Some sexual content in this one, innuendo mostly, nothing graphic.

Making It Up

She starts to head for the bathroom to get ready for bed.

"Leave it." I say.

She does and we fall into our bed in our clothes. I just want to hold her. I just want to be us again.

When I wake up in the morning, I look down and watch her sleep. She reminds me of Jasna. They both sleep with a little smile curved on their lips like they have a delightful secret they're not telling. It's okay, this is going to work. There's room for them all. Hearts are expandable aren't they? I'm not giving this up, not for what I can never have, for what I can never change. I extricate myself carefully and shower and shave. I feel, well, I feel like a new man.

I sit on the edge of the bed watching her. I can't help myself I brush a strand of hair away. I just wanted to touch her. She wakes up and looks up at me and manages a smile. The surprise is I don't even have to try, I just smile back. I can talk now, about my children. I tell her about Jasna and Marko, and mornings with them. How they would crawl into bed between Dani and I. Jasna's giggles, Marko's smile. It feels like I've woken from a slumber. Like I've cast off a burden I didn't even know I carried. I wonder how many more I've stowed, I wonder how many she has. But I let that go. She'll help me, I'll help her, this just might work. I'm overwhelmed by tenderness and love for the woman looking up at me for her joy that I'm through the worst, for being happy to listen to stories about my life before her for all of it.

"I'm sorry." I say. It sounds so utterly inadequate even to me.

I don't have the words to tell her how I feel. I want to show her. I put my hands on her face, stroke her lips look into her eyes. She's so beautiful. I start to kiss her, lightly at first then more deeply. I keep my hands on her face and neck, till I know she wants them to move. And then they do. I undress her, touching, kissing, stroking. I speak to her in Croatian, tell her how beautiful she is, how much she means to me, how I love her body, how she makes me feel. I've done this before, and every time I tell myself I'll tell her in English next time, so she'll understand. But, I never do.

I press my lips into her neck, in the place I know she loves and listen to her breathing, heavy, excited. I want to erase the memory of every other man she's ever been with from her body, from her mind, from her heart. I don't want her to be able to remember what their hands or lips felt like on her body, none of it. I want her to forget the boys of her youth, Richard, Carter, even myself from the last few nights. I want it to be as if she's never had another lover. She wants to please me too, but I don't let her and eventually she gives up her hands helpless in my hair or pressed into my back. It's more then enough just watching, and feeling what I'm doing to her. I bring her to climax slowly, carefully. Then, I undress and run my hands over her body again. She reaches for me her hands roam all over me, she's still hungry, and I stoke her fire. I hold off until I can't stand it another minute and just then she groans, "Luka . . .please . . .now" and pulls me into her. I gasp at the exquisite sensations. I'm so ready, I don't think I'll last a minute. She arches her back and then I catch her eye, hear her breath still ragged. I know I can take her over the top again. That knowledge slows me down. I look into her eyes. We watch each other move. Lovers for the first time all over again. Taking pleasure from the other's desire as much as our own. When we climax, as if by mutual agreement we hold nothing back, and let out cries that echo in the empty house.

I bury my face in her neck. "I love you Abby"

The next few days I recuperate from my despair. I get my strength back. I find my balance again. I will myself back into life. At first I have to make myself do things, just normal things like the dishes or taking out the trash. But every day it gets easier. I want this, and I know I can be a husband and a father again. What I don't know is if I can be at the birth, but I so want to be. I need, a kick in the ass, and I know who can give it to me. I call the man who taught me to swim when I was 7 and still afraid by tossing me in the deep end, literally. Who when I was 14, made me hold the tiller of our boat when we were caught in a squall and I was terrified. Who told me even the train line wouldn't hire me if I didn't have the courage to take the entrance test for medical school.

"Tata?"

"Luka?"

"Da"

He asks me about Abby and the baby. I tell him they're fine.

"What then?" He knows me too well.


"You know what you were afraid of? It happened."

"God, Luka"

"Yeah"

"Tell me"

I don't tell him everything, he doesn't need that, no one does, but I tell him enough.

