Unhinge - Calia Read Page 0,32
had all been in vain. “Getting pregnant isn’t going to happen in a flash. It might take time.”
“I know that,” I said through gritted teeth. “But you looked so relieved back there!”
In this empty house, my words echoed all around us, slamming home my point.
His lips moved into a thin line. In my eyes, this shouldn’t be an argument. Money and things should create arguments. Not children. He dragged his hands through his hair. “I’m still coming around to the idea of it, okay?”
“But just two months ago you said we could start trying for a baby. I didn’t put the words in your mouth!”
“In a way, you did. You wouldn’t let the topic go.”
There was nothing I could say to that. It was clear that we had each taken different things away from the baby conversation. On the first floor, workers discreetly tried to get out of the eye of the storm. I didn’t blame them one bit. I wished I could walk out with them.
Wes walked down the steps until he was right next to me. “Isn’t it enough that I’m open to the idea of a baby?”
“No. It’s not enough. Having a baby is not like buying a car. You can’t trade it in if you don’t like it. That’s not how it works.”
Within seconds, his face morphed into anger. I saw rage in his eyes. His fist flew, only inches away from my head, and hit the plywood next to me. I covered my head as I hurried down the rest of the steps and looked at Wes in shock.
He stared at the now-cracked piece of wood and at his fist, looking just as shocked as me. When his eyes met mine, I saw a wild, frantic, terrified look on his face. He hurried down the stairs. I stopped myself from taking a step back, away from him.
A hush descended across the house. Even the construction workers were staring our way.
“I’m sorry,” Wes whispered. He pulled me to him. His arms encircled my shoulders. My body was rigid.
Wes pulled back, his hands cupping my face. He smiled, but it didn’t have the same effect it usually did. “I’m so sorry, Victoria. I exploded. You know I love you. I love you.”
Slowly, almost robotically, my arms wrapped around him. Wes calmed down instantly.
I didn’t know what had just happened. It unnerved me. It terrified me.
“We can make memories in this house. Memories that will last us until we die. Do you trust me?” Wes asked.
I nodded, but it was a knee-jerk reaction.
“We will. We will,” he repeated over and over into my hair. “That beautiful garden you want? I’ll call a gardener and have them start working on the backyard. We’ll make the room next to ours the nursery. Anything. Anything you want.”
The promises continued, but my confidence that I knew my husband like the back of my hand was shaken. I had no idea what the hell just happened minutes ago and I had no idea how to make sure it never happened again.
September 2013
“Don’t break that! It’s fragile!”
Wes glanced over at me. “It’s a flowerpot, Victoria. If I break it, we can go buy another one.”
I bit down on my tongue. We? Why did he say “we” when we both knew it would be me to go buy another? That’s how it had been since we started construction on the house. I thought we would decide on details together, ranging from things as simple as knobs for the kitchen cabinets to the number of bookshelves he wanted in his office.
I really thought this house would be our project. It was supposed to be our dream home, so why wasn’t he as invested in it as I was?
That was the least of my problems, though. Wes and I used to crave our time, spend every possible moment together, but now there was this impatience about him. A stiff quality, as though he was counting down the hours until he could leave my side. I was quick to blame his workload and the stress that he put on his own shoulders.
He told me it was because of work. A lot of hours. A heavier caseload. When I suggested that maybe he cut back, he gave me a dirty look and said: “How do you suppose I support this picture-perfect life you want?”
The house was supposed to be for our family. At least, that’s what I thought.
But finally, here he was, helping me with all the gardening supplies.