APRIL
I'm a little unsteady on my feet as I make my way out of the living room and towards the bathroom. I run one hand along the wall, giggling to myself over nothing, and hope I find it soon. I really have to go.
I sing to myself under my breath, counting my steps down the hallway. Jo and Alex haven't put up many pictures yet, but what they do have is cute. There's one of them by Buckingham fountain, at a brewery downtown, and a silly selfie in the car. I pause for a moment to look at the pictures, then return to my quest.
When the bathroom is in sight, I hurry up and my heels click on the hardwood floor. I pass the doorway and realize the light is already on, then notice I'm not alone in the small room.
"Oh, sorry," I say, laughing. "Didn't know someone was in here. I can wait!"
I make eye contact with Vince Michaels as I back out of the bathroom, waving for some reason. My body is wobbly and out of my control, a lot like Jell-O at the moment. That's what Jackson always compares me to when I get drunk; I get all floppy.
"No, it's okay," he says, smiling openly. "I'm finished." He takes a few steps forward, but doesn't exit the bathroom. Now, we're both trapped in the doorway, inches apart from each other.
"Oops," I say, giggling nervously. My face is hot now, and I can't remember if it was before. It's not rare for me to get flushed when I'm drunk, but I think this has more to do with proximity. He's very close to me, and I have nowhere to move.
"You look amazing tonight," he says.
"Oh," I say, taken aback by his tone. "Um, thank you. I got this from Nordstrom with Izzie, it was on sale! I was so excited. I love finding sales. It's like, better than sex."
I stop talking immediately after that last part tumbles out, knowing I've gone too far. I can't help my loose lips. I shouldn't have had so many glasses of wine - I totally lost count. Three, maybe four?
"Um," I say, clearing my throat. "So, yeah."
"The perfume you're wearing is delicious," he says, keeping heavy eye contact. "Wow."
I bite the inside of my lip, eyebrows furrowing. "Yeah," I say. "Jackson… he buys it for me every birthday. It's kind of like, his thing. Our thing."
"Your thing, huh," he continues.
"Yep," I say, attempting to step back before running into the door jamb with my heel. "Ow," I mutter, then pick my head up to look straight head. "Pretty shower, huh?" I say, filling the awkward, staticky silence.
"Be a lot prettier with you in it," he says.
"Oh, wow," I say, then turn to walk away. I can hold my pee until later.
"Hey, wait," he says, and out of instinct, I turn back to look at him.
It happens so fast I have no idea how to stop it - when he grabs my upper arm with one hand, my left breast with the other, and kisses me hard and forceful, it's like I step out of my body and watch it all happen in slow motion.
My head knocks back against the doorframe and I stumble away, lips bruised and burning. I gasp, staring at him with wide, terrified eyes, as I straighten up and brush myself off.
"I'm married," I say, habitually fiddling with the ring around my finger. "That was - you shouldn't have done that, Vince."
"No?" he asks, voice slick.
"No," I say, then turn around and resist the urge to cry, hoping he doesn't follow. Suddenly, my need for the bathroom is gone and all I want to do is leave this party, go home, and shower. I feel disgusting, like his handprints are all over me. I shouldn't have gone off alone, I shouldn't have gotten so drunk, I was practically asking for it. Jackson was right - I was too nice to him. Why would he expect anything else from me?
I shake my head and fix my hair, reentering the common area. When I come into view, Jackson smiles one of his bright smiles at me, but I don't even try to return it. Everything feels wrong - I don't think my lips are capable of a smile right now.
He reaches out for me and asks if I'm all right, but I can't answer. Because I'm not. But we're in front of all our friends, and I don't want to make a scene.
I meet his eyes, though, and try to silently communicate. He picks up on the change of demeanor; of course he does.
"Babe, you okay?" he asks, prompting me a second time.
"Yeah," I say, because there's nothing else to say.
"You sure?" He knows that something is up - he doesn't need to ask that question. It's obvious enough in itself.
My hands find each other and I wring them - a nervous tic of mine. I always notice, but can never seem to stop. I suppose there could be worse things.
