That One Night (That One Series Book 1) (17 page)

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The following days are quiet and relaxed. Together, we put up the Christmas tree and decorate it, decorating some of the house in the process as well. Our Christmas tree definitely looks different this year—it is toddler proof.

Instead of the usual ornaments, we’ve decided to go down a safer route. Sure, it’s a good idea to teach a child limits, but Archer is ten months old. I can talk until I turn blue in the face, he still won’t understand that he can’t eat the glass ornaments or sit on them. So instead of spending a Christmas stressing him and myself out, running after him, making sure we won’t end up in the ER, everyone agreed to do it a bit differently. Not wanting to spend money on shatter-proof ornaments that often look like they could be decorating a brothel, we decided to make the decorations ourselves.

Funny enough, the project took on a life of its own. Through most of October, it wasn’t just Dean and me making little trinkets and ornaments to hang on the tree, but Mrs. Walsh and her girlfriends joined us, making some for us, but also for their children and grandchildren. It turned out to be so much fun.

Our tree is now decorated with pine cones painted white, blue, and purple. There are some pom-poms made out of wool, in similar colors but slightly different shades, and flowers made from toilet paper rolls and painted with glittery nail polish are added to the mix. The look is completed by crocheted stars. There is no bling on the tree. It’s simple, yet homey. I love the look and can’t help staring at it every time I walk past. Somehow it fits all of us to the tee and is perfect for the little hippie household that we are. Archer can enjoy the tree without us worrying. The worst that can happen is he soaks the decorations in gallons of his drool.

I have the last classes of the year, but work is keeping me busy every day. For some, Christmas is the worst time of the year, so our waiting room is filled to the brink up until the closing hour. According to my co-workers, the hotlines aren’t any better—not even at night.

Ben is either spending time repairing things or locked in the shed—still keeping me out of it. I tried to sneak in when he wasn’t home, but that jerk has changed the locks. And I can’t even moan at him about it because he will know that I tried to get in there.

We bring Archer to bed every night, sometimes in Ben’s room, sometimes in mine. We all have dinner together, laughing and cracking jokes. Yes, some of them are still at my expense. The morning incident of walking in on Ben seems to not have been forgotten.

Despite the slightly crazy circumstances, Ben, Archer and I settle into a rhythm. Things are somewhat peaceful. As peaceful as it can get for us, considering our unusual situation. We flirt, we banter, and we tease each other. Whenever the situation allows, he will steal a touch from me. It’s little things like him handing me the salt and holding on to it for a bit longer than necessary, making sure our fingers touch. When I hold Archer, he’ll come up to snuggle our son and makes sure to put his arm around me. He’ll put his hand to the small of my back when we put Archer to bed, letting it linger for a while. It’s tender and intimate—sweet. And God, does it make me feel good. Not just emotionally. It’s like little electric currents traveling through my body. And it takes all of my willpower to take this slow, to not just rip his clothes off while screaming “I love you” at the top of my lungs.

Things have relaxed since I’m trying to give him some room—waiting for him to be ready to talk. I hope it’s going to be soon, since I still feel like a spectator on the side-lines and it’s hard for me to open myself up to a possible
us
without feeling like he’s open with me. I’m enjoying the peace and quiet though. It makes it easier to find my own place in this arrangement, to not feel like a headless chicken that isn’t sure of what’s going on and what will happen next.

But, the other shoe I mentioned. Yeah, I still feel it dangling over me like the sword of Damocles.

And it’s Wednesday when I get to feel the pointy edge. Not enough to draw blood, but enough to know it can hurt.

I manage to get out early from my shift at the counseling center with Diane, one of my co-workers there, showing up an hour before her shift and offering to take over. I’m filled with excitement to have an hour more to spend at home, especially with Dean and Alex leaving tomorrow.

When I get in, the house is empty except for Mrs. Walsh, who watches Archer. I walk over to them and give Archer some cuddles.

“Hey Mrs. Walsh, where is everyone?”

“Ben is in his room after spending all day in the shed.” She gives me a cheeky grin. “Viv is welcoming a baby into this world, Dean and Alex are at some Christmas party at Alex’s office.”

“Oh, ok. So much about spending quality time with everyone,” I mock pout. “I’ll say hello to Ben. And then I think I’ll take a nice long bath, if you don’t mind watching Archer for a bit longer. And then we can maybe have dinner together. Sounds like a plan?”

“Sounds good to me, especially if that man of yours cooks.” She makes a dreamy face.

“Stop swooning; he’s not my man.”

