A/N: Happy New Year, y'all! Is it too late to say that? Haha. So sorry for the delay. This month has been super busy for me so far, but I haven't forgotten about our story!
Little reminder on timeline since it's been forever… we're still in the same day as last chapter. And the next chapter (timeframe wise) will also occur within 'this' same week.
Enjoy!
The Past, Parenting & Progress
Peter ate a bite of his gelato, then another, rolling the cold morsel around with his tongue. The simple but dulcet flavor profile of vanilla and bourbon awakened his taste buds, nearly causing his eyes to drift close for a second in culinary appreciation and forget the somewhat grim reason he was currently enjoying the delicacy.
He peeked at his daughter to his right, whom was barely touching her salted triple chocolate concoction. No less than five minutes had passed since they grabbed their order and strolled to sit at the eatery's vacant high bar lined along the windows, and she still hadn't said a word since they sat down. Not even asking to sample his order as she usually does.
She chose to taste a bit of her own then settled into a back and forth dance of mindlessly staring down into her bowl and the unabashed view of the water.
The slim hope Peter had from their coming here ending on a positive note nearly faded when he first noticed her classic avoidance.
They were at one of her favorite dessert places perched on Navy Pier. It was one of the newer eateries that had joined other shops and restaurants along the lake within the past six years. A minimalist styled gelato bar complete with young owners whose sole mission statement was incorporating flavors of Argentina and locally sourced ingredients. It was a popular spot on the pier, attracting new and old visitors alike.
This used to be their spot. Where he'd take her when work wasn't demanding so much of his attention and she requested they come here.
(Because they both preferred gelato over ice-cream—his fault—and also, the simple fact in those times she requested they come here, she'd say, in her words, 'I want to spend time with you, Dad').
It was a no brainer that he chose this place for them to talk. His fervent hope before they left here was that he could at least fix the warped image she now had of him.
He suspected he was no longer her hero. He'd noticed at times, that beam of light she used to project on him when he filled her vision, had been absent lately. He overlooked it before. Little did he know, that light was probably never coming back. A seed of resentment had likely been planted and as of today, it had germinated, its roots fanning out, gaining strength.
Wiping the corners of his mouth, Peter pushed his bowl aside and relaxed against the back of the high barstool, studying her for a minute, trying to gauge the best way to break her vow of silence.
"So help me out here." She looked his way, uncertainty piled in her eyes. "Do I finish my bowl," he glanced at her full one, "yours, and then you start talking? Or do we throw away our gelato, go home, and…that's it? Though I hope you don't choose the latter because it would be a tragedy to toss these out."
Grace cracked a small smile. "Are you mad at me?"
"No. I'll never be mad at you, Pud."
Pud. He hadn't called her Pud in so long that even Grace felt her chest tighten at the memories it evoked.
"I never meant to make you or Mom upset today." She fixated her focus back on the water. "I only said how I felt."
"You've been holding that in all this time?"
She nodded.
He shifted atop the seat, bracing a hand on his upper thigh as he slightly angled to face her.
"Can I share something with you?"
Again she nodded.
Running his tongue along his teeth, Peter breathed a deep exhale, momentarily weaving through how to deliver what he wanted to say.
"When your brother was born, your mom and I didn't have a clue what we were getting into." He side-glanced her way. "As parents, I mean. But we got the hang of it within that first year, and then, just when I thought we were semi-pros, we were expecting you."
Grace slowly started to smile.
"I remember thinking, after your mom told me she was pregnant with you, that I can't possibly be a father to two kids. I was scared out of my mind. I barely knew how to be a father to one."
She snickered.
"But then you were born…" His voice sounded far away, filled with nostalgia as he stared out the windows. "And for some unknown reason, all the little pieces…all the unchecked boxes and missing dots I had about this parenting thing, suddenly made sense. Boxes were checked, dots connected. I knew what it meant to be a father. And the sacrifices that would come." He pulled his gaze from the still lake to her. "Being a parent—a father—isn't easy. It's one of the hardest roles I've ever had. You reminded me of that today."
He fully faced her in the chair. "Grace, I never intended to hurt your mom. Or our family. Or you. It's one of the biggest regrets I have and will always have. There's no excuse. I failed. But on the flip side, I've learned from that mistake."
"How?" She rested her chin on a fisted hand. "What did you learn?"
"That I will never compromise our family that way ever again. The three of you are never worth the risk."
She let his response sink in, and then turned away, averting her gaze down. "Dad. I still don't understand how could you cheat. If you loved Mom so much…how could you?"
Peter ran a hand through his hair. No explanation, whatever he conjured, would be sound. "When I…broke our wedding vows, your mom and I were in a very difficult place. I handled that in a way I should not have."
She tilted her head in thought. "Was it after Mom's miscarriage?"
He regretfully nodded.
"That was a rough time for all of us. Your Mom…she suffered after. Her health…" His voiced trailed off. "We both suffered. I tried my best to protect you and your brother from seeing that."
She turned from him and rested her folded arms atop the bar counter, staring down at her melting gelato.
Silence again.
Peter started to panic at her resumed nonchalant repose. She was so much like Alicia in this way. Always processing and giving a notion a thorough comb before responding.
"Anything else you want to know?" He nearly bit his tongue from asking. But at this point, what else did he have to lose? His chosen policy of honesty seemed to be working.
"No," she said, much to his relief. "I understand you tried to protect me and Zach from how bad Mom was. I didn't understand then. I only remember you wouldn't let us go into the bedroom for weeks and kept saying she was sick."