"Yeah," I say again, but the tears are imminent. We need to get out of here, now. Who knows where Vince is, and when he might show up again? So, I ask, "Can we go home?"
"Oh," Jackson says, eyebrows furrowing. Now, he definitely knows something is up. I had just fought him on going home a bit ago, and now I'm the one asking. He's wondering what changed, and he'll grill me in the car. I'm not looking forward to it, but staying here would be much worse. "Sure. Of course. Where'd you put your coat?"
We gather our things, say goodbye to who's around, and exit the front door without running into Vince again. Jackson winds an arm around the small of my back and I let myself falter to him, leaning against his side with a good portion of my weight.
"Hey," he says, stroking my side surely. "I got you. You good? You feeling okay?"
I shake my head no, knowing that's the easy way out. I can't imagine saying aloud what just happened, not now. Not while it's still so fresh. If I say it, I'll vomit.
"Are you sick?" he asks.
I nod and say, "I might be coming down with something."
"Aw, bitsy. I'm sorry. Maybe you just need to sleep it off. Let's get you home."
…
When we get home, I shed my shoes and coat immediately without bothering to greet Vivian. I can feel the curious vibes coming from Jackson, but I don't entertain them. I need to get in the shower and rinse him off.
Standing under the jet as hot water pelts my back, I curve my spine forward and cover my face with my hands. I don't cry - I don't feel the need to. I feel used, dirty, and most of all, stupid. I shouldn't have even been talking to Vince. Jackson was right the whole time. All he wanted was to get in my pants, and I basically let him. How am I supposed to come back from this?
As I'm scrubbing myself raw with the loofah, lips included, I hear Peyton crying. She doesn't wake up much during the night anymore, so I can't help but wonder why she's awake now. I set my jaw and try to drown out the sound - Jackson can handle her perfectly fine on his own - but nothing works. Even the thundering water doesn't overpower her cries, now turned into shrieks and wails.
"Jackson, what is going on?" I call, opening the glass door of the shower to snap at him, wherever he is.
"I don't know," he says, and the crying gets closer. Soon, he appears in the bathroom with Peyton on his hip; she has one fist in her mouth and a distressed look on her face. "She just won't stop."
"Did you try the paci?" I ask, as I push dripping hair out of my face.
"She threw it across the room," he says, bouncing the baby slightly.
"Alright," I say. "I'll be right out."
Though I had wanted to stay in the shower for a good while, I rush through the last of my routine so I can hurry out. I dry off quickly and get into pajamas - a pink, button-up set - and find Jackson in the kitchen with the baby in his arms, still screaming.
"Here," I say, reaching for her.
As Peyton is given to me, her crying doesn't stop but it does lessen a bit. She grapples with the collar of my shirt and holds on tight, but I can't give her that tonight. With one glass of wine it would've been fine, but I don't trust the quality of my breastmilk with how much alcohol I had. It hasn't had enough time to pass through my system.
"Her molars are coming in," I say, digging the baby thermometer out of the junk drawer to use it on her. "She has a little fever. She's in pain. I'll get the Tylenol."
Jackson watches as I give Peyton some baby Tylenol, but it doesn't kick in right away, so she doesn't stop her fussing.
"How was Vivian?" I say, hoisting the baby up while I get some pre-pumped milk out of the fridge.
"Fine," he says. "But you just breezed right past her. I thought you weren't feeling too good. I can take the baby, honestly. You should go to bed."
"It's fine, Jackson. I got her," I say.
"I'm not incapable," he says.
"I know that," I reply, looking at him pointedly as Peyton squalls on my hip. "I didn't say you were."
"Well, you kinda ripped her out of my hands there."
"You came in the bathroom while I was showering. It looked like you needed help." I say, exasperated. "You gave her to me."
He doesn't have an answer to that, because we both know I'm right. He is a good father, but not always the most confident. When it comes to making decisions and taking action with Peyton, I'm always the one to step first.
I heat up the breastmilk on the stove in a small pot of water while Jackson lingers and watches. I know what he's thinking - we shouldn't be giving this to her anymore. We're trying to break her of it.