Silence.

"Tata, what do I do? I don't know if I can be there when the baby's born, but I can't stand to let her down like that, to let us down."

He sighs, then nothing for a minute.

" Luka what are you doing right now?"

"Talking to you"

"Where are you son?"

"What? Why?"

"Just answer the goddamn questions".

"In my house".

"Luka, what are you doing right now?"

Silence from me


"Luka, answer me"

"I'm talking to you" my voice is harsher, I don't feel like playing games.

"Where are you?" he shouts back

"I'm in my fucking house".

"Luka, what are you doing right now?"

Silence. "I get it Tata"

"That's it boy, in the moment, one minute at a time. You keep telling yourself where you are and what you're doing. You're with Abby, she's having your baby, you're in the hospital, you're in Chicago. She's okay, baby's okay. And you do it over and over and over again"

"What if it doesn't work?"


"Then try thinking about whatever it is you think about when you're making love to your wife."

"Pardon?"

"You know, when you're waiting for her to . . . catch up"

Silence

"Luka you do wait don't you?"


"Tata!"

"What the hell Luka, it might work."

I laugh a little"What if it doesn't?"


"Then you'll have to leave, and she'll understand."

"Really? Because I'm not sure I will."

"She loves you Luka, she'll understand. Look, she agreed to take on certain things about you when she married you just like you agreed to take on certain things about her when you married her didn't you?"


"Yes"

"You gonna give up if she takes another drink someday"


I shiver, "No"

"You gonna give up, if her mother comes to visit and runs down your block naked?'

I cringe, "No"

"Alright then, she's not going to give up if you can't do this. Just be sure she knows you love her"

"Yes, Tata"

"And Luka?"


"Yes?"


"I love you"

I love you too Tata"

"Tell Abby Ivica is a very good name for a boy"


"I'll try"

"I know you will son, I know you will".

I've got two weeks on nights as penance to Weaver and the night before I go back Abby gives me the cold shoulder, she's pissed and I'm not sure why.

She won't talk, tells me nothings wrong and she goes up to bed obviously angry.

Well what did you expect Kovac, you just put her through hell, surely the last thing she needed was your onslaught. You just went right ahead and ruined this for her didn't you? Couldn't resist bringing her down, disappointing her.

Wait a minute. Guilt. Isn't that what all this was about in the first place? It's my old, trusty companion. Except really he hasn't been very good to me has he? Abby can't drink; I can't do guilt. It's my secret addiction. We both get mired down in even the smallest taste don't we? Because if I go there I know what will happen, she'll be angry, I'll be guilty and we'll both close down, and choke on it. It won't be the big catastrophes that will take us down. It will be the little deaths every day. Or not.

So, no guilt then, I try to figure it out is she mad because of what we've been through, because I've got two weeks of nights, because I left the toilet seat up one to many times. Or is it some kind of test? No, it doesn't feel like that it feels more like a habit. This is what she does, how she hides. So what do I do? Well, maybe nothing tonight, I'll sleep on it. When I go up to bed, she pretends to be asleep and I let her. I wake up alone, she's in the bathroom brushing her teeth, she's still angry, frothing in fact as the toothpaste is clinging around her mouth. I try again. Finally she spills it.

I scared her, hell I scared myself. Can't blame her for being upset. Still, shit happens right? Sometimes my shit, sometimes her shit, that's how it is. I get it. She's not done this before, marriage I mean. Whatever she had with Richard, it wasn't a marriage, not really. Hell, I don't think she's ever even seen a good marriage before. Well then, I guess I'll tell be the one to let her in on the secret. It ain't easy.

She gets it. In fact she's smiling.

She forgives me, but I owe her. She tells me she'll name her terms after she thinks about it. What can I say, I think she deserves to name some pretty steep terms for this one.

Guess I'll let her in on another secret then . . . toothpaste . . .mouth . . . foam. She's cute when she's rabid I tell her and then I beat a hasty retreat.