fever dream
2
The lights are all aglow downstairs when I shut off the engine, staring at my house as I try to summon the courage to go inside, as I spritz a little perfume on and check my hair in the mirror.
It's late, past midnight, but it's also still over eighty degrees out. Faint jazz rides the breeze from the open great room windows to me watching from the car. I see the shadows of somebody moving around inside and wonder if everyone in the house is still awake. If they are, I'm in for a longer night than I expected.
But sleepless...it's a setting I'm used to.
Pulling a hairband from my wrist, I stuff my mussed hair into a messy bun where it'll be out of reach of grabby hands, then scoop my keys and cell phone from the passenger seat before forcing myself from the car.
Every step is punctuated by the click of my heels. I smile, picturing the crooked grin my stilettos always garner. I'm often in sneakers by the time I make it to the hotel, so it's a treat when I head straight over there still dressed to the nines.
Thoughts of that grin carry me all the way into the brownstone we moved into when we returned from our honeymoon all those years ago. My heels go into the hall closet for now, keys and cell on the console, then I follow the music into the great room.
Despite everything, there's no doubting the rush of love I feel when I step through the doorway and lay eyes on him.
"Mama," he whines, hands already reaching, tear-stained cheeks my undoing; the lid that holds my guilt and shame down disintegrates. I let the ugly feelings flood my body as I pull my son from his father's tired arms. I deserve it all, every last drop and more. The way he grips me, like a parched man stranded in the desert, digs the knife a little deeper each time.
I let it, make myself feel it.
"Mama's here, baby."
Jameson's blond hair is damp, his little body too warm. When he presses his face into my neck and shudders with a shaky, silent cry, I squeeze my eyes shut and kiss his hair.
You don't get to feel sad for yourself. Quit with the pity party.
"You said you'd be home for dinner with us."
My eyes pop back open.
There's nothing I can say. No apology that will ring true enough, that will make it okay.
Riley's blue eyes, the eyes he gave to our son, are narrowed, but I can see the exhaustion underscoring them black, the weight resting on his shoulders. They lift and fall in a heavy sigh as he runs a hand through his hair, a gesture so achingly familiar my knees almost buckle. The gel I watched him coat it with this morning is long-gone, blond strands sticking up in a thousand different directions as he reaches for the glass of water on the coffee table; beside it sits Jameson's paci, iPad, and a collection of empty fruit snack packets.
"I'm going to bed."
"Okay," I whisper, rocking Jameson side to side, his quiet mumbling in my ear comforting as I watch Riley scan the room before heading toward the stairs.
"Oh." He pauses in the doorway, hand on the frame, silent yawn stretching his mouth and putting tears in the corners of his eyes. "Don't forget, it's Katie's birthday party tomorrow, and Jameson has that appointment in the morning. It's at—"
"Eleven," I interrupt, a little too snappy. Offended. "I remember. And I already picked out Katie's gift. It's in the library."
I can see the words on the tip of his tongue, the accusation that it wouldn't be the first time I've forgotten, but he's better than me. He keeps the words locked up.
Nodding, he reaches out to splay a palm on Jameson's back. "Night, Jamie."
Jameson doesn't say anything, just continues humming the tune to one of his shows into my neck, fingers playing with the loose tendrils of hair at my nape.
Riley blows out a big breath, gaze catching mine for a moment before he disappears up the stairs. His eyes, brimming with a thousand questions I know he won't ask, stick in my mind as I wait for the muffled click of our bedroom door, then the faint hum of the water kicking in when he turns on the shower.
"Sweepy, Mama," Jameson mumbles.
"I know, baby. Why don't we get some milk and go lie down, hmm?"
"'Kay."
Jameson's bedroom is my favorite in the whole house. It's nothing like the room I originally planned with him, the classic white nursery that would grow into a blank canvas he could customise with his hobbies as he grows. When I flick the switches inside the door, the bubble pillar glows blue over in the corner and the led lights stuck to the underside of the chair rail start to shift through all the colors of the rainbow.
"Fishies, Mama. Fishies."
I smile, kissing my son's head as I carry him toward his pillow fort. "Do you want to push the button?"
He scrambles away as soon as his bare feet touch the floor. A few seconds later, his sunny smile beams at me while the ocean illuminates the ceiling, the colors of the sea dancing in hypnotizing patterns. "Fishies," he whispers, bouncing on his tiptoes.
"That's right. Come on, then. Let's lie down, okay?"
Jameson refuses to sleep in a bed unless it's mine and Riley's, but we're working on him sleeping in his own room. So far, the only thing that even occasionally works is his pillow fort. When I lift the curtain to let Jameson inside, I realize Riley must have dragged his mattress in here at some point today, Finding Nemo sheets, blankets, and all.
Hugging Nemo under one arm, Dory under the other, Jameson settles down with just enough room for me to curl myself around him, glad I found a t-shirt and gym shorts to change into because he's like a little furnace.
Through the opening in the fort, we watch the fish swimming around the ceiling and snuggle until Jameson finally drifts off with his head on my chest, both thumbs stuffed in his mouth, stuffies still tucked tight under his arms. It's not comfortable for me, not really, but nothing and nobody could drag me away from his moment right here.
~ fd ~
When I wake, the room still darkened by the blackout blinds but hot from the sun hitting the windows anyway, I'm alone.
Nemo stares back at me as I blink myself awake, trying to remember…
Oh. That's right.
As I stretch, the delicious, all-over ache in my muscles reminds me of where I was, who I was with, last night. The sharp pain in my neck is a reminder of where I finally crashed, head propped awkwardly on the belly of a giant stuffed shark.