I ignore her laugh and make my way to the kitchen to grab some water before I head upstairs. Just as I’m about to round the corner to his room, I hear quiet music playing in the background. I identify David Draiman’s unique voice as he bellows the lyrics to “Down With The Sickness” by Disturbed. I can’t help but smile. We listened to this song so much as teenagers I now know the lyrics by heart. Dave and Ben wanted to be like David Draiman; I wanted to date him.

The smile quickly freezes when I hear Ben talking to someone.

“No, I can’t come and see you right now. It’s not possible. I don’t know what to tell her.” There is silence for a few seconds and I’m guessing whoever he’s talking to, is speaking at the moment.

I’m trying not to make any assumptions, but I fail miserably. My heart is thudding so hard, I feel like it’s going to burst out of my chest. He’s keeping someone a secret from me. This must be the reason that he’s not telling me about his time away, because there was someone else. There still is. That’s probably the reason he left in the first place. Oh, God. I don’t understand why he would be playing games with me. But it’s obvious he does.

That realization hits me like a ton of bricks. The reaction is physical, making me take two steps back, thumping into the wall behind me. My breath is coming out in short bursts and I feel like I’m suffocating. I close my eyes, willing everything to go away. When I open them again, I look towards the stairs, making sure no one’s witnessing him ripping my heart out of my chest again. And because my heart isn’t aching enough yet, I stay where I am—the need to hear what else he will say overwhelming. It doesn’t take long.

“No, it’s not that. I’m not ashamed of you. I just don’t know how she’ll react.”

Tears are starting to pool in my eyes, fighting to escape. My hand is over my mouth to keep me from making any noises. 

He’s not ashamed of her. Great, maybe we can be one big, happy family with me as the laughing stock. The hurt and rejection I feel yet again are starting to transform. I can feel the anger buzzing inside of me. Anger at myself for falling for him, and anger at him for everything he has done. How could I be so stupid? I’ve caught him on the phone a few times in the past weeks, ending the call as soon as I entered the room. But the part of me that wanted to believe in a future chose to ignore it—telling myself it could have been anyone. Even going as far as making myself believe maybe he got in trouble and this was his probation officer. In that case it would be understandable if he was embarrassed and didn’t want me to know. When I hear what comes out of his mouth next, I realize that was an unlikely scenario.

“Yeah, I’d love for us to spend Christmas together. But I can’t. Not this year. Hopefully next year.” There is another moment of silence. “Yeah, I want you to meet Archer as well.”

I see red. When you hear that phrase from people, you think it’s only a metaphor. But now my vision blurs and everything seems a bit hazy for a moment. I don’t care that I should ask him what this was about. Maybe give him a chance to explain. The thought of him lying to me, pretending to be interested in me for the past few weeks is making my blood boil. And he wants to introduce our son to
her
and have them spend next Christmas together—the thought cuts through me like a knife. I feel the physical pain of his betrayal, nearly making me double over. My vision is swimming with tears when I step into his room—giving him a look of pure disgust. The moment he sees me, he tenses up. His body goes rigid, his shoulders straightening.

“Listen, I can’t talk right now. I’ll call later.” With that, he hastily hangs up the phone, then turns his attention toward me.

“Hey babe, you okay?” His eyes roam my face questioningly, no trace of guilt or regret marring his features.

I ignore the question, instead making sure I have myself under control.

“Who was that?” My voice is so eerily calm, it even scares me.

“Oh, that. No one. Nothing important.” He seems uncomfortable, the look on his face one of uncertainty, like he can sense the storm brewing. But it’s nothing compared to what I’m feeling—like the world just spun off its axis, making me lose my footing.

“No one important, huh?” I cross my arms, partly to create a distance, a barrier for whatever is to come, but also to keep myself from falling apart. Lying to me is one thing, but not being man enough to admit it when I catch him, that’s pathetic.

“Yeah, how was your day?” He’s trying to put on a casual face, but I can tell it’s strained. The situation is anything but casual.

And that’s when I start losing my shit. I don’t handle it well when someone tries to make a fool out of me. Definitely not when it’s the second time around.

“Do you think I’m fucking stupid, Ben? You know, playing dumb really doesn’t suit you.” My voice is hard, cold, and loud.

“What? Of course not. What are you talking about?” His brows draw together in confusion, as he shakes his head slowly from side to side. If I wouldn’t know better, I might even buy his act.

I close the distance between us and get right in his face. All the anger, hurt, and unrequited feelings I have for him are bubbling to the surface.

“I’m talking about you, you asshole.” At this point I’m yelling, not even trying to remain cool.

“You skulk off regularly to talk to someone on the phone, yet every time I enter the room you promptly end the conversation. And now I hear you talking about not being able to meet up for Christmas, to introduce our son.

