The Ground Rules: Undone (16 page)

“I like your house,” he says and his words seem very genuine. “It’s quite warm.”

“Thank you,” I say, sheepish. “I know it’s not as ultra-cool as your place…places.”

He smiles at me. “It’s great. It’s you.”

“You’re pretty gutsy popping in like this. What if Gabe had been here? Do you have a death wish?”

He doesn’t quite look at me. His gaze falls to the floor. “I knew he wouldn’t be here. I know he’s staying at Bridget’s,” he says, looking up at me. “I’m so sorry for that.”

“So you and Bridget are not together anymore?” I can’t resist asking I’m so curious.

“Yes, we’re separated for the moment. As you can imagine, she hasn’t taken the news well.”

My heart feels heavy. I think about his poor children and I feel so responsible. “But you guys plan to work it out, right?”

He bites his lip, not quite looking at me. “I’m not sure, to be honest.”

He’s still so beautiful despite the reddish-purple nose and eye.

“Does it hurt still?”

He smiles. “Only when I breathe.”

I wince. “I’m so sorry.”

He pulls his gaze away from mine again. “Gabe loves you very much,” he says, his voice quiet. “He obviously holds a lot of passion where you’re concerned.”

I bite my lip, not wanting to talk about Gabe. “I know.”

“You’re not supposed to be here. You made a promise to Bridget.”

He turns to face me. “I wanted to check up on you. Make sure you’re eating well and taking care of yourself.”

Not this again. “I am,” I assure him. “I’m following your list religiously.”

“What have you been eating?”

I mull it over for a second.
What have I been eating?

“Macaroni and cheese, lots of soup, homemade pizza…. lots of crackers and cream cheese…. pancakes.”

He shakes his head. Apparently Dr. Hanson does not approve. “That’s dreadful, Mirella.”

“What?”

“Have you been eating protein…vegetables?”

I roll my eyes. “I’m fine.”

He scratches his chin. The sight of him scratching his sexy stubble makes me…
damn, these hormones.

“I have a chef I like,” he says. “I’m thinking of sending him your way. His name is Manny. He’s French. I think Manny’s short for Em—”

“I don’t need a personal chef, Weston,” I scoff. “Jesus…”

“Do it,” Gwen calls out from the kitchen. “Get the personal chef.”

I gasp and glare at the same time. “Gwen, stop listening to our conversation.”

Weston laughs, seemingly quite entertained by Gwen. I, on the other hand, am just about to kick her out on her Lululemon-clad rear.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” I ask.

He smiles. “Sure.”

I jump to my feet. “Let’s go.”

“Uh…you are going to change...”

I look down at my shabby housecoat and bring my hand to my messy hair and suddenly remember I look horrible. “I’m sorry. Yes. I look rather…”

He smiles again. “You look beautiful.”

I change into a pair of stretchy shorts and a yellow t-shirt. I do nothing with my hair — he’s seen me at my worst — the damage is done. I bound down the stairs and slip on my Birkenstocks.

His gaze stills on my midsection.

I look up at him. “Yeah, I’m getting a little belly.” I whisper. “It’s barely noticeable.”

“It’s beautiful,” he says as he inches closer to me. “May I?”

He presses his hand softly on the small bump. His hand feels warm against the thin fabric of my shirt. My whole body heats at his touch. I close my eyes for just a second, breathing in his wonderful scent. I open my eyes to see him staring down at me, his eyes dark. Part of me wants him to kiss me, right here in the front entry hall of my house, but I know that’s just not possible. I know I’m misbehaving. God has not answered my prayers. He hasn’t set me straight yet. I’m still a complete mess.

“Uh…we should get going,” he breathes and I detect the slightest hint of a crack in his voice.

“Yes, definitely.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Like a puppet on a string.

I
sit next to him on the bench and watch two children play with their mother at the park. My eye is drawn to the sweet little toddler with angel white blond hair. He’s not too steady on his legs. His mother helps him out, steadying him as he attempts to walk on the pebbles. I wonder what my baby will look like. Will he have a full head of dark hair? Will he inherit my freckles as he grows older?

