Chapter 20 The Pause
the pause
Cian
The following Saturday morning, I head home. It doesn’t make much sense seeing as I have surgery on Tuesday that will require an overnight and still won’t be able to drive. But it’s time.
Ayla and Christian are at their home in Aspen.
Eleanor needs to be back in her routine. And I need to get back to real life.
To my surprise, Ayla hired a service during my recuperation. They’ve been in to clean the house, change the linens on the beds, and even re-stock the fridge.
I’m not Suzy Q Homemaker, but I keep up. With all day ahead of me, and no chores to do or errands to run, I’m at a loss. But I know I need some physical exertion.
The color in my face is that soft, gross yellow-green that comes after bruises leave but are still hanging on. Running and weights are both still out, but a long walk is doable and it’s happening.
Two hours later, Eleanor and I return home to Liam lounging in my recliner, thumbs flying over the device in his hands, as if he hadn’t broken into my home without even a word.
“Make yourself at home.” I hope the sarcasm is evident in my tone.
“I did. Thanks.” He snaps his fingers and gives a shrill whistle and Eleanor beelines it to his side. Butt down, chin up, she takes everything my brother offers before sliding onto her belly and flopping to one side with a groan. She’ll nap for a while.
“This is unusual,” I offer after downing a huge glass of water. “What brings you my way?”
“I upgraded security at Ayla’s after they left yesterday. I want to do the same here, but we never discussed it.” He extends his tatted hand like a magician. “We’re discussing.”
“Do it. You know better than I do what I need. I don’t want her”—I dip my head to a snoring Eleanor—“to set off sensors. But I’m about it. And can you do it at Sariah’s?”
He pauses and stares at me as if he can see the veins tied together over muscle and bone. That is to say, straight through me, before bobbing his head.
“Yup. You gonna tell her?”
“I hadn’t considered not telling her. She needs to feel secure in her home and after this”—I point to my left side—“it’s a little something I can restore.”
“Her place would be easy to breach and easy to wire. How long before you move her in here?”
“We’ve only been talking for two weeks, Li.” I stand behind the chair opposite him, my arms resting on its back.
“Not what I asked, but okay.”
“We haven’t talked about it. We haven’t talked about a lot of things.”
“So, a month? Two?”
“She has a daughter and they’re a unit. They’ve got to be comfortable with a lot of change. And while I get the feeling they are, I want it to be on their terms.”
“So you’re moving in with them?”
I just stare at him. It’s not that easy.
“The kid is cool. She’s smart and strong. Not a fan of sitting outside in the cold, but at least I was entertained.”
“She’s great. A little teenager-ey, but funny.”
“You gonna give both of them your name?”
I drop my head to my shoes. When I look up the fucker is grinning at me. Grinning.
“As soon as I can, bro.”
His grin goes wide and points a thumb to his chest. “Last man standing. Not that it should surprise anyone.”
“When you fall, you’ll topple.”
“It’ll take a hell of a woman.”
There’s no doubt.
“You’ve got free rein here to do what you need. I’ll get you dates on their house.”
He bobs his head while thumbing his bottom lip. “That works.” He lifts a chin at me. “You ready for Tuesday?”
“Hospitals, copays, setting shattered bone. Can’t wait.”
“Get this shit behind you. You have a life to build.”
“A life, a business, a family.”
Not long after Liam leaves, my doorbell rings. A huge guy in cargoes and lace-up military-style boots is at my door. “Are you Cian Murphy?”
“I am.”
“Christian Barone asked me to deliver this to you.” He moves to his vehicle and returns with a black-muzzled puppy with a lean body and razor-sharp baby teeth.
I shake the guy’s hand and take the lead. The dog’s not poorly trained, but he’s young. Overnight with a puppy. Only for my sister.
By Sunday, it’s not hard to remember why I prefer dogs to puppies. Chewing, tugging, pouncing, whining.
Eleanor is exhausted, and if I had to guess, I’d assume her floppy ears are sore from being gnawed like a chew toy.
