Chapter 26
A lex
April
I’m not sure what came over me when I asked Natalie to come to dinner at my parents’ house. I only know I didn’t want to walk away from her. Couldn’t walk away. I want more time with her. As I watch her dry her hair, one hand sitting comfortably on top of her bump, I have to resist the urge to rip off her clothes and take her again. I’ve never had this insatiable desire before. I want to mark every inch of her body so that everyone knows she’s mine, even if she really isn’t. I want her to be mine, though, and I’m struggling with that.
My therapist is going to have a field day with my roller coaster of emotions at our session this week, that’s for sure.
“Are you sure this is okay?” Natalie asks quietly. Dressed in leggings and an oversized maternity shirt covered in blue and pink flowers, she’s an absolute vision. Leopard print ballet flats adorn her feet, and the juxtaposition of patterns is so quintessentially Natalie that I struggle to withhold the smile that threatens to break out on my face. She’s loud, unfiltered, sweet, and demure, all at the same time. Twiddling her fingers nervously, she waits for my reply.
Standing, I cross the room and take her in my arms. I can’t not kiss her right now. She sighs into my mouth, allowing my tongue entry as her arms wrap around my waist tightly. God, she feels so good against me.
Breaking off the kiss, I rest my forehead against hers. Feeling her abdomen move against me, I chuckle. “Little man says it’s fine, Sunflower.”
“Is that what he says?” she asks with a breathy laugh.
I press my lips to her temple as I reluctantly let her go. “Yeah. He’s excited about getting to know his Santo family.”
As Natalie grabs her jacket and bag, I can see her mind working. I know what she wants to ask, but I’m not forcing it. I know she’ll ask me in her own time: she wants to discuss his last name.
I really want it to be Santo, and I’m not sure if she’ll fight me on it.
Make her last name Santo, too.
I sigh. These odd Sara thoughts are growing fewer and farther between, but she always pops up in the most random times. I’m not dating Natalie. We haven’t discussed anything about the future, other than how we both want to have a good co-parenting relationship. I don’t know what to expect. How often will I be able to see my son? Does Natalie want a fifty-fifty arrangement, or does she expect more time with him? I need to force these important conversations, but I don’t want to. My stomach turns with the thought of them.
That’s because you want her, you need her, and you know I’m right.
For fuck’s sake, Sara. Get the hell out of my mind!
Fine. But you’ll need to apologize when you finally realize you’re in love with her, and that you’re sorry you doubted me.
Sighing, I open the door for Natalie. After she locks the door, my hand automatically grabs hers, almost like a reflex. I feel her jolt against me, and I realize it’s the first time I’ve held her hand. She’s only a couple of months away from delivering my son, and I’ve never held her hand like this.
I can’t stop myself from bringing our joined hands to my mouth, kissing the back of her hand. I notice a black smudge along one digit. “What’s that?”
She snickers. “I was marking something with permanent marker, and I dropped it. Couldn’t get to the bathroom until lunch, and by that time, the mark was pretty much set. The class found it hysterical. ”
“Why?”
“I think pregnancy has made me clumsy. I’m routinely dropping things, misjudging depth and running into corners. That kind of thing.”
“Is that normal?” I ask as we reach my truck. Opening the passenger door, I wait until Natalie steps up before grabbing her seatbelt. As I put the belt on for her, she watches me.
“Um, I’d say it’s about as normal as you putting my seatbelt on for me,” she says, deadpan.
I chuckle. “Not sure what came over me. I think I want to take care of you, and I was deployed a good chunk of both of Sara’s pregnancies. I’m kinda enjoying this, to be honest.”
She gives me a cute, but nervous, smile as I close the door and jog around to the drivers’ side. One stop to grab dinner, and we’re headed to my childhood home. It’s comfortably quiet on the short drive to my parents’, but I resist the urge to reach over and take her hand. The connection calms me more than I ever thought it would.
As I pull into the driveway, Natalie sighs. “I love this house. I remember coming here a couple of times as a teenager and wanting to move in here. It’s so idyllic.”
Looking at the exterior, I realize she’s right. A well-loved front porch. Shutters that Dom and I painted more than once. Two rocking chairs we gifted our parents a decade ago for Christmas, and a smattering of childhood toys that now belong to the growing list of grandchildren. The home I grew up in, the one that holds so many pivotal memories, now helps to grow the next generation of Santos.
“I love living here, but being this close to the mountains, I hate how the snow never melts,” Natalie comments as we gingerly walk to the front door. “Denver snow melts a lot faster, unless the driveway faces north.”