"It's a step in the right direction," I say, shaking the bottle. "At least she's not nursing."
"Yeah."
I can read his mind. He doesn't need to say it - it's still breastmilk. I don't have an argument for that. She's fussy, this is what will put her to sleep. And I need her to sleep so I can, too.
I sit on the couch in the living room and feed Peyton, watching her eyelids droop as soon as she finds a rhythm. She keeps a handful of my shirt, and when that fist loosens, it's clear she's comforted and headed back to dreamland.
"I love you, baby boo," I whisper, laying her down in the crib. "See you in the morning."
I flip on her mobile and the nightlight, then pad into mine and Jackson's bedroom. He's still washing his face in the bathroom, but I don't wait. I turn off the lamp on my side and crawl under the thick covers, turned on my side to face the wall. I close my eyes in attempt to fall asleep, but I'm still awake when he joins me in bed.
He slides under the covers and at first, I think he'll leave it at that. I'm wrong, though. He situates a bit, adjusts the way he's lying, and turns to face my back.
"Hey," he whispers through the darkness. "Itsy-bitsy. You okay?"
I'm not. I'm really not. But I'll feel better in the morning, and that's all I can ask for. Right now, sleep is the best option for me, and that won't happen if we get into a long conversation. So, I close my eyes and try to even out my breathing, hoping he'll believe that I'm already gone.
"Oh," he says softly, mostly to himself. "She's already sleepin'."
He scoots a little closer and kisses the back of my head slowly, then wraps an arm around my waist from behind. It lies heavy over my side, and I relish the feeling of it. Subtly, so he won't think I'm awake, I press my back against his chest and feel him smile. He kisses the side of my neck and breathes in deeply, tightening that arm around my middle, and we fall asleep cuddled together.
For the first time, I hope we wake up in the same way. Having him this close makes tonight feel like it never happened.
…
In the morning, I wake up to kisses. Soft, slow ones to the side of my face, down my neck, and across my sternum where my shirt has pulled away. Jackson's facial hair tickles my skin as he moves lower, pushing up the loose material of my blousy top to expose my belly and the C-section scar that gave us our child. He ghosts his lips over it, then the tip of his nose, before curling his fingers around the waistband of my shorts in attempts to get them off.
But I can't let him. I have to tell him what happened last night, and getting eaten out while still keeping that secret is more than duplicitous. I won't do it, even if the rejection hurts his feelings. The alternative would hurt more.
"Mmm. Not this morning, boo," I say, turning to the side to rest on one hip.
Without opening my eyes, I know he's frowning. He likes waking me up with a surprise; he likes feeling proud of what he can do to me. And he can do a lot. But it wouldn't be right to let him, not today.
"What?" he says, rubbing my thighs with his wide palms. "Why? Still not feeling good?"
I shake my head, throat constricting. I don't know why I keep lying. The truth will taste horrible but the lies are making me sick.
"I thought that would make you feel better," he says.
"I wish," I say. "I'm just not up to it."
"Okay," he says, crawling up so he's face-level with me. "You gonna stay home today, then?"
"No," I say, not willing to push the white lie that far. "I'll go in."
We get ready together, handing off Peyton to each other like always. I'm blowing my hair dry in the bathroom, listening to Jackson talk to Peyton about the dog, as the stone of guilt sits heavy in my gut. This isn't right. I'll tell him after work tonight, and I'll apologize because I know it was my fault. We might fight, but that's okay. I know I was wrong.
"Dada, dada, dada, dada!" Peyton cheers from the high chair, banging on the tray with her eyes on Jackson. I smile at her when I come into the room, and see he's already grinning wildly.
"I'm her favorite today," he says proudly.
"Mama!" she shrieks, chubby fists full of squished strawberries.
I give Jackson a pointed look. "Don't be so sure about that. Where's my doggie?"
"Porky Pig went outside," he says.
"Corky," I correct lightly.
He shakes his head, laughing for a reason I know. It still tickles him that I loved wine so much in college that I named my Pomeranian 'Corky,' like the cork of a bottle. I wasn't a lush by any means, but it's always been one of my favorite vices. After last night, though, I can't be sure when I'll be drinking next. I don't know if I trust myself anymore.
