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I’ve been home for three days, and in the past three days, I’ve been getting miserable and more miserable. I’m just tired of being here alone and tired that he’s doing nothing about it. Nor is he saying anything about it, but neither am I, so I’m pissed off at myself as well. With the hormones from the babies and then myself, I’ve been not that friendly of a person these past couple of days, and I know he feels it.
I pick up my phone and instead of telling him good morning, I stand in front of the mirror, pull my shirt up to show him my stomach, and then send him the picture. “There, done.” I put the phone down before changing out of my clothes and putting on a pair of tights but then feeling like they are suffocating me. So I rip them off, grabbing one of the sweater dresses that have been my go-to, especially since it feels like I double in size every day. The phone rings at the same time I slip on a pair of heels. Walking over, I see it’s Gabriel, which annoys me, and I know I shouldn’t answer but I do. “Hello.” I put the phone to my ear as I walk out and into my office to grab my stuff.
“Hey, Sweetheart.” His voice is soft and comforting, which again I want but then I want it in front of me and not on a stupid phone. “How are you feeling today?”
“Fine,” I answer with one word. It’s been like this for three days now, and every day he asks me if something is bothering me and about everything. I blame it on my being tired and traveling back and forth. Trying to give him the fucking hint that I don’t want to do this anymore.
“Did you sleep okay?” he asks.
“Not really. Someone’s car alarm was going off for about thirty minutes this morning.”
He laughs. “Is that why you are testy this morning?”
“No,” I quickly snap out, “that isn’t why I’m testy.”
“Care to tell me why you are testy?” I can hear his voice wanting to be calm, but at the same time, he’s also getting testy.
“What do you want from this?” I sit on the office chair.
“What are you asking?” he asks, his voice tight.
“I’m asking what do you want from this?” My voice goes a bit high. “It’s pretty self-explanatory.”
“What do I want from this?” His voice is definitely tight, and I can see him talking with his jaw going tight. “Or what do I want from you?”
“It’s the same thing, isn’t it?” My voice goes up a bit.
“It’s not the same thing at all. I’m going to tell you what is so different about it.”
“Please do,” I say sarcastically.
“Here it is,” he snaps. “What I want is to spend time with you. I miss you like crazy, and I mean, like crazy. You aren’t the only one pissed off by this,” he rambles, and I have never heard his voice so tight. “I want you to come back here and be with me. With Colson. With our children. If I could move there and build a life with you, I would. I would do it in a heartbeat. But I can’t. No matter how much I tried to do it, I just can’t. So that is what I want from you. I want to be with you.”
“Gabriel,” I say, his words bringing tears to my eyes.
“So now, I’ll tell you what I want from this.” He doesn’t even give me a second to say anything else. “I want it all. I want everything. I want forever.” His voice trails at the end. “There you have it.” He takes a deep breath. “That’s what I want from this and what I want from you. Now you have to think about what you want from this, and from me, and let me know.” I hear someone calling his name in the background. “I have to go.”
“Okay,” I reply softly, and he just hangs up the phone.
The tears run down my face, one after another, dripping onto the papers in front of me. I pick up the phone and call my mother. “Hey,” she answers the phone, and I try to pretend I’m not crying, but I fail.
“Mom,” I say, “can you come over?”
“I’ll be right there.” I can hear her rushing around on her end. “Are you okay?”
“I just need to talk to someone,” I answer honestly. “I just?—”
“Ten minutes, I’ll be there.” I hear the door shut on her end and get up from my desk, kicking off the shoes and walking back into my bedroom. I get on the bed and lay my head on the pillow and look over at the frames of the babies from my side table. My hand goes to my stomach as the tears run across my face.
The front door opens and then slams shut, and I hear her running up the steps. “Zara!” she shouts my name before walking down the hall and spotting me on the bed. “Oh my God, what happened?” She shrugs off her jacket and scarf, coming over and sitting on the side of my bed, like she used to do when I was sick. “Are you sick?” she asks, putting her hand on my forehead to feel. “You aren’t hot.”
“It’s not that,” I say, wiping my nose with my hand. “It’s just so much.”
“Well, why don’t you start at what got you crying.” She moves my hair off my face.
“Gabriel,” I admit to her. “It’s a mess, Mom.”
“What is, sweetie?” She rubs my arm.
