A/N: Ah! I'm a little behind schedule but yay for not being months behind. Lol. Hope everyone is doing well and hope you all enjoy this update! :)
Week Eleven — Part II
Alicia was certain she heard wrong.
A convoy of disbelief and heartache lurched from his recount and drove into her chest, shattering it to fragments. His words were like a nuclear bomb. An internal destruction left in its wake and deafened boom faded to an orchestral echo that lingered in the canals of her ears for paralyzing minutes.
Surely Peter had not said what he did. Right?
Not the man who, whenever faced with failure, allowed himself only a moment to wallow in self-pity and never flinched when the fire was too hot in the political arena.
He was stronger. Smarter. Too strong and smart to cause the crumble of their former temporary house of cards.
At least she thought he was.
She swallowed repeatedly. Peter slouched, and silent, provided an unwanted visual to the ashes from her inner affliction. There was no mistake about what she heard. A pulse in her neck thumped wildly as the beat of her heart pounded.
Her first instinct said to reach out and console him. Offer her strength to uphold him while he sat weak.
The second said: NO.
He was not deserving.
That initial, instinctual sympathy negated from the reminder of his affairs—an everlasting krypton trigger. He went out, banged a prostitute and Kalinda because he was stressed, and grieving?
Her hand flew to her neck. She wrapped her fingers around the necklace, grip tightening from the sudden itch to rip it off and throw at him.
What the hell was she to make of this? Better yet, how?
This new lens (a gradient of him not a complete bastard during that time, but one nonetheless), which set on her eyes, was difficult to see through.
Her peripherals were sharpened, barreling him in a haloed field of clarity.
Damn it.
Damn him.
Alicia stared at the back of Peter's head, tears prickling the corners of her eyes as she tried to make sense of the emotions jostling every cell in her body. His admission, and everything discussed before "I feel responsible for the death of our baby", she long settled impossible. Them talking about it, that is.
Peter once reminded her they shared her pain. On that day, in the hospital, they lost. His words had rattled her in that moment, but failed to resonate.
Not even when he gave her the necklace last month and said, "You still deal with the aftermath from that. I do, too."
A part of her didn't understand what I do, too meant. The other part didn't want to.
Was what he shared today supposed to make it okay, though? Make her understand enough to drop the life punishment she dangled over his head in the background?
To see him beside her, riddled in a vulnerability she's only witnessed after his father died, pierced a fissure in the trenches of her.
Events—the onset of debilitating cramps, her lain atop a bed in the ER forced to breathe through an oxygen mask, Peter's ashen face, her doctor's grave diagnosis—blurred.
Her memory cache mixed factual with fabricated.
If she thought hard enough, she couldn't accurately recall the events of that day if she tried. In part out of protection by her brain. The trauma stayed tucked away for her to retrieve when ready.
As she glimpsed at Peter again, still hunched over, budding anger swelled in her veins, threatening to take mold. She didn't want to be angry. They had entered and exited that roundabout a weary number of times.
Yet benign words of comfort lie trapped behind her teeth.
She wondered what could she possibly say to him?
What was there to say?
She never adjudged a story to his side or allowed him to provide one. Once a safe—whilst unfair—measure that proved damning.
Over the course of the past three years, she went from not knowing, to sheltered in a universe of not wanting to know, to knowing more than bargained for.
She erased hot tears as soon as they coasted down her cheeks.
Loving him was supposed to be easy.
Their relationship since day one was uncomplicated. Foolproof, almost. That is what she used to love about them. She knew what they were, never having to guess and peek behind doors.
But suddenly the hidden doors sprang up, jailing her in a maze of uncertainty on how to continue loving him. She fought to overcome twists and turns, jumping through phases of leaps and bounds.
(The phases ranged from: in love, disgusted, hated, shattered, then contempt of him.)
All repeated in a layered cycle, landing her back in front of a door tall as a wall.
"Alicia," said Adam, his voice tentative. She jolted at attention, rapidly blinking. "Do you want to respond to what Peter shared?"