"She was, sweetheart."
"Then maybe you should have let us help you, Dad," she vehemently said. "We could have! Instead of you..."
He sighed heavily. "Maybe. You're right. Maybe, you could have. But that's in the past. I can't change any of that now."
She looked out the window. "I don't know if I want to get married."
His brows rose. "Because of me?"
She glanced at him again, then back out the window, not saying a word.
"Grace, you still have plenty of years to figure that out." Licking his lips, Peter sat up straighter, folding his hands together. "And not all men are unfaithful. Yes, infidelity can ruin a marriage—or any relationship. But not all have that obstacle to face."
"Then how do people move on from that? How has it been for you and Mom?"
He shrugged. "My guess is half the time, once it's happened, most don't move on. There's no going back. It's been a challenge for your mom and me. But, we have made and are still making a solid try to move on and leave that in the past."
"Has she forgiven you?"
Peter paused before answering. "She has said she's trying to do that. It's not something I expect to happen in the blink of an eye. But, someday, I believe she will."
She peered up at him, her softened brown eyes mirroring his own.
"Dad, I don't hate you. I just hate what you did."
He ruefully nodded. "I know."
"Will you do it again?"
"No. Never. I know you may not trust my word much anymore, but it's all I've got. And I mean it. I promise I will never hurt your Mom or our family that way again."
She gave a slight nod, then looked down at her bowl. The three previous scoops plated into a pyramid, now resembled something of a mudslide. A sole scoop still held its shape, hanging on by a thread. She lifted her spoon and ate a bite.
"I think we should go to church."
Peter stifled a chuckle. "You do?"
"Yeah." She ate another bite. "You still believe in God, right?"
He smiled. "Mostly."
"Well, can me and you go to church? On Sundays?"
"We can. Is there a church you have in mind?"
"I was thinking of Pastor Isaiah's church. Can we start going this Sunday and after, come here for gelato?"
His smile widened. "We can."
She set her spoon down, tucking her hair behind her ears. "I'm still a little bit mad at you, but…" She looked him square in the eyes. "I love you, Dad."
Peter pulled her into a tight hug. "I love you too, Pud." He placed a kiss within her hair then leaned back, smoothing a hand down his shirt. "So, back to you. Do I need to know anything else about Scott?"
Her eyes darted as she pursed her lips. "Nope."
He arched a brow.
"Dad," she whined upon seeing Peter's straight face and realizing he wasn't going to budge. "Okay. He's …really nice. And he wants to go to Northwestern to study pre-med. He wants to be a cardiologist. His grandfather died from a major heart attack."
"I see."
"Yeah." She fought a smile as her voice kicked up a notch in excitement. "And oh! He's Christian too…and, I don't know what else you want to know about him," she shrugged, shyly smiling. "I like him."
"You do, huh." He swallowed hard, watching her focus back on the gelato, trying to ignore the sudden pressure on his chest. His little girl was morphing into a woman before his very eyes and he could do nothing to stop it.
"Your Mom mentioned Scott may come to dinner soon."
Grace palmed her face, groaning. "He really doesn't need to come to dinner. Really. It's totally not necessary, Dad."
Peter chuckled. "If you like him, then, he should come to dinner. I want to meet him."
She blew out a dejected breath.
"On that note, ready to go?"
She nodded, looking at the puddles filling their bowls. "Our gelato has melted."
"Let's get shakes to go." She smiled widely. "Strawberry with vanilla still your favorite?"
"Yep!"
Rising from the stool, he waited for her to gather her belongings, his heart swelling when she slipped her arm through his and they strode towards the register.
#
Alicia stared back at the blinking cursor on her laptop screen. Still in the same position as it had been for the past twenty minutes, no words to precede or to follow. Her restless thoughts were to blame for the blank canvas glaring back at her.
Arriving home a few hours ago to freshen up, eat then lie down, she laid in bed for all of fifteen minutes before giving up on achieving any type of physical rest. She was still too jittery from their session, too anxious, and to her annoyance, slightly still nauseous.
Thus, she chose work—her favorite distraction—to busy herself.
Her eyes drifted from the cursor, then to photographs from a crime scene littered around the computer. This was a case that she had fallen into so to speak. Taking the place of a previous co-chair that suddenly had to take a leave of absence felt backhanded. On the other side, as she convinced herself last week, despite the secondhand offering, this was good for her. This case was likely to go to trial in a few weeks and if they won, it would be another boost to her resume.
Printouts of police reports alongside her pre-argumentative notes for duress lying side by side on the table near the photographs began to mull together with her mental notes on their session today. An eight by ten of a bloody hand on damp pavement outlined by chalk might as well have been just another painting on the wall.
The longer she sat in the chair staring at the monitor, the more work became a distant afterthought. It felt as if her family was on trial right now.
She didn't know the right way to argue for balance to be restored. To quiet the ghosts she thought could never haunt her again. Grace's words incessantly echoed in her mind, seeming to resurrect everything she buried.
'Dad cheated on you!'
Shutting her eyes, she wrapped her hands around a steaming mug of chamomile tea and lifted it to her lips for a sip, willing its warmth to hard stop the memory train and ignite a sliver of relaxation the tea box claimed it could.
"Hey, Mom," said Zach, startling her as he passed through the dining room, his destination the fridge.
"Hey," she looked up at him just before he rounded the corner to the kitchen, "what are you up to?"
"Just getting a drink," he said, reentering the room, clutching a bottle of juice. "Will Grace and Dad be back for dinner?"
