A/N: I'm going to start being a little slower with updates. I was trying for once a week, but it now may be once or twice per month (depending on how much I get written). I'm finally back in the UK and got to get back to work at the busiest possible time. I'm still interested in it though, so I'll continue updating. It'll just be slower!
December 2010
A recent blizzard had left a crisp layer of white sparkling snow over sidewalks and streets. Outside of Manhattan, homes looked like they belonged on the front of a Christmas card wishing its recipients a wonderful holiday season and a bright, happy new year. Lyla and Louis Connelly's new home was one such house.
They had viewed their home in the middle of November and the process moved much quicker than they had anticipated; they found themselves in a new home before Christmas.
It was exactly what they were looking for, previously owned by an older couple who had raised their own children there but wanted to sell everything to go and travel. They accepted Lyla and Louis' offer because they fit their idea of who they wanted to live in their home (and the cash payment didn't hurt) and they were willing to move right away. It was a chaotic few weeks relying on the kindness of their friends to help move them in.
The previous owners had spent the last few years updating and renovating the house as a sort of passion project, so while it still had its old character and charm, almost everything was updated, which allowed the couple to sell it for a little bit more. They also left the Connellys a lot of belongings that their kids hadn't wanted – odd pieces of furniture, Christmas décor that had already been painstakingly put up for the holidays, and some household and garden products that would come in handy in the near future.
Outside, the house's yard was covered in snow that blended with the white siding on the home and garage to the left, and it contrasted with the dark faux shutters and bright red door dressed with a wreath. Christmas lights bordered the eaves and created a feeling of home before one even stepped inside.
Inside, visitors were met with beautiful walnut floors running throughout the hallway, kitchen, living and dining room, and up the stairs to the second floor. Immediately right to the front door, a large cream living room looked out onto the front street and connected to a good-sized office separated by white French doors. Immediately left of the front door, and before reaching the stairs, there was an archway entrance to a formal dining room with cream walls and large windows, both matching the design of the living room. Through the dining room, direct access to the kitchen was found through a larger archway. The kitchen itself was updated with high-end finishes and appliances, and an aesthetically pleasing mixture of white, cream, and glass.
Another arch lead back to the hallway, across which was a small half bath and the back foyer, which led to a decently-sized backyard and the finished basement below their home in which there was a recreation area, two additional bedrooms, a full bathroom, a laundry area, and storage. On the main floor and the up the stairs, Louis and Lyla's bedroom was to the right with a great big master bathroom and main bathroom dividing them from two smaller bedrooms, one that would belong to Ben, and the other, hopefully, to their not-yet-existent child, August preferring the large basement space to be his own. It had everything that Louis and Lyla had wanted in a home and then some.
Having moved in so close to Christmas, they decided to forgo their blooming tradition of hosting dinner and instead visited Rochester to spend Christmas with her father. It was their first time visiting Thomas Novacek since he had moved in over two years prior. Whenever there was a get-together, he would always drive into Manhattan and was very good about it, but they figured they could make the effort for once (though it was Louis' suggestion rather than Lyla's).
On Christmas Eve, rather early in the morning, Lyla, Louis, August, and Ben made their way to Rochester using a car her father had insisted on sending, not wanting them to spend their money on a cab or rental. They pulled up to his home shortly after noon and Lyla was surprised to see how normal it appeared. The area was still very affluent, but he had managed to settle for a smaller home that didn't show off his wealth quite so much as the other homes in the area. That being said, it was still a lot nicer than any house most people could afford.
The family collected their belongings from the car and trudged from the front drive to the door where Thomas was already waiting. He opened the door as soon as Lyla touched the first step and welcomed them in. While his face held its usual sternness that Lyla knew so well, she could sense the excitement he felt at finally having his family visit his home.
"How was the drive?" he asked, taking hold of the bags in Lyla's hands while they all shed their winterwear.
"A lot of people going home for the holidays," Lyla replied, hanging her jacket before doing the same for Louis and August, "but it was a more or less uneventful ride."
"Good, good. Well," he motioned for the four of them to follow him, "let me give you a tour of the place."
"It smells good," August commented.
Thomas nodded his agreement, "yes, I hired a chef that comes highly-recommended by some of the neighbours." He caught Lyla's disapproving eye and explained, "if I tried cooking a Christmas dinner, we would end up with nothing."
Lyla figured that was fair enough; she couldn't recall a time her father ever made a meal for the two of them from scratch – at least not anything that could be considered complex.