Respond? was the question that followed in her mind.
Her limbs were numb. She could barely move, let alone speak. Through tear soaked eyes, she examined her husband.
His head hung. Body drooped. A resigned, gaunt stature of defeat.
Words launched in her head at jet speed, hovering in a tired circle of gibberish. Talking seemed the equivalent of labor right now.
She looked at Adam again. Behind his glasses, she saw the concern, the creases around his eyes cinching as he analyzed her.
"Are you, able, to verbalize a response?"
Peter's repeated sniffs landed on her ears like air dropped tanks, squeezing the blood from her heart and breath from her lungs.
Again, what was she to say?
From the start, this harrowing experience, if she were to tell it, as she had, happened to her. Her alone. He was there, yes, but then did what he wanted to do.
Cope how he wanted.
Because she didn't permit them the space to grieve together.
I … didn't permit us to grieve together. Her eyes closed at the thought.
Admitting she trapped their grief in a space only she had access was not so simple.
His poor choices and damaging actions, as she learned more today per his monologue, was his way of dealing.
For so long, she contemplated days on end, How could he? Who did I marry?
She grasped at straws. Anything that would fill in the blank and make it all make sense; green light her mind to process how she missed the cheating tendencies—fleeting out of character characteristics, off-hand mannerisms—in him for years.
Then again, was there a tried and tested way to know? She herself, once a paragon of fidelity, flirted with temptation in the form of Will a year ago.
She never imagined herself to walk in those shoes, but there came such a day …
Alicia opened her eyes, squeezed her fisted hands and cleared her throat.
"I … feel … " She bit her upper lip, blinking back a fresh tidal wave shoring up along her lower lid. "His pain." She looked back to Adam. "And guilt … for pushing him away then."
"Say it to Peter," said Adam.
She gulped a deep breath and turned to face him. He wouldn't look at her. The whiff of coldness zapped her with premature gusto.
"I never knew you felt guilty, Peter. And that it weighs on you."
He finally looked at her, eyes reddened. "You never asked."
Her lower lip trembled. She wanted to reach out and touch him, but her hands remained locked in place. If there was ever a time in this marriage, she questioned the moment she didn't do enough, he just gave her the answer.
"Until now, I didn't know you felt what you felt, as much as me. Maybe I didn't want to acknowledge it … I couldn't see past everything that happened after. You mentioned it last year, but, now … "
"You blamed me. For a long time. I saw it every time you looked at me."
She opened her mouth, then closed it. Another pin in the cushion for why her tunnel vision of pain always ended at her.
He was the executor.
It was his fault.
She shouted at him once, "You killed our baby!" Thinking about it now, she wants to say she didn't mean it. The words slipped in a fervor of anguish.
But she meant it.
"I did … I blamed you." He looked at her with a sadness so deep, she wanted to curl into the couch and forget the short-lived second of relief from giving a voice to thoughts burdened. "On top of everything you did after, it created more grounds for blame. I knew in the back of my mind, you had a tough decision to make in the hospital."
He looked away, eyes directed to the floor. "The toughest I've ever made."
"We started with a small issue of not communicating, then, experienced an unprecedented issue. It seems like that entire year, I didn't know what to do, but you did." She smoothed a fallen tendril of hair behind her ear. "If you had not made your decision in the hospital, I wouldn't be alive today."
He shot a panged glance her way, similar to the one etched on his face that fateful day. It burned in her memory.
Alicia begged him then to not consent to an operation, despite being informed the amount of blood she had lost and steadily lost from each debated second, vaporized probable chances of her surviving any type of induced still birth.
Medical expertise fell on deaf and sorrowed ears.
No risk was too great. She was willing to risk it, her very life, if it meant seeing a glimpse of the child growing in her womb for fourteen weeks.
To say hello and goodbye.
"I never … thanked you, for making that call," she mumbled. "For being there when I couldn't. We never met those children, but, I can't imagine not being here to see Zach and Grace grow into adults and make their marks in the world. So …"
She exhaled a stuttered breath.
