Blue Page 6

  I sat behind my modest wooden desk, elbows on the surface and my head in my hands. I was trying to review the quarterly budget that lay on the table in front of me, but I just kept reading the same line, over and over again. I was startled by a sudden voice erupting through my open office door.

  “Hey,” Milo said, popping his head in through the entryway, “How it’d go last night?”

  Milo was not only my sister’s husband, but my boss, as well. He’d hired me when I was young, long before he met Hazel. Hazel and Milo were both older than me by six and eight years, respectively. They actual met because of me and I liked to remind them both of that from time to time.

  Milo had become a trusted confidante, mentor, and friend to me over the years. Without his guidance, I would never have gotten off the construction site and into management.

  I lifted my head at his sudden appearance, crossing my forearms over the budget pages and leaning forward casually against the desk.

  “Well, she came home eventually. I don’t even know what time it was because she didn’t bother to wake me when she got in.”

  “Yeah?” he stepped inside and shut the door behind him before sitting on an old wooden chair on the opposite side of my desk.

  I nodded, “Yeah. I fell asleep on the couch waiting for her, but never heard her come home. She was already in bed. It had to have been late, Milo. I don’t know where the hell she was.”

  “Did you talk this morning?” he asked in his native Puerto Rican accent.

  I shook my head, “She wouldn’t talk to me. She was really hungover.”

  He nodded slightly but didn’t respond.

  “I feel like I’m losing her, Milo. What am I supposed to do?”

  “Man, I don’t know,” he replied, “It’s tough what you two have been through. You’ve both got a lot of healing to do.”

  “I never in a million years imagined…” I trailed off, focus faltering as my mind raced, trying to sort through the mess of things.

  Everything happened so fast with me and Desi and I knew what people thought.

  They thought we got married too soon.

  They thought we only got married because she was pregnant.

  They thought we didn’t know each other well enough.

  None of that was true. I knew the moment I met Desi that I would marry her, I just didn’t know it would happen so fast. I didn’t know the horrible thing that would happen before we’d had time for us, time with the pregnancy, time with Lucy. All that time had been stolen from us.

  I feared deep down that Desi had forgotten where her strength was, that maybe she thought that had been stolen from her, too. I feared she didn’t believe that I would walk with her every step of that journey to find it again. I feared that she didn’t know how willing I was to travel that road of grief and agony with her, if only to carry her forward when she couldn't bear the thought of taking another step.

  Every time I thought about it, every time I thought about Desi, about Lucy, it broke my heart and rage spilled from the cracks. The anger I’d worked so hard to manage over the years threatened to poison my veins with every thought and every reminder. I had to fight that much harder to keep my shit under control. The thought of losing Desi twisted and pulled at my soul, tearing at the edges, straining me, hurting me, making me feel weak against my growing temper. If I lost Desi to this grief, there was nothing else left for me.

  “Tell me what to do, Milo, you’re better at this than I am.”

  He chuckled, “I don’t know if I’d say that.”

  “Shit,” I leaned back in my chair, exasperated, rubbing the side of my neck, “Maybe I need to talk to Hazel.”

  “Yes, my wife is certainly the smarter one of us when it comes to matters of the heart.”

  “I wish I could get Desi to talk to her.”

  “Hazel would love that, but we both know that she’s currently a walking reminder of what Desi lost. Give it time.”

  I knew what Milo meant, and he was right. Hazel was pregnant with a due date just a few weeks later than when we expected Lucy to arrive.

  “I know,” I sighed, “She just needs help, Milo. She won’t let me in. She won’t see her doctor and fuck all if you bring up counseling. She’s so damn stubborn and too independent for her own good. How do you help someone who doesn’t want help?”

  “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

  I forced a half smile, “That’s incredibly helpful.”

  “Listen, I don’t think this is hopeless, Vaughn. Desi loves you, there’s no doubt about that. This would be a hard thing for couples who’ve been together years to go through, let alone in the time you two have known each other. I believe you’ll work this out. You two are good together. Hazel thinks so, too. Come on. You know, I wouldn’t have gotten ordained and married you if I didn’t believe that was true.”

  “I know that’s true.”

  Milo was a principled man who held firm to his beliefs no matter what. If he’d ever had a doubt that Desi was the one for me, he wouldn’t have been at that wedding.

  He smiled, “You know family is first, Vaughn. I want you to take off early today. Go home. Make dinner for your bride. Talk to each other. Make love. Whatever you need to do. Doesn’t look like you’re getting much work done here, anyway,” he nodded toward the papers on my desk.

  He was right, I wasn’t accomplishing anything here and none of it was as important as my relationship with Desi.

  "Thanks, boss."

  * * * * *

  I planned out a whole night for just me and my girl. I stopped at the grocery store on the way home and took my time selecting all the right ingredients, didn’t skimp on the wine, and picked up a couple of Redbox DVDs I knew she would like.

  I spent nearly an hour preparing a healthy, delicious meal. It’d been a while since I cooked for Desi. I knew I should do it more often. In fact, I thought about it every night. But she always got home before me and with her part-time work schedule, she just generally had more time. Sure, she was a good cook, but I’d always had a talent for entertaining and crafting spectacular meals came naturally to me.

