Page 59 of Expecting an Argument
“Until I graduated high school,” Beau answered. “Grandpa had me packing boxes full of food for every holiday drive they did.”
My lip trembled. He put the food in the boxes that I ate. He saw my mom’s name on that highlighter yellow clipboard. Had he also seen me in the car line, ducking my head from shame?
Regardless if he saw me, he knew. He knew the whole time that I had taken his charity, and not once in the years I had known him had he thrown it in my face, even when we had been at each other’s throats.
Hell, I don’t think he had never even mentioned it—toanyone.
I turned to him, hoping he could catch the look I was giving him even though he was driving. “Th-thank you. Thank you for never teasing me about…coming to the holiday drives.”
He turned onto the manor’s driveway. “Why would I? I had no control over the circumstances of my birth and neither did you.” He flashed me a little smile. “If I was going to tease you, it had to be about something you earned.”
I swallowed as we circled around the fountain in the driveway and headed to the garage. I knew Beau was keeping his own secrets, but I never suspected that he was also keeping mine.
I wouldn’t know him completely until after the twins were born, but unlike my dad, or the guy with the smelly apartment, or the guy who laughed at me when I vomited on the carnival ride…
…I at least knew Beau was a good person.
The night we got back from the Kaye house renovation, Olivia stopped breathing.
I bolted upright in bed when I heard her gasping across the hallway. I threw off my blankets and sprinted into her room to find her in bed, struggling to get up.
My hands found hers in the darkness and I pulled her into a sitting position. Her hand pressed against her heaving chest as she gulped in air.
“I…I got stuck…on my back,” she panted. “Th-the babies just…crushmy lungs now…”
“Hey, you’re all right,” I said softly as I rubbed her back. “Just take a breather and get some rest, OK?”
I took her blue water cup off her nightstand and offered it to her. She took a few small sips and I stepped back toward my room.
“Wait,” Olivia said, “what if I get stuck again?”
I turned back to her. Even in the barest of moonlight filtering through the lace curtains, I could see Olivia’s wide eyes shining with tears.
My mouth suddenly went dry. “Do you…do you want me to stay?”
She gripped her cup with both hands and nodded.
I walked around to the other side of the bed and stared at the mattress like I was looking over the precipice of a cliff. My eyes flicked up to Olivia and she gave me an expectant look back, silently giving me permission to enter new territory.
I held my breath as I slowly got in bed next to her and rested my head on the pillow. The mattress was soft enough to sink into, but the air around us was stiffer than a board.
I cleared my throat. “I’m a pretty light sleeper, but don’t be afraid to shake me awake if you need me.”
Olivia sank down onto her side of the mattress and cuddled her pregnancy pillow. “Don’t tempt me, Beau.”
Only after she closed her eyes did I dare to close mine.
I didn’t go back to my bed the next night, or the night after that. We made an unspoken agreement that I was her bedroom sentinel. I helped her get out of bed each morning and also in the middle of the night if she needed. I propped her feet up at the end of the day and watched documentaries with her until she passed out. I even brought Titus’s bed into Olivia’s room so he wouldn’t feel left out.
Though we shared a bed, I didn’t consider us sleeping together. The mattress was big and Olivia stayed within the confines of her U-shaped pregnancy pillow, so it felt like we were in our own separate twin beds.
Sometimes, when the glow of the TV hit Olivia’s sleeping body just right, I caught a glimpse of one, or even both, of my babies moving beneath her pajamas. As much as I cherished the sight, I didn’t dare touch. The edge of Olivia’s pregnancy pillowmade an invisible wall topped with barbed wire between us and I knew better than to venture where I wasn’t welcome.
But once, I caught myself stroking the tail of Olivia’s braid that had crossed over to my side of the bed. When we binged season two of “Murder in the Heartland,” I turned to ask her if the defense lawyer was full of shit only to be disappointed that she had already fallen asleep. When my thoughts were too loud at night, I would glance over at Olivia and wonder how her soft, round face would feel in my hands. Sometimes I’d even catch her worrying her bottom lip during a dream. Other times, I would mentally trace the generous curve of her hip and just…miss her.
I started to doubt that my devotion to Olivia was borne purely from obligation, or out of gratitude for the mother of my children, or even from a paternalistic instinct to protect and control.
What I felt for Olivia was similar to what I had with Katie—the urge to give, and give, and give. But with Katie, I was a young man dizzy with love, with Olivia…
