It's a little pressure on her nose. A tiny, feather-light weight on the tip of her nose. Then it squeezes. Inwardly, she's rolling with laughter, struggling to keep a peaceful, deeply asleep face. A façade. A game they play every once in a while when he gets up first.
She hears whispers, a childish melody, a sound she's never thought she'd hear one day. He had promised her. He had promised her many times, at many improvised dates, and during many stolen moments. Every minute had been spent reassuring her, modeling dreams, building up imaginary houses and debating how many rooms there should be. It was all supposed to be in their minds. It as all supposed to be a fairytale. It was all supposed to stay an imaginary witness of their late night phone calls when they dreamed out loud what life should and could have been. It was supposed to be damp tissues and dried tears and stupid arguments and breakups and ecstasy and laughter and intense pleasure. It was supposed to stay a fantasy.
Until it wasn't anymore. Until one night, after a month break up when she had started to miss him, to hate herself for the words she had said to him. She was angry, she was scared and she ran. She was a broken record. Her hand had been hovering over her phone- his number already dialed as she stared at the green button on her phone. Debating with her mind, defying temptation; defying herself. But she never pressed it. She had managed to fool herself into thinking time heals wounds and erases memories. Time would erase him. Time would erase them. She just needed that; a little more patience and it would be it. Yes, a little more time and like magic, he would disappear from her mind. Like they had never existed. She would work more, harder, longer. She would forget him.
How could she have known that night, while papers she hadn't really read all day sat on her desk patiently, that a delivery man would come with his signature make-up flowers and a large manila envelope.
It wasn't about a dream. It wasn't about a possibility and late night phone calls. Not anymore. Her gut said so, had always been saying so, and she had ignored it. But her gut is always right.
She could remember the words she had angrily thrown at him. She had meant to push him away, and push hard until she wounds him, deeply, until she hurt him so much she knew he'd never come back. It was all about making him a good man again. The man she knew he was and always will be. The man who never cheated on his wife. The man who knew the meaning and weight of sacred vows. The man she knew she had changed. The man she had fallen for. She needed him to go back, to get back to his wife. She wanted for all his big dreams to be true. She believed in his dreams. But she wasn't his wife. Yes, she needed to make him forget her, and forget them.
As dead as his marriage had been the past few years, as arranged as it was, she wasn't his wife. The ring on his finger wasn't hers. That burning reminder of what she truly was, the slap she got every time she held his hand, every time his hands rediscovered her body. The other woman.
She hated the words. Yet, they spoke her truth.
She couldn't keep lying to herself. No. She had done the right thing. She had done what she had to do. She was a gladiator, wasn't she? The invincible one. The one wearing the white hat. She was the fixer.
She wanted the tittle, he wanted the presidency, they knew the sacrifices.
That was, until that night.
She had opened the envelope, fingers shaking and breathing frantic. Something deep inside her had sparkled. She knew the feeling a little too well. She wanted to believe in it. And as she read the head page, she wanted to cry, to let out all the frustration and pain and heartache of the last year and all the overwhelming relief she shamefully felt. Moisture had started to pool in her eyes, she could feel them threatening to pour, she could feel the betrayal coming. Yet, she had managed to keep herself in check. That was until she heard the voice behind her. A few words spoken, shaking her to the core, a voice that put every single piece of her soul back together, as if it had never been broken. She flung herself to him, craving the comfort of his arms way too much to keep up appearances as she wept against his chest, his strong arms holding her tightly against him.
He was right. She was done pretending.
Without him, without them, it just wasn't worth it.
"Mommy. Mommy?" She hears the little voice say. There's a pause, and she doesn't need to open her eyes to see the living mischief between father and daughter. "Daddy, mommy is sleeping."
"You know what can wake her up?" says the baritone that always gets to her, even three years later. She can almost see her daughter nodding frantically; a big grin matching her father's. There's no need to open her eyes. Whispery giggles, then she feels little arms hugging as much of her body as much as they can, kisses landing everywhere on her face. And she can't hold it back anymore. She engulfs her baby girl in her arms, lifting the little body until it lands next to her on the bed, and starts tickling her.
Laughter had never been as easy. She looks into the eyes that mimic hers so well, and the features of the man she loves, sparkling like firework.
