Chapter 6
James
Ifelt fucking terrible. And it had nothing to do with the lingering effects of my hangover.
I'd fucked up. I was a grade-A dickhead. And the worst part was, I hadn't even wanted to go to Rob's birthday. I was actually bloody relieved that it was just drinks in the afternoon because I'd thought—rather naively—that it would allow me to slip away early enough to be home by dinner time.
But one drink led to another, and then another.
Someone started a game of pool, then a round of darts.
Ian…or was it Rob…suggested tequila shots, and that's when things started to get a little hazy.
Rob's brother-in-law owned the pub, which was why the drinks were heavily discounted.
Once the pub closed for the night, Michael—Rob's brother—suggested a lock-in.
Before I knew it, it was after midnight, and Zara was rightfully yelling in my ear.
I should've apologised properly to her. She deserved a sincere apology for not contacting her, for coming home late, and for being an absolute shell of a human all day. Christ, for ruining Valentine's. The list was endless.
The truth was, I was scared—a bloody coward.
I knew I fucked up, and I didn't want to deal with Zara blasting me and laying out all the ways I'd let her down.
So I brushed her hurt aside and pretended that everything was normal.
I didn't want to admit to Zara that I was one breath away from throwing up the whole day, and that every time the girls screamed or bounced near me, I wanted to die.
By the time dinner rolled around, I wasn't feeling any better.
In fact, somehow I felt worse. But I'd sooner run through the streets naked than admit to Zara that our promised romantic night out was the last thing I wanted to do.
Zara had been so excited for our Valentine's dinner, and so had I.
I was looking forward to finally having some alone time with her, maybe watching a live band at a pub before taking her home and shagging her brains out.
But it had all gone so horribly wrong. I'd fucked up so badly that Zara could barely look me in the eye, could barely talk to me.
I didn't have much to do at work since the weather started to turn bad, so I decided to call it a day and head home early.
On the way, I stopped for petrol and spied some flowers for sale outside the station. I picked out the nicest-looking bunch to take home as part of my apology.
By the time I got home, there was about an hour left before Zara had to pick Kehlani up from school and Sienna from an arranged playdate. I quietly entered our home, taking exaggerated care to place my keys on the provided hook—I didn't want anything to upset my wife today.
I could hear her voice floating down the hall, coming from the kitchen, so I stealthily padded down the hall to greet her.
"…and I just feel so awful because I judged you for leaving Daddy. But I understand now what you must've been going through."
I frowned at that sentence, pausing in my steps. It wasn't just the odd words that stopped me; it was also the warbled sound of her voice. Emotion laced her tone, and I wondered what had her so upset.
"What do you mean, sweetheart?" I recognised Brownwyn's voice. Zara must be Facetiming with her.
More sniffles greeted me, and my stomach protested at the sadness Zara was expressing. What the hell was going on?
"I always resented you for leaving Dad. I thought: 'he's not abusive, he hasn't cheated on her, so why leave?' I thought you were a shit wife to him—I'm sorry, Mum, but I did! And that's why I chose to live with him."
Shit. It sounded like they were having a pretty heavy conversation.
I knew Zara struggled with her parents' divorce and had confided in me that she sometimes couldn't understand her mum.
Personally, I thought Bron was fucking brilliant.
She was a great mum to Zara, and the kids loved her.
Zara's dad, on the other hand, tended to view the kids as needing to be seen but not heard.
He rarely played with them and barely called—and he only lived twenty minutes away.
"You were back with me within six months," Bronwyn pointed out.
"Only cos' Dad was useless!" Zara cried. I heard a few sniffles and frowned deeper at her obvious distress. What brought on this emotional one-on-one?
"He forgot to get food for lunches, forgot my permission slips for school trips, never bothered to learn my schedules and was late to everything," Zara continued, sounding even more upset. My fingers tightened on the flowers as my body called out to comfort her.
"I went back to you because things were easier, but I didn't think about it too deeply until now. Dad didn't step up as a single parent because he never stepped up when he was a married one. Not really, not when it counted."
"Surely that's not how you feel about James?"
My eyes widened as my heart dropped to my stomach. Did she just say...?
... that's not how you feel about James.
Were they...were they talking about me? No. It couldn't be. Zara couldn't be this upset over yesterday's dinner?
"It is," Zara confirmed as the flowers I held fell from my hand. "Don't get me wrong, he's a real fun dad to the girls, but he's totally useless and clueless as a husband."
The blood drained from my face, and I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach. Repeatedly. But Zara wasn't done.
"Like, when he goes out with his friends," she continued.
"He never texts or calls me if he's going to be late.
When he wants to stay back after work for a drink or two, he just expects me to read his mind and be okay with it.
He doesn't bother to check our shared calendar to see if we have something on, and I have to remind him all the time—he just brushes it off!
