really are. And I should have realized Claire and Chloe are not stupid. We can’t hide this from them much longer.
My eyes well up when I ask her,” “Why is the daddy mad at the mommy?”
She pauses for a second, her tiny brows knitting together. “I don’t know,” she says. “But whatever the mommy did, it was really bad.”
Yes…yes it was.
I swallow hard, willing the tears away. I need to be strong for her. “I think we should all go for a bike ride later. What’d you think?”
Her face lights up. “I could practice some more.”
“Yep, those training wheels are coming off, sweetie.”
I haven’t felt the baby move yet, but I’m looking forward to that first little hint of a tug inside me. I’m starting to show and I’ve been wearing loose cotton t-shirts, and shorts and leggings. And I’ve been careful not to be naked around the girls.
I’ve been thinking about the baby so much lately. I’ve also been thinking about names. I’ve even been to the baby store to look at the nursery furniture, the blankets and mobiles, the tiny adorable outfits. The lady kindly asked me if she could help me. I politely declined, happy to just look.
I’m already falling in love with this unborn child.
I’ve been thinking about Gabe too, wondering how he’s doing, hoping he hasn’t turned to Bridget, or someone else. I’m hoping the pain has lessened, and that one day soon, he might be able to forgive me. I haven’t tried to talk to him because I know he needs his space.
He’s been over to see the kids, mow the lawn, and still helps with the house and yard. Despite everything that has happened, he hasn’t completely abandoned me.
But for the life of me, I can’t imagine how this could all work out between us — Gabe and I and the girls…and Weston’s child.
I just can’t see it.
It’s our twelfth anniversary this week. We decided long ago we wouldn’t make a big deal out of anniversaries — no fancy gifts. There are just too many gift (money spending) occasions with birthdays, and Christmas, Mother’s day and Father’s day. What we’ve been doing instead is getting each other cards. He also gets me a girly magazine I like, usually Glamour, or Marie Claire. And I get him a Mr. Big bar. It’s his favorite and it’s also kind of an inside joke, because he’s such a big guy. I can only find it in this small specialty candy store, but it’s worth the effort. This little tradition saves us a lot of stress and money. I wasn’t sure what to do this year since we’ve broken up. For the first time ever. The first time in twenty years.
And I know he hates me.
The girls are bickering again. This time, it’s over little squares of sticky foam. They both want to stick the gold ones on and I have to play referee again. I tell Chloe she gets to do it because she’s older. That always seems to be my go-to conflict resolution method.
“But it’s not fair,” Claire wails. “Chloe always gets everything. She gets to do everything. And I… I get nothing. Just because I’m smaller. And I’ll always be smaller,” she snaps. “It will never change.” Her tears soak the corner of the mosaic princess picture.
Chloe glares at her. “Drama queen.”
“Don’t you dare,” I scold. I take Claire into my arms, squeezing her tight. “I’m sorry. Next time you glue on the gold ones.” It seems so silly to cry over such a small matter, but I know this is what’s important in her little world right now. My heart is heavy as I think about what I’ll have to tell her and her sister soon, what I’ve been avoiding. It will need to be addressed soon and I just know it will shatter them. And I’ll have no one to blame but myself.
I grab a tissue from the box sitting on the coffee table and gently wipe her face. “Here, you don’t want to look all teary when daddy picks you up. You look so pretty.”
Gabe has picked them up for a visit, two or three times so far. I always make sure their hair is combed, their outfits are cute and clean, and their teeth are brushed. As if seeing his daughters looking perfect might trick him into thinking his marriage is perfect too.
I always doll myself up too, wanting him to see me again, to want me again, to look