when we got home from the wedding and I hadn’t picked it up again until I’d left for work that morning.
“I know shit is up in the air right now,” Dad said quietly. “But eventually you two are gonna have to start buildin’ a life, yeah? She needs a phone. She’s gonna need a car. You’re gonna need to start gettin’ ready for that baby.”
“It’s been a week.”
“Pretty sure your mom already set up an appointment for her to see the doctor,” Dad said. “And she’s got no way to get ahold of Esther to make that happen.”
“She can let me know—” I stopped talking when I saw the look on his face. “Yeah, I get it. I’ll take care of the phone tonight.”
“She’s comin’ from literally nothin’, bud,” he said kindly. “With a suitcase and a bunch of shitty fuckin’ memories. I know it’s all afterglow and novelty now, but the sooner you give her a little independence and start makin’ an actual fuckin’ life, the better off you’ll both be.”
“Yeah, I hear you.”
I spent the rest of the day thinking about what my dad had said and avoiding Rumi. Fuck him. I wasn’t trying to keep Esther a prisoner in my house and comparing me to her fuckwad father was a low blow.
I couldn’t deny that on the surface, it looked bad, though. Dad was right. I’d left Esther in the house all morning with no way to call anyone if she needed to and no way to get anywhere since I’d forgotten to leave the Mustang key at home.
The day had started out so well but got worse by the hour, and by the time I got on my bike to head home, I was in a foul mood.
I not only felt like an absolute piece of shit for leaving Esther stranded all day, but I also just fucking missed her.
Not talking to her at all after spending the whole week with her beside me felt seriously fucking wrong, and I was worried that she’d spent the day needing me with no way to get a hold of me.
Using the garage door opener so I could park my bike also reminded me that I hadn’t even gotten her a decent wedding gift either and now it was a week late.
“You’re home,” Esther called happily as I stepped inside the kitchen and kicked my boots off. She rounded the corner and stood there, fully dressed and her hair pulled back into a tight bun, the slippers mocking me from her feet.
“I am,” I confirmed, frozen in place as the anxiety I’d been fighting all day disappeared.
“It was quiet here today without your music going,” she said, smiling. “How was work?”
“It was fine.”
Her smile wobbled a little.
“Worked on a Honda, not my favorite but it’s not exactly hard either,” I continued, trying to get my wits about me. She was still there, and she was fine and she didn’t even seem pissed that I’d left her while she was asleep that morning with no way to leave or contact anyone.
“I deep cleaned the bathrooms,” she informed me as I took off my jacket and laid it on the counter. “They were pretty clean already, but I went over them again. I was going to make dinner, but we don’t really, um, have anything.”
“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, my stomach sinking. “Have you eaten anything?”
What the hell was wrong with me? I’d left my pregnant wife with no food in the house and no way to get any more. I wasn’t just an asshole. I was a complete waste of space.
“I had some instant oatmeal,” she replied easily, moving toward me. “And you had some soup in the cupboard, so I ate that too. Oh, and some cheesy crackers.”
Her arms wrapped around my waist and her cheek hit my sternum and I felt like the worst person on the entire planet. Why wasn’t she pissed? It was like she hadn’t even noticed how badly I’d fucked up.