She checked her watch. It was fifteen minutes till six. She hadn't heard from Peter since they all departed from Dr. Lewis' office this afternoon.
"Should be. Did you finish your homework?"
"Just did." He uncapped the bottle and took a swig. "I'm going to play my Xbox. Yell when dinner's ready."
Dinner.
It took hearing the word a second time for it to register. She'd forgotten about dinner. The events of this afternoon scrapped whatever evening plans she had. Her appetite was still nonexistent, but that would never be the case for her teenage son.
Starting a mental checklist of what was on hand to prepare, she watched him retreat, her brows knitting together as this afternoon took precedence over her conscience once again.
"Zach." She set the mug down on a coaster beside the laptop.
He spun around. "Yeah?"
She folded her hands together, hovering them beneath her chin. "Are you okay? From today…?"
He shrugged. "I guess." His eyes skittered to the photographs on the table. Alicia caught his gaze and quickly flipped them over.
"Mom, I've seen worse," he casually said.
She was about to question just what worse he's seen, when he inched closer, his eyes penetrating her own causing her heart to skip, fearing that he was going to drop another bombshell without warning that would break her in two.
"What is it, Zach?"
"Do we have to go back again?"
Her shoulders faltered in relief. "Not if you don't want to."
"I don't want to."
She softly smiled. "Then okay. You won't."
"Um… does that also mean I am in trouble?"
She bit the inside of her cheek, recalling the dirty laundry her children had aired on each other that got buried in the mess of everything else.
"Me and Dad will talk to you and your sister together once they get back."
With a defeated nod, he began to trot to his room.
"Zach, wait. Come back." She rose from her seat with outstretched arms, a sad smile pasted on her mouth. His shoulders fell.
"Mom…" he whined.
She enveloped him in a hug, to which he loosely returned.
"I love you. So much," she whispered into his ear.
"Love you, too."
Placing a kiss to his temple, she deeply breathed in his scent and cherished just holding him in her arms, then reluctantly let him go.
The doorbell rang throughout the apartment, piercing their moment.
"I'll get it," he quickly said, grateful to escape her clutches.
Alicia dabbed at the corners of her eyes as she walked towards the entry.
"Uncle Owen." Zach widened the doorframe.
"Hey!" Owen playfully nudged his shoulder. "Where's your, Mom?"
"Right here," said Alicia, now standing in the entryway of the kitchen.
Owen. Just the person she needed to see.
"Oh!" He began to unwind the twice-looped scarf from around his neck. "There she is."
Zach nodded, closing the door then ventured off to his room.
"Hey, Sis," Owen said cheerfully, setting his keys and cellphone on the kitchen island countertop.
"Hey." She greeted with a hug. "Thank you for coming."
"Your call earlier was," he raised and spread his palms, mimicking jazz hands, "ominous."
In that second, she almost regretted the quick call—more like plea—she made to Owen once she and Zach got home. Her panic attack had, in short, thrown her. Every pulsing minute of that session was unexpected, but her downward spiral with anxiety was the cherry on top. Owen was the only person that could understand, or at least she felt, offer a genuine and sympathetic ear.
"Did I pull you away from a date tonight?" She combed a hand through her hair, missing the sudden scrutiny in his gaze.
He stepped back, eyeing her dressed down in a cardigan and cashmere lounge pants.
"No. Besides, the night is still young." He watched her slowly walk, more like mope, back to the dining room. "Uh oh."
She looked up at him as she eased back onto the seat. "Uh oh?"
"You asked me to come over because you said you need to talk and from the," he laid out an open palm, gesturing towards her appearance, "look on your face…uh oh."
"Don't be so melodramatic, Owen," she said tiredly.
He removed his jacket and draped it across the back of a chair, taking the seat across from her. "Then what is this dramatic performance you're putting on?"
She brought the mug to her mouth. "It's been a long day."
"That, I can see." The dangling tea bag string along the side of her cup caught his attention. "I'm sensing for this talk, we are going to need something stronger than tea."
He began to trek towards the kitchen.
"I'm good with tea, but help yourself."
He turned around mid-trek, mouth open, ready to launch an interrogation into her chosen sobriety then thought better of it.
"Hold that thought."
In seconds, he rounded the corner again, a bottle of tequila in one hand and two shot glasses in the other. He studied her solemn demeanor as she continued to calmly sip from the mug while he wracked his brain for what could possibly have her so…glum.
He set the bottle and glassware onto the table, and then took his seat. "Okay, what's going on?"
She licked her lips and considered his question.
How honest should she be, she wondered. Almost two hours ago, she was ready to spill it all to him. She likened that to aftershock. The dust had since settled. Somewhat. Mentally, she was still on another plane.
"Sis?"
She met his expectant but sincere eyes and caved. Oh, what the hell. Setting the mug down, she brushed her hair from her face.
"There's a partial reason for why me and Peter are back together." He folded his arms, waiting. "One I didn't tell you before because…I was afraid you would tell Mom."
"Why would I tell Mom?" he shrieked. "I don't tell her everything we talk about. And, like you, I didn't know where she was for the longest time. She just got back in the country!"
"Yes, but you somehow still manage to talk to her more than I do, Owen. About everything."
"I do not."
"You do. You share with her every little detail about everyone else, except yourself."
He quickly waved off her accusation. "Okay, okay, okay. Fine. Whatever you're about to say, I won't tell Mom." She eyed him knowingly. "Promise," he said, marking an X on his chest with his index finger.