When I step under the waterfall shower in the en-suite, face tipped toward the spray, the water pummels my knots and kinks perfectly. I have maybe ten minutes before I need to be downstairs checking on things, but as memories of last night start to sneak in, my fingers trail down over my stomach, following a path burned into my skin by smiling lips. When they find my clit, already aching, I gasp, back arching.
"I fucking love the taste of you," he breathes, magic fingers inside me, tongue turning my bones to jelly with every touch.
When I fall apart minutes later, free hand clasped over my mouth to keep myself from crying out, I stuff those memories into the back of my mind. They're safe there, locked away and waiting for my alone time.
By the time I've dried my hair, left it loose in waves, and pulled on a pencil skirt-blouse combo, I can hear the increasingly loud voices downstairs.
Padding down the hall, I peek into Riley's study and sigh at his empty chair, pillars of light spilling through the blinds to splash over the leather and his cherry wood desk. I'd hoped to see him this morning before Jameson's speech therapy, but that's obviously not to be.
Heading downstairs, I follow Jameson's giggle to the kitchen, disappointment instantly forgotten.
"Mama!" Jameson bounces down from the counter where he and his sister are baking with Carmen, our housekeeper and nanny. "Shells! Shells, see!"
"I see shells, baby," I laugh, scooping him up into my arms so I can pepper his adorable face with kisses. He has powdered sugar on his nose and cheeks, a little in his hair, too. When I wrap an arm around my daughter's shoulder and press a kiss right on her brunette crown, I notice that she hasn't escaped it either. "Good morning, piccolina."
"Morning, Mama." Her brown eyes sparkle as she peers up at me, at her brother toying with the necklace I put on today; my babies' birthstones hanging from a simple white gold chain, their initials beside them. 'J' for Jameson, 'F' for Fiorella. "We're making sfogliatella for breakfast."
"My favorite." Turning to Carmen, I blow her a kiss and bid her good morning. "Buongiorno."
She slides a tray of the delicious looking pastries into the oven before dusting her hands on her apron and beaming at me. "Buongiorno, love. We missed you at dinner yesterday."
Ouch.
Her words aren't meant to hurt, they're just a reminder. A gentle one, but carefully barbed. And I get it, which is why I kiss my babies' heads again and offer Carmen an apologetic smile instead of biting.
"I'm sorry, I got caught up at work and I just couldn't step out."
"That's okay, Mama. Dad took us all to this new grill place, it was really cool."
My heart hurts hearing her tell me all about the things they did without me yesterday; Riley and Carmen took them to the park, for dinner at some fancy new grill restaurant, and then they played board games until Fi went to bed around nine and Carmen left shortly after. Of course when I sent the simple, two-word text—you free?—before leaving the studio yesterday, I knew what I was doing. What I was missing out on.
The only thing that comforts me is knowing their day was filled with love and fun and smiles, even without me.
~ fd ~
After breakfast, Carmen and Fi head out to their nail appointment while I load Jameson into the car for the short drive across town to his speech therapist. He's content in his carseat with his stuffed lion and a Buzz Lightyear action figure, so I leave the radio off and listen to his happy chatter instead, letting it soothe the frayed edges left behind by Carmen's ever-watchful, all-knowing gaze over breakfast and Fiorella's innocent questions about my work and what kept me late last night.
My job, my industry, isn't something I want to expose my children to any time soon. They're used to a certain level of secrecy and only being allowed to visit Mama in the studio on certain—non-filming—days, which helps.
Still, it's difficult to field the curiosity sometimes, on mornings when the truth is a little too close to the surface like it is this morning, scruff burn chafing my thighs and phantom whispers of filthy promises in my ears.
No matter how much I try to forget, it's impossible sometimes. The only thing that will scratch the itch is more of the same, but this week...it's going to be busy with multiple shoots and family birthday parties—our niece's sixth birthday today, then my brother-in-law's a week from now, next Saturday.
With a silent sigh, I pull up outside the therapist's office and imbue myself with cheer and excitement, knowing it can make all the difference between Jameson participating and not.
Game face, Bella.
.
The appointment flies by, Jameson in a wonderful mood. It helps that he loves his therapist, Lauren.
Twirling his reward—a bright green sucker—between his lips, he skips along the street just ahead of me as we head to the party store to pick up the '6' balloon I pre-ordered, then we grab the cake on the way home since she requested one from the bakery here, rather than any of the selection nearer to where they is a gem and has Fiorella ready to go when we get back to the house, so all I have to do is change myself and Jameson, whose nap time is fast-approaching and will coincide perfectly with the hour-long drive over to my brother- and sister-in-law's house.
"All right, tesoro. Ready?"
Jameson answers me by shooting off down the stairs, thankfully happy to get right back in the car after a quick detour via the bathroom. While Carmen wrangles him out on the sidewalk, I do a quick check to make sure I have everything I'll need for the afternoon. Most of it is already in the car, but I realize I need to grab a couple of things from indoors.
Katie's balloon, cake, and gift. Jameson's ear defenders in case he gets too overwhelmed. Fiorella's cardigan that she insists she won't need. Riley's change of shirt; short-sleeved instead of long, like he wears for work.
I have a text waiting on my cell from Riley when I finally join the rest of the crew in the car five minutes after we should have left.
Running late like I expected. I'll meet you at J + A's. Love you. R x
Palming my aching chest, I tap out a quick response and drop my phone into the console between me and Carmen, flashing her what I hope is a relaxed smile.
"Who's ready to party?"
not me posting twice today out of spite because the trolls be trolling already lmao. all you're doing is adding to my review count, but you do you, boo.
hugs and love to my prereaders and all of you beautiful people for the support you're already showing this little tale! xo