Thomas showed his family around his new home. While it was only one floor, it was still quite nice and spacious, a large, open concept living, dining, and cooking space. Beyond, there was a sunroom looking out over the snow-covered deck and grassy area. It hosted two bedrooms and bathrooms along with a laundry room and storage on the main floor along with a finished basement with a bar and another full bathroom. It was very nice, and Lyla thought it was a good size for entertaining, though she wasn't sure how much entertaining he had actually done since moving into the place. She felt unwelcome guilt for not visiting sooner but kept these thoughts to herself.
"I know, Lyla, you're used to the Christmas Eve parties I'd usually throw back in Chicago, but I thought a quieter occasion with just family would be more apt. Did you eat this morning? I have some light snacks we could have. Maybe we could watch a movie? Dinner won't be ready for a couple of hours yet."
Lyla was a bit surprised by the suggestion, never having ever sat and watched anything on a screen with her father, but nodded, "that would be really nice. We only had a quick breakfast this morning before we left."
Thomas seemed pleased at the prospect and began suggesting a few classic Christmas films that were at his disposal. They agreed to watch It's a Wonderful Life as it was the longest and would certainly lead up into their dinner.
Their afternoon meal was every bit as delicious as it smelled, and the family ate happily together, trading conversation. Lyla's father even took a particular interest in Louis, asking him about work and his music, and trading stories about his own childhood, laidback and happy. He seemed genuinely pleased to have Lyla and her husband and her children at his home at Christmas. Lyla felt like she was seeing him in a different light altogether.
As the day came to the end and the stars came out, they all bundled up and went for a walk around the neighbourhood to see the Christmas lights, which blew other neighbourhoods' Christmas lights out of the water. The night itself was cold and crisp, the clear sky failing to insulate the Earth from the cool air, and the snow acting as a dampener to all sounds but the crunch of their winter boots.
Walking around a curve in the road, blinded by the white lights hanging on the eaves and decorating the yard of one big house, August tried and failed to make a snowball, the cold snow falling apart as ice crystals between his gloved fingers. But that didn't stop him. Instead, he collected as much snow as he could between his two cupped hands, snuck up behind Louis who was busy pointing out the lights to a mesmerized Benjamin, and let the crystals fall over his father's head. Louis gasped, stunned still as the snow snuck into his jacket and down his neck; Ben giggled at his father's expression and squealed with delight as Louis chased down August and body-checked him into the foot-deep snow.
Lyla laughed as the three of them ran up ahead, throwing snow at each other and falling or being pushed into soft piles of fluff. She glanced at her father walking next to her in order to gauge his reaction and was happy to see him smiling at the scene instead of scowling.
"You know, it took me awhile to warm up to Louis," Thomas admitted. "But he seems to be a good man – a good husband and father."
Lyla was bewildered by the compliment. "Is everything okay?"
Thomas furrowed his brow in confusion, "of course. Why do you ask?"
"You seem different – more happy and easy-going… and accepting."
"You're my family and I'm happy to have you here," he explained, appropriately defensive. "Much better than being with all of your friends who are, frankly, too loud and obnoxious."
No doubt, Louis' brother came to Thomas' mind when he thought of their 'loud and obnoxious' friends. Marshall (and the rest of the band) had that effect on most people.
Lyla smiled. "I'm happy we decided to come. It's beautiful out here. Do you like it better than Chicago?"
Thomas thought for a moment. "I miss Chicago and the people I know there. Rochester is nice."
Lyla wasn't sure if that was a yes or no, though it sure sounded like the latter. "I'm sorry we haven't come out sooner," she offered.
Thomas shook his head, "no, I understand why. All I can ask is that we see each other more than just on holidays."
Lyla nodded, "we can do that." The reason for her hating her father and being miserable when his presence had seemed to fade with time. She hated not knowing baby August, but she knew him so well now and their family was so complete, it seemed wrong to keep punishing her father for his mistake that he had apologized for multiple times.
Up ahead, Louis had fallen into a snowbank for the Nth time, this time remaining down. August picked Ben up and Lyla's brain immediately went into panic mode. She jogged forward, leaving her father to catch up on his own.
"Are you okay, love?"
"Yeah. It's just… my back," Louis groaned as Lyla kneeled next to him. Then, in one sudden motion, he pulled her completely into the snow with one hand before smushing a gloveful of snow into her face with the other.
She squealed, then blinked and gasped before tossing as much snow as she could at him, mostly resulting in a greater downfall of snow over herself, seeping under the front of her jacket. Lyla sputtered and sat up as Louis and August doubled over in laughter, falling into the snow, while Ben giggled in August's arms.