She blew out a shaky breath, about to share it all when a gleam from a picture frame in the family room grabbed her focus out of the corner of her eye.
"One sec." She tiptoed around the table to the adjacent entryway that connected the dining and family room, and looked in the direction of Zach's room. The door was closed.
Owen observed her stealth movement, smirking. "What are you doing?"
"Making sure Zach's door is closed. I don't want him to hear," she whispered, sitting back down. "So…" She braced her elbows on the table. "We've been in couple's therapy since March. And today… we had a therapy session with the kids—a family session—for the first time." She woefully shook her head. "I wasn't prepared."
"Oh my God," Owen whispered, collapsing back against the chair.
Alicia looked to him, wide eyed. "What?"
"You all are like one of those TV families. Where the Mom and Dad are at a cross roads, the kids are acting out, so they go to family therapy hoping to fix it all."
Alicia sighed. "Owen."
He removed the cork from the tequila bottle and filled a glass.
"I'm sorry. Continue."
"My kids are…" She folded her arms and relaxed back against the seat, brows bunching together. "Well, I don't know the right word for it. But today, they were like you and me when Mom and Dad divorced."
"Is that why you're doing this? This therapy stuff? Because of Mom and Dad?"
"No," she said softly. "I don't think so. Peter's convinced otherwise."
"Well," he laughed lightly, bringing his glass to his lips, "I'd have to agree." When he saw the fiery gaze in her eyes, he swallowed quickly. "You've been in therapy for what…almost a year, and you still have this level of denial? Impressive."
"It's not about that!" Seeing his smug smile behind his glass, Alicia tilted her head back, closing her eyes in defeat. "Okay, maybe it is a little. It's only that everything is…well, I don't know."
"Then, what happened today, exactly?"
"I'm not ready to go into detail." She sat up straighter. "But Owen. I had a panic attack for crying out loud."
"Oh boy. This therapy session must have been heavy stuff." He set his glass down. "Sis, you haven't had one of those in years."
"I. Know! I remember they first started around that time. With Mom and Dad, ya know. Then they… faded. Today…"
"Can you pinpoint your trigger from today?"
She stared back at him, feeling a chill run down her spine as her lower lids started to bud with tears. He reached for her hand, gripping it tightly.
"Remember back then, I'd try to talk you through them…your attacks…when you felt like you couldn't breathe and thought you were going to die? I'd ask you to say what was scaring you, but we never knew so I'd hold your hand until your breathing returned to normal and you figured it out."
She blinked back tears, squeezing his hand. "I…I know what it is. I-I—"
"Okay." Letting her hand go, he leaned forward and seized the empty glass and bottle again. He began to pour. "Have some tequila. It'll help your nerves."
"I don't think my stomach can handle that," she said in hushed tone.
He groaned. "It was one of those attacks?" He animated the action of retching—by an explosion of his fingers from his mouth.
She nodded.
He gave her a slow once over then lifted a finger in the air. "There is no chance, whatsoever, that you're pregnant, right?"
"Owen." Alicia flashed him an exasperated look.
"Just covering all bases. I mean, statistically speaking, vomiting during a panic attack is uncommon, but does happen. And it hasn't happened to you in years, but you still look a little…not well, so—"
"Owen, you're rambling." Alicia pushed the bottle from within his reach.
"—But okay. We can fix this. Let's go out, have dinner, and by having dinner I mean ordering every carb dish on the menu, then I'll help you drink your worries away. We can even stick with vodka. That's harmless." He glanced behind him in the direction of the kids' bedrooms. "Is Grace here, too?"
"No, she and Peter are out together." His brows rose in intrigue. "Long story."
"Okay. Then when they get back, we go out."
"No, Owen. As enticing as that sounds, we can't go out on a weeknight. In case you forgot I'm a mother."
He suppressed a laugh. "A mother that needs to get hammered nonetheless. And laid."
"Can we for once, please have a conversation without you voicing your concern about me getting laid?"
He grabbed the glass he poured for her, downing it. He shuddered at the deep burn traveling at lightening speed from his throat to his chest.
"No we can't b-because you need to. Ugh," he choked out. "I need a lime. Do you have limes?"
"In the fridge." She propped her head in her palm, watching him go again. "I'm a good mom though, right?" She looked towards the family room, remembering Zach's ask earlier that slipped her mind yet again. "Even though I forgot and haven't even started on dinner…"
"What'd you say?!"
He strolled back into the room, carrying a small cutting board loaded with a pairing knife and two limes. He set them beside his drink setup.
"I said," she nervously watched him arrange the items, "I'm a good mom, right?"
He smirked, slicing a lime. "Oh, yes. Hands down. You're a great mom. But you're too uptight."
Her mouth fell open.
"You need to let your hair down and paint the town tonight. I'm sure Will won't mind if you stroll in late to work tomorrow," he said with a wiggle of his brows.
She rolled her eyes. At that moment, the front door opened.
Alicia sprung up from the chair and rounded the corner, her heart practically leaping into her throat once she saw Grace and Peter. Peaceful expressions were plastered on both their faces. She wasn't expecting that. Actually, she didn't know what she was expecting to see.
"Hi, Mom," said Grace, strolling towards her with brown bags in tow, embracing her in a tight hug.
Alicia held her fiercely, peering over Grace's shoulder at Peter closing the door. With a final squeeze, she pulled back and stared into her daughter's face, the pads of her thumbs stroking her slightly reddened cheeks from the cold. She tried to gauge whether the past few hours they were gone was indeed as peaceful as they appeared to be.