“We’re in the mountains here, Sunflower,” I respond, winking when I catch her eye. She giggles, rolls her eyes, and immediately hits a patch of ice right by the front door. She shrieks as her leg flies out in front of her, as I frantically try to catch her to ensure she doesn’t land on her abdomen. Natalie winces as gravity takes over, landing with one leg outstretched, and one sandwiched underneath her. I manage to grab her arm at the last second, yanking her back up.
“Ow, my foot,” she says, grabbing at her ankle. The front door opens at that moment.
“Oh no! Nick, I told you to salt the front sidewalk!” Mom says loudly. “Alex, bring her in to the living room so we can look at her ankle.”
I swoop her into my arms, carefully walking through the doorway and into the house, gently setting Natalie on the closest couch. Crouching in front of her, I fuss over her foot, carefully taking off her shoe. Just another thing that is my fucking fault. “I’m sorry, Nat. I should have been paying better attention.”
“Hey,” she says softly, cupping my cheek in her hand, “look at me.”
Remorsefully, my eyes meet hers. I expect some pain in her gaze, or at least some aggravation. Something.
I should know better, because this is Natalie, and there’s nothing she likes more than proving me wrong. Her gaze is full of love. There’s no other way to describe it.
Natalie Jackson is in love with me.
“This isn’t your fault, Alex. Okay? This isn’t your fault,” she whispers. “I’m clumsy. Accidents happen. Ice is slippery. None of that falls on you.”
I’m overcome with emotion as I stare at her. I can’t respond. I don’t know how to respond. I’m not ready. I can’t be ready. I feel like crying, but also shouting from the rooftops that she loves me.
Not knowing how to compartmentalize the chaos in my mind, I lean forward and press my lips to hers. We sit like that, for a moment, our lips touching gently, and I feel worse. A throat clearing breaks our connection, and I look up to find my mother watching me, her eyebrows so high they’re almost in her hairline. “Let me look at her ankle, angiolo .”
I hastily rise to my feet, scratching my chin anxiously. “I’ll leave you to it. Excuse me.”
I don’t look at Natalie as I race from the room. Taking the steps two at a time, I stride into my childhood bedroom, one that I shared with Dom until I got my own apartment shortly after I met Sara. Closing the door softly, I take a seat on my bed, looking across at my desk. Many of the rooms in my parents’ house have been updated, but this room is like a time capsule. Posters from the Denver Wolves inaugural season in the mid-nineties, when they won the Stanley Cup. Me and Dom at the football game when I met Sara. Ticket stubs to various events throughout my late teens and early twenties. A box that sits to the side of my desk grabs my attention, and I know what it is. Something I haven’t looked through since I packed it up, nearly six years ago.
A few months after Sara passed away, I finally had the strength to pack up Sara’s desk. I couldn’t look through most of it, choosing instead to shove it all in a box. Lots of mementos. While I only saved items from truly big events, things where our lives were altered forever, Sara seemed to save everything. Any letters I wrote to her while deployed. Art projects the kids made anytime I was gone. Tons of pictures while we were dating. I’d honestly forgotten I brought the box here.
My hands shake as I remove the lid, slowly sinking to the floor beside the box. All the times I’ve heard her voice over the past year, but right now, nothing. Here I am, sifting through a box of her most important memories, and she’s quiet. What does that mean?
Rifling through all the memorabilia, I come across an envelope I’ve never noticed before. My name is written across the front in her familiar handwriting. She always wrote my name by adding a heart to the x at the end. Emotion clogging my throat, I slowly peel open the envelope.
My sweet Alex,
It’s your fourth deployment, and while it may seem that I’m used to this experience, I’m not. Each time seems to feel worse, if I’m being honest. I know you hate it as much as I do, but I’m so proud of you for serving our country. You’re showing our children how duty and bravery are two of your most valued attributes.
Each time you deploy, I know you write me a letter that will be given to me if you are killed in action. While I hate that you must do that, I know it’s something I would cherish as one of my most prized possessions. Knowing those could be your last words to me would break me, but God, I’d be so thankful to have that. I decided to write this letter just in case something happens to me.
I love you.
There aren’t enough words in the English language to describe how much I love you. How perfect our life is, and what an incredible husband you are to me.
My heart didn’t know unconditional love until I met you. When I saw you that first day, I knew you were about to change my life. I wanted to marry you after our fifth date, and I was ready to have your babies within the first six months. You are the best person I know, and the best father to our children. I’m so incredibly thankful for our life together. I will never regret marrying you. When I’m in heaven, I’ll be in your arms, because there’s nowhere else as perfect as your embrace.
I know my death will be a struggle for you. You’ll undoubtedly feel immense guilt, thinking you’re at fault. You could never be responsible. Bad things happen, my love. I want — no, I need you to promise me that you won’t blame yourself. I know you. You’ll let that guilt eat away at your happiness and livelihood. Promise you won’t. Promise me you’ll live each day with joy. Love our children for both of us.
