Insidious

23. Chapter 23

Luna

The two weeks after the LEGO set seem to have passed by in a rush.

I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it never did. We settled into a routine. Isaac point-blank refused to be removed to the guest room when I suggested it under the guise of taking over the night feeds.

He fixed me with those knowing blue eyes and spelt it out.

“Not a chance in hell,” he rumbled in his increasingly tempting, grumbly voice.

I still wake up to find we have gravitated towards each other in the night. Most days, I wake up to the sensation of his morning wood poking me in the butt.

I have finally forgiven Lily for trying to play devil’s advocate. The first time she called, I didn’t even let her finish.

“I expect you to be on my side,” I told her flatly. “Even if I’m wrong. That’s what besties do.”

There was a long pause on the other end as Lily calculated her next move. Then, cautiously, “I am on your side. I’m just trying to be the voice of reason—”

I hung up.

She called back.

“Luna—”

“No,” I cut in. “I need loyalty. You are on my side. Isaac has plenty of friends to take his side. Even bloody Colin spoke for him.”

“You’re being …”

“A hormonal little bitch? I’m allowed. I have postpartum depression. See? I know big words too.”

“You’re also being unfair.”

“Also allowed.”

She exhaled a long-suffering sigh. “That’s not how this works.”

“It is right now.”

I could practically hear Lily rethinking her life choices.

“So, what exactly do you want from me?” she finally asked.

“Unquestioning, slightly unhinged support. A bit like Hannibal Lector. Wasn’t he a psychologist?” I shot back fiercely as I soothed Amelie. She rewarded me with a truly awesome burp and a smile.

“I am not eating human sweetbreads,” reasoned Lily.

“No … Yuck … No … But I expect you to help me bury bodies in my backyard if I need the support. And don’t even start,” I added, “because I distinctly remember a certain someone sobbing on my sofa at two in the morning when her ex dumped her yet again. I was the one who let the air out of all four of his tires while you stood guard.”

“That was different—”

“Was it?” I cut in sweetly. “Because I also remember us signing him up for every questionable subscription with his credit card. Let me see … Daddy Issues Digest … Fabulous Flesh Files … Boys After Hours. And we imagined them draining his bank account because they were locked in for a year.”

There was a pregnant pause.

Then, reluctantly, “That was … a moment of extreme emotional distress.”

“You fucked him after he cheated on you. And yet,” I said, satisfied, “that did not stop me from being on your side.”

Another pause.

“This sounds like blackmail to me,” she grumbled.

“And yet,” I said lightly, as I rocked my intelligent daughter who agreed with every word, “you benefited from my unwavering, morally questionable loyalty.”

Lily made a noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh.

“So, what exactly do you want this time?” she asked.

“It’s simple,” I said. “I will only accept ride-or-die energy. Because today is a bad day, and my meds are not working as well because I tried to lower the dose, and I think I will need to go up again. Yes, yes … On the doctor’s advice. I am not stupid.”

Lily was silent for a minute. “You scared me, Luna.”

“You’re telling me. I scared myself. But I am better. I promise,” I had replied.

Isaac still goes to therapy, and he talks about it. He admitted one day that he still wakes up to check if both Amelie and I are breathing. He talks more freely about his feelings. And he tells me he loves me every day with a twinkle in his eye, like I have given him a gift when I grunt back.

It has become a thing. Before, his love language consisted of bear hugs and cuddles. But now, those are off-limits, except when he sneaks one when we are in bed.

I used to grumble that I always had to be the one to say I love him first. A week ago, he said it casually for the first time, like he was commenting on the weather.

“I love you.”

I was halfway through burping the baby, my hair scraped into a messy knot, one shoulder damp with puke I hadn’t noticed yet.

“Mhm,” I grunted, shifting her higher.

He took the muslin from beside me and dabbed at my shoulder.

But when I glanced up, there was this look. Like I had handed him something precious instead of a distracted noise.

After the first time, it kept happening.