The baby babbles happily while I get a coat and shoes on her, and Jackson brings the dog back inside. The drive to work is casual and ordinary, the radio plays too many commercials and there's traffic on Lakeshore Drive. I don't mind it today, though. The hospital isn't somewhere I want to be, given who else will be there. He's the last person I want to run into.
When we walk inside the main doors heading towards the daycare, everyone's eyes are on us. It's not just a feeling, either. It's a fact. As we pass, people make it a point to look our way and pretend they aren't staring when we look back.
"What's up?" Jackson says, greeting some of them with a high five or a wave. I can't match his cheerfulness, though, because I'm too paranoid. I don't know the reason they're watching us - but it doesn't feel good. It feels like they know something.
"Boo," I say, gripping Jackson's fingers after we drop the baby off. He's about to head in a different direction, but I feel insecure with letting him go and going about my work day on my own - no matter how stupid that sounds.
"Yes, baby," he says, chipper as ever. More chipper than usual this morning.
I tip my chin up to look at him, open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. I don't know what I want to say, I can't figure out how to string the words together because now isn't the right time. Later, when we're home and the baby is asleep, I'll tell him then. I won't make him go through the work day with the information weighing on his back.
"Nothing," I say, then offer a smile. "Have a good day."
"You, too," he says, then gives me a quick kiss with my jaw cradled in his palms. "Text me if you're free for lunch."
"I will," I say, and he taps my ass when I turn to go the other way. I have to force the smile over my shoulder in return.
I try and spend as little time as possible around my colleagues today, simply because my head isn't in the right place. I don't want to snap at someone undeserving, and I definitely don't want to run into Vince. I have a feeling he might be trying to run into me, so I disappear in the skills lab in the morning and work through lunch. I don't come out until it's time to go home, thanking God I didn't get paged a single time today. I made sure the ER was fully staffed.
I let my mind go blank while I'm in there. All day, which I never do. I'm always solving some crisis, appeasing someone, or fixing problems that aren't mine. But now, I'm the one with the problem and I wish I wasn't. It would be much easier if someone else were in my shoes - like Lexie or Izzie. I would be glad to give them advice about what to do in this situation, and the first thing out of my mouth would've been that they needed to come clean right away.
That's something I've already missed the boat on. Every moment I wait is a moment too long, I know that.
Once I let myself start thinking about it, I can't stop. I can't work on my sutures or my concise cuts anymore, I just stare into space for the last few hours of the day. I know I should be doing something productive - that's what I get paid for - but all I can think about is Vince's hand on my boob and how hard he grabbed me. I touch it myself as it crosses my mind - gentle, protective - and close my eyes with a frown. His kiss was something forced, it was all for power and control, and it was disgusting. I'm disgusting, and so hardheaded. I wish I'd listened to Jackson - I wish I listened better in general.
I check my phone at the end of the day to find I have no texts from Jackson or anyone, which is strange and a little disheartening. No one cared that I disappeared all day? No one asked for me? I shake my head and replace my phone in my pocket, standing up to head towards the lounge to change back into my street clothes.
Once I have my jeans and cardigan back on, I walk to meet my husband. My stomach is in knots, I really don't want to do this, but it's better than the alternative - keeping this toxic secret for another night. I can't do that to myself or to him. I need it off my chest, and he needs to know.
I see him before he sees me. His back is facing my way, and even from far away I can see the tension in his muscles. He has the baby in his arms, faced over his shoulder, and she squeals when I get a little closer.
"Hi, Peanut!" I say, making grabby hands at her.
I smile when I see her in her daddy's arms, loving the way the two of them look together. She comes to me for comfort, but no one makes either of us feel safer than Jackson. One of my favorite things to see is Daddy and his baby on the couch, Jackson watching a basketball game and cheering silently while Peyton sleeps on his chest. I practically clutch my heart just thinking about the image - I have plenty of pictures to immortalize it, but it never gets old.
But Jackson's face when he turns to look at me is quite the opposite of the serene expression he wears while holding his sleepy little girl. Tonight, his eyebrows are set low, eyes guarded, and jaw clenched. Something isn't right.