"Are you okay?" she whispered.
Grace nodded, holding up the bags. "We brought Chinese for dinner."
"Mm." Alicia smiled. "Grace," she cleared her throat. "I —"
"Oh, hi Uncle Owen." Grace looked over her shoulder, smiling.
Alicia glanced back to see her brother standing behind the island, waving. Biting her lip, she turned back to her daughter.
"Grace, I want to talk to Dad first before we have dinner. We'll let you and Zach know when we're ready to eat, okay?"
"Okay." She set the bags on the counter, then started towards her room. "I'll go start my homework."
Peter sauntered into the kitchen after Grace's exit, unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt, watching the two of them look back at him as if they were waiting for him to strike. Whenever he and Owen were in the same room, there was tension. There'd likely always be tension no matter how much Alicia wanted them to have a better relationship.
He neared his wife, palming her lower back as he leaned down to greet her with a kiss to the cheek, then acknowledge his brother-in-law by way of a nod.
"Owen."
Owen raised his glass in greeting. "Peter."
Peter surveyed the cluttered dining room table to his right then shifted his gaze between them before settling back on Alicia.
"Having fun?"
She crossed her arms, shooting a glare at Owen. "One of us is."
He smirked, eyes twinkling. "How you feeling? Stomach better?"
"Yes, I'm better. You two were gone awhile."
"We went down to the Pier. Sorry I forgot to call."
Alicia eyed her brother standing idle on the other side of the island behind them. Peter's gaze followed.
Owen caught their gazes mid-sip and nearly choked. "O-oh!" He drew the glass from his mouth, wiping his chin. "You want to be alone; you're both giving me the silent stare. Guess that's my cue."
He grabbed his cellphone from the countertop then dipped back into the dining room to load the tray with his glass, bottle, and limes, cradling it all against his chest.
"I'll be, uh," Owen pointed towards the family room with his pinky, "in there. Need to make a phone call anyway."
Alicia turned back to Peter, flipping her hair over her shoulders.
"How did it go?" she asked, watching as he opened the fridge, pulling out a beer.
He twisted off the cap from the bottleneck and took a long swig.
"Good. I think. Ready to talk to them?"
She shook her head. "Good, you think? What does that mean?"
He set the bottle down. "That we talked about what she said during the session today and I explained to her…my failure, as best I could."
The perplexed expression on her face escalated into a mix of what he could only describe as unsatisfied and appalled.
He sighed. "Alicia, don't start worrying about unnecessary things. It's been a long day for all of us."
"Yes, but especially for them!" Seeing him reach for the bottle again in response, she huffed in a fit of annoyance. "It's not just what she said Peter, it's what they said. I mean, Zach..."
"I know."
"And Scott!" She slammed a hand down on the countertop. "Did you talk about that with her, too?"
"A bit."
Her eyes bulged. "A bit?!"
"We talked about quite a few things. I figured we'd save those topics for when we got back and talk to them together."
She stared at his profile, trying to ignore the twinge of queasiness starting to doughnut within her stomach again.
"Zach seems like the easy one at the moment. But Grace." She shook her head. "What are we going to do about Grace?"
"I don't think we need to punish her. She misjudged." He casually drank a sip then loosened his tie. "What do you want to do?"
"Peter," she hissed, "she had a boy in your apartment. While you weren't there!"
"Yes, I know. I was there during the confession," he said dryly. Her mouth thinned at his sarcasm. "Alicia," he said tiredly, "she said he only brought her notebook and nothing else happened."
She gawked at him in disbelief. "And you believe her?!"
Folding his arms, he deeply exhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose before meeting her fiery gaze. "Yes. I do believe her." Her eyes nearly exploded; he retried. "Look, our kids aren't perfect. But they're also not rash."
"She's stuck on this boy. I don't know why," she gritted. "This is getting out of hand."
He roughly swept a hand through his hair. "Fine. Let's talk to her first."
She watched him drink a parting sip then turn to retreat.
"It's time you move back in," she blurted.
It wasn't the time for this conversation. A small part of her realized that as soon as the words left her mouth. But as a person that liked making decisions, this one had her perplexed for months and it drove her crazy. She knew why, the source of this crazy that is, and each time she told herself she'd sort through it, make a list of pros and cons to eventually reach a decision, she couldn't. The whys discussed in and out of therapy centering on this turning point decision, kept her up some nights.
It was one the main reasons she couldn't rest once she got home this afternoon.
In that nanosecond just now, an inexplainable something clicked, locked the why into place. That former perplexity evaporated into a sky of clarity, as all she could think was that she wanted her family whole again. And given the events of today, what was the point in continuing to wait?
Peter swiveled on his heels.
Was she serious? The thought went just as fast as it came once he recognized the defiance now in her eyes practically challenging him.
Oh, she was serious.
"How about this weekend," she continued, unfazed by his stupor, "if that works for you?"
His eyes squinted and head cocked to the side as he tried to dissect her poker face.
"Why?" he finally asked.
"What do you mean, why? You were going to anyway…eventually."
"No, why now?" She fell silent. "Because of Grace?"
"In part." Seeing him further loosen his tie—more like yanking it from his neck—and begin to pace, she shifted her weight to the other foot and steeled her back, bracing herself for any blowback. "I feel things will be better if both of us are here."
"Alicia, come on." Peter spread his hands in an air of bewilderment. "I don't want a half-ass invitation back because you're trying to control our kids."