"Thank you."
"That decision was for Zach, Grace, and me." He stole a quick glance at her. "We needed you. We still need you."
A wire connected upon hearing his statement.
Somewhere between remembering the meat of their vows, which they paid a steep cost to sustain; and feeling angry, betrayed and immense sadness all in one, she decided there, on the couch, to stop seesawing the notion, and let it all go.
There were ample opportunities to walk away and never hear the beat of this drum again.
But she stayed. She vowed.
For the first time, during their course of therapy, she didn't give a damn Adam was sitting there. She moved into the small space between her and Peter and slid an arm around his shoulders.
"Peter," she whispered, leaning down towards his lowered face.
One look was all it took for him to drop into her embrace and hold tight.
Dampness from his mouth or tears—she couldn't tell—dotted along her cheek. She held him fiercely, as he did in return, her head nestled in the crook of his neck.
Was this soul healing? Or what it was like to pick a wound open, then cleanse, sew it closed and let it heal? A minimal scar left to tell the story?
Peter muttered things in her ear she couldn't understand as he coasted his palms along the modest curves of her waist.
Seldom in their relationship did he lean on her. Their dynamic was they held up each other, with her occasionally leaning more than him. The past couple years, they leaned in opposite ways.
"You good?" he asked when they pulled a part.
She nodded and peered into his sad eyes. "Are you?"
He too responded by a nod and leaned back against the couch as she did likewise.
"Do either of you feel any form of closure from what you shared?" said Adam.
Peter exhaled a deep-seated breath and responded first. "I think, I do."
Alicia sat back, crossed her legs and looked ahead at Adam. He was waiting as usual to hear her side.
Would she say she could put everything they endured behind her and remember it as a bad time? Not by a long shot.
Lots of bad things happened. Irreversible things happened. They changed. She didn't like her husband for a while—or herself.
But she was on the path to wholly accepting it all happened. Similar to how a caterpillar emerges from its cocoon as a butterfly, they too emerged and adopted a new way of life, a new way of being married.
And so far she had grown to like this way.
"Alicia?" prompted Adam, breaking her thought.
Do I feel closure? … She mused a second longer.
"For the most part, I do."
"Took us five years to have that conversation," said Peter.
"At least we did."
"You know …" Peter pinched at the point of his nose. "Wherever they are, I'm sure they're happy we're making it work."
She sucked in a sharp breath. "Me, too."
Forgiveness, real forgiveness, and seeing each other for the good, bad, and ugly they were, materialized.
Their eyes locked as they sat in a congenial silence for a beat.
"In retrospect," said Adam, grabbing their attention, "and considering all shared today, why do the two of you think it took five years for this conversation?"
"I think for me," said Peter, "I honestly didn't see a need to talk about it. Like I said earlier, after her second miscarriage, Alicia was back to herself the following year. We were, in a way, better than before. Out of the rut. I didn't want to shake things up."
You did anyway.
After their fleeting rainbow moment, his actions in and out of office turned everything upside down. Nights of coping paved the way for many days and nights of utter devastation.
"Which, goes back to the ballet of avoidance you two love." Adam wryly smiled.
"True, but I think we"—Peter looked at her—"know how to communicate better now. We don't push so many things under the rug anymore."
At that, Alicia grunted a smile. "Even though sometimes you may want to."
He smiled back.
"Maintaining strong communication is crucial to the state of your marriage today, and its lifeline. Remember that."
Adam removed his glasses, set them on the center table and arched forward in his chair.
"We have twelve minutes left," he carried on. "Before we close, I want to discuss one last thing. Alicia, in the past, when we broached the topics of infidelity and the miscarriages, your behavior has been to retreat. What brought about this willingness to confront them today?"
She looked down, then up. "A different point of view."
Adam folded his hands and rested his chin on his knuckles, waiting again.
She hesitated to clarify. She didn't want a psychoanalyzed answer or question from her response because the plain origin of that view was: Veronica.