My smile fades, diminishes to a confused, parted-lipped expression instead. My stomach drops further, if possible. I really don't like this.
When I get close enough, I take the baby's hand and kiss it. After, I give Jackson a quick peck on the lips and he kisses me back, but he's distracted. His heart's not in it.
"Hi," I say, then nod towards the door. "Ready to go?"
"Yep," he says tersely, and heads in that direction.
"Want me to take her?" I ask, struggling to keep pace as he strides through the parking lot.
"I got her," he says. "Don't worry about it."
"Are you sure?"
"I have her, April," he says, snapping a bit.
"Alright," I say, then stare at my shoes as they cross the pavement - I'm wearing gray canvas TOMS. Not long ago, Jackson bought them for me on a whim after I saw them in the store window. They're a new design the store had just got in, and I don't know why I'm thinking about them so in-depth now. The soles of my feet are sweating, maybe that's why. Or maybe, I don't want to think about the angry energy wafting from my husband so strongly it's palpable. That's probably it.
"I missed you today," I offer, speaking after a long period of silence. Now, the baby is babbling in her car seat and Jackson is behind the wheel.
"Missed you, too," he grunts. "Didn't see you."
"I was in the skills lab," I say.
I expect him to ask why, I silently beg him to. But he doesn't.
"Hmm."
"Yeah," I say, then drum my fingers on my knees. "I didn't get a text from you, or anything. I would've met for lunch, if you wanted."
"Got busy," he says, reversing out of the parking spot we always use to head towards the street. "Sorry."
"It's okay," I say, shrugging.
I don't know why I'm making it a point to be so breezy. Maybe to make up for the fact that he's the glaring opposite. I don't know what to make of it, but I can't ignore it. He doesn't get in moods like this with me. With others, it's common. He can be icy and cold. But with me, he's always soft.
"Is it?" he says, and my attention flips over instantly.
"What?" I say.
He shakes his head, scoffing a bit, saying, "Nothing."
"Jackson, are you okay?" I ask.
"I'm fine."
"Because you really don't seem like yourself."
He scratches the side of his nose and shakes his head roughly. It comes off as more of a jerk of the chin, completely unnatural. "Maybe I'm coming down with something," he says, somewhat sneering.
I furrow my eyebrows. "If something's bothering you, just tell me," I say.
He clears his throat. "It can wait," he says, then darts his eyes to Peyton in the rearview mirror. "We'll have to talk later."
"Just tell me now," I say, nearly pleading. I don't like stooping to that level, it's not like me, but I feel desperate. I have something that needs to break loose, and he's harboring something. It's not a good combination.
"Da da da da da da da da!" Peyton squeal from the back, kicking her legs excitedly with a toy in hand.
Jackson's eyes flit to me. "Not now," he says.
I stay quiet for the rest of the ride home, stewing over what will happen later. I don't like anticipating a fight, but I feel one coming on.
We don't fight often, but our fights get fierce. We try not to raise our voices anymore now that Peyton's around, and we do a pretty good job. It's not like we're at odds with each other a lot - it's rare anymore - but when we are, we get heated. We're very passionate, stubborn people.
We make tacos for dinner, side-by-side, without speaking much. We both talk to the baby in lighthearted tones and sing along to the radio, but we don't trade conversation between ourselves. While we eat, it's not much different. I feed the baby little bites that she'll eat, but not much goes down. She finds it much more amusing to play with.
So, that means I give her a bottle before laying her down in the crib. I rock in the rocking chair with her cradled in my arms, trying to be as calm as possible. If I act as wired as I feel, she'll never go down.
"Stay asleep for Mama tonight, baby Peanut," I say, moving my lips over her downy hair. "Night-night."
Her eyelids are already drooping by the time I leave the room, and when I do, I find the kitchen area and living space empty. There's a light coming from the hall, which means that Jackson is already in our room though it's barely 8pm.
I follow the light anyway, and strip off my cardigan as I walk. I find him in the bedroom, sitting on the bed, fully clothed. Not in loungewear yet.