"Control?" she spat, her neck rolling. She gripped the edge of the countertop, arching forward. "You think that's what I'm trying to do?"
"Yes!"
She flexed an index finger against the countertop. "This is called parenting, Peter!"
"No, this is you being irrational. If it wasn't for Grace or Zach saying what they said today, do you honestly want me here with you again, now?"
"Excuse me! PSA," yelled Owen from the family room. "If you're still pretending to have a hushed conversation, I can hear you!"
He ended his message by increasing the volume from the television.
Alicia huffed out a breath, now truly regretting inviting him over.
She turned back to Peter. He was staring back at her in a way she felt pierced her very soul. She hated when he looked at her like that; reminding her that he was the one person at times that knew her better than she knew herself.
She was powerless to say anything but the truth right now.
"Peter, yes," she said calmer. "I want you here. With our children…with me."
His gaze narrowed, sizing up her stance. "Do you?"
She flinched, the strike of anger surging through her so fast she had to stop herself from yelling in response. Sucking her teeth, she turned away and strode towards the spare room, mentally counting the seconds until she heard his heavy footfalls behind her.
Barely three seconds had passed before he was hot on her heels.
"I don't want Owen overhearing," she mumbled, entering the room first and lowering down to the bed, watching as he turned to close the door.
He slipped his hands in his pockets, remaining by the door, waiting for her to continue.
She gazed up into his stormy eyes, her own resolve softening, not really sure of the best course to broach this again.
"I want you here," she said as sincerely as she could muster.
"Really?" he said flatly.
"Really," she sniped. "There's nothing else to say to that."
"Hm. I find that hard to believe."
"Why?"
"For the past couple of months you've been adamant about not having me here." He crossed his arms. "Come to think of it, you're always eager to stay at my place. Never here."
She scoffed. "Now you're being ridiculous."
"Am I? Honestly Alicia, aside from the kids, why are you ready for us to be back on board in every way, now?"
"Because…I am."
She briefly dropped her head, wondering that question herself, how that sudden moment of clarity also came without warning. Deep down she knew how, but was still piecing together the why which led to the how.
Still. There was no denying the only response for why she knew this was right and that the time for this step is now.
"Peter, I don't have a speech of an explanation for why I am. But after hearing Grace all but say she can't forgive you, reminded me that…I-I have." She swallowed hard. "Our children need to see that. To see it in action and not just hear the words."
A deep sigh rushed past his lips as he smoothed a hand down the back of his neck then moved to sit beside her on the bed.
"Are you sure this is what you want?"
"I'm sure." She reached for his hand. "I want you home."
He swept his free hand up and down her thigh as he glanced sidelong at her, the small creases at the corners of his eyes deepening from his smile.
"You don't have to make everything so difficult, you know that, right?"
Grinning, she slid closer to him, planting a kiss just below his jawline—where his neck began—then to his cheek.
"So, this weekend then?" she whispered, meeting his gaze.
"Possibly. I need to check on some things first…"
She nodded, taking it for what it is. At least it wasn't no.
He rose from the bed, a hand extended. "Let's go talk to the kids."
Taking his hand, she blew out a breath of relief and followed him.
#
Calculations.
That's what she'd been doing since Owen dropped the 'there's no chance, whatsoever, that you're pregnant, right?' seed in her ear.
It was hard not to form a complete thesis on the question as she lie on her side in bed, staring blankly at the television, reflecting on that and how the rest of the evening panned out.
It was fairly uneventful.
Once she and Peter talked to the kids, delivered their punishments and had dinner, he then left for Jackie's, leaving her and a semi-drunken Owen to continue their previous conversation.
Now, the apartment was still. Not a sound could be heard except for the low murmurs coming from her television. The kids were in bed, Owen was passed out on the couch and after completing her nighttime routine, she climbed in bed for the night, too. Ready to sleep.
That was just shy of an hour ago. Despite having two cups of chamomile tea, she was more awake than ever.
Foregoing the idea of sleep, she turned on her bedside lamp, flipped onto her back, puffed out a breath and stared into the ceiling.
Faster than she could blink, her mind started to race. Again.
Calculating.
Remembering.
She'd had been trying her damnedest not to remember most of the evening. She desperately did not want to remember, to relive any grief. Their familial idle chat during dinner and Peter's sly-with-an-edge-of-knowing looks kept her mostly in the present. She had to put on a mask to shush not only his unspoken worries, but her own. And she had been doing mostly good at keeping that particular thought plus the automatic thoughts that synchronized with it in the abyss, until Owen's question chimed like a bell.
Left alone in her thoughts, that little question parachuted into a sphere of possibilities and impossibilities, pushing sleep further from her mind.
She dipped a hand beneath the sheets to rest to rest on her stomach. A shaky breath escaped her lips as her eyes fluttered close and she recalled her moment in the bathroom just before she got into bed. The moment where she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror on her way out. It pulled her back, sucking her into the carefully avoided black hole.
What came over her, she couldn't explain. It was as if she had an outer body experience as she went from examining her body, to computing the last date of her menstrual, to fiddling beneath the bathroom cabinet for the familiar box, to wringing her hands together as she waited for her fate to be splashed across the device test window.
Apart of her wanted to blame Owen. She hadn't thought beyond her episode today as just a panic attack. Owen's continuation of his hypothesis on it a while ago while he drunkenly rattled on about that and his relationships while she dutifully listened with a fresh cup of tea, confirmed that. It was just a panic attack. She was pretty convinced that's all it was. All the signs and symptoms that led to her holed up in Dr. Lewis' bathroom pointed to circumstances she'd experienced a handful of times.