In the kitchen, when I was standing in front of the fridge too long, trying to remember why I had opened it.

“I love you.”

“Mm.”

Twinkle.

Always that ridiculous, soft-eyed twinkle, like I just whispered something profound instead of … whatever that was.

On the sofa, when I was half-asleep, the baby sprawled across my chest. I think I was drooling a little.

He leaned down and brushed his lips to my temple.

“I love you.”

“Go away,” I mumbled, not even opening my eyes.

He let out a quiet huff of laughter. And when I forced one eye open, there it was again.

He looked like he’d been given a gift, not been grumbled at by a cranky crocodile.

One evening, I catch him watching me. Just … observing, the way he does now.

I am pacing the living room, trying to settle Amelie, humming something tuneless under my breath.

“I love you,” he says softly.

I stop and turn.

“Why do you say it like that?” I ask.

“Like what?”

“Like I’ve done something amazing.”

His brows pull together slightly, like the answer is obvious.

“You have.”

I stare at him.

“I grunted at you this morning.”

“You responded. You have done so well with the appointments. You have let me stay in this house, though I deserved to be chucked out. And you have given me Amelie,” he says, with that look again.

“I told you to go away five minutes ago.”

“You still let me kiss you.”

“On my forehead. That’s a low bar, Isaac.”

He shrugs, completely unbothered. He just seems content to be in my orbit. I shake my head, but there’s something warm curling in my chest despite myself.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Probably,” he agrees. “But when I see you, my chest feels funny.”

I roll my eyes, shifting the baby onto my shoulder again.

“Probably not a heart attack. But maybe heartburn?” I can’t help but quip back. It takes me a moment to realise the Luna who always needed to have the last word is back.

My birthday was quiet. Just the three of us and an almond and raspberry crepe cake which I inhaled while Amelie looked disappointed in her heartless mother.

I roll my eyes and took another bit while Isaac, shifted the baby in his arms.

“Mm.”

And there it is.

That stupid smile. That flicker in his blue, blue eyes.

***

He has started taking the pram out in the evenings.

And he always asks, “Want to come for a walk?”

Sometimes, I say yes. Sometimes, I don’t because I am feeling blue.

The first time I said no, I expected the flicker of disappointment. I expected him to say, “Come on, it’ll be good for you.”

It didn’t come.

“Okay,” he said simply. “I’ll take her. I have left a smoothie on the table for you. Drink up.”

And he gave me a little time to myself. I didn’t know what to do with the time at first. Being without Amelie felt like I was missing a limb.

Then I wandered. Picked things up and put them down. Made a cup of tea and drank it while it was still hot. Started a book I didn’t finish.

***

A few days later, he leans against the kitchen counter and watches me rinse bottles. He has just come back from a run. With his T-shirt sticking to his abs and those muscular legs on display, I need to physically stop myself from slapping that butt.

“You were watching that yoga class on the telly,” he says. “Didn’t you do it regularly at the gym?”

I shrug. “Used to.”

“You want to start again?”

I huff out a laugh. “In this body? With Amelie?”

He doesn’t brush it off.

“Yeah,” he says. “In this body. Didn’t the health visitor okay it?”

I don’t answer.

***

In the evening, after dinner, he takes the baby from me without asking.

“I’ve got her,” he says. “If you want to think about going back to the gym. Or take a walk.”

“Are you saying I need to exercise?” I ask with a huff.

“No, Luna. I just thought I would give you a break. Just … go. Have an hour.”

I hesitate.

“She’ll cry.”

“She might,” he agrees. “I’ll handle it. I am her dad.”

“Isaac—”

“I’ve got her, Luna.”

He seems to sense when I need a break. I don’t know how Isaac became so attuned to my moods, but he is.

But I don’t do yoga. I just sit on the mat and stare at the wall.

***

The bathroom door slides open before I can say anything. I have just gotten out of the shower. The mirror is fogged, but not enough, because I catch glimpses. My body feels … unfamiliar. It is soft in places that used to be firm.