Lyla managed to pull herself to her feet and brush what little snow she could off of her jacket. "Christmas is cancelled," she declared while her husband and eldest son struggled to catch their breath.
Louis staggered to his feet and stumbled over to Lyla, still gasping through bouts of laughter, and enveloped her in a big hug. He snickered as he wiped her face with the bit of his scarf that was tucked inside his jacket safe from the snow. Then he kissed her forehead before retrieving Ben from August's arms and leading the march back to his father-in-law's home in all joviality.
Later that night, Louis lay in the spare bedroom's double bed with his arms wrapped around his wife, his youngest son in a small cot on the floor. His eldest son was given the run of the living room, sleeping on a couch made up with sheets and blankets; his father-in-law was fast asleep next door. Louis could hear Lyla's breaths becoming slower and deeper, and felt the tension in her body releasing bit by bit as she succumbed to sleep. Inexplicably, he felt wide awake.
Usually, his wife's even breaths would serve as the necessary white noise needed to lull him to sleep, but not this time. Maybe it was the excitement of Christmas or being in a strange place or the fear that would sneak up on him every time he would think about the upcoming tour that he had begrudgingly agreed to, meaning that he would have to quit his secure salaried job with benefits and leave his family for three quarters of a year. His insomnia was most probably due to this concern. He had been worried ever since the tour was agreed upon. They had just bought a house. Sure, they had savings, but things could happen. Unplanned things. And how on Earth could he be away from Lyla and his children for eight months? It seemed an impossibility.
Certain that Lyla had now fallen into a deep sleep, he slid away from her and out of bed. Anxiety was building up in his chest and he thought he either needed to get up and do something or he was going to scream. He didn't want to wake anyone up.
Louis grabbed his laptop from his bag, quietly opened the bedroom door, and crept into the dining room with a stop in the living room to check on August who was passed out as the television flashed some movie in his face. He paused to turn the TV off before setting himself up at the table. Maybe if he took a look at everything again – all of the money coming in and going out, he could feel a little more secure and catch up on the sleep he had missed for the past two weeks.
He opened their budget spreadsheet along with a blank sheet and began inputting numbers and preparing for the absolute worse possible financial outcomes that could plague them. The money they made on the tour depended solely on sales. They were beginning to market as much as possible to their fans through social media and subway posters and in any other way they could think of, but if people didn't buy tickets or merchandise, or if they didn't buy enough, the trip wouldn't be anywhere near as lucrative as necessary. Then he would return home and have to find a job again at a different firm and start at the bottom for the third time in his career. Louis rubbed his eyes and rest his face in his hand, sighing deeply.
"Is everything okay?"
Louis' head shot up and he looked to his father-in-law who was standing at the kitchen-dining room entrance with a mug in hand. He turned back to the laptop and minimized the windows, "yeah. Yeah, everythin's good. Just can't sleep."
Thomas set his mug on the kitchen's small island and filled the electric kettle up with tap water before turning it on. "Do you want anything? Tea? Water?"
Louis shook his head, "no," but then changed his mind, "uh, actually, I'll just have some hot water." He thought that the warmth might relax him.
"This tea," Thomas motioned, "works as a sleep-aid. It doesn't taste half bad."
"Sure, okay," Louis agreed. "Thanks." He still felt a little unsure around his father-in-law. When he was with Lyla or August or had some sort of other buffer, it was okay, but being in the room with him one-on-one was more than a little intimidating.
After the kettle clicked off, Thomas poured two cups of steaming water and dropped a tea bag in both. He set one cup next to Louis who thanked him and then took a seat a couple of chairs down. "Why can't you sleep?"
"Oh y'know…" Louis searched for an explanation that was at least half-true. "Stresses of work I suppose."
Thomas nodded but it was clear that he didn't quite believe his son-in-law. "Do you like your career?"
Louis nodded, "I do. I've always been good with numbers and people. It gets to me sometimes, but I do like it."
"Compared to your music?"
He thought a moment, "I don't know that it's fair to compare the two. The firm let's me workout the logic side and the music lets me work out the creative side."
"If you went into music full-time and left your job, how would you satisfy the part of you that thrives with logic?"
Thomas' stern demeanour left Louis feeling like he was in a job interview. He took a sip of his hot tea, which was unexpectedly comforting. "I'm not sure."
Thomas was quiet for a moment, sipping his tea and seeming to contemplate something before speaking. "I didn't like you for a long time," he began.
Louis stared wordlessly into his tea. That wasn't news to him, but it still stung to hear it said.