“I know I shouldn’t be here,” Weston says. “But I just wanted to make sure you were okay. See it with my own eyes.”

I’m so drawn to him. I want to touch him. Just hold his hand. “I know,” I say as I put my hand over his. Our hands rest on the bench between us. He pulls his hand away softly and takes my hand in his. I close my eyes without a word. He trails his thumb along the inside of my palm. “I’ve missed you,” he says quietly.

“Me too,” I whisper, not quite looking at him. The cute toddler with the angel hair goes down the slide. His mother catches him at the bottom, all smiles.

The park is silent, with only the occasional shrieks of the little boy and his sister.

“You’ve hurt me,” he says.

My heart pounds as I wait for him to say something else, to explain. But he doesn’t say another word.

“What do you mean?”

“The last time we were together,” he says as he turns to me. “When we…and you said it didn’t change a thing. You told me you wanted me to stay away. You had your fun with me. And that was it.”

“I’m sorry. I just—”

“I told myself I wouldn’t contact you no matter how much I wanted to, despite the fact that I thought about you every second of every day, and all the while, you were carrying my child.”

I inch closer, willing him to look at me. “I’m sorry. I’ve thought about you—”

He finally turns to face me and presses his hand firmly against my cheek. “Is this a game to you?”

“No.”

He buries his face in my neck. “Because it’s not a game to me.”

As he pulls from me, the warmth of his face lingers against my skin. I reach out and wrap my arms cautiously around him, trailing a lock of his hair between my fingers. My heart pounds against my ribs and the world seems to spin.

“Weston…”

“I can feel your heart,” he breathes against my neck.

“I…”

He pulls away again, his actions sudden. “I should go. I shouldn’t be here. Like you’ve pointed out, I’ve promised Bridget.”

He stands, looking pained. I reach for his arm but he pulls from me.

“Weston...”

He jerks away and sets off. “I should really go. I shouldn’t have come.”

As I watch him go, I’m glad. I’m glad he’s had the strength to let me go. As much as I still desire him, this is not what I want. I want everything to be okay again. I want him with his family where he belongs, not with me. And I want Gabe by my side.

Tears stream down my face as I watch the little toddler with his mother. That was me, not long ago, when the girls were still so little.

My life was simple and beautiful.

Only, at the time, I didn’t quite realize just how wonderful it was.

I am such a procrastinator. I’ve been putting off laundry all week and now it’s coming at me like a tsunami. I’m buried in it. I scratch my head, trying to figure how many loads I’ve got on my hands — maybe five or six. I’ve already separated the whites and the darks. At least that’s one thing done.

The girls are being good, for once. Chloe is completely wrapped up in her book. And Claire…well, I’m not sure what she’s up to. I haven’t heard a peep from her. And that’s cause for concern right there.

“Claire,” I call out but am only met with silence. “Claire!” I yell, but there’s still no answer.

I drop my basket on the floor and dash into the living room. I sprint out to the back yard. She’s not there either. I call out her name again, frantic. My heart beats a little faster as I run outside to the front of the house, last night’s conversation rattling around in my head. She had been upset with me and had told me she was going to go see her dad. I had smiled and had told her she’d have a ways to travel because her dad was in Chicago. “That’s a forty minute drive,” I had pointed out. “I’m good on my bike,” she had replied with a frown and a fire in her big brown eyes.

As I make my way round to the garage, I spot her little pink bike. It’s leaning in its usual spot in its full splendor, all sparkly purple tassels and flowery stickers. A wave of relief washes over me. But guilt quickly hits me as I stare at the training wheels still attached. Gabe had promised to help her practice this summer so she could finally get those wheels off. “Training wheels are for babies,” she always complains, “and I’m not a baby.”

But now Gabe isn’t here to do that, and it’s all my fault.

