I don’t. I don’t know where Joshua lives because it never occurred to me that siblings meet outside the office. Has he invited me to his house? Yes, once. But I couldn’t make it and I didn’t try to invite myself.
El’s expectant glance has my shoulders rotating in a casual shrug, she shakes her head in disapproval. If she had siblings, she would have made a great sister. I pick a flower from the bouquet on the table and sniff it. El runs her fingers through my hair, moving down to my beards and a wistful sigh leaves my lips.
“You kept them,” I say as I tuck the flower with the rest of the roses sitting elegantly in a glass jar. It is part of the bunch Ed sends to her office daily. That and the bars of chocolates. I shouldn’t indulge her with sugar but it makes her happy and I am such a sucker for anything that makes my wife happy.
She pouts. “I couldn’t eat them so I had to keep ‘em.”
Mockery coats her words, I snort with laughter and she jabs me at the side. For someone who took so much effort to bring the flowers from her office back home, she plays it really cool but doesn’t fool me.
The evening breeze rustles the curtain, sending her hair all over her face. She pouts again, putting them behind her ear. I wink, chest puffing with pride that instantly deflates when she narrows her eyes. She kept her hair down for me. Taking off the stainless steel cover of one of the many dishes on the round table, a whiff of something delicious hits my nose. I set the cover aside and El scoops rice into my plate.
“Wifey, what are we celebrating?” El pushes a plate of chicken to my front without a word, I perform my husbandly duties of cutting it into tiny strips before sliding the plate back to her. “Did you cook this?”
El nods. The hand holding a spoonful of mushroom rice pauses mid-air, we share a glance. She doesn’t do the cooking, I do. It’s not because she can’t cook but I love the kitchen too much to give her a chance. I’m used to it. Making my own meals. I chew slowly, aware she’s watching and waiting for a comment.
“Tastes okay,” I say, slapping a hand over my mouth to stop from laughing at her fallen expression. My baby’s heart broke. That slight trembling of her lower lips didn’t miss me. I peck her. “Baby, I’m kidding.”
She rolls her eyes, shoving spoonfuls of rice into her mouth. Such a big baby, my big baby.
The food is perfect, it has the right amount of everything. “It tastes more than okay.” She grunts. I stifle a laugh when the food goes to the wrong pipe and pass her a glass of water. “It’s delicious, better than anything I have ever cooked.”
Her nose crinkles. Maybe that’s not the whole truth. I am a great cook. I nudge her with my elbow, she finally graces me with a smile and my heart lurches against my ribcage. Beautiful woman.
“Whatever.”
We eat in silence with the sound of our cutleries connecting with the plate keeping us company. At intervals, I ask a random question and she does the same. “How’s Ma?” I haven’t called her.
“Fine.” I wait for it, knowing there’s more to come. She raises her head, offers me a tight smile. “Pa is a bit under the weather.” My hand seeks hers under the table, her smile turns genuine. “He will be fine.”
Her tone signifies the end of the conversation, when our plates are empty, she passes the bottle of wine to me. On instinct, I check the alcoholic content, shrugging when she lifts a questioning brow. One drunk night started this, leading to a chain of events that changed our lives. It is hard to trust alcohol after that.
The label on the bottle shows its five percent, I can handle that or anything that doesn’t leave a blank in my memory. The pop sound the bottle makes elicits a squeal from El, I fill our glasses to make a toast.
“To...” I leave the statement hanging and El snickers.
Her eyes shine with mirth. “To you. To me. To our girls. To us,” she finishes.
And to our future boys.
Our glasses clink, El props her feet on my legs, reclining on the opposite end of the couch. My traitorous eyes fly to her chest, lingering on the necklace dangling between her breasts. She is not wearing a bra, her nipples never fail to remind me. My phone pings, she squints as I try to reach for it. Without a word, I dump it in the small basket containing hers and refill my glass. The wine is sweet, not as sugary as I would expect from her but it manages to conceal the taste of the alcohol.
“I was thinking...” El sets her glass on the table, I start massaging her feet to calm my fragile heart.
This sounds like the beginning of a bad conversation, almost as awful as a conversation that starts with: We need to talk. I don’t want to talk or hear her thoughts now, we can sit and enjoy the picturesque view.
The voices in my head finally quiet to give me a chance to listen. I don’t know why but no matter how much or often we proclaim our love for each other, I still have these whispers of doubts. All the things we want might be on the opposite side of fear but I am content being on the safe—fearful side for now.
What if hurt and heartbreak are all I will get? We are happy now, will we always be happy?
A jolt of panic tears through me as she hugs her knees to her chest, I swallow at the small distance between us. Why does she need to create space before talking? I cover the gap, leaving an inch between us. If I don’t like the conversation, I can easily stop her with my hands, lips and tongue.
“I was thinking...” Those words again. I place a hand on her knee, she covers it. Her grin assures me a bit, I peck the back of her hand and her lips widen in a bigger smile. I take a deep breath and nod for her to continue. She can break my heart now, I am ready. “You should move back in so you can be closer to Brianna.”
Oh.
Oh.
I recover fast. Laughter tumbles out of my lips. “Closer to Brianna or closer to you?” I tease.
The corners of her lips twitch but she doesn’t laugh and my laughter dies out. A terse silence falls on us.
We might not have officially defined the status of our relationship but she spends more time here than the mansion. She has her things here, the kids already have their stuff here so it was never an issue.
The few times we went to the mansion was for Brianna’s atrophy sessions. It has been too long since we did it together. Brianna is still asleep. But I am more convinced than ever that she will be fine. She has been reactive. If I am lucky, she will be awake before her next—fifteenth birthday. I don’t want to think of what it feels like to spend more than half of your life unconscious. It sucks for me, the caretaker. It must suck harder for her in that position. But she will be fine. If she isn’t, I just might pull the plug.
“Closer to all of us,” El whispers. “We want you back at the mansion.”
Her soft voice cuts through my thoughts, I bring her hands to palm my face, desperate for the warmth of her touch. The distance between us disappears as she straddles me. Her fingertips brush my lips, trace the contour of my nose, every part of my face and bumps erupt on my skin. Her touch is innocent but sensual, the shy smile never leaves her lips.
Sparks shoot to every part of me, setting my senses ablaze. “Okay,” I breathe out.
I become extremely aware of the inexistent gap between our bodies. How well her frame fits against mine. The wisps of air she dispels when she takes a breath. How smooth the skin of her back feels to touch. I breathe in her signature scent, a mix of coconuts and something sexy but unidentifiable. I note how breathtakingly beautiful she is and most importantly, the realisation she is all mine as much as I am all hers.
Foreheads touching, eyes locked on hers, breathing the same air, I whisper, “I love you.”
Once, I overheard someone say something about reincarnation. Some hogwash about humans returning to reconnect with their soulmates. At that time, it was hilarious, it still is. I don’t believe in that crap but if there is an atom of truth to it, I want to do this with El again, as many times as we might be reborn.
Her lips hover above mine but we don’t kiss. “I love you too, Brandon.”
This moment feels so precious and rare. We don’t need the communion of our lips to experience intimacy. My palm covers her breast, feeling the thuds of her heart. Her hand circles my wrist, we freeze and a jolt of electricity zips through me. The whispers of fears quiet down, I know it now, we will be okay.