"I thought very little of you when I found out about Lyla's pregnancy with August. Over a decade later, when she said she was going to marry you, I disapproved but knew I wouldn't be able to talk her out of it. To me, you were someone in it for the money and didn't have the means to give Lyla the life she deserved. But as I got to know August and I got to know you as a husband and father, I realized that my assumptions were likely wrong. I now know they were, and I want to apologize. Especially because I have a sneaking suspicion that I wouldn't be in your lives if it weren't for you urging Lyla to allow me in. She wouldn't have come to the decision on her own, anyway." Thomas took another sip of his tea. "This tour that you've agreed to go on could bring a lot of happiness in your life. You don't need to worry about finances. You won't need it, but I will help if you do. You'll come out of it fine. And then you'll know if you value spending more time on logic or creativity." Louis began to respond but Thomas held up his hand. He didn't want thanks or corrections or explanations. "I'm off to bed. Finish the tea. It works." He stood, said goodnight, and went back to his room with his tea in hand.
Louis was glad that Thomas had cut him off because he wasn't really sure what he would have said. He had never heard Thomas say so much in one sitting and he had absolutely never complimented or shown affection to his daughter's husband before then; Louis doubted he'd ever experience it again, so was left feeling a bit dumbfounded. But he did what he was told and finished his tea before closing the laptop and returning to bed for sleep, which, due to the tea or the acceptance, came much quicker than before.
In lieu of the regular Christmas festivities that The Connellys usually threw, they decided to throw a New Year's Eve Party that would double as their housewarming. To Louis' amusement, this meant that Lyla was stressing over the mismatched furniture that they hadn't yet been able to get rid of.
"It doesn't matter, love. You know the types of people we kick around with. They're not even gonna see the furniture." He had never seen her so stressed over something so insignificant.
"We won't just have roadies and bands," she countered. "Besides, it would still matter even if it was. It looks awful."
"It doesn't look as bad as you think it does." But she was inconsolable and kept arranging and rearranging to hide the imperfections she saw or instructing Louis to do the same.
Eventually, she threw her hands up in the air and groaned in disgust. "I give up. People are going to be here soon. I should've done this earlier."
Louis shook his head and wrapped his arms around her middle, "I'll go put Ben down. You go have some wine and relax. I promise no one will even notice."
She wanted to argue, knowing that she was in fact correct about it looking terrible and knowing that people would absolutely notice, but she decided an argument over something that Louis had no interest in anyway was a waste of breath. Lyla nodded and pecked Louis' lips with her own before finding and pouring herself a glass of red wine.
Marshall and Maya were the first to arrive, wanting to get Mateo down with Ben before others started arriving and catching his eye.
"Gonna get fucked up tonight?" Marshall joked, popping the cap off of his beer once Mateo was in bed.
"We're too old for that," Lyla responded.
"Speak for yourself," Maya said as she poured a little too much gin and not enough tonic into her glass.
Lyla rolled her eyes, "I guess it's good we don't have our furniture yet."
"Ah, darlin', let loose a bit or you'll go crazy. Where's Lou and the nephew at?"
"I think August's in his room and Louis ran out to get some last-minute things." Lyla poured herself another glass of wine.
"Kid needs a girl before he rubs himself raw."
"What?" Lyla exclaimed, "no, stop, I—" She covered her eyes and felt her face turn red. The wine wasn't helping.
Marshall shrugged but was clearly amused by Lyla's reaction while Maya snickered into her gin and tonic. "What do you think he's doin' spendin' so much time in his room?"
"You and Louis are the exact same," she replied after another gulp of wine. "There are some things a mother doesn't need to know…. Or want to know."
"Hey, just be glad I got to him before you started gettin' a bunch of stiff socks in the wash."
Lyla wrinkled her nose. "You what?" Then she held her hand up, "actually, I don't want to know. I want this conversation to be over. Maya, how's school?"
Marshall laughed and stood back as the girls caught up. But he was relieved when Louis returned, if only so he didn't have to hear about the new hair care routine that was making Maya's hair so shiny and soft.
Soon, others began to arrive, music was put on, and the house became crowded with people. The regular people in The Connelly Brothers' social circle were there – other bands and their partners or groupies and friends – along with friends of friends and coworkers and people from around the neighbourhood. Lyla was relieved to have such a large turn out despite deciding the party fairly close to New Year's Eve. The clean up would be Hell, but at least no one would be able to see the mismatching furniture.
After checking on Ben and Mateo, and ensuring that Marshall wasn't feeding August any drinks, Lyla sat down at the old apartment's kitchen table with Maya and Emily and some other women as was usually done at parties. They were laughing at some story Maya was telling, the alcohol making it seem funnier than it actually was, when something caught Lyla's already-unfocused eye through the dining room archway leading into the living room, causing her to halt mid-sentence.
