Chapter 24
Ellary
The second Jackson’s footsteps hit the stairs, I drop my pasted-on false smile and stop frantically shoving items into the refrigerator.
I spot the laundry detergent next to the sliced cheese, and with a sigh, pull it out and put it in the cupboard under the sink, where it belongs.
Jackson is in the house again, and my mind is struggling to process this unexpected event. We talked about him coming over to help with the baby, but running into him in the store and inviting him to the house is not the same thing.
I braced myself when he noticed I’d taken down all the pictures of us from the walls, and I caught him looking at the candle I bought to drown out the scent of his cologne, so I wouldn’t get hit with it every time I walked into the house.
The scent reminded me of him, and I didn’t want that.
He’d been weirdly accepting of me scrubbing all signs of him from our house. I searched his expression for traces of anger, but all I’d seen was concern for me. Maybe there’d been a little pain, but I’d expected that.
But now he’s here, and things feel… strange.
On our first date in a Melton diner that served root beer floats and had the best hamburgers I’ve ever tasted, we’d be quiet, then suddenly blurt something out at the same time. Two strangers learning how to talk to each other without saying something that would make the other run away.
When I’ve finished filling the refrigerator, freezer, and pantry, I head upstairs to find Jackson busy pulling boxes and furniture out of the spare bedroom and into the hallway.
He glances at me. “I’ve gotten a lot out. Why don’t you open a window and start thinking about where you want things to go?”
“Or I could help you carry those boxes down to the garage.”
“You could,” he says, “but I’d rather not have the mother of my child tumble down the stairs.”
His words silence me.
He’s never called me the mother of his child before, and I don’t know how I feel about it. I know that’s what I am—or what I’m going to be once I give birth—but him saying it makes this whole situation more real than it felt before.
Looking embarrassed, he rakes a hand through his hair. “Uh, that wasn’t… I wasn’t flirting or… whatever you think. I was just… God, this is like our first date, and I was so scared I’d say something that would make you regret going on a date with me.”
My lips twitch. “You! I was the one terrified I’d open my mouth and stick my foot in it.”
We study each other.
His wedding band glints at me. Every time I see it, I notice it more and more. “Why do you still wear it?”
He glances down, touching the gold band almost reverently. “I still feel married to you. Even though you no longer want me. Even though I hurt you so badly, I know I don’t deserve you, but you still feel like mine. And I can’t let that feeling—and you—go.”
I don’t know how to respond, so I just make things more awkward by saying nothing at all.
Great job, Ellie.
He glances at me. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like I’m demanding anything from you. I’m not. We’re going to be spending time together, and I don’t want you to feel awkward around me when you’re focused on growing our baby and taking care of yourself.”
“I don’t want you to feel that way either.”
He offers me his hand, and his smile is small, real, and nervous. “Do you want to try to be friends through this crazy journey of becoming parents to what will be a very cute little boy with your eyes, and who will make us both crazy when puberty hits?”
Laughing, I take his hand and squeeze it. “We’re going to need all the help we can get.”
His laugh follows my own, and slowly, his amusement fades, as does mine. The silence weaves around us, prickling with heat and a tension that makes the breath stick in my throat. His palm is warm, large, and strong. It feels good, and it shouldn’t. Not anymore. Not after what he did to me.
I pull my hand away from his, batting away all the feelings I’m holding inside. I have feelings for my husband again—love—and I can’t let them show in case he hurts me again.
Just because you love him doesn’t mean you need to act on it.
“Are you sure you don’t want help with the boxes?” I ask.
He shakes his head, his smile a little strained at me putting much-needed distance between us. “I’ve got it. And I have some things in my trunk I’d like to bring up while I’m out there.”
I perk up, relieved he’s changing the subject, and that this new distraction won’t lead to more touching. “Things like what?”
He shrugs. “Just a couple of things for the baby. I’ll be right back.”
He scoops up two large boxes and walks down the stairs before I can ask him what he has in his trunk, so I wander into the spare bedroom. With my hands on my hips, I survey what will be the nursery.
It’s bigger than I remember, and the one large window looks out onto the backyard, giving us a view of our neighbors' fence. Beyond that, there are more backyards and two-story homes in our quiet subdivision.
My nose twitches, and I sneeze on my way to push open the window to air out the room. I imagine a nursery taking shape in this beige room with brown hardwood floors. It’s a little easier now that it no longer resembles a storage container.
I could put the crib on that one wall and a dresser with a baby-changing top opposite it.
A rocking chair for me to nurse the baby would just fit in the corner beside the window.
I could peer out during the day and be tucked out of view so I never have to worry about one of our neighbors looking up and into the room.
“You look happy.”
Startled, my head snaps to the source of the male voice.
Jackson is standing in the doorway, a hint of a smile curling his lips.
I don’t know how long he watched me, but it must have been a while because there are no more boxes on the hallway floor behind him.
He even grabbed some of the gym equipment that was up against the wall just inside the bedroom while I was imagining what our baby’s nursery would look like.
There’s still some stuff in the room, and probably in the closet that I’m too afraid to open in case a mountain of crap falls on my head.
Smiling faintly, I rest my hand on my belly. I keep finding reasons to touch it. Maybe I want another kick or punch. Maybe my bump is a tangible sign that the child we always dreamed of is actually growing inside me. Whatever the reason, it comforts me.
