Chapter 2
Karan
Iwince at the sound of the cupboard door slamming shut. I don’t move, putting all my attention on the sounds in the condo. Will this stir Rachel from her sleep?
A sigh of relief escapes me when I hear nothing.
I didn’t intend to slam the cupboard door like that. But sometimes, I can’t control my strength. The only time I feel gentle is when I’m with Rachel and the boys.
The last thing I want is to wake her. Or our sons. It’s still pitch black outside, and even Cayce and Corey never get up at this hour. If Rachel were to wake up, it would only sour her mood even more.
I’m trying to make it up to her, not make things worse.
I fucked up last night.
Badly.
I now have all the items and ingredients I need on the counter to make Aloo Paratha, Rachel’s favourite of all the breakfast recipes passed down from my Punjabi father.
I’ve already boiled potatoes last night after coming back from my parents’ place, which means I can now mash them with a fork and blend them with spices before preparing my Paratha dough to stuff everything inside.
Rachel seemed pissed last night. I’m not exactly sure why it affected her as much as it did. Our group of friends gets together relatively often. Sure, it’s not every day that Tania and Nolan make the trip, but they only live an hour and a half away.
Still, I can own up to my mistakes. I have to, if I’m to remain the good husband I’ve always vowed to be.
My Rachel deserves better than what I’ve been giving her.
Weariness seeps into my bones as I knead the dough. With the prepping of the potatoes and getting up early this morning, I haven’t slept nearly enough. Still, it’s important for me to make it up to Rachel. It’s not her fault if she doesn’t understand the duty I have to my mother and father.
Although my mother is Québécoise like her parents, we still grew up in very different households.
Dad’s droning lectures—whether given in a calm demeanor or in frustrated screams—have etched his traditional values straight into my skull.
He and his sister Anjali were the only ones from their family who immigrated to Canada for work, which means there’s no one else to inherit our culture.
The last thing he wants is for his values to die with him.
And if there’s one thing he taught me above all else, it’s to respect—no, honour—my mother. I owe her my life, and given her health over the last couple more years, there’s no limit to what I should be doing to uphold my duty to her.
I spent so long living six hours away from my parents, and I still haven’t grown accustomed to our new proximity.
Of course it’s natural for me to rush to their aid whenever something comes up.
It was so much easier to give Rachel everything she deserves when my other responsibilities lay so far away.
But I can’t let myself forget that Rachel won’t understand. Not after what her parents did. My stomach still roils at the thought of how she was robbed of the solid parental presence that I’ve come to rely on.
And either way… I have a responsibility to care for my wife just as much as I have a responsibility to care for my parents.
A bead of sweat drips down my forehead as I finally finish prepping the Aloo Paratha for cooking. It’s still pitch black when I look outside. I’ve got time.
I pan-fry the paratha one by one. The aroma of spices and bread fills the air, and I smile to myself, knowing that nobody can get up in a bad mood when it smells this good in your home. While one of the paratha cooks, I start a pot of coffee, adding to the scrumptious aroma in the kitchen.
I leave most of the paratha in the oven to keep them warm for me and the boys, then place two of them on a plate for Rachel. I pour her a cup of coffee in her favourite mug. I got this mug for her for our anniversary two years ago. It says:
I’m a
Farmacist
Pharmasist
Pharmasyst
I sell drugs
She adores it, even if Cayce and Corey can now read and have started to ask what it means.
Carefully, while being mindful of my typically clumsy demeanor, I carry the plate and the mug toward our bedroom. I have to set the mug down on the hardwood floor to free my hand and open the door, and in doing so, I spill a few scalding drops on my hand and have to bite back a yelp.
When I finally manage to cross the door, both items in my hands, my gaze falls to my sleeping wife. She’s sprawled across the bed with her arms above her head, her delicate chestnut hair fanned across her pillow.
A pang flares in my chest. She’s even more beautiful than the first moment I laid eyes on her. And I love her so much that it hurts.