Abbie will need you. She’s emotional like me (don’t roll your eyes at me) and she’s going to need all the quality time with you. Ben is so young that he won’t understand. Please keep my memory alive for him. Tell him often how much I loved him, and how my world was finally complete the day he came into it. I can already tell how smart he is, just like you. He’ll probably internalize his feelings, just like you. And when he falls in love, he’ll be so devoted to her that he won’t know a time without her. Just like you.
Promise me, my love. Promise me you won’t let someone pass you by. Promise me you’ll allow another woman into your life. Not only will you need to be loved by someone, but there’s a woman out there desperate to be loved by you. I’ve never known a man who cares so wholeheartedly the way you do. You show your love to me in a million little ways. Kissing my forehead before you leave for work, even if I’m mostly asleep. Bringing me my favorite soda when you know I’ve had a late night with the kids. Spraying my pillowcase with your cologne whenever you’ll be gone for more than one night. It is such a privilege to be loved by you.
I know in my heart there’s a woman out there who needs your love, and I beg you to be open to it. I know she’ll be different. I imagine she’ll be my opposite, bound and determined to barrel into your life whether you like it or not. I’m a fairly easygoing person, and I know I never locked horns with you. I just wanted you to be happy.
Promise me you’ll let her in. Let her challenge you, argue with you, and be the support you need. A strong woman with fire in her veins will fight with you, but she’ll also be the best partner, wife, and mother to our babies that you’ll ever need. Promise me, Alex. Don’t live life letting grief rule for too long.
Love our babies. Tell them how much I love them. How precious they are, and how my world was finally complete when I became their mom. I can barely write this, thinking about leaving them. Make them understand I’d do anything to be with them. How I’d never choose to leave them, because I’m nothing without them. Without you.
Thank you for loving me, my sweet husband. I’ll spend forever waiting for you.
Love always,
Sara
P.S. Now hurry home so you can give me the most perfect Alex hug, because I miss you desperately!
Crumpling to the floor, I lay in a ball as I silently sob. I imagine Sara writing this, undoubtedly after I was already gone on that deployment, thinking of her alone and trying to find the words. My letters to her were nowhere near as eloquent and thoughtful. I couldn’t verbalize my feelings. Denial was easier. My letters were more a paragraph or two, telling her that I loved her and the kids. Sara was always better with words than me, but it’s almost as if she knew she needed to write this. That I’d need guidance.
I don’t notice when the door opens, or closes. I stay on the floor, crying as I grieve the life I lost when Sara died. Maybe it’s the first time I truly recognize that fact. Alex before, versus Alex after. Perhaps I’ve been living in limbo between the two, and I take a deep, cleansing breath as the tears subside .
Sara is dead.
My wife is gone.
I loved Sara. I still do. But I can’t bring her back, and nothing I’ve done over the past six years can change that fact. I’m allowed to move on, to love again. It’s okay to take a step forward, and I know Sara would want that. I have proof in my hands.
“Alex.”
I jolt, quickly sitting up and wiping my face, to find my mom at the door.
“I just wanted to let you know that Natalie left.”
“What?” I ask in disbelief.
Mom gives me a pitiful smile. “She came up here. I assume she saw you like this.”
“Fuck,” I mutter.
“Why are you crying?” Mom asks.
I exhale a loud sigh. “I’ve been struggling with how I feel about Natalie. I came up here to sit and think, but felt pulled to look through this box of Sara’s things from her desk. I packed it up after she died, but never looked through it. She wrote me a letter, Mom. It was all the things I should have read back then. How she wants me to support the kids and help them remember her. But mostly, she talked about how I needed to find someone who needed my love, who challenged me, and had a fiery personality. She basically described Nat.”
“Oh, angiolo . That must have been truly emotional to read,” Mom says softly, walking into my room and sitting on the edge of my bed in front of me. “Sara mentioned Natalie to me once, in regard to you.”
“What?”
“It sounds odd. But right before that deployment, Natalie and Arianna were here for dinner. I think you were in training, and Sara brought the kids over. She watched Natalie play with Abbie, and how she and Arianna gabbed back and forth. She said something like, ‘she’d be perfect for Alex if I weren’t here.’”
It’s like my world tips on its axis.
I told you so.
Did you send her to me?
She’ll love you exactly as you need.
What if I’m not enough for her?
There’s no one more perfect for her than you.
Love her. Let her love you. Let her complete our family.
“Mom,” I blurt out.
“Yes?”
“I think I’m in love with Natalie.”
“I know, angiolo . Now you need to tell her.”