“It’s not what you think.” He starts to interrupt, but I don’t let him. I’m too far gone in this moment—pain coursing through my veins, mixing with anger so potent I wouldn’t be surprised if the house came down with it. When he tries to soothingly put his hands on my shoulders, I shrug them off, taking a step back.

“I hope to God you don’t think you can bring some random slut to be around my son and to play family together.”

I watch him as he recoils from my words, as if I just slapped him across the face.

“How can you say that? I’d never do that. You know me, Frankie.” His voice is now laced with hurt and anger as well, but it only fuels my rage. How does he dare being angry at me?

“Do I? Do I fucking know you? I don’t know shit since you won’t tell me anything. I know nothing of what happened while you were gone. I don’t know why you left. Although now, I think I might have a bit of an idea.”

“You don’t have the slightest clue. What happened while I was gone has nothing to do with you. How about you fucking trust me? I don’t keep asking you about what you were doing while I was gone, do I?” That was a low blow and he knows it, regret instantly washing over his face.

“Fuck you, Ben.” I can’t stop the tears now. They run in rivulets down my face, but I don’t bother wiping them away.

“I was here, pregnant with your child. And with a broken heart after you left me behind like some cheap whore. How dare you to even question me?”

I’m so angry that I shove him in the chest, but he’s too strong. I don’t even move him an inch, which does nothing to quell my anger.

“Frankie, if you’d just calm down and listen to me,” he pleads, attempting again to take hold of my shoulders.

But I don’t want to listen to any more lies, any more excuses of him needing time. I don’t want to make a fool of myself any longer.

“You know what, I don’t care. We’re not together. Never were. You don’t owe me an explanation. You don’t owe me anything. You can do whatever the fuck you want. Or whoever you want. I’m done with this. I thought I could deal with your secrets, telling myself you needed time, you’re not ready. I realize now it’s all bullshit. I’m done being taken for a fool. I’m done pretending every day like there isn’t an elephant in the room. Like you aren’t keeping things from me, only allowing me to see the parts you want me to see. I’m done putting my trust in you. I’m done with you. Go spend Christmas with whoever the hell you want to spend it with. I’m done.”

He tries to grab my arm when I turn to storm out but I yank it away, not giving him a chance to say another thing.

I run down the stairs, past Dean and Alex who have just come back and glancing at their faces I know they have heard the emotional meltdown. Mrs. Walsh is looking at me with a mix of sympathy, pity, and reproach. Before I’m out the door, I turn to Dean. I don’t need to say anything; he already knows what I’m about to ask.

He nods. “I’ll watch Archer.”

That’s all I needed to hear. Without hesitation, I grab my jacket and keys, ignoring the pounding of Ben’s steps down the stairs. “Frankie, wait!”

I rush out the door. Once I’m in the car, I take a shaky breath. Without looking back, I let the car roll out of the driveway and make my way into Amherst, trying hard not to cry. I don’t turn on any music, not wanting to forever have another song ruined for me by him.

My phone has been ringing nonstop since I left the house, but I ignore it. I don’t want to talk to anyone right now. Instead, I pull into the parking lot of the Wildwood Cemetery. No, I’m not suicidal or dramatic, I just like to come here to think, to find my balance. There is no other place like a cemetery to do that. There is a sense of peace and quiet that you can’t find anywhere else. This one here is not merely a cemetery; it’s nature all around—fields, woods, and a pond. It’s beautiful. And it helps to put things into perspective. At the end of your life, what will be the things that really mattered?

I get out of the car, leaving my purse behind and making my way past the old brick building housing the office, I follow down the path. Taking the route into the woods, I walk between huge oak trees until I arrive where the oldest tombstones can be found. This part is beautiful, so rich in history and meaning. I sit down on a wooden bench, ignoring the cold that seeps through my clothes. I close my eyes and inhale the crisp winter air. I’m hoping to find some balance before having to face the questions back home; before having to face Ben. I don’t know what to do next—what I know is that we can’t keep pretending. It might be best if he moves out. As much as this thought pains me, especially for Archer, I know this is the best decision. At least I’m trying to convince myself of it.

I’m not sure how long I sit here, with no phone or watch on me, but I feel like I’m slowly regaining some calm—enough to do what needs to be done. At this point I feel like I’m frozen to the bench, but I don’t want to leave yet. I don’t want to leave the serenity this place offers.

I startle when I suddenly hear footsteps. The cemetery is so big that I rarely run into people when I’m here—unless it’s a holiday. Turning around, I notice Ben walking in my direction and the peace I just felt seconds ago is replaced by a feeling of dread.