  Somehow, though, I had convinced myself that the monotony of Desi’s daily routine, including the planning and preparation of meals, must in some way be good for her mental state.

  Stability.

  Normalcy.

  Routine.

  The blogs said those were good things to maintain when everything else felt like it was falling apart.

  But as I spent the time and effort in the kitchen to make her dinner, it slowly occurred to me that maybe that was the exact problem. Nothing about our relationship before the loss had been stable, normal, or routine. Those words didn’t describe who we were as a couple, not even as individuals for that matter. But it seemed that’s what we’d become.

  Perhaps the habitual norm only served to remind her that our lives hadn’t changed the way we hoped. Perhaps the standard day-to-day made the future that we had lost just that much more apparent.

  Desi and I were both adventurous people. Spontaneity and thrill-seeking had, in essence, brought us together, and the early excitement of a new adventure as parents had cemented our partnership for good.

  What the fuck have I been doing to her?

  Had I put her in a box of domesticity after Lucy died, expecting that would protect her from the pain of the world? It was suddenly clear that I had done just that and the end result trapped her pain inside the box with her. She literally couldn’t escape her grief because of me. Instead of living, Desi was sitting in a box waiting for her husband to let her out.

  Shit.

  The realization of how much I’d been aiding her depression made me furious with myself. I wasn’t doing what I needed to be doing. I wasn’t stepping up as her man and taking control. I’d let her take the lead on navigating her own mind, which had been warped and twisted by thoughts of despair and hopelessness and lifelessness. I was feeding that despair with routine. It wasn’t
working for either of us.

  I could resolve right then to knock it the fuck off, but the truth was, I think I’d dug myself into a seriously deep hole with the approach I’d taken.

  Are we so stable and so routine now since our loss that we can't get back out of it?

  Are we stuck in a domestic time loop?

  I had just finished putting dinner on the table when Desi arrived home. She entered slowly, dropping her keys on the entry table. She tossed her gym bag in on the floor of the small coat closet to the right, the one that had been missing a door since before we moved in. She looked surprised to see me, which made sense since I was never home this early.

  “What are you doing home?”

  “Got off early,” I smiled.

  “Oh,” she looked at the meal on the table and furrowed her brow, “You made dinner?”

  I circled the table, crossing the room to her. I didn’t hesitate before wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her close, “I missed you, babe, wanted to do something nice for you.”

  “Wow, thank you."

  There was some apprehension behind her tone, the distance that she used to brick up a wall between us.

  I pulled back to look at her, placing my hands on her shoulders, “Are you feeling better since this morning?”

  “Yeah, I’m better,” her smile was forced, but at least she tried.

  She did seem to be in a slightly better mood than she was last night and this morning, so I figured I’d take it.

  “Sit. Eat.”

  I watched my girl as she walked around and sat in her usual spot in the usual way, tucking one leg up under her on the chair.

  It wasn’t just my frustration I was having a harder and harder time controlling. Desi had been resistant to physical contact for far longer than I could stand. I couldn’t help it that my mind wandered every time I looked at her.

  She was physically beautiful in the traditional sense with her long, chestnut brown hair that came nearly to her waist when she took her hair down in the evenings. She had brown eyes that charmed and disarmed with a flash of gold whenever the light caught them just right.

  Desi wasn't petite, but she was small, a good six inches shorter than my six feet tall. She exercised daily as a yoga instructor and she was a pretty healthy eater. She'd started to eat more like a normal person and less like a bird when she got pregnant and, of course, she put on some weight then. She was self-conscious about it, but she had no reason to be. It only made her sexier.

  The pregnancy had given her curves she didn't have before, filling her out in all the right places. The healthy pounds gave her body a look of maturity, a look of experience, more like a woman than a twenty-something college student. I had desire for every inch of her.

  Desi was gorgeous by any man’s standards, but I saw more beauty in her than any of them could. She had let me in and I’d seen her soul. Her spirit for adventure, her love for living, her unflinching willingness to experience and enjoy every day – that was her true beauty. She had just squashed it down deep over the last few months and I could see it wearing on her today.

  I sat near her, kitty-corner per usual, at the rectangular wooden dining table we’d inherited from her grandmother.

  “You’re home a little later than usual, yeah? Out doing anything fun?”

  Desi looked up sharply, “What? Oh. No. I just went out for coffee after I left the studio,” she picked up her fork and took a bite, moaning as she tasted it, “Oh my God, Vaughn, this is so good.”

  I smiled, “Haven’t heard that in a while, babe.”

  She looked suddenly drained, “Can we please not start with that?”

  Clearly, she misunderstood my intent, “I didn’t mean anything by it, babe.”

  Sex had been a bit of a taboo topic as of late. It was clear Desi felt guilty for not putting out for me. I had been ridiculously patient and understanding, to a point beyond frustrating. But what could I do?

  Did I miss her waking me up with an unexpected blow job in the morning? Yes.

  Did I miss fucking her until she came completely undone for me? God, yes.

  Did I miss the connection of moments of ecstasy shared between the two of us? More than I can say.