But as she sat beside her brother on the couch, offering timely interjections to let him know she was actively listening, she wasn't. Truthfully, she was consumed by thoughts of those harrowing months years ago, trying not to relive them. She just needed a final confirmation before reburying those thoughts and pouring cement on top of that box.
At least that's what she thought until: NOT PREGNANT filled the device window and caused her knees to buckle.
The hope of wanting the window to display the opposite came out of nowhere. She knew with almost one hundred percent certainty there wasn't a chance, but still, she couldn't stop herself from grasping at a slim chance if there was one.
It was asinine.
She clenched her eyes and pulled the sheet tighter across her chest, willing that reminder to vanish. The bathroom was a weak moment. One that shouldn't have happened. She blew out a breath and wended through the facts one more time. Also, in an attempt to remind herself of how it was before.
And after.
It wasn't all rainbows and sunshine. There were too many dark days that clouded over the speckles of joy. And still, knowing these facts, she thought of any inclination that perhaps there was a possibility she could have a chance at a do over. To see the faces of the children she only dreamed of possibly merged into one angelic face.
To achieve all rainbows and sunshine.
It was unfathomable to even think of the possibility of being pregnant again. Why couldn't she shake that dreaded possibility now?
Blowing out a breath, Alicia spanned a hand across her stomach, adamantly trying to think of something—anything—else.
She wouldn't go back there. Wouldn't be sucked into that hole of depression...semi-detached from life. She couldn't. There was nothing there for her or her family anymore. That woman, with all her domestic hopes and dreams, victories and failures, no longer existed.
So she liked to believe.
Sometimes, she wonders if the events from the past five years would have been better if they had been a cluster of nothings. A bunch of unfortunate nothings without an upheaval of cause and effect to their life. It would have all rather, just been life.
What would that have looked like?
"Mom?"
Alicia's eyes bolted open as she looked towards the door. "Grace?" she croaked as worry shot through her, propping herself up by her elbows. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." Grace climbed onto the bed and nestled beside her. Alicia wrapped her arms around her shoulders. "Before I went to sleep, I wanted to make sure you're feeling better. You didn't eat much dinner." She gazed up into her face. "You look sad."
Alicia plastered on her best smile and placed a kiss to her forehead. "Don't worry about me. I'm fine."
"But you always worry about me and Zach. It's okay for us to worry about you, too."
Alicia genuinely smiled this time, swallowing the lump rising in her throat, remembering there was one thought she needed—wanted—to share in the spirit of the coming changes.
"Grace, I want to tell you something," she whispered.
"What, Mom?"
Alicia grabbed one of her hands, holding it fiercely. Willing herself to say something she didn't have the courage to earlier.
"I…I have forgiven, Dad. I wanted to share that because you asked. I couldn't answer at the time."
"You have?"
Alicia nodded. "That choice didn't happen overnight. It took...a lot of time to get there. Sometimes, I still question that choice. But one of the things I've learned while we've been in therapy is that it's easy to hold on to hurt and anger, because the alternative of forgiveness, is one of the hardest things to offer someone. Especially someone you love."
"That makes sense. Dad doesn't know you've forgiven him yet. He said someday he thinks you will." She searched her eyes. "Will you tell him you have?"
"I have told him."
"You did?"
"I did." She nodded. "When we talked earlier."
Grace smiled, and then frowned as she reflected on her words. "But…you said you still question choosing to forgive Dad. Why?"
Alicia tearfully looked towards the bathroom, then back to her daughter. "It's hard to be reminded of the past. Once you're an adult, you'll have your own life experiences that may cause you to wonder if you made the right choice in a given moment, and even after giving it many moments of thought." She blew out a breath. "Grace, I said all that to say this: take as much time as you need. It took me a long time to forgive your father. It may or may not take you longer, if you so choose. We won't judge you nor love you any less for either decision. But take as much time as you need, okay?"
"Thanks, Mom. I think I needed to hear that." Alicia squeezed her hand. "I just hate what he did."
"I know, honey."
Grace looked towards the darkened hallway outside her bedroom. "Uncle Owen is passed out on the couch. Snoring."
Alicia grinned. "I'm not surprised."
"Like Grandma when she gets drunk."
Alicia lightly laughed.
"I'll make sure he has an extra blanket before I go to bed." She began to climb down from the bed. "Night, Mom."
"Night." Alicia leaned over to give her a quick hug. "I love you."
"Love you, too."
Watching her go until she closed the door, her heart sighed in relief as she slid down beneath the sheets, wondering what to do. She couldn't sleep and didn't want to venture down that dark rabbit hole again.
She reached out to pick up the phone from its cradle, prepared to call Peter for their nightly talk as they did every night, when she thought she heard the front door open.
Panic briefly shot through her until she heard the patterned sound of Peter's footsteps before seeing him open her bedroom door, his tall form filling the frame and clutching a small black bag. She leaned back against the headboard.
"Hey." Her brows cinched together. "What are you doing here?"
He closed the door and removed his coat and shoes, dropping the bag in her vanity chair. "After I left Mom's earlier, I stopped by the office to catch up on a few things. As I was leaving and driving to my apartment, I had a realization."
"What's that?"
"Although we're two days from the weekend…I want to be with you tonight. Is that okay?" He walked to sit on the edge of the bed beside her, loosening his tie. "Start getting used to sleeping beside you every night again."
Her face broke out into a smile. "Mm-hmm. That's okay."