"What is it?" Emily asked, trying to follow Lyla's eyes with her own.
Something must have shown on Lyla's face because the others' moods changed as well, and they exchanged confused glances with one another.
Lyla stood from the table so that she could get a better look at who she saw enter her house. Her suspicions confirmed, she muttered "what the fuck!"
Maya joined Lyla immediately, intrigued by her sudden use of a curse word, "what's wrong?"
"What the fuck is she doing in my house?" She downed the rest of her glass of wine, which had still been half full of red.
"Who?"
"That red-headed slut with the dead eyes," Lyla spat, motioning to the scantily clad woman with intense blue eyes who was clearly high on something.
"I'm really enjoying this version of you," Maya commented, pouring more wine into her friend's glass, "but what's wro—" Before she could finish, Lyla stormed into the living room and approached the woman. Maya followed closely behind.
"Get out of my house," Lyla demanded as soon as she was within earshot of the girl.
The red head turned around, saw Lyla, and laughed obnoxiously. "Fuck off."
"Get out of my house," repeated Lyla. "No one invited you."
"I invited her," said a man that Lyla only vaguely recognized in her wine haze.
"Well I didn't invite you either," Lyla retorted. "You can get out too."
"Louis invited us," he said. "You have a problem, take it up with him."
Lyla stuttered, trying to think of something to say that wasn't what she had already repeated. The red head laughed and the two of them walked towards the kitchen. Instead of speaking, Lyla resorted to drinking most of the refilled wine in her glass.
"Who's that?" Maya asked, eyeing Lyla as the wine began to take effect almost immediately.
"Her name's Sophie and she's a bitch. She wants Louis." Lyla looked like she was about to cry.
"Okay, let's get you back into the dining room," Maya said, guiding the increasingly unsteady Lyla back to her chair. As much as she liked seeing different versions of Lyla, this one was a little to rough for her liking, the wine seeming to dissolve most of Lyla's usual reservations about making a scene. "You ladies make sure Lyla stays here. I'll be right back." Maya left Lyla and went searching for Marshall or Louis or someone else competent and strong to solve the issue. She found Marshall sitting with some of his music friends on Lyla and Louis' back deck smoking, the alcohol and drug keeping them from feeling the cold. "Marshall!" she called, waving him into the house.
He joined her a few seconds later, "what's up?"
"There's this girl here who's driving Lyla crazy. It's actually hilarious." She composed herself, "but I think this bitch needs to leave. And you need to make her because they're not listening to Lyla. And Lyla is pretty much wasted and swore and called the girl a slut."
Marshall laughed, "Lyla did? Who's the girl?"
"Some red head. Lyla said Sophie?"
"Dave's sister? What does Lyla know 'bout her? She tried hittin' on Lou when we were tourin' but I thought that was it. Where is she?"
Maya didn't need to answer; Lyla's uncharacteristically loud voice came from the kitchen, telling Sophie to leave once more. They rushed to the kitchen to see an angry Lyla shouting in Sophie's face while the red head mocked her and laughed. Dave tried to pull Lyla away from his sister, but Marshall wasn't having any of it.
"Hands off, Dave. Lyla, chill the fuck out." He stepped in and pulled Lyla away from Sophie even as she struggled against him. "I think you both should leave. Or at least you," he turned to Sophie as he spoke. "She doesn't want you here and it's her house."
Sophie rolled her eyes, "she just knows that if Louis were left alone with me, he'd make it worth his while."
He guffawed, "darlin', you're delusional if you think Louie'd ever give you even a second glance. It's time to go."
"I'm not going anywhere," she smirked, leaning against the counter and drinking her own glass of wine.
"Dave?" Marshall tried appealing to the fellow musician. "Please, man."
Dave seemed to think for a moment but decided to keep things more pleasant. It might have been because of the onlookers. "Soph, let's just go somewhere else."
She refused and crossed her arms.
"Jesus Christ, you're a child," Marshall exclaimed. "Where the fuck is Louis?"
"Downstairs," someone said.
"Well, get him up here. Dave, you're gonna have her out within five minutes or I'll be carryin' her out myself."
"You know what, Marshall? Don't even think about touching my sister or it'll be the last thing you do."
"Dave, fuck off, yeah? I'm twice your size," Marshall countered. "My, take Lyla somewhere."
"I'm not leaving," Lyla slurred, "until she's gone."
