The Ground Rules: Undone (2 page)

I bury my forehead in my hands, pulling at my hair. “I don’t know what to do.”

Dr. Fisher leans in and puts a hand on my shoulder. “I wish I had all the answers for you, Mirella. I really do.”

I look up at her, feeling completely shattered. “Me too.”

Nothing has changed at home. Everything is the same. I still cook dinner every night and put the girls to bed at around eight-thirty. They always beg me to stay up a little later. Please…

Gabe still wakes up at the same time every morning, still leaves the toilet seat up and occasional beard shavings in the sink. He still has cream cheese and jam on a whole wheat bagel and a protein shake for breakfast.

Claire still makes her bed and lines up her stuffed animals against her pillow in the same exact order. Her stuffed orange kitty Carrot sits on the left, her Madeline doll sits on the right, and Bitzy, her stuffed monkey, her favorite, sits in the middle, cozily sandwiched between his two friends.

Chloe still reads a good ten minutes before coming down for breakfast, and still brushes her teeth for exactly two minutes with her electric pink elephant timer toothbrush.

Everything
is the same. Yet,
everything
has changed.

This secret of mine is destroying me, little by little. I’ve been dealing with it by keeping busy, obsessively cleaning the house — it’s spotless, not a single thing out of place. I’ve organized the girls’ toys, the entry hall closet, and the kitchen cupboards.

Our life is so peaceful, perfect…looking in from the outside. But inside, I’m a brutal mess. I want to tell Gabe. I want to tell Weston. I want to tell Gwen. I want to confide in someone and free myself from this heavy burden and truck-load of remorse. I know I should really tell Gabe, but I’m not ready to face his reaction. I know this is wrong, but I just don’t want to hurt him — although I know I already have. I don’t want to mess up what we have. What we’ve built together…it’s perfect. And this secret will smear our lives beyond recognition. Once he knows about the baby, nothing will ever be the same.

So I’ve been waiting. Waiting for God to intervene. I’m at about seven or eight weeks now. I don’t feel too different. My breasts feel tender, and I’m occasionally a little nauseous and extremely tired. I’m also so emotional — but that probably has a little something to do with my life being a complete and utter mess. I’ve had a miscarriage in the past, and two full-term births. The way I see it, the chances of losing this baby are about thirty-three percent — possibly even higher since I’m older now. No one needs to get hurt. I can quietly lose the baby and no one needs to know there ever was a baby.

I’ve been exhausted, going to bed early, just about thirty minutes or so after I tuck in the girls. I think I’ve been heading to bed partly because I don’t want to be awake, obsessing over all this, and partly because I want to avoid Gabe. We haven’t made love since I found out. I just don’t feel right being close to him when another man’s child is growing inside me.

He has certainly been trying though. He slides down the strap of my tank top and kisses my shoulder, slips his hand up my thigh, under the covers, kisses the back of my neck and asks me if I’m in the mood to fuck. And every single time, I make an excuse — too tired, too busy, not feeling well, the girls. Surprisingly, he’s been taking it all in stride, asking me once or twice if I’ve been feeling okay. I nod and turn away or scurry off, not able to face him. I hate doing this to him.

It’s not that I haven’t wanted him. I want him. I want to be touched. Despite my exhaustion, I’ve been restless in bed at night. My thoughts usually drift to Weston, to the last time I saw him, in that pastry and coffee shop — his hand grasping my thigh, sliding under the silky fabric of my pencil skirt. When he’d said he could take me into the washroom and fuck me senseless, part of me had wanted it.

In the hidden corners of my mind, I always take the scene to where it never went. I whisper ‘yes’ in his ear. And he takes me in there, locks the door and hoists me on the edge of the pedestal sink, his face pressed against mine, my head pushed against the filthy mirror. He hikes up my skirt around my waist. He doesn’t gently slip my panties off — he rips them off. My hands grip the edge of the sink tightly as he pounds into me — so hard, the sink clanks against the wall. There’s no fear, no guilt, no inhibition, just pure pleasure. That’s the great thing about fantasies.

It’s always the same fantasy — the same little naughty film playing in my head. I don’t know why it’s so dark, so raw. I’m not daydreaming about kisses in the park, his hand on my belly, on our growing child, his mouth against my ear, whispering sweet nothings.

No…it’s all about this raw, sexual desire. Maybe it’s always been about that. When I let myself fall into these fantasies, I get restless — I want to touch myself. But I don’t. I don’t because I don’t deserve any pleasure. All I deserve is the pain and torment I’ve been living with.

CHAPTER TWO

This could break us.

I
I pull out a large brown suitcase from the storage room, drag it upstairs, and plop it on top of Chloe’s bed.
This trip will do us good
, I remind myself as I unzip the luggage.

Claire runs over and hands me her stuffed monkey. “Don’t forget Bitzy.”

I smile at her. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Definitely wouldn’t dream of it, because if we forgot her ‘best friend’, we’d probably have to turn around and come back home. I carefully press the girls’ dresses against the bottom of the luggage, and smooth out the folds. This Fourth of July trip has been planned for quite a while, and I think it’s perfect timing. It seems Gwen and I have been talking about it for ages. Her beach house is ‘totally awesome’ as Chloe likes to say.

