Page 7 of My Dead Wife's Ex Will Do
“I’ll, um…I’ll get dressed,” he says as I pull the rolling suitcase into the suite. “And then, I’ll…I don’t know, explore the grounds or something? Leave you alone so you can take a nap, maybe? You should take a nap or something.”
“Sure, sounds great,” I reply and I make sure that I sound agreeable and accommodating and easygoing. Like a good roommate should. I can do this. For my stepdaughter. We already have to put on a show of being co-parents who get along with each other during the wedding. I can pull myself together enough to make sharing the suite this week cordial.
Victor crosses the living area behind me and goes into the bedroom. There are sounds of zipping and unzipping a suitcase and fabric rustling. I contemplate the sofa so I don’t picture Victor dropping the towel and handling himself while he pulls on boxers or briefs or whatever kind of underwear he wears now.
It was black boxer briefs he wore that night. I peeled them off when I?—
No, I am not thinking about that now.
The sofa probably pulls out into a bed but I am too exhausted to deal with that. I sit down on one end. Good Lord, it feels amazing to just sit down after this interminable day. I get my shoes off but fuck everything else, and I stretch out along the length of the sofa.
I fit, but just barely, so I guess this will be where I sleep this week, because Victor is a couple inches taller than me and no way would he fit lying this way. I shift around a little, from my back to one side, then the other, and finally decide on a position that’s reasonably comfortable.
There’s a clink next to the sofa and I open my eyes to see Victor looming over me. “Water,” he says and gestures to the full glass that’s now sitting on the coffee table. “You’re probably dehydrated.”
“Mmmm. Thanks.”
He lingers another minute and I’m struggling to keep my eyes open. “I’ll bring some coffee when I come back. Half an hour or so? You don’t want to sleep too long and be unable to get back to sleep tonight.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Whatever. Sleep is tugging me under and I am beyond ready for some oblivion.
I think I feel something warm touch my head softly right before I crash.
Four
Victor
I pause a few yards away from our casita and snap a selfie with the rainforest in the background. The grounds are gorgeous, lush foliage surrounding me, flowering trees and bushes every few steps. Our casita is one of a line of similar buildings, spaced several feet apart, tucked amidst greenery that provides a bit of privacy for each one.
I add a caption about serenity in nature and some appropriate hashtags and post the pic to my socials. I don’t post anything very personal on the Internet, but I’ve spent a lot of time and energy building an audience and I can’t just disappear for a week with no explanation.
Guess I’ll wander the grounds a while until I can head back to the casita. I knew when I checked in and found out we’d be sharing that Jay would lose his shit about it.
Jason, I mean. Dammit, I’ve got to start using his full name.
I’ve no idea why he’s so opposed to the nickname. I mean, okay, he’s always hated it, ever since Leah introduced us. To be fair, I should have clocked the way his jaw tightened when Leah said, “Victor, meet my husband, Jason Perez,” and I stuck my hand out and said, “Nice to meet you, Jay.”
At some point, it became kind of a game, I guess. How long could I get away with using a nickname Leah told me over and over that he hated? When would he snap and demand that I stop?
Today’s the day, I guess.
Though, honestly, we don’t talk all that much these days, so it’s not like I’ve been calling him anything recently.
Not since Kelsey went to college and we stopped needing to do much active parenting. I haven’t even seen him in, I don’t know, five years, maybe? It’s not like we spend holidays together, Kelsey in footie pajamas and the two of us sharing indulgent glances while she exclaims over what Santa Claus brought her this year.
I could have had all that. Not with Jason, of course. But with Kelsey and Leah. Before Jason.
But Leah and I were so freaking young when she got pregnant. I wasn’t remotely prepared to be a father at seventeen.
And Leah’s father made sure that I didn’t have to worry my head about it at all. Shit, I didn’t even know she’d had the baby until Kelsey was six months old. Leah’s dad sent her to live with an aunt and paid for private tutors so she could finish high school without the “shame” of his only daughter being seen around town or in school hallways pregnant.
So I was actively discouraged from having any part in Kelsey’s life until Leah turned twenty-five, got full access to her trust fund, and got out from under her dad’s thumb. By then, she’d already married Jason.
Ironically, it was Jason who encouraged Leah to let me participate in Kelsey’s life. He believed Kelsey should know her biological dad and, when I declined to terminate my parental rights so that he could adopt her, he said that not all kids were lucky enough to have three adults to care about them.
Until Leah got sick and left Kelsey with the best dad she could ever have had. And me.
We’ve never talked about that night of Leah’s funeral. Shit, I was so drunk, I barely remember it. I do remember how forceful Jason was. And how right that forcefulness was.