“I am. It’s easier to imagine a nursery without all the boxes.” And for the first time, I feel hopeful that we can get this nursery ready in time for the baby. Before, I didn’t know where to start, and the thought of organizing nearly ten years' worth of our belongings filled me with panic.
“I bet.” He motions behind him. “I’ve got most of everything in the garage now.
Speaking of that dumping ground, we need to do something about it.
I know I always said I would, but it needs to happen.
It’ll be easier for you to get to the house if you can drive into the garage and walk into the kitchen with any bags you have. ”
I make a face. “Yeah. The garage.” This room was bad. The garage is a whole other level. “I swear we moved in, dumped stuff we didn’t want to deal with in there, and promptly forgot all about it,” I say.
“Tell me about it,” he mutters. “We’ll get it done. Maybe Wade, your sister, and our parents can come down on a Sunday, and we can be brutal about getting rid of stuff we haven’t thought about in years. We can organize a garage sale and get rid of it all in one fell swoop.”
My eyes widen. “That’s actually not a bad idea.”
He chuckles. “I have been known to have one or two good ones now and again. Come see what I brought up from the trunk for you and the baby.”
Grinning at him, surprised by this new change—and this new ease—in our relationship, I follow him out. “What is it?”
“I have a couple more baby things in my apartment. I can bring those by next week when we have our talk on the swing.”
It’s a baby mobile, still in a box, leaning against the wall. But it’s not just any mobile. It’s the exact mint-green one I wanted and couldn’t find online.
“You found it!” I say, grinning.
“Yep. I tracked one down to a tiny boutique across the country. They shipped it when I called them. Last one they had.”
“That’s amazing.”
“And…” He steps aside to reveal a medium-sized white box. “This.”
“It’s a box.” Just a plain white box, which is pretty disappointing after he tracked down a much-wanted baby item.
He grins at me and turns the box around.
My eyes fill with tears almost instantly when I see the engraved silver writing on the lid.
“A memory box,” I whisper.
“To capture all our baby’s firsts. It has sections inside and came with a couple of albums so it doesn’t turn into our garage where we toss things inside and hope never to need them again,” he teases.
I fight to hold back my tears at the most perfect gift I never could have imagined would come from Jackson.
“Ellie?” he says softly. “Was this… shit.” He curses as the first of my tears rolls down my cheeks.
“It’s just hormones,” I cry, wiping the moisture away. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Concerned, he pats his pockets. “I don’t have tissues.”
“It’s okay.”
Too late, he’s striding down the hallway into the bathroom.
He comes back with a whole roll of toilet paper, and I can’t help but laugh.
His expression is wry. “Probably overkill, but I thought I might not get enough.”
“So you grabbed the whole thing?”
“Yeah.”
“Thanks.” I take it, and wince.
His eyes dip to my belly. “Is he kicking again?”
He looks so hopeful that I know he wants to touch my bump again. I shake my head, almost sorry to disappoint him. “No. Back.”
“Come sit.”
He takes my hand, startling me, then him, but when I don’t pull away, he leads me to the stairs, and we take a seat at the top.
“There’s nowhere else to sit up here,” he explains.
Just our bed and the thought of going into our bedroom and sitting on our bed is making me avoid his gaze the way he’s suddenly avoiding mine.
“Thanks for the tissue,” I say shyly, taking a few pieces from the roll and setting the rest down beside me.
“It’s okay,” he says gruffly.
We sit quietly for the next several seconds.
For one brief moment, I consider telling him that my feelings have been slowly changing over the last several months.
I can’t quite pinpoint exactly when I stopped wanting to avoid him and started looking forward to our talks on the swings outside, watching him coach field hockey, or picking up a coffee before his therapy session.
I turn to him, my mouth opens, and my thoughts tumble out of my head when I find him studying me, poised to speak.
“What?” I ask.
He peers down at me, seemingly in a battle with himself, then shakes his head.
“Nothing. Just thinking about the impossible.” He gets to his feet.
“I should get the rest of those boxes out of the spare room and into the garage. I’m dreading opening the closet, but it can’t be that bad, right?
” he asks with a hopeful but slightly worried smile.
His worry isn’t unfounded. We’re both terrible at throwing things away, and a closet was often the easiest place to hide our clutter and avoid dealing with stuff.
I remember my own reluctance to open the closet because of what might happen if I did. “Maybe stand off to the side when you open it… just in case.”
He chuckles. “Good idea.”
I make a decision that I hope I won’t regret as he turns back to the nursery. “Jackson?”
He stops and turns back, raising his brow in question. “Yeah?”
I play with my tissue. “Do you want to go to the hardware store and maybe the baby store before you do your coaching? There’s a lot of stuff we need, and I haven’t felt right making some of those decisions without you.”
A slow, pleased smile stretches across his face. “I’d like that a lot. How about you rest your back and we can head out there in about thirty minutes? If I don’t get everything down today, I can always do it another day.”
“I could call my parents and ask them about helping to clear out the garage.”
“Call mine as well,” he suggests. “They’d be willing to do it whenever.
Tomorrow, if you want. Same with Wade and Kate.
Their kids can play on the swings while we go through the stuff in the garage and clear out this room.
It’s probably wishful thinking with all the crap we have, but maybe we could do the garage sale next weekend? ”
I smile and get to my feet. “I’d like that a lot. Lila will help out as well, so I’ll call her as well. Do you want me to make you a sandwich before we go to the store? It’s nearly lunchtime.”
His smile is soft with pleasure. “I’d love that. Thanks.”