The talk with Veronica in the hospital last month sat on her conscience weeks after. Thoughts of her life, then versus now, and looming decisions in purview, triggered from their unfiltered dialogue, which always detonated matters of contention and threw Alicia for a loop.
An expected outcome she did her best to avoid, but never avoided entirely.
Talks, any talk with her mother, had a keen psychedelic ability of influencing her to decide out of spite. To not just tell, but show her mother, with her chest thrust outward, they would never share the same outlook on life. And that whatever advice she offered had no sway.
Alicia's way was better. She was better. So she believed.
Pumped pride in her chest deflated like air sucked from a balloon because she reacted to the fallout every time, and felt manipulated, every time.
"What point of view is that?" said Adam, reeling her back in the moment.
"My mother's. Her health was in question last month, and we had a talk. It forced me to take a hard look at my life,"—she looked to Peter—"at our marriage. And over the holidays, time with Peter and the kids … it felt good. Almost like we didn't go through any of what we did.
"I also realized, between us, I was holding us back from really moving forward."
Though he was the adulterer, her avoidance, shutting him out and slick punishments made her equally guilty.
Adam nodded. "From what transpired today, can you say you are ready to move forward? No looking back?"
She looked at Peter. He wasn't without flaw. Neither was she. But she enjoyed writing their story thus far—aside from the havocked hiccups—and felt ready to write this new chapter properly.
"I'm going to try."
"I am, too," said Peter.
"Great." Adam clasped his hands together. "Are there any parting remarks? Anything either of you want to say, or is there something else you think is preventing you from moving forward we can earmark to discuss next time?"
Peter floated a hand behind her, legs falling to the side, like he was getting comfortable to pivot them into another dark holed issue. A sprout of tension rooted down the middle of her back in preparation.
"Not at the moment," he said, soothing her tense muscles. He rest a hand on her knee and gave it a light squeeze, linking his remorseful eyes with hers. "I think we're good. You agree?"
She covered his hand, giving a somber smile in return. "I agree."
"Then good," said Adam, smiling. "Your progress is, truly remarkable."
Alicia banked on that as they gathered their belongings, bid goodbye to Adam and traipsed towards the elevator, hand-in-hand.
"I wanted to say no," she admitted after they climbed into the elevator cab.
No regarding him entering the gubernatorial race.
This truth, which she held back weeks ago after giving him a somber, "Okay. I'm okay with you running", pressed on her.
They were floating on a cloud of lucid honesty, and she took advantage. Might as well continue chucking it all out in the open. What's the worst that could happen which hasn't already?
Alicia thought the grip of his hand around hers would loosen. But Peter held steadfast as he watched the numbers descend.
"Why didn't you say no?" he said.
"I didn't say no, because I know you," she answered now. He looked down at her, his eyes unreadable. "You used to tell me, you will always love and support me through anything." She bit her lower lip. "I'm trying to put that into practice."
He closed his eyes and shook his head.
Her support was enveloped in an abundance of caution. Too many what-ifs she dwelled on resulted in supporting him from a distance to protect herself, just in case.
She wondered if choosing to say no would have been better than the current version she offered.
He didn't pick through her answer or step away.
Instead, he brought their joined hands to his lips, and kissed the back of her hand. "That hasn't changed. I will still love and support you through anything."
She wanly smiled.
The elevator dinged; metallic brushed doors slid open.
Peter held a hand out, blocking the automatic closure to let her exit.
When he fell beside her, trekking towards the parking garage, she made a conscious effort to support him as she said she would, and leave all the bad things in the past.
For good.
#
"We should take down the Christmas tree," said Alicia, glaring at the eight-foot display from the couch.
It stood perched in the corner opposite the TV in the family room, covered in twinkling, warm white lights. The year they decided to have an artificial tree, and this happened.
"In two weeks it'll be February," she stated to Peter beside her. "We're becoming those people."