The little dude is cute, but there’s not a moment’s peace in this house. Not for my girl and not for me. Not when Ayla’s gift from Christian is shitting on my floors.
The good news is that he’ll go home with them sooner rather than later and my life will be quiet and peaceful again.
I’ve spent half of my conversations with Sariah correcting the little monster and the other half talking to myself about corralling him in some manner to protect the woodwork in the house, or the floors, or the furniture, or…
What I love in those moments are two things.
First the normalcy of us just being. We’re not delving into traumatic pasts or reliving hurt.
It’s housework and dogs and grocery discussions.
It’s life… and it’s easy. Secondly, Sariah laughs often and deeply.
Somehow, I know, though she hasn’t ever said, that that’s not typical for her. Or at least it hasn’t been.
The sound is carefree and joyous, and it is more than any doctor could do for me.
“They’re pulling up. I’ll call you back when they leave.”
“That works. Talk in a bit, Ci.” She pauses for a long moment before she adds a bye and disconnects.
The pause. The place where I love you is supposed to be. We’ll get there.
Ayla knocks before letting herself in, speaking first to Eleanor who greets her as if it’s been a year since they last saw each other, not less than forty-eight hours. “Hello, gorgeous. Who is your new friend?”
My slide from her favorite person to fourth in this house is complete. “He’s yours, sis. Couldn’t have you stealing my girl.”
“Our girl,” she tries, but plops to her butt, a smile breaking across her face, to see her new addition eye to eye.
I may be sliding, but some things in life never change.
And for that, I’m grateful.
Sariah
“How’s your homework coming?”
Renée is smart, gifted actually, but sitting still to do homework has never been her strong suit. It was better when she was little. Let’s be real, it was better before the damn phone that beckons her like the ring beckoned Gollum.
That analogy is a bit too spot on. Without good parameters, it will do the very same to her. Make her a husk of her former self, always stretching and reaching and missing that she’s no longer herself.
What’s a mom to do? A mom in tech no less.
This parenting shit is hard.
“Good. I’m all done.”
“Well, that’s amazing. Do you want to watch a movie tonight?”
She shrugs as she finishes loading the dishwasher and sashays toward the living room.
Subtle, but not slick.
While I wasn’t a typical teenage girl, I can see the attempt to outsmart me or outmaneuver me. Not today, but one day, I hope she does. Much, much later in life, but still.
“Née? Yes or no to the movie.”
“Sure,” she hollers from the other room. “I’m down. Are you going to ask Cian to come?”
Oh, the unintended double entendre. I wish is what I want to say. Instead, I reply back, “He’s having a medical procedure done on Tuesday and has to stay home.”
I’m doing my very best not to lie to her, even to protect her or to cushion the blows of life. The one exception is her bio dad. About him, I say nothing.
At some point, I’ll have to. But only if it’s to protect her from his plans.
His expectations, or whatever the fuck he calls them, I managed to escape—at least in part.
The part I didn’t was horrible.
What could have been, though, is unimaginable.
I’m not exaggerating when I say if he so much as touches my girl, I will rain down hell on him and that compound, the likes of which he’s never conceived. I don’t know how. I have neither the tools nor the skills, but what I lack in those, I’ll make up in sheer rage.
My digging shows he’s been quiet. Or at least, he’s been up to nothing of significance in his corner of the world.
But each day my daughter inches toward fourteen, the noose grows tighter and tighter around my neck. Fifty-eight weeks before her fifteenth birthday. Can we get through fifty-eight weeks unscathed? And if we do, will I have lost my mind in the process?
I put that out of my mind. Or into the corner where it always lives. It’s never gone, just tucked away, ready to pounce.
I pack the last of the meal prep into the fridge, wipe down the counters, and start the dishwasher on the way to the living room. We’ve been making our way through the Marvel universe. That’s not totally true. We’ve been making our way through Chris Hemsworth in the Marvel universe, thanks to Ayla.
Avengers: Endgame is up tonight.