She’s my angel.
Slowly, so as not to wake her yet, I deposit the plate and the mug on her nightstand, then walk around the bed to the left side—my side—and crawl into the blankets next to her. I wrap an arm around her chest and slide in close.
Despite our size difference, her small warm body fits perfectly into mine, as it always has. I nuzzle into her neck and inhale her sweet strawberry scent.
I’m exactly where I should be.
The problem is, I haven’t been here enough as of late.
God, I miss her.
Rachel stirs at the touch, emitting a soft whimper that sends a shock of arousal directly down my spine.
I desperately wrestle against my inner urges to make this moment about more than simply being close to her.
It takes everything in me to resist, especially when she slides in closer and wraps one leg over my hips.
She’s warm, and soft, and I know all too well how good it feels to have my hands all over her, to be inside her, to watch her writhe and gasp above me.
Fourteen years haven’t doused the fire of my desire for her.
It has only fanned its flames.
“Mmm?” she whispers, her eyes still closed as I wrap my arms around her back and revel in the sensation of her lips against my chest.
I kiss her forehead with a smile. “Good morning, love. I made you breakfast.”
She leans her head back and sniffs. “I can smell it. Oh my God.” She sighs and nuzzles her head against my chest.
“I’m really sorry about last night.” I press my lips to her forehead again. “I know I haven’t been spending a lot of time with you lately. And I know breakfast doesn’t make up for it, but I hope you know that I’m trying.”
Rachel stiffens in my arms.
Fuck.
I said something I shouldn’t have.
“Did you have fun?” I ask, hoping she’ll be excited to tell me all about the fun evening I missed.
Instead, she rolls away from me and sits up before rubbing her eyes. “I don’t know. Did your mom get everything she needed?”
The pointed way in which she says ‘mom’ confirms what I thought.
She’s still pissed.
I sit up and move to wrap my hands around her shoulders but stop short. I know Rachel is still as attracted to me as I am to her. Just feeling her response to my cuddle a moment earlier—before she fully woke up and remembered she’s pissed at me—tells me everything I need to know.
But now’s not the time to try to win her over with affection.
When she’s upset, Rachel withdraws. Until this year, the root of her upset was almost always an external source. Nothing to do with me.
It happens on her mother’s birthday. Or on days when the twins have overstimulated her. A plethora of things can hurt Rachel, and my role in these moments was always clear to me.
I support her. Protect her. Do everything in my power to make sure nothing can get to her when she’s fighting against her demons.
But now that I’m the root of her upset, I have no fucking idea what to do. And it’s been happening more and more.
“I’m really sorry,” I repeat, already knowing that these are just words. “I promise I’ll go next time, unless someone is actively dying.”
A deep sigh moves through Rachel’s body. Because her back is to me, I can’t see her expression. I wish I were still in touch enough with her to be able to instinctively know what’s on her mind, like I used to.
“Whatever. It’s fine.” She reaches for the plate on her nightstand and shimmies back against the headboard. “Thank you for breakfast, Karan.”
A soft smile appears on her pillowy lips. My heart lifts at her expression but sinks right back into my stomach again when I lift my gaze to meet her green eyes.
She looks… tired.
Of course, she woke up seconds ago, but I detect another layer of weariness in those eyes that I love so much.
“Uh…” I place the blanket back over her legs before she deposits the plate of food on her lap. “It’s a pleasure, love. There’s more in the oven if you’re still hungry.”
“Okay. This is nice.” She smiles again and takes a bite, her eyes closing as she savours the bite. “And really good.”
The sound of a door opening, followed by quick footsteps, alerts us to the twins’ presence.
“I’ll get them ready this morning.” I shuffle to my feet and shoot a final look at my wife. “You enjoy your breakfast.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“I love you.”
“... I love you, too.”
I walk out of the bedroom to go greet my boys, unable to get that sinking feeling out of my chest that my efforts this morning will not be enough.