She lifted a half-full glass of Cabernet to her lips while drifting her eyes between the basketball game and his engrossed form, wondering if he even heard her.
"No …" muttered Peter, focused on the TV.
A sweeping roll of relaxation rooted in her bones as he smoothed his hand up and down her calf beneath the knit blanket, pausing to massage the arch of her foot, then repeat.
"No?" She sank against two feather-down filled throw pillows nestled against her lower back. Her eyelids grew heavy.
"No, we're not those people," he clarified.
"We might be. Even Jackie made a comment the other day."
He glanced at her, grinning. "You're listening to my mom now?"
"No. I'm making a point."
"Grace and I decided another week."
Peter reached for the wide-mouthed glass in her hold. He initially declined a glass for himself when she poured earlier. Somehow, a sip to taste led to many more. She passed it to him and rested her chin to fist, fully stretching out her legs across his lap.
"When did you two decide this?"
"After church last Sunday."
"How is that going? I haven't asked."
He passed the glass back and shouldered down against a cushion.
"Good. Thinking about coming?" He tickled the tips of her toes.
She laughed, her knee jerking up from reflex. "Not necessarily." He held firm and stretched her leg back out and resumed his lazy sweeps.
After leaving Adam's office, the last hour of the business day had begun. There was no point in rushing back to their offices. Thus, they made a joint decision to put work on pause. Her cases could wait, and he and Eli could strategize overtime tomorrow.
Emotions wrecked and drained, home, together, is where they chose to be.
As promised, Alicia visited Veronica, and then came home. Zach and Grace were out, allowing them to make the most of their time alone to recover from an emotionally upended session.
So an hour and a half later, they lounged here on the couch, dressed down, sipping wine from a shared glass and watching a basketball game.
It was a marginally perfect end to a hell of a rollercoaster day.
"How are you and Grace?" she said after a moment.
"We're good." He looked over at her, the edge of his lips curling up. "I'm good with both my girls again."
Alicia smiled and downed the last swig of wine, setting the emptied glass behind her on the end table. Intervening in their quest for religion was a touch point she steered clear. She didn't understand their beliefs, and she'd probably never try.
But she respected it.
She flopped forward and laid her head on his shoulder while lifting the top of the blanket up to her neck.
"When's the last time we had the apartment to ourselves?"
Peter shot upright, causing her head to fall back. "Come on! That was a foul."
Her gaze floated to a visibly pissed off player yelling at the referee. Peter yelled right along with him at the ruled out play.
"Peter."
He glanced back at her. She shuffled her eyes between him and the TV, a brow raised.
"I thought by now you'd enjoy this," he said, grinning.
She flashed him a look. "Was that a ploy of you taking me on dates to Bulls games? So I'd become a basketball fan?"
"Admit it. You're a fan and enjoy the game." As soon as she opened her mouth, he raised a finger. "Remember, we're being honest."
"… I wouldn't say fan."
"But you enjoyed going to the games and were impressed with our great seats, right? Two rows back from the court every time."
She chuckled throatily.
The twinkle of light and warmth in his eyes she didn't overlook. After today, seeing it was like a much needed breath of fresh air.
Peter leaned back and resumed their cuddle.
In this embrace on the couch, in a new year, she would have laughed if someone painted this picture and showed it to her last year.
Perhaps time heals wounds.
Perhaps they needed to dismantle the core to see there was something worth saving.
Once normalcy resumed on the court, she said, "Are you okay?"
She wasn't asking about him riled up from the game, but his emotional state. He seemed a bit dejected since they came home. Usually she was the one quiet and withdrawn after an hour in Adam's office. It was like they switched roles.
"Yeah. I'm okay. Why?"
Her eyelids flittered. "Our session today …"
"It was a rough one, huh?"
"The roughest."
"I'm good though." He dipped back to see her face. "Are you?"
"Oddly, yes."
"Never thought I'd hear you say that."
She would always despise the things he did and feel some minute amount of pain. But she forgave him and was genuine in wanting to move on.