"Seems like everyone is asleep." He nodded towards the door.
"Mm. They are."
"Thought you would be, too."
She held up the phone, dangling it, then set it back on the cradle. "I was about to call you. Couldn't sleep."
"Oh? What's on your mind?"
"Thinking about today." She pressed her lips together, shaking her head, wanting to forget it all. "It's nothing."
He eyed her for a moment before asking, "You sure?"
She leaned forward to grab his tie, tugging him closer. "I'm positive," she whispered, planting a chaste kiss to his lips, hoping it was enough to distract him to drop it.
He pulled back, licking his lips then pat her thigh and rose from the bed.
"Stay there. I'm going to shower. Be right back."
With a nod, she watched him go, and resettled on the pillow to close her eyes for a minute, willing her racing mind to calm.
She guessed the tea had taken effect and she had dozed by the time she opened her eyes to a darkened room and felt the mattress shift, and Peter's warm, broad chest pressed against her back when he spooned her from behind.
"This feels better than my cold bed."
She sleepily smiled, running her fingers across his knuckles. "Mm."
He began to lightly rub her stomach, angling his head down to lie above hers on her pillow. "Now that it's just us…how bad was it today? And don't tell me it was nothing."
At that, her eyes widened. She should've known he wasn't going to let it drop. He'd been watching her all evening, looking for clues, the slightest telltale of unease so he could swoop in to the rescue.
She sighed in resignation, intertwining her feet with his.
"Bad. But the worst is over."
"Are you sure you don't need to see Dr. Jones?"
Their family physician. The one that prescribed her sedatives and advised shortly after the miscarriages to seek a therapist to handle the episodes.
"I'm sure."
She interwove their fingers as she lazily stared at the television, content to have this moment. Yes, finally kicking the tire to have him back home was a smart decision. She wanted this every night too—
"How are you feeling about…the other thing?"
The other thing.
Their forbidden secret.
When he leaned down to nuzzle her neck, then rest his head there, hoping she felt the strength he was trying to give, she knew there was no point in keeping it bottled in as hard as she was fighting to. This was all apart of admitting and accepting, right?
"Talk to me, babe," he whispered against her ear when she didn't respond.
"I'm okay," she said, inching back to be as close to him as possible, feeling the perimeter of her resolve begin to crumble. She swallowed as she whispered, "Years have passed and at a single reminder…it all comes rushing back." She blinked away tears. "I don't know, Peter. Sometimes I feel ridiculous that I still feel this unbearable loss."
"It's not ridiculous."
She turned her head slightly, seeking his face. "Do you feel that way?"
He closed his eyes. "I'll always feel angry at what happened. And helpless. Because I know you feel that on a larger scale than I do, and I don't know how to spare you from that."
She let a tear escape. "I'm so grateful for our two children. I really am. But at other times I feel robbed. Then…I wonder if someday I won't feel this way. Do you think that's possible?"
"I do," he whispered.
"I don't know, Peter. It feels too hard. Like it will always be hard to accept. Every year now, in May and September…I think about them."
The hollowness in her voice gripped his heart.
"I know."
"I'm—" Her voice began to crack.
She let go of his hands and covered her face, fighting to control the budding sobs. The events of today and her moment alone in the bathroom were no longer fragments of thought, but had morphed into a dam that had finally broke, crashing down her without warning.
"Hey…hey. I'm here." He tightened his hold around her. "Remember, when those moments happen, I'm here. Let me be here for you, okay?"
She nodded, understanding his ask because she didn't allow him to those years ago. She slowly lowered her hands.
"I wasn't prepared for that today," she said, sniffling.
"Me either. But we're good parents. Don't ever question that."
She cleared her throat, tilting her head back. "Thank you."
"Nothing to thank me for. We're in this together."
Looping their fingers together again, she dipped back to see more of his face. "Peter, I just remembered we never talked about what you wanted to tell me the other night."
"Actually, I thought on my drive over that we'd go out Friday evening. We can talk about it then."
"Why then?"
"I want us to have that talk without interruptions." He felt her begin to turn fully in his arms. He held her still. "Don't worry, okay? Before I move back in this weekend, we'll go out Friday, talk and have a good time. We deserve it after this week."
She looked up at him. "So Friday is…a date?"
"It is. Are you free?" he teased.
"I'm free."
"Okay then. It's settled."
He gently grabbed her chin and turned her mouth towards his.
"Sure you're alright?"
"I am. Oh by the way," she whispered, right before their lips touched. "I'm glad you came home."
"No place I'd rather be. I love you," he whispered, followed with a kiss to her lips then tip of her nose.
Alicia settled back on her pillow and relished in his warm embrace. She decided then, before she closed her eyes to sleep, that she'd bury the events of today in her mental box designated for past sorrows and pain, and lock it, while at the same time wondering if what he had to tell her on Friday would lead to that box reopening.
A/N: Sorry for more reading! I know this chapter was insanely long; hope you all enjoyed! But last little note: I have a PSA of my own to share…
Sadly, this is the last fanfic story that I intend to write. We have a long, long way to go still with this story, but the end is on the horizon. Though we all know from how (non) frequent I update, reaching that end mark could be two years from now lol.
That being said, I want to 'open a door' for requests (anything either of you would like to see in the story) before it ends. I've never done this before, but again, as this will be the last fanfic that I write, I'd like to try and make it a little extra special if possible for all you readers that stick with me despite the month long (or longer) gaps between updates! You all are the best and really make me commit to finishing this story.:)