This Valentine's dinner is the last straw.
" She paused as Bron murmured a few words of encouragement.
I couldn't hear her over the sound of blood rushing in my ears.
"That's when I realised that this is probably how you felt being married to Dad."
Black dots started to enter my vision, and I had to hold onto the wall to keep my knees from buckling. Zara wasn't happy in our marriage. Zara was comparing me to her deadbeat dad. Holy shit.
Bron's quiet sigh came through the speaker.
"I knew you were mad at me for leaving your father.
And you were right, I was sick of being the default parent and feeling like I was a single parent all the time.
Your father had old ideologies and refused to accept that being a stay-at-home mum, being a homemaker, was just as hard as what he did all day…
except I never got any breaks." She paused, and I heard the sound of tissue being ripped from the box.
A few quiet sniffles came from my wife before Bron continued.
"I love being a mum to you and your brother, but I was just so tired all the time.
So unhappy, and that started to affect my mental health and how I responded as a mother.
In the end, I did what I knew was best for me, and for you kids.
I hoped one day you would understand, but I also hoped that you wouldn't."
I swallowed hard as the impact of her words hit me. She hoped Zara wouldn't understand, because that would mean she would be married to a useless husband like her father.
"I don't know what to do."
"Do you still love James?"
My breath held, my body frozen in dread for her response.
"Yes." My throat collapsed in relief.
But then she said, "I mean, I guess I do." And my heart fell to pieces all over again. What the hell did that mean?
"Sometimes it's hard to remember exactly why. And I feel terrible because so many other women have it worse –"
"Yes, but that doesn't mean you should put up with a situation that no longer makes you happy." What the fuck? Why was Bronwyn encouraging Zara? I thought she loved me like a son.
"I'm not. I'm not happy. And it's affecting the kids because I'm starting to become impatient with them because I'm constantly tired and frustrated, and so annoyed at James. Shoot, I have to get the girls soon."
That kick started my heart into motion, and I swiftly picked the flowers back up from the floor.
I tiptoed quickly back to the front door before I stared down at the flowers in my hand.
I winced at the sad quality of them. They were drooping and slightly brown.
Petrol station flowers. That was all I thought Zara was worth. Ten bucks for almost dead flowers.
I'm not. I'm not happy.
I cleared my throat and called out in a voice that held the barest quiver. "Zara? I'm home."
I walked loudly down the hall just as Zara came out to meet me. Her tablet was still in her hand, and she wouldn't meet my eyes. I searched her face, desperate to see any sign of affection, but all I saw were pale cheeks and a red nose.
"Hey. Are you okay?" She asked, her voice flat.
My brows drew in, and I bent my knees to try to catch her gaze. "Yeah. Why do you ask?"
"Well, you never announce that you're home like that."
"Oh." I rubbed the back of my neck as a desperate awkwardness seeped into the air. "Well. I didn't want to scare you since I'm home early."
She was staring at my hand, and I realised that I was still clutching my crappy flowers.
I cleared my throat, my ears heating. "Um…these are for you. A belated Valentine's gift."
Her mouth tightened, but she made no move to grab them. "Thanks."
My hand fell in defeat. "Um…also, they're apology flowers for last night. And, I guess, Saturday," I stammered. "I'm sorry I was out late and for ruining dinner."
She lifted a shoulder in a careless shrug, her eyes still evasive. "It's fine."
It wasn't fine. And I had an awful feeling that things would never be fine between us again. Feeling desperate, I extended the flowers again, needing her to accept anything from me.
She slowly reached out and clutched the stems. Our fingers brushed, and my eyes bored into her face, needing to see whether she felt the same electricity as I did whenever we touched.
But her expression remained impassive as she reluctantly accepted the nearly-dead flowers.
"Hey, how about I book us a dinner out again. Maybe this weekend?"
She shook her head. "Um… that's okay. Rachel's busy this weekend anyway, so we don't have a sitter. Unless you want to go out with the kids again?"
I winced at that reminder. "Uh…no. Maybe you can check with Rach when she'll be free?"
"You want me to book the restaurant, too?" She sharply retorted.
"What?"
She shook her head and turned her face, but not before I caught the beginning of an eye roll. "Nevermind. I gotta get ready to get the girls."
"I can get them."
She finally glanced at me then, suspicion rampant in her stare. She shook her head. "No, it's okay. I need the fresh air."
I stood there like a spare part as she carelessly placed the flowers on the kitchen bench and headed upstairs.
My breath expelled out of me, and I rubbed the thickness in my chest. Her conversation with her mum ran through my head like a nightmare.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Zara wasn't happy. She was miserable.
I had always thought that her dad was pretty useless, so to be compared to him…Fuck. This wasn't good.
I couldn't lose Zara. She was the very air I breathed. She was my rock and the very foundation of my soul.
What the hell was I going to do?