Chapter 18
Cody
I sit in front of my computer screen, the glow illuminating the dark room as I search for things women like during pregnancy. My fingers freeze over the keyboard when a specific detail surfaces from the past.
Mint ice cream.
A small smile touches my lips as I recall how she used to look late at night when I caught her with a swollen stomach, tears tracing paths down her cheeks. Hormones, she would always say, wiping her face.
I reach for my phone and type out a quick text, keeping my fingers crossed as I hit send.
Do you still like the mint ice cream?
I set the device face down on the edge of the desk, rubbing my palms hard against my face. Pushing off the floor, I roll my chair away from the computer until I am facing the door, looking up into the darkness.
“I pray she still loves it,” I whisper to the empty space. “Let her respond.”
I shake my head at my own desperation. Why should she even bother to reply?
My mind drifts back to our conversation on the sidewalk earlier today, tracking the exchange from the exact moment I said Hi, Rain down to the final Thank you.
A low laugh escapes my throat at my own clumsy presentation.
I had an entire speech planned out, but standing in front of her, having her eyes focus on me, threw me off my balance.
“The house is empty,” I say out loud, the stillness of the room making the words bounce off the walls. “Did I even tell her I didn’t do anything with Toria?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, a knot tightening in my chest as I realize the truth. I didn't.
You lied to her, a voice reminds me from the shadows. I bow my head, roughly dragging my hand across my jaw. Don’t I know that?
I knew I made a terrible mistake the second I left our house with a lie on my lips.
After you slept with her, you told her indirectly you were going to see your first love, the voice chimes in again, relentless. And you had told her earlier you were going to forget about Toria.
I stand up from the desk, restlessness driving me across the room.
I look around at the vacant corners, my mind traveling through a dozen different scenarios.
How do I get her to just sit down and talk to me?
How do I let her know that nothing happened between Toria and me?
Ever since I returned from that trip, I have tried to reach Toria to ask her to text my wife, but every attempt has failed.
It is as if she blocked me across every social platform.
A beep cuts through the quiet.
I lunged for the phone, my thumb swiping the screen to read the notification.
Yes.
A singular word.
Movement overrides thought. The urgent need to put a smile on her face pushes me forward. Still dressed in my plaid pajama pants and a soft cotton tee, I rush down the stairs, grabbing the keys to the Range Rover from the hook by the door.
I back out of the driveway and hit the main road. My mind maps out the neighborhood, trying to locate an ice cream parlor that might still be open at this hour. I scroll through my phone at a red light until a location pops up.
When I pull into the parking lot, a wave of relief washes over me to see the line of customers inside is thin.
I push the door open and walk toward the counter, immediately noticing the subtle glances from the people nearby.
It takes a second to remember I am standing in a public shop in my sleepwear, but the late-night hour makes it easy to ignore. I don't care.
“Welcome to the Ice Cream Palace,” the girl behind the counter greets, offering a polite smile. “What can I get for you?”
“Mint... mint ice cream,” I say, my voice slightly breathless.
She nods, pulling a container from the stack. “What size?”
“Do you have a bucket of it?”
She pauses, her eyebrows lifting. “You want an entire bucket of it?”
“Yeah. I do.”
She turns, looking toward an older woman peaking her head out from the kitchen area. The woman gives a slow nod of approval.
The girl turns back to me. “Uh, you’ll have to wait for a bit while we pack it up.”
“Sure,” I tell her.
She notes down my name and gestures toward a small bench near the window. I sit down, my mind racing as I try to think of what else my wife might want. The memory of her eating pickles surfaces, and I make a mental note to locate a jar first thing tomorrow.
I wait, scrolling aimlessly through Instagram to pass the time until my name is finally called. I hand over the cash and accept the large container.
“Thank you,” I say.
She nods. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” I reply.
I jog out to the car, carefully cradling the bucket against my chest to shield it from the warm night air. As I drive toward her neighborhood, the questions swirl behind my eyes. Will she smile at me? Will this make her happy? What is she wearing right now?
I pull up to the curb outside her apartment and shift into park. The street is dark. I glance at the dashboard clock and see it is almost midnight.
I have to try my luck.
I step onto the path, walk up to her front porch, and press the doorbell. The chime echoes inside. I wait a few seconds, my pulse pacing, and press it again.
Finally, I hear the rustle of movement sounds from the other side.
“Who is it?” her voice carries through the barrier, sounding incredibly small and tentative.
I lean closer to the door, my heart hammering. “It’s Cody, Rain.”