  But given what we’d been through, this wasn’t a deal breaker for me like she thought it was. My balls were blue and it fucking sucked. But she was worth waiting for. Though, I’d be a liar to say it wasn’t getting harder every day.

  There was a drawn out, uncomfortable pause before I broke the silence, “Did you get coffee by yourself?”

  Desi tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and stared down at her plate as if it were the most interesting thing in the room. That took a dig at my ego.

  “No,” she finally said, “I met up with a friend.”

  “Really? Who?”

  I was surprised. She’d distanced herself from friends, and really, people in general, after Lucy passed.

  She hesitated a beat too long, “Just a friend. We actually have plans for later tonight.”

  “Oh,” I said a little too sharply.

  I was disappointed that she’d made plans, though really, I guessed I should be happy. Other than her unplanned, drunken escapades last night it would be the most social thing she’d done in months.

  Maybe this is progress?

  Fuck, if I know.

  “What plans? With who?”

  She looked like a deer in headlights and it confused me when she dodged the question, hurrying to placate me.

  "I’m sorry, I should’ve asked you before making plans.”

  “No, Desi, it’s fine. Really,” I convinced her as well as myself, “I’m glad you’re going out. That’s good. You need to get out more aside from just work.”

  I took a couple of bites, faking normalcy despite the palpable tension. And there I was doing it again, forcing us into a box of usual, typical, routine.

  Fucking hell.

  I didn’t know a lot, but I knew this uncomfortable tension with my wife and there were only two ways to break it. One was to fight, and I was sick to death of fighting with her just for her to run away from me. The other way would work to satisfy us both in the end, but it was a risk.

  Good thing I’m risk-taker.

  Setting my fork down with a clang against the plate, I leaned forward, grasping the leg of her chair and yanking hard, sliding her as close as I could get her. She opened her mouth in shock, but before she could protest, I grabbed her face in both hands and kissed her so passionately, she would’ve fallen backward off her chair if I hadn’t held onto her so tightly.

  I felt her pull back when my lips first touched hers, but in moments, she relaxed. I knew then that she realized just how tired she was of fighting, too, remembering how good it was to simply touch and forget the rest.

  I pulled back sharply after thoroughly assaulting her tongue with mine and her eyes were on me. I smirked, knowing what that did to her, and though she tried to hide her desire by masking her natural non-verbal cues, she failed miserably. Desi licked her lips and caught her bottom lip between her teeth and that was all it took. She leaned forward and kissed me again as if she were starving for the taste of my tongue.

  I dropped my hands from her face and gripped her hips firmly as she scrambled to get to me. I kicked my chair back from the table, pulling her along with me. She climbed onto my lap as I guided her from her seat.

  Desi settled her ass on my thighs as she straddled me on the chair, moaning against my lips. She was eager and rushed and desperate, so I pulled back to slacken her pace, running my hand from the side of her head, over her thick strands of hair to the base of her ponytail. Wrapping my hand around the gathered hair, I pulled lightly, but firmly, tilting her head back so I could look at her.

  “Kiss me,” she said, her eyes half hooded, “Please.”

  “You are so goddamn beautiful, Desi.”

  She smiled, though it was dim. It faded a little more every time the muscles pulled upward at her c
heeks.

  I tugged at her hair, angling her head so I could taste her throat, kissing along the hollow spot to make her squirm. Her skin was salty and sweet and undeniably delectable.

  I lifted my hips slightly from the chair, thrusting my already hard cock against her ass and she whimpered.

  I nipped at the side of her neck with my teeth, “I miss you so damn much, babe.”

  Her hips rocked subtly and I could feel her warmth pressing down against me. If I wasn’t trying so damn hard to draw her out and bring her back to me, I would’ve slammed her to the floor and fucked her hard and fast right then. I didn’t do that, though maybe I should have.

  Instead, I touched her softly, delicately. I still held her hair in one hand as I traced her body with the other. I brushed my fingertips, rather than my hands, along her curves.

  As my touch approached her breasts, she stilled abruptly. I should’ve stopped then, but like an idiot, I pushed. When I grazed her nipples and pressed in with my thumbs, the whole thing came to a crashing halt. My grip on her hair loosened naturally as she lifted her head, though I was desperate to hold tight, desperate to prevent her from pulling further away from me.

  But I let go because there was nothing else I could do.

  Desi sighed, “I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head, “I’m really sorry, Vaughn, I just can’t right now,” she faltered, “My head’s just not in the right place for this. Okay?”

  My impulse got the best of me and I snapped, “No, it’s not fucking okay.”

  Her eyes narrowed as anger clouded her features, “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. It’s not fucking okay, Des. I’m sick of this shit.”

  I bumped up against her, grabbing her hips and lifting her off me before standing and walking toward the door to grab my coat and my keys.

  “What are you doing? Where are you going?”

  “If you’re going out, I’m going out. If you’re gonna distance yourself from me, then I’m gonna distance myself from you. I’m fed up, Desi. I just want some goddamn affection from you.”

  “Don’t you fucking start with me, Vaughn. I don’t owe you sex just because you’re horny,” her voice was a low hiss.