We pile under the blankets, turn the lights low, and watch what was once a bankrupt franchise that flourished under the right vision. That’s a metaphor for life. A great concept with the right people and flawless execution, and you can’t go wrong.
Cian: Puppy terror is gone. I forgot what early days are like.
Cian: Girls’ night?
His text arrives right before the movie credits roll.
Me: Every night is girls’ night.
Me: But tonight, we added Chris Hemsworth.
Cian: Blonds do it for you then?
Me: One does, but it’s not a Hemsworth. Can’t argue he’s pretty to look at.
Cian: I can argue that. He’s just a dude.
“’Night, Mom.” Renée gives me a hug before wandering down the hall.
“Night, love. Phone?”
Nice try. She returns and drops it on the table. “Sweet dreams.”
Cian: *You’re* pretty to look at. Actually, that’s an understatement. You’re captivating. You’re hard to look away from.
Cian: This last week has been hard. I finally got you back only to not be able to see you or hold you. You’re so close, and I feel impotent.
Me: When I needed you most you were certainly not impotent. You rallied the troops. You can’t know how much I think about that.
Cian: But *I* wasn’t able to do anything.
Me: I get that. I wasn’t either. Feeling helpless isn’t my thing.
Cian: You get it. But it’s my job. To protect you.
Me: You sure you want that job?
Cian: I’ve wanted that job since I was a junior in college, Angel.
Me: You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted to protect me.
Cian: We’re *this close* to being there. Tuesday will be one hurdle out of the way. The jaw is two weeks after that. The idea that everything is conspiring against us only makes me want to fight harder.
Me: I know you’d rather talk than text. I would too, but the faster you heal…
Cian: The faster we can be together. I was never one of those pass notes in high school guys, but this kind of feels like that.
Me: I wasn’t either.
Me: But I have to say, I love getting to reread these. You’re easy to fall in love with, Cian Murphy. You lay it all out there.
Cian: You’re falling in love with me, Angel? Don’t say that over text. I want to hear it.
What am I supposed to say to that? Never mind? Or okay?
I could dial him right now and tell him, but I don’t want that either.
Me: Okay then… Liam reached out. He’s going to wire us starting tomorrow. He may need a couple of days, but he thinks he can do it in one and be out of here before Renée and Rosie are home from work and school.
Cian: No additional seizures or health issues for Rosie?
Me: Nothing. I think we’re all waiting on the other shoe to drop when it took fifty-one years for the first one. It could never happen again, but we seem to be holding our breath like they’ll be back-to-back.
Cian: One time my GPS said “Object on road ahead.” It’s said that one hundred times in my life probably.
There’s always something. Roadkill, shredded tire bits, a wrench.
This one time, it was a refrigerator. A full-size, full-on fridge in the middle of I-25 near DTC.
I’d never seen one before and I’ve never seen one since, but every time I get that warning, I wonder if it will be an appliance to navigate in rush hour traffic.
Cian: The point is a one percent chance is still my first thought. We remember the things that surprise us, and we hold onto the things that frighten us. It might never happen again. Stop looking for it, Angel. What are the statistical chances of another fridge on the highway?
Me: Statistically? Zero.
Cian: My point exactly.
Me: But seizures…
Cian: Without epilepsy can be any number of things. And those things can exist without a seizure.
Cian: You could spend the next fifty-one years waiting on a shoe that will never drop, but missing all the fun along the way because worry outweighs it.
Me: How did you get so wise?
Cian: See, there was this fridge on I-25…
Me: Hush.
Cian: True story.
Me: I’m looking forward to Tuesday.
Cian: Odd segue.
Me: One step closer. And since we’re looking on the bright side, I’m expecting smooth sailing and miraculous healing.
Cian: Promise me if I come out of anesthesia angry or violent, you’ll stay far away.
Me: Just come out of it on the other side, and I promise I’ll duck.
Cian: That’s not funny.
Me: Sure it is. I’m going to go pass out.
Cian: I’m not far behind you. Sweet dreams, Angel. Know that you are loved.
Me: ’Night, Ci. Right back atcha.