Marshall pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, "Lyla, I take it back. You don't need to let loose. Put the wine down."
"Screw you," she replied, taking another sip from her glass.
"What's goin' on?" Louis entered the kitchen, glancing from Lyla to Marshall to Sophie. "What're you doin' in our house?"
"I wanted to see you again," Sophie replied in as seductive a voice as she could manage.
"Dave, I invited you, not her," Louis said, trying his best to ignore the flirting highlighted by Lyla's rage. "You're gonna have to leave. I'm sorry."
"You're sorry?" Lyla exclaimed. "Why on Earth are you sorry? She's a slut who takes pleasure in messing with people. She's a fucking psychopath and you're sorry?"
"Lyla!" Louis responded, holding a hand up. "Dave, Sophie, go."
Sophie rolled her eyes, "oh my God, fine. She's not worth ruining my New Year's Eve. I'm going." She slid her jacket on over her sequin dress and added, "I'll see you again," before making her way through the throngs of people, Dave following shortly after, leaving a brief apology behind.
With the entertainment gone, the audience dispersed and resumed whatever they had been doing prior to the argument.
"What the fuck was that all about, Louie?" Marshall asked, completely befuddled.
"Don't worry about it, Marshall. Lyla, upstairs," Louis said, taking Lyla by the arm and leading her towards the stairs.
"No!" she pulled away from him.
"Lyla." He held both of her shoulders and looked into her unfocused eyes, "I left August downstairs, but he'll come up in a few moments guaranteed. You want him to see you this way? Move."
Lyla figured he was right but didn't let him touch her even as she stumbled up the stairs while Louis spotted behind her.
"You need to sleep off the wine," Louis said once they were in their bedroom with the door closed. "Why are you causin' such a scene?"
"Why was she even here?!" Lyla shouted. "How is this woman still in your life? Oh, maybe it's because you haven't told her to fuck off!"
"Lyla, stop. You know I've made it perfectly clear that—"
"What? That you have a wife? Like that's going to stop her? You haven't told her to stop. Though I don't actually know how often you see her so maybe you have."
"The last time I saw her was when I was with you. You know I have no interest in her, but you're right. I haven't explicitly told her to stop. Have only hinted. I'm sorry."
"And that's another thing!" Lyla continued despite Louis hoping they would have reached some resolution. Clearly wine-drunk Lyla was the confrontational type. "Why were you apologizing when you told them to leave? It's our house. They should be the ones apologizing!"
"Lyla…" He was tired. He had experienced drunk Lyla, but not angry-drunk Lyla.
"What?!" Her voice was a lot more shrill than it had ever been before, "I have every right to—" She suddenly got a strange look on her face, glanced at Louis, and then ran to the toilet, which was soon filled with red wine. Louis crouched next to her, holding her hair back. Downstairs, he could hear their guests shouting 'Happy New Year!' to one another.
"Happy New Year," he murmured to the retching sounds of his wife as he tied her hair back.
The party continued on past midnight, ringing in the New Year with good booze, good people, and good music. Louis and Lyla didn't return though.
Maya checked on Mateo and Ben while Marshall joined August at some drinking card game (though August was under strict instructions to stick with non-alcoholic beverages), then she worked her way around between the guests, hoping to find someone interested in her. It didn't take long before she was up against some well-dressed man named Kevin in the corner of the back foyer, sucking on his neck whilst being freely groped. She took his hand and led him through the crowd, fully intent on taking him into the unfurnished spare bedroom upstairs until a blonde came at her screaming like a harpy about trying to steal her man. There was a lot Maya wanted to say – how he didn't tell her he was taken or how she pretty much already had him – but instead she threw her hands up in the air and walked away, allowing them to work things out on their own.
She made her way into the basement where there was a small group of people, including Marshall, August, and Brian playing some card game. Maya kneeled next to Marshall, running her hand over his back, "meet me in that storage area in five minutes," she whispered before heading down the hall under the guise of checking on her child.
Maya sat on the large freezer, waiting for Marshall. They were relying on each other a lot more lately for satisfaction – though Maya more than Marshall at this point in his healing process. It was just easier. Plus, he was really good at what he did. And Maya loved him, though it was still a strange thing for both of them to openly admit.
The storage area was where the finished basement ended. There wasn't much back there yet – mostly furniture that Lyla absolutely could not stand – but it would be a place for Christmas decorations and old baby clothes and whatever else. It was where the large freezer was along with the washer and dryer as well as the breaker. The carpet and drywall ended at the door so that the entire area consisted of cold concrete, wood, and exposed wiring and insulation. Not exactly an area made for romance. But Maya didn't really need romance.