My cell sings and I drop a pile of clothing on top of the bed and dash downstairs. When I finally reach it, frustration washes over me as I recognize my dentist’s number. I decide to let it go to voice mail. I know it’s stupid, I know I’ve said my goodbyes to Weston and I’ve asked him to leave me alone. And he’s respected my wishes. I should be happy, shouldn’t I? But I want him to chase me again. I want him to reach out. I want to hear his voice, to feel his presence. Part of me wants to have a chance, an excuse to tell him about our baby.

Claire saunters in, a navy and white polka-dot bathing suit in her hand. “Here, Mommy. I couldn’t find Chloe’s. It’s really important that we find it.”

“Of course,” I tell her. “I’ll look for it.”

I smile when I catch the huge eye-roll on Chloe’s face. Claire is still into wearing matching outfits with her big sister. She gets a big thrill out of it, but Chloe…not so much.

“She loves it,” I remind Chloe. “It makes her feel special. She’s proud to be your little sis.”

“Ugh,” is all Chloe says before she scurries off, a book in hand.

What she doesn’t realize is how lucky she is. What I wouldn’t have given to have a sister, a built-in BFF. I’m so happy I found Gwen. She’s my best-friend-forever, my confidante. So why can’t I tell her about this? I know she’ll be shocked and most certainly not impressed with me. But still…

I sigh as I pack a few pairs of shorts and t-shirts, a pair of wedges, a summer dress and a cover-up.

I need to tell her. I’m sure she’ll understand. It was an accident…a twist of fate. Maybe she could share some of her wisdom, tell me what I should do.

I wince as I imagine confiding in her. Of course, she’ll ask what the hell I was thinking, ask me if I have completely lost my mind. Her voice will be loud and her arms will most likely flail. And I’ll most likely be sobbing.

On second thought
, I decide as I stuff my toiletries bag in the already too-stuffed luggage…
maybe I just won’t tell her quite yet
.

My spirits lift as soon as I spot the gorgeous blue clapboard beach house in the distance. It seems so long since we were all here together.

As we turn into the driveway, the girls squeal in unison. “We’re here!”

Gwen runs out to greet us as soon as we turn off the engine. She looks comfy in super-short jeans cut-offs and a light blue V-neck tee. She looks so relaxed, not a care in the world. How I wish I could be her right now.

She goes in for a hug as soon as I’m out of the car. “How was the drive?”

“Great,” I tell her and shoot Greg a smile. He’s giving Gabe a hand with the luggage.

Gwen steals a hug or two from Claire and Chloe. “You are both getting so big,” she tells them, “and so beautiful.”

As soon as I step into the cozy beach house, I almost forget all my problems. I drop my over-stuffed beach bag on the striped entry rug, and take in the light and airy shabby-chic interior. It’s chock-f of old painted furniture; armoires, a coffee table, and chairs which are so charmingly rustic and quaint. They look like they’ve been picked at a flea-market sale on the side of the road for a steal. But I know for a fact that she spent a small fortune on each and every one of those pieces at various posh décor stores.

This takes me back to Hawaii, but I feel so much more laid-back than I did then. I could actually relax here. As beautiful as Weston and Bridget’s place in Hawaii was, I felt myself tense as soon as I walked in. With its sleek lines, high-end streamlined modern pieces, and wide open spaces with million dollar views, it was very intimidating — much like Weston and Bridget can sometimes be.

Gwen urges us in and we plop down on the plush white linen covered sofas. I suck in a deep breath of beach air as I sit back and take in the ceiling with its large beams and gigantic wrought iron light fixture. “I am so happy to be here.”

She smiles. “Would you guys like a drink?” she asks, ever the charming hostess. “How about a beer for you, Gabe?”

Gabe stretches his long legs out on the old, dilapidated rustic (ironically super expensive) coffee table. “Sure.” He catches my eye for a second. He looks really good in his beige linen pants and thin white tee. His shirt stretches across his shoulders and the tattoo on his arm peeks through, just ever-so-slightly.

I bite my bottom lip, thinking it’s been way too long.

Gwen hands lemonades all around, to me and the girls. And Gabe has one of Greg’s fancy-ass imported beers.

“Cheers,” Gwen exclaims, throwing her glass of lemonade up into the air.

And we all join in, smiles on our faces. “Cheers. Cheers. Cheers.”

We spend most of the day at the beach. The girls have a blast, swimming in the waves of Lake Michigan, building sand castles, and sun bathing. I can already see their olive skin getting darker and I slather SPF 60 on my light freckled skin. Gabe certainly has his fun too as he twirls the girls up in the air over the waves. The squeals of their laughter almost drown out the conversation between Gwen and me. We don’t talk about much, mind you — just the usual — what we’ve been up to, the new cute dress she bought (which she tells me she’ll show me later), the new movies playing. And all I want is to tell her I’m having a baby…Weston’s baby. And I’m going literally insane. I desperately want to ask her what to do.

But I put on a brave smile and listen, and nod at all the right places. I hope I’m doing a great job. I hope no one can tell something’s seriously up with me.