Page 73 of Expecting an Argument
The tension between my legs mounted until I spilled over. The climax was a long, languid unraveling of my entire nervous system that kept going long after I had surrendered. Just as I thought I couldn’t take anymore, my limbs trembled and thenwent slack.
A sweet exhale left my lips as my eyes felt heavy. I had only barely felt the warmth of Beau finishing inside me before I let out the sigh that sent me to sleep.
The nightstand clock read 3:14 a.m. when I woke up. Beau was still behind me, his chest rising and falling with his easy breath and his arm wrapped around my belly. I quietly peeled myself away from him and got up.
After I left the bathroom, I found myself staring out the window at the lights of the city. A quiet chill settled over me as I spotted the tower where my old firm was, then I found my apartment building—still waiting for me after all this time.
I looked back at Beau, still fast asleep, and then returned my gaze to the window.
Maybe I didn’t want to live in the city anymore. An apartment wouldn’t be ideal for young children, anyway. I could buy a house in the suburbs so Beau could be closer to the twins.
None of the big firms would work for me anymore, either. I could find a law firm that would let me work from home, or just live off Beau’s generous child support and do contract work for other lawyers.
But the idea of continuing to survive from Beau’s charity sent off alarm bells in my head—the weaker parts of my psyche were winning. My nervous system woke up again, every instinct in my body blaring so loudly that I had to release the noise.
I rifled through my suitcase until I found my pregnancy journal. I crawled onto the cushioned seat beneath the window and opened my journal to a blank page.
I clicked my pen, and under the glow of the glittering lights of the city, I wrote:
“I can’t marry. I just can’t. The world is messy, cruel, and unstable, and I learned early on that the only personI could rely on was myself. Everyone in my life either left me or died, so why would Beau Fontaine be any different?
He’s not the same Beau from high school, and I don’t even think the hateful, snobbish person I remembered had ever even existed. But is enjoying my new companionship with Beau like falling asleep in a poppy field right before a deadly frost rolls in? What if his personality changes? What if he gets sick like Mom did? What if he eventually thinks I’m not worth staying for like my dad did?”
I bit my lip so hard it nearly bled as tears filled my vision, but I let the confession spill out.
“I love him. I love him, I love him, I love him…but I can’t keep him. Even though Beau and I are broken in identical places, he deserves someone who will love him loudly and boldly. Someone who will cheer for the Crimson Knights next to him. Someone who already knows how to waltz. Someone who isn’t awkward, or defiant, or who fights with him. Someone who will allow herself to be delicate. Someone who isn’t afraid to stay.
And if I can’t be what he deserves…I have to let him go.”
Eyes were windows into the soul, I had once read, so did that mean a window was an eye into the soul?
No, I couldn’t open with that. She would think I was high.
I stood at the foot of the stairs in the Kaye house, staring up at that purple and green stained glass window that Olivia loved. My internal poet scribbled down and then struck out line after line as the din of conversation from the twin’s baby shower rumbled on.
When I was too afraid of what to say, I said it in French. During intimacy after the April Showers gala, my chest had ached with so much sticky and messy emotion that I only let it escape in a language I knew Olivia couldn’t understand.
I had told her that she looked beautiful in her pink dress—that she was the star of the gala, my rose in the rain, and everything I had ever wanted.
I told her I loved her, over and over, and I begged her to staywith me.
But I wasn’t brave enough to say it in English.
I kept staring at that window above the landing as I failed to form a solid plan for my next move. The landing where the stairs split off in opposite directions was large enough for two people to stand, making for picture-perfect framing.
Of course, there would be no pictures. I wouldn’t take Olivia up to the landing until the baby shower was over and everyone left the house. I’d hold her soft hand as I led her up the stairs and then ask her why she loved that window so much. Then, I’d listen to her talk for as long as she wanted about the history of the house, of the craftsmanship of Art Deco design, or whatever research rabbit hole she had fallen down that led her to adore that window in particular.
Once she was done, I’d just have one other question to ask her.
I held my breath as I reached into the internal pocket of my blazer, ensuring the small leather box was still there.
I’d tell her that she was worth ten years of waiting.
A familiar groan from behind made me turn around. Olivia stood in front of a bronze plaque on the opposite wall with both hands splayed across her belly.
I yanked my hand out of my jacket pocket and ran over to her. “Are you all right?”
She let out a breath. “Just another Braxton Hicks contraction…I think I’m getting them more lately.”