He looks at the scene unfolding in front of him and can't help but join them. Join his wife and daughter. What was part of a dream, something he, three years ago, almost gave up on believing could ever happen. That was until he did the right thing, at first just for him until he realized there wasn't just a 'him'. He secures the little girl's arms with one hand and her legs with the other, nodding at his wife to resume the tickling torture. Laughing as they hear their daughter's screeches. He looks into her eyes, unspoken words and love confessions don't need to be put into words and sentences. It's all in their souls and they know where to look, they know to reach the depths of the other's mind. Some things are better left unsaid. They mean much more, because they know where to look.
They finally get up, following up with an easy, almost trusty routine as they set everything up. While he showers, mother and daughter quickly put the last touches to the breakfast they planned –well, she mostly did the work- gathering all his favorites and bringing them to the breakfast nook. She looks at their work, and it's a beautiful, sunny day, and it seems like nature is as happy as they are. She grabs the freshly cut flowers from her daughter's tiny fist, smiling at the white petals- they were the same as they used for their wedding. She kneels, until she's practically sitting on her heels, eye to eye with the brown small orbs that never stop filing their days with joy and love, "can you go get the drawing you made for daddy yesterday?" Julia nods and runs away as fast as her little legs will allow her and she turns to get one of his multiple presents.
Life with a child never got boring. It was quite the opposite- he loved spending time with his daughter, loved teaching her to ride a pony and just like her daddy Julia loved to ride, she loved being outside and even fishing. But their most cherished time had to be story time. And she loved it with her father mostly because he usually caved when the big brown orbs that had him tied around her little finger pleaded for one more story. Julia was the perfect angel. She even managed to get away with breaking his favorite set of tumblers. All she had to do was water her eyes a little bit and get her lips to tremble and he caved. He wouldn't have grounded her anyways. He loves her so much.
When he gets down the stairs, freshly showered and shaven- smelling like heaven, he's met with the little energy ball rushing to his feet and urging him towards his yearly breakfast.
He kisses his wife, eyes burning with undying love, thanking her again and again for their little traditional celebration. He sits at his usual seat and busies himself with feeding his daughter. Anytime is bonding time. He can feel the burning eyes on him and he just knows- there's more to their day.
"Daddy, I drawed you this," two-year-old Julia proudly asserts, holding a white piece of paper with multi-colored figures and flashing her best smile. A smile they've work so hard to get to see one day.
He takes the paper, internally laughing at her representation of their ranch, of the sun and their field. Little hearts are filling up the sky- there's just so much love in his life now. Nothing to compare to what it used to be. It was all worth it. He looks at one of the two people for whom he could give up anything, do anything to make them happy. He takes the small body in his arms, hugging his baby girl tightly to his chest as he kisses the crown of her head. "Thank you, baby girl," and he looks at the love of his life, whispering the same words, watching as she winks at him, confirming there's just more to his special day.
They spend the day outside, laughing, running, trying to get their daughter tired enough to have her in bed and tucked in by her curfew. And he's the one to give the bath, brush the teeth and supervise changing into her pajamas. Julia doesn't get one story told but reads two before she's down for the night.
He goes to his bedroom, not surprised to find his wife already done with her night routine and goes to sit at the foot of her side of the bed, his hands wandering to her thighs. She smiles at him before she reaches for something inside her nightstand.
When he opens the blue wrapped package, he smiles lovingly at her, "how did you manage-?"
"Well, since the little miss broke yours and I have my ways I just managed. She can't break all five at once so you have time with these," she laughs.
He takes one, holding it to the light, slightly shocked when he sees the initials engraved, "you got them engraved?"
"At least when we move you'll manage to find them," she grins, like she has more than one thing up her sleeve.
"Move?"
"Yes, OPA will shortly open in New York, I'm in."
He looks at her, dumbfounded. He had wanted to move East, to go and settle but she had been reluctant. He looks at her, seeking for more in the depths of her soul but can't seem to read anything out of normal. Nothing aside from the bright light that's been giving his life more meaning, more sense and gave him the strength to just move on.
"You've done so much for me, for us. You promised me a life, a house, children. You've divorced her; you've actually done it. And I've never really thanked you, and Julia doesn't count. She's as much of a gift to me as she is to you. You let me have my career, it's my turn to stand by you and let you have yours. I can't give you the presidency but you want to teach at Columbia. So be it," she smiles at him like she's smiling at a beautiful dream. The best of all. He's made her nightmares and insecurities go away. He's moved heaven and hell for them. And he's given her the sweetest babies.
He looks at her. They say love can be blinding and he feels like he's standing right in front of the sun. It takes him a little before her words really strike him. "You said children?" his eyes going up and down between her belly and her eyes, it's as if he can't truly believe it.
She nods, bringing his hand to her stomach. "Happy Father's day, baby."