I bound up the stairs, still worked up in a frenzy.

She has to be somewhere
.

I pop my head in her purple room. “Claire,” I call out again, and then peek in Chloe’s room. “Have you seen your sister?”

Chloe doesn’t even bother looking up from her book. “Nope”.

I start to really panic and am seriously just about to lose it when I finally spot her in the guest room, standing next to the yellow doll house. As I rush in the room, my whole body seems to lift and my heartbeat slows to a jog. “Thank God.”

She turns to look at me, tiny doll in hand, Chloe’s iPod Nano resting on the carpet. She pulls the ear buds out of her ears “What’s wrong, Mommy?” she asks, wide-eyed.

I squeeze her in my arms. “I was worried about you. I couldn’t find you anywhere. I called out your name but you didn’t answer.”

She bites her lip, a guilty smile on her face. “I’m sorry. I’m listening to Chloe’s music,” she whispers.

“You better not let your sister find you with her iPod,” I warn. “You’ll be in big trouble.”

“I know.”

I sit next to her on the carpet, and watch her play. She seems so small standing next to the huge doll house. She holds the mommy in her hand and sits her at the kitchen table. Her little pudgy fingers work delicately to tuck the small figure’s legs under the table. She sets a tea cup and saucer. “She’s having some coffee,” she tells me.

I smile and marvel at the details of the kitchen; an old fashioned stove with a large boiling pot and pan resting on the burners, a box of cereal and a carton of Tropicana juice on top of the refrigerator. There’s also an island sink and a tiny toaster. And there’s even a high chair for the baby. But no dishwasher though — this mommy has it tough.

“Do you have Baileys for her coffee?” I ask.

She makes a face. “What’s Baileys?”

I smile at her. “Never mind.” But seriously, the mommy probably needs it. She has a baby and two kids, and her husband seems to be AWOL, and she has no dishwasher.

“You really like this doll house, don’t you?”

She takes the baby out of its crib and she strokes his little tiny head — so sweet. “I do,” she says. “It was nice of your friend to give it to us. He’s a nice man…your friend.”

“Yes,” I say, trying not to think about him. Yes, it was a nice gesture. Yes, Weston’s full of nice gestures, with all the best of intentions.

She puts the baby on the bed with the little dog.

“Oh, I don’t think that’s a good idea. The baby could fall off the bed, and I don’t think the dog…”

She looks at me with big playful eyes. “Yep, the dog’s not ’sposed to be on the bed, but he likes it. And the baby likes it too,” she tells me with a playful smile.

I smile. She’s a rebel, that one. Just like her father.

As I take in the details of the master bedroom; the tiny mahogany dresser and matching headboard and night table, the wall mirror and old fashioned lamp, I think about Gabe and I can’t help but smile.

A while ago, we dubbed the doll-house family the Browns. Claire even gave them all names, ‘mommy’, ‘daddy’, Kelly and Kevin, baby Matthew, and ‘Jakey’ for the dog. One night, I was cleaning up the kitchen and Gabe came in and shot me a mischievous smile. He said I should go check out what the Browns were up to. I smiled, knowing it would undoubtedly be something silly. I walked up the stairs to the guest room, curious. And then, of course, there was Mr. Brown propped up on the tiny bed behind Mrs. Brown, in a compromising position, doggie-style, no less. I laughed my head off, and then I proceeded to immediately place Mr. and Mrs. Brown in a less scandalous position. I wrapped Mr. Brown’s arm around his wife’s shoulder, and made them cuddle. Romance wasn’t dead after all.

“You are so juvenile,” I told Gabe, a smile practically splitting my face in two.

He grabbed a hold of my waist. “You like it,” he whispered in my ear. “And I think they’ve got the right idea, the Browns.”

I laughed, and he pulled me in closer and kissed my neck softly.

I shake my head a little, trying to clear the memory from my mind. I miss him so much. I miss the way he used to make me laugh like that, and the way he’d touch me just right.