Marshall arrived a few minutes later, "what happened to trying to find someone new?" he asked, closing the storage room door behind him.
"I did," she said, sliding the spaghetti straps of her dress down her shoulders and unclasping her strapless bra to reveal her breasts, "but then I found out he had a girlfriend when she started screeching at me."
Marshall chuckled and stood close to her, "so, you find me to get you off?"
"You know it's more than that," she whispered into his ear, kissing his neck intermittently. "Besides," she reached down to his jeans and began unbuttoning them, "I need to keep checking in."
He pulled back from her and ran his hands under her dress so that he could remove her panties, which he set on the freezer top next to her discarded bra. But she closed her legs and hopped off of the freezer. "What are you doin'?" he asked.
"You need to let me at least try," she said, going to her knees and working at his jeans once more.
"Maya, stop," he said, holding her wrists firmly and joining her on the concrete floor before bringing his lips to her chest.
She pushed him away and fixed her dress so that she was covered up again, "you can't keep avoiding it."
"Christ, I'm not avoidin' anythin'," he complained, running his hand through his hair. "I'll fuckin' know if I can get it up again before you do. I don't like you constantly tryin' to fix the problem. You can't fuckin' fix it." He buttoned his jeans and leaned back against the freezer on the cold floor.
Maya started to speak but sighed instead. She scooted next to Marshall, gasping when the cold floor touched her thighs, and leaned against the freezer in the same way. "I'm not trying to fix anything," she said finally.
"You don't think I want to fuck again? It's frustratin', feelin' the urge and not bein' able to really do anythin' about it, y'know? I don't need you comin' in and makin' me feel worse about it."
She felt like she could start crying, though alcohol might be a contributing factor, "I didn't mean to."
He patted her thigh and rested his hand there, "I know." They sat together silently until Maya started to feel the cold chill of the basement.
"Do you ever think you'd want another kid?" she asked suddenly.
It seemed to catch Marshall off-guard. "Is that somethin' you're thinkin' about?"
She shrugged, "I look at you and Louis, and think about me and Ed growing up, and just wonder if Mateo's going to be lonely."
"He has Ben," Marshall countered. The idea of another child frankly terrified him.
"Let's be real. Look at this place. Ben and Mateo are cousins, but they're from different worlds. He needs someone like him. I think."
"I don't know, My," he groaned. "We don't have the money now with the tour comin' up—"
"After the tour," she interrupted. "When I graduate and get a job or once you see how much you're going to make off the tour."
"We'd have to get a new place again—"
"Not for awhile. The baby can stay in my room until we decide where to go from there. Mateo can't stay in his small room for the rest of his life anyway."
Marshall shook his head, "I'll think about it."
"I'll take it," she replied. "Now I need to get out of this room. My nipples could cut glass."
Marshall moved his hand between her legs, "I could still warm you up."
She agreed so long as she could sit on the freezer instead of the floor and felt immediately warmer as Marshall worked his tongue beneath her dress.
Lyla woke up to the world spinning. Her head ached, and her mouth had an awful taste in it; she felt dehydrated from the inside out. Opening her eyes, she found herself on the floor of the master bathroom with a pillow under her head and the duvet from her bed on top of her.
She sat up slowly, hoping that the dizziness she felt would not turn into more vomiting. There wasn't much she remembered but being doubled over the toilet was fresh in her mind. She stood up unsteadily and ran the tap on the sink so that she could drink some water and immediately brush her teeth. Taking stock of her smudged makeup, she washed her face as well so that while she still felt haggard, she no longer looked it. Not completely, anyway.
Lyla shuffled into the bedroom where Louis was passed out face first in their bed, a throw blanket covering him. She dragged the duvet to the bed a threw it over him before changing into fresh clothes and daring to venture outside of their bedroom.
From the second floor, everything seemed unaffected. She peeked in the bathroom; the toilet paper was a little askew and she had to flush the toilet because someone else had obviously been sick, but it was otherwise unscathed. Ben's door, which she had closed before the party, was still closed and untouched as she quickly peered inside. The spare bedroom had a couple of people sleeping on the floor.
Down the stairs, there were some other sleepers along with some empty bottles, cans, and cups, but nothing seemed too terrible. In the dining room, someone was doubled over the table, sleeping on their arms. In the kitchen, the island and countertops were covered with bottles, cans, cups, foods, and spills. She made her way down the hall, past the bathroom, into the foyer and down the stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible when she encountered a sleeping body. She was surprised by the number of people who had decided to crash.