He picks his head up when I enter the room, and for a moment we simply look at each other and exchange a charged, expectant vibe. I crumple the sleeve of my sweater in my fist, wondering if I should speak first. I don't have to wonder for long, though, because he gets there before I do.
"Something you wanna tell me?" he asks, and his tone is as sharp as a dagger. I haven't heard it sound like that in forever - I can't remember the last time.
I breathe a shaky inhale, wondering where he's coming from. "What are you talking about?" I ask, on edge. Of course I have something to tell him, but how could he know that?
"How's Vince?" he says, standing up.
"What?" I say, voice getting higher.
"His mustache tickle when you kiss?" Jackson prods.
"Okay, I get it," I say, palms up. "You heard. Who told you?"
His eyes narrow as he looks at me. "You fuck him yet? He any good?"
"Jackson, okay!" I shrill, fingers spread wide with my hands out towards him. "Stop it. Just stop it! He assaulted me. You don't need to be so horrible. I was going to tell you, but I-"
"Didn't," he says. "You didn't tell me. Why is that?"
"I couldn't!" I say. "He assaulted me, Jackson, you can't possibly imagine how that feels. I'm ashamed, it was gross, it was… I don't know. It was nothing!"
"It was nothing, but you kept it from me for a full 24 hours," he says. "I had to hear through a fucking intern whose name I don't even know. That was great."
"Why do I feel like you're not taking me seriously?" I ask. "Didn't you hear me? It was assault. He forced me. Are you seriously not going to believe a victim?"
He throws his hands up. "If it was so traumatic, why didn't you tell me right away?" he bellows.
"Stop yelling," I say, deliberately lowering my voice.
"I could've done something," he says. "We were there at the party, so was he. I could've found him and-"
"And what, beat the shit out of him?" I say. "Do you think that would've solved anything? All that would've done is put a lawsuit in our hands."
"I would've made sure he never laid his fuckin' hands on you again," he growls. "I'm gonna make sure of it anyway, because I'm gonna report his ass to the board. But scaring him shitless would've been pretty good, too."
His words settle in my gut, the fact that he wants to report Vince and create a huge deal over something I'd rather just forget. I can't imagine looking my coworkers in the face after they know - because everyone will inevitably find out.
"Don't do that," I say, clasping my hands together tightly and cracking my knuckles. Fear tightens my chest and dries out my mouth. I chew on my lower lip to try and calm myself, but it doesn't work. "I don't want everyone to know."
"Everyone already does," he says. "And they think the story is a lot different than how you're spinning it."
"Are you calling me a liar, then?" I ask. "Do you not believe your wife over some stupid-ass hospital gossip?"
"I never said that," he says. "But what I'm saying is that what he's telling people is totally different than what you're telling me."
"And you believe me," I say.
"I want to," he says. "But the fact that you waited so long to say anything doesn't make me feel that good. You lied about the whole being sick shit. You lied right to my face, all through this morning too. Damn, I was about to give you head to make you feel better, and you were lying to me!"
"I wasn't lying," I say. "I just couldn't… I knew… I don't know."
"You knew what?" he presses.
"I knew you'd be an asshole about it!" I say, unable to keep it in.
"Wait," he says. "So, this guy assaults you, but I'm the asshole?"
"So, now I was assaulted, according to you," I say. "When it's convenient."
"I never said he didn't assault you," Jackson responds. "You're not listening. What's fucking new there?"
I can't help it, I start to cry. The tears fall down my cheeks with fervor, and I do nothing to wipe them away. I'm so angry I can't see straight - all I could ask for is for him to be on my side through this. I already feel bad enough, and this fight makes things ten times worse.
The way he's looking at me is awful, but I see the hurt in his eyes. Those beautiful eyes that I love looking into hold so much pain and contempt that I barely know what to do with it.
"You kissed him with the lips you put around me?" he says, then grits his teeth. His cheeks bulge because of it.
"I didn't kiss him!" I shout, gesturing emphatically with my arms. "You can't put your huge ass fucking ego away for one second to hear me. I didn't do anything. He came onto me!"