I have a pooch that doesn’t flatten, no matter how I stand. There are faint lines along my skin that I don’t look at for too long. The flesh of my arms are loose. And my breasts seem enormous. They don’t feel like mine.

I used to walk around like this without thinking, completely naked and shameless.

Sometimes, just to distract him when he was gaming or watching rugby.

His eyes would immediately glaze over and go that deep, crazy blue.

I was comfortable in my skin. I felt beautiful.

Now—

I reach for the towel in a panic as the door opens.

Isaac steps in, saying something, then stops mid-sentence.

His eyes focus on me like he is seeing me for the first time.

He watches as I struggle to knot the towel. I’ve already slightly turned away.

“I need to dress,” I say quickly, not meeting his eyes.

Isaac doesn’t move. He doesn’t look away either. For a painful second, I feel … exposed. I hate my body.

I expect him to retreat and close the door, to free me from this embarrassment. Instead—

“Can I see?”

I blink.

“What?”

“I’d like to see you,” he says. “I’ve missed … looking at you.”

“I don’t …” I shake my head. “I feel—”

The words stutter to a stop.

“I feel fat,” I finally admit. “And … unattractive.”

I hate how small my voice sounds. I hate the burn behind my eyes even more. More tears!

I hear him cautiously take a step closer.

“Can I?” he asks again, reaching for the edge of the towel.

I don’t move, but I don’t stop him either.

“Yeah.”

His fingers come to the knot just above my breast.

He just loosens it slowly and lets the towel slacken.

I can’t breathe. I screw my eyes shut.

I want to grab it back. Cover up. Run away because I know what he’ll see.

He will see the softness. All the ugly marks. All the reasons I don’t like to look at myself in the mirror anymore.

He doesn’t say a word, but I can feel his eyes move over me, categorising the changes.

It’s too much.

“I can’t—” I start, trying to fold the towel back over my body. But he steps in behind me before I can move away, holding it open.

I feel him warm and solid behind me, the towel still loose between us.

I can feel him against my back, his hard-on pressing into my spine.

“Look at us,” he says softly.

“No.”

“Luna.”

“I said no.”

“Please.”

Something in his voice makes me glance up reluctantly.

The mirror catches us both.

My hand moves automatically, brushing over my stomach.

“I hate this,” I mutter.

Then, faster, almost joking—

“And these. And this. I feel like a cow. And—God, my arms …”

I laugh, but none of it feels funny. Isaac is not laughing.

He’s watching my face.

“Can I tell you what I see?” he asks.

I mumble something.

“I see the most beautiful woman in the world,” he whispers in my ear.

I huff out a breath. “I’m not—”

“To me,” he says, “you are … I love your body.”

I shake my head as useless tears gather. “You don’t need to lie to make me feel better.”

“Is it a lie?”

“Yes.”

He leans his forehead lightly against the back of my head.

“Everything about you,” he says, softer now, “is beautiful to me. I love your breasts. I love this new softness. I find it so sexy. I want to run my hands all over you. I love these silver lines. You got them from having Amelie. How can I not find you beautiful?

“I know you’re not ready,” he continues. “I’m not pushing for anything. I just want you to know I find you as hot as hell.”

He waits until my eyes meet his.

“But when you are ready, Mrs Marlowe …”

There’s the faintest hint of humour now.

“You can bet I won’t last very long the first round.”

I snort in the most unfeminine way possible. It surprises both of us.

He smells my hair.

“My right hand’s tired,” he adds under his breath.

That does it. I cannot stop the laugh.

And the tension stays as he wraps me carefully like a gift and kisses the top of my head. He doesn’t touch me beyond that.

Isaac doesn’t try to turn it into something else. He just gives me a hug from behind and walks out to give me a little more time.

And this time, I take my time in front of the mirror.

***

Everything is going so well. I don’t expect Chloe to be standing at my doorstep with a strange expression on her face. She starts with, “We need to talk.”