In the basement, she recognized Nick and Emily sleeping in one corner, Brian and some girl in another corner. She went to August's room and peeked in; he was fast asleep under his covers and she hoped that he had listened to her about drinking. In the next room over, she went to check on Ben and Mateo. Inside, though, Marshall and Maya were asleep on the floor with a couple of Ben's blankets draped over them. Lyla hadn't realized how loud Marshall snored and wondered how the toddlers (and Maya) were sleeping through it. She looked into Ben's crib and saw that he was wide awake but blissfully playing with some toy dinosaurs, which he immediately dropped upon seeing his mom.
She grinned wide and whispered, "good morning, sunshine" before taking him in her arms. Prior to leaving, she looked in on Mateo who was still passed out, a snorer in the making with his loud breaths; he was sprawled out just like his father on the floor and she had to smile at the similarities.
Outside of the bedroom, she set him down to waddle behind her as she found the box of frozen waffles in the freezer to bring upstairs for those who had stayed over. He followed her to the stairs and embarked on the climb up as she followed slowly behind him. At the top, he ran ahead of her so that she had to slide the box of waffles across the floor and into the kitchen in order to keep up with him as he began climbing the next set of stairs.
"Mornin'," Louis' tired voice came from the top of the stairs, pushing Ben into overdrive as he tried to get to his father faster. "Hiya Benny." Once the toddler reached the top of the stairs, he was in Louis' arms, hugging tightly. "How does it look down there?" he asked Lyla who followed him into Ben's room.
Lyla sat in the rocking chair while Louis changed Ben's diaper, "it doesn't look too bad. A lot of people though. I'm going to make breakfast for anyone who wants."
"Feelin' okay then?"
She shook her head and then winced, "no. I feel dizzy and like I'm going to throw up and my head's killing me. But a greasy breakfast might help."
Louis nodded and finished up, "if you do the breakfast, I'll do the clean up."
By the time the house was free of old bottles, cans, cups, and whatever other trash there might've been, breakfast was ready and those who were sleeping scattered around the house were woken and lured by the smell of bacon, sausage, eggs, hashbrowns, and waffles.
Ben sat happily in his high chair eating eggs and hashbrown and waffles (not being a fan of sausage or bacon for some unfathomable reason) while the others gathered around the table taking what they wanted. Lyla had bought more than she thought she would need just so that she was prepared; this was good since she ended up cooking all of it. She also put out some cereal and toast for anyone who came late to the feast.
By noon, everyone had left, and the house was back in order. On the living room sofa, Louis was stretched out on his side, spooning Lyla with his arms wrapped around her and a light throw blanket over the top of them. Neither party was feeling much up to doing anything beyond a lazy day on the couch; their brains wouldn't allow the comprehension of activity even if they did want to do something more. The TV played a Sunday movie, the volume low, while Ben napped nearby in his playpen and August hid away in the basement.
Louis began dozing off when he was startled awake by Lyla's quiet and hoarse voice.
"I'm sorry about last night."
Louis cleared his throat, an unintentional reflex that tried and failed to mask the fact that he was near sleep, "I'm surprised you remember anythin'."
"Well… I don't. Not really. I remember the red-head—"
Louis snorted, "is that what we're calling her now?"
Lyla ignored him, "and I remember you telling me to get a grip. So, I'm sorry for whatever happened. Also, for throwing up."
He chuckled at the last addition, "throwin' up didn't affect me too much. I left you on the floor and went to bed."
"Well, thanks for the pillow and duvet. At least I woke up by the toilet in comfort. What happened?"
Louis sighed, "I'd invited Dave, not really thinkin' about So—the red-head." Lyla smiled for his correction, "and he brought her. You were a coupla bottles in, I'm sure—"
"I'd be dead if that were the case."
"Even so, I guess you saw her and started swearin' at her and whatever else—I was downstairs at the time so just know what Maya and Marshall told me today. Maya was real impressed."
"That can't be good."
"When I was upstairs, you were tellin' Marshall off and callin' 'her' a psychopath until we convinced them to leave. Then I forced you to bed, we argued, you vomited, and it was the new year."
Lyla laughed, "don't ever give me wine again. I'm not going to be able to face my coworkers again. How humiliating. I'm so sorry."
"Don't be sorry, love," he kissed the back of her head and whispered, "besides, it's kinda hot to have you fightin' over me."
She laughed and turned so that she was able to hide her face against his chest. They didn't say anything else.
To the low sounds of something very dramatic happening on television, Louis and Lyla dozed off, hoping to recover from their massive hangovers by dinnertime.