He exhales loudly, pressing his lips together while staring at me.
"If you're so obsessed with him, why don't you go suck his cock, Jackson?" I spit, and immediately regret it. I shake my head and say, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."
"Whatever, take your shot at me," he says. "You already did enough as it is."
My lower lip trembles as I think of the words I want to say. "I didn't wanna tell you 'cause I felt so gross," I say. "I was ashamed, I still am. I was drunk off my ass, and you already got pissed at me and told me I was too nice to him. And what happened? I was too nice again. And he did this to me."
He swallows hard and his Adam's apple bobs. "I had to hear this through a bunch of fucking interns," he says, trying to keep his voice calm. "Do you know how that felt? How degrading?"
"Do you know how it felt to be taken advantage of in a bathroom?" I all but scream.
His shoulders relax and he folds forward slightly, rubbing his temples with both hands.
"Why were you keeping it from me?" he says. "I'm your husband. We tell each other everything. It's my job to protect you, and I didn't. I really feel like you don't trust me, April. Did you think it was just going to go away if you didn't tell me?"
"Of course I didn't think that," I say, crossing my arms. "I was going to tell you tonight. I really was. I didn't get a chance to, 'cause-"
"I heard through a bunch of fucks gossiping about it," he says. "He's going around telling people that he's gonna fuck you, you should know that. I knew from the very beginning. I was right about him the whole time. He wants to be with you and play mommies and daddies and stick his little dick in you!"
"Why do you have to get so nasty?" I say, voice rising again.
"Because I'm fucking mad!" he yells. "I'm reporting this guy first thing tomorrow. The only thing that can come out of this is that he loses his job and will never be able to work for another hospital again."
My breath freezes once again, thinking of the people he'll have to go through and the shame I'll feel because of this. "You don't have to, though," I say. "It can just blow over."
"So we can watch him stare at your ass every time you walk by?" he says.
"No… I… I can talk to him, maybe. I just don't want all that attention, Jackson, you don't understand."
"But you want it from him?"
"That's not it at all!" I say. "You really don't get it!"
"I do get it," he says. "I see a solution to the problem, and I plan on fixing it. If he's out of your life, then what's left?"
"The fact that everyone will know," I say. "Everyone's gonna look at me and think that I'm the person who ruined the intern's life over a sexual harassment case."
"It should be ruined!" Jackson says. "Do you hear yourself?"
"But everyone's going to know," I say.
"Everyone already does, April."
I shake my head slowly, taking a step back as I do. "Fuck you," I say. "Seriously." As I'm walking backward, I accidentally step on Corky's tail and wake him up, which causes him to bark fearfully into the open, loud and brash.
"God, shut him up," Jackson says. "He's gonna wake up the baby."
"I'm trying," I say. "He won't. Corky, come on. That's enough. It was an accident."
"He's your dog!" Jackson says.
"I'm trying!" I say, then we both hear it at the same time: Peyton's distressed cry cutting through the tension-thick air.
"I'll go," he says, taking steps towards the door.
"No," I say. "It's fine. I got her."
I leave the bedroom first, but before I get far I look back over my shoulder and give him a hard stare.
"You might wanna set up a bed on the couch," I say. "You're not sleeping with me tonight."
He clenches his jaw and turns towards the linen closet, presumably to grab extra blankets. I don't watch him, though. Instead, I go towards the source of the crying and find Peyton standing in her crib, arms outstretched, fussing.
"I'm here," I say, lifting her out. "Mama's here. I know. I'm sorry we woke you up. I'm sorry, Peanut. It'll be okay. I promise, it'll be just fine. Let's go back to sleep."
I close my eyes with my chin rested atop her head and listen as she calms down. When her body relaxes against my chest, I settle her back down and leave the room a second time, retreating to the bedroom once more. Jackson is already downstairs, and without pulling down the covers on his side, I crawl under my own.
I turn on my side and face the empty half of the mattress. Usually, at this angle, I'd have a nice view of the hulking form of my husband lying on his back with his arms above his head. But tonight, there's nothing.
And because of the nothingness beside me, I know I won't get very much sleep at all.