It was past time.
Alicia honed in on the TV as she said, "Have we crossed to the other side?"
"Does it feel that way to you?"
"If it means, some days I can look at you and forget everything that happened then … yes."
Peter float his free arm above his head and looked upward. She eyeballed him. His expression was akin to the one earlier when he broached the need for additional clarification.
She concocted a quick exit plan to refill their empty glass if he said something sideways.
"I didn't say what I did today for an easy pass, Alicia." Anxiety fizzing in her chest waned. He looked at her through the side slant of his eye. "Or to tighten the final screw."
She swallowed hard. "I know."
"I know it was hard for you to hear, but—"
"No, Peter." His hand on her leg paused mid-caress. "No more explanations, excuses or apologies. Let's let it all … be."
His eyes showered in a fuse of reactions she couldn't read. Before she could decipher a conclusion, his cellphone sounded off.
Peter leaned forward and grabbed it from the coffee table, and answered the call. Her leg dropped between his knees as she checked the time.
The kids would be home soon.
"What?" she said when he sucked his teeth and dropped the phone on the table. He wordlessly lifted her leg and draped it back across his lap. "Peter, what's wrong?"
"That was the new polling analyst Eli hired. I'm down by two points."
"I thought you were leading in the polls last week."
"I was."
A month shy into the campaign and things were not as favorable as hoped.
A third candidate had entered the race on the same day he announced. An independent. One younger. Smart as a whip and gaining immense popularity amongst the thirty and under demographic.
One he was struggling already to gain a decent base.
"Everything okay?"
He smoothed a hand up his forehead and into his hair. "My speech last week … I think that's what caused the drop. I went left on talking about the economy and future jobs. It was all last minute. Agh …"
Dread plummeted in her stomach. He called her at work the morning of to ask if she could come, but she was tied up all day.
"I'm sorry I couldn't make it."
"Na. It wasn't you. I'll talk with Eli about it in the morning."
Now she felt bad. She hoped these were not telltale early wrinkles. It never crossed her mind that in the end, there was a vial of possibility he could lose.
Every thing Peter set his mind to in life, he came out winning.
Alicia glanced behind her towards the entryway as at that moment, she heard the front door open.
"Mom?" called out Grace. "I'm home!"
"There's our freedom," she murmured.
Grace strolled in, her expression switching from jovial to puzzled once she saw them on the couch.
"Oh. Hey, Dad. I didn't know you were home, too."
"Hey, hon. How was your day?"
"Good. What are you guys doing?" She switched on a lamp.
They shrank against the pillows and shielded their eyes.
"We were having, alone time," said Peter in a teasing tone as he blinked from the brighter light.
Grace stared down at them for a hard second, her eyes shifting back and forth as if she was piecing together what their unseen hands—dormant—could be doing.
"Okay … ew. I'm going to my room."
"Grace," Alicia laughed, pushing the blanket from her shoulder. "Come back. Where's Zach? Did he pick you up on time?"
"Yeah. He's parking the car in the garage."
"How was bible study?"
"One sec!" She rounded the corner, headed to her room. "I'm going to put my stuff away."
Alicia leaned back and extended her arm behind Peter. She combed her fingers through the small hairs at the base of his neck as she watched, with concern, the same pissed off player, get pissed again.
"I never thought I'd be okay with Zach driving so soon," she said, almost in a whisper.
Getting Zach a car for Christmas was the best and worst decision, in her opinion. A fifth of her days were spent worrying about him on the roads.
"Grace will be driving next year," reminded Peter.
That statement singed her heart. It felt like they brought them home from the hospital not long ago. They had grown from babies to young adults overnight. Alicia planted her head back on his shoulder and sighed.
"We should try to do this more," she said.
"Do what?"
"Here like this; while the kids are out. We won't have this time if you're elected."
"We'll make time." He skated a palm firmly along her leg and brushed his lips across her forehead. "Like we'll make time later …"
She pulled back, grinning from ear to ear. "You sound confident in these plans."
"I'm a politician. We always sound confident."
He tickled her side, causing her to half-recline as he deposited a loud kiss to the bend connecting her neck and shoulder.
"Peter, I—no! Not there," she said in between a belly laugh, blocking his quick hands from her sides.
"Should I come back?"
Alicia looked over his shoulder to see Grace standing by the chair, arms folded.
"No," she said, calming her laughs. "Come. Sit."
Grace plopped down on the other side of Peter. "So you know, this is weird."
"What is?" said Peter.
"Seeing you two like this."
"Would you rather we fight?"
"No."
"I thought this is what you would have wanted," said Alicia.
"It is, but it's still weird! You're almost … too married."
Peter wrapped his arm around her. "Too married? What does that mean?"
"You're so … together. Happy—I don't know!"
"Ah. So that's too married."
"Well, what else should I call it?"
"Nothing." He gave her quick hug. "What you said is perfect. Which means, you're happy with us being 'too married'?"
"I am."
Alicia smiled at them, then checked the clock on the wall near the tree. It was twenty after six.
"I should get dinner on."
"We've had a long day," said Peter. "Don't worry about cooking. Order out."
She considered their usual options. "Pizza?"
"What do you think?" Peter said to Grace. "Pizza for dinner?"
"Only if it's Giordano's."
"Giordano's it is," he agreed.
"I'll place an order now." Alicia reached back for the cordless phone at the end of the table and thumbed through the speed dial menu. "Grace, you said Zach was parking the car?"
"Yeah. He should be on his way up." Grace floated her gaze back to the TV.
The game was in its final quarter; eight minutes left on the clock. The Bulls had scored thirty to Miami's sixty-two.
"Dad, the newest episode of Darkness at Noon comes on in two minutes."
"Is this you telling me you don't want to finish watching the Bulls lose?"
She beamed up at him. "Please?"
Sighing, Peter handed her the remote. Grace swiveled around and propped against him, resting her head on his arm. He kissed the top of her head and lightly gripped Alicia's leg.
Happiness. This was happiness, Alicia summed as she observed them while ordering dinner.
Battled choppy waters during their session, with not a single life vest on hand to increase the likelihood they would survive in one piece, felt almost worth it to have this moment.
"I'm home!" sang Zach. Alicia smiled over at him strolling into the room. She set the phone back on its cradle.
"Shh!" said Grace.
"What's going on?" He dropped his backpack in a chair near the tree.
"Darkness at Noon," said Alicia.
Zach walked over and slumped down on the other end of the couch beside her.
"Why are we all sitting here watching TV?" he said, his face graphed in perplexity.
"Isn't this what families do?" said Peter.
"Not our family."
Alicia turned to Zach, snickering. "How was your day?"
"Good. Got an A on my chemistry test."
"Zach, that's great!" She unraveled from the blanket and hugged him.
"I know you were worried, Mom."
"I was … slightly concerned. There is a difference."
He smirked; they both knew better.
"Good job, Zach," said Peter. They palmed a quick high-five behind Alicia's head.
The show started, and they all went silent.
Alicia looked to her left and then right, wishing she could capture this moment—their kids securing the outer band with them in the middle.
This was home.
There was never a more indescribable contentment.
She relaxed against Peter and laid an arm across his waist. "Thank you again."
He peered down at her and whispered, "For what?"
"For deciding to save our family."
He might have almost destroyed them in the process, but she would forever be grateful for the wrenched decision.
Peter hugged her shoulders as they turned their attention back to the screen.
A/N: Thanks so much for reading if you made it this far!
In case you missed the note on my profile ... updates to this story is on an indefinite pause. Writer's block is to blame, and as much as I love this story and love sharing it with you all, a little break to gain a fresh perspective (as Alicia has) is needed. So, note: I haven't given up on this story nor will I abandon it for a year(+). I plan to update when the juices are flowing again.
Thanks as always for reading, reviewing, and your patience. You all are hands down the absolute friggin best! :)