Fingers run through my hair, my toes curl and a soft pop resounds in the air. I am reluctant to move with El’s fingers weaving in and out of my tresses. She stops, my eyes jerk open and my head twists upwards.
“Don’t stop.” I pout. She bends to peck me, my hands reach up to keep our lips glued but she pulls away.
“In a moment,” she says, raising her tablet, “I have to get this.” The tap sounds made by her fingers hitting the screen keep me company, my cheek presses into her lap and my finger traces the open skin.
Nothing no one can tell me, this is a slice of heaven. Turning so my head is no longer resting on her legs, I prop myself on my elbows. If I am keeping her here, I have to deal with her working from here.
“What are you doing?” I try to pry the tab from her but she frowns and I back off. Only one day here and she has turned me into an attention seeking whore. “Elna. I don’t like this, you are ignoring your baby.”
I sound exactly like her younger version, the version that tolerated all my shit. She rolls her eyes but sets the tab on the stool by the sofa. “Dina says hello.” Smiling, she throws her legs over the coffee table, my head returns to where it belongs. The scalp massage resumes, my eyes close. “I hope you don’t mind but I replied your emails.” She groans. “You had quite the number but I did my best to sound like you.”
My chest vibrates with laughter, her fingers stop moving. I look up to her, giving myself an upside down view of the parlour. The lights are turned off, our only source of illumination is the television on mute.
“What do I sound like?”
She rotates her shoulders. “Like Brandon?”
“How’s work?” I ask. My heart slows into a proper rhythm, I almost expect her to mention the shares, give me a chance to let her know I helped before she finds out. Her smile is big, contagious. “That good?”
El’s head bobs with her smile spreading from ear to ear. “Very, very good,” she replies with a kiss to my cheek. “We will be four years old in December.” Same month as her and the girls birthday. Loan Dolphin has grown to be bigger than we both predicted, it’s working for her. I push myself into a sitting position and take her hands in mine. She grins and my brain goes on a vacation. A small squeal escapes her, she throws her arms around my neck. “I’m so happy. It makes me so happy seeing how far we have come.”
It makes me happier to know we can sit like this again to have an actual conversation. She’s even putting on my shirt. With a content smile on her lips, she links our fingers and my head rests on her shoulder as she unmutes the television. Ava talked about space, giving her time but the thoughts swirling in my head demand to be spoken. I need a second chance.
Her stomach grumbles, I chuckle and pick the bag of chips at my feet. She still has a sweet tooth and Lydia was more than willing to run a few errands for me.
“Thanks,” she murmurs, rewarding me with a kiss to my hair. Minutes into her movie, she says, “I don’t like this guy.” I hum, uninterested in her thriller. At least that’s what it looks like. “Baby, I don’t like him.”
“You can change the channel.”
“No.” El munches angrily on a chip, making annoying sounds I am happy to live with for the rest of our lives. “Now, I’m invested, I have to finish it.” She spares me a glance, I stare at my fingers splayed on my legs. I want to talk about us, not a movie. Anticipation swims in her eyes, my mouth remains sealed and she launches into the summary of the movie. “That guy,” she starts as a skinny dude fills the screen, “is trying to kill this one.” Another dude joins the first, she nods. “Yeah, this one and he’s the good guy.”
Her excitement doesn’t rub off on me, she slips a chip into my mouth. “The movie is nice,” she says like she can tell I’m more interested in watching her instead of the movie. “I don’t like your mood.” Pressing the back of her hand to my forehead, she says, “Is it the meds? Do you feel good? Do you feel feverish?” Concern twists her expression as she inspects my face, I muster a smile. “Talk to me. How do you feel?”
“I’m not sure.” She turns off the television, I pick another remote and the curtains part to allow natural sunlight. El sits cross-legged in front of me, I mimic her stance. We don’t look at each other, I think she knows what I want to talk about. An unknown emotion sizzles the air, I whisper, “I am expanding project El.”
“Project El? El, as in Elna? Me?” she whispers. I nod, gaze focused on her face pinched in concentration to gauge her reaction. That mask curtains her features, an invisible wall separates us. Maybe it’s the time spent apart but I am unable to read her like before. It scares me. Taking my hands, she brings them to palm her face and the ball of anxiety inside me thickens. I am stalling and she knows. “What’s it about?”
“Electric cars. Self-driving electric cars,” I mutter, giving a brief but detailed explanation of the project. A smile springs to her lips and my worries ease. She is extra pretty when she smiles. “You like the idea?”
Whether or not she endorses the idea, the project will continue but I want to know. She was there for the first, it will be great to have her approval for the second. My thumb brushes her lower lip. “I love it.”
Her words cause a low rumble in my chest, a strange but calm feeling spreads through me. The peace is replaced by melancholy, a sad smile flits to my lips. She attempts to pull away but I cup her cheeks.
“Love it enough to accept the car?” I whisper. Her smile drives pins and needles into my heart, I feel the rejection before she speaks. It is the same response as the first time. It makes sense for her to get a car after the enormous support and faith she invested in me. But she refused it the same way she has refused everything I offered after we separated. “El, you believed in me and it’s here now. Take the car.”
“Can we not talk about that?”
I readily accept. “Okay.” A moment passes, I create a distance between us. For the next request, I will need the space for my sanity in case she refuses. “What will it take for us to get back together?” My fingers get caught in my hair. “I know you need space but I need to know.” Her lips part. “Is there hope for us?”
“Brandon...”
It breaks me. To avoid lurching myself at her, my fingers sink into my knees and I lean on the couch for support. “What if I turn myself in?” The suggestion sounds odd even to me. “What if I confess in court?”
“No.”
But I am desperate. I inch close to her. “If I serve time for my crimes, it makes it easier for you to forgive me, right?” Shock covers her face, she freezes. But the words continue flying out of my mouth. “You can live with that, right?”
Her hand shoots up to stop me from speaking. “Brandon, no. I’m begging you. Please, no.” Hiding my face in my palm, I let out a soft sigh. It’s hard to look at my wife knowing she will never see past my sins. I need her to look at me and see Brandon Stark, the man she loved—loves, not the brother killer. “I don’t want my kids to be referred to as the children of an ex-convict. A murderer.” My head bobs in understanding, I sigh. It is no longer me and her, it’s me, her and the girls. God. “The label will follow them everywhere.”
“Then what do you want? What will you have me do?”
“I don’t know.” My heart crashes against my ribcage. She presses a hand to her forehead, spares me a despondent look that gives me no hope for our future. She and the girls can come for monthly visits, call me. I know a few people, I can get a short sentence. I will do anything to bring us back together. She is stopping us from being a happy family. “I don’t know, okay? Stop asking me. But no prisons, no courts.”
A hush falls over us. Staring into space, I say, “This wasn’t what I hoped for our future.”
She shrugs. “Me too.” Edging forward so our knees are touching, she rests a finger on my leg. Her touch is cautious, almost calculated, I hold my breath. She can make or break us. “What did you hope for?”
Images play in my head but none of them fully form. The truth is, I could never think far about my needs. I could see the many possibilities with the business, the company, anything but me. As soon as my needs are involved, a mental block stands in the way. A subconscious block I built over the years. I didn’t allow myself to dream of a future with a family. When I managed to, she crashed and burned it and now, I fear to dream again.
“I am not sure anymore,” I whisper.
That comfortable silence returns, El moves to my laps. Unsure what to make of her behaviour, I play with a strand of hair. She rests her head on my shoulder, I take a whiff of her shampoo, she used mine.
“I don’t want to break our babies hearts again,” she says. “They already have to live with our choices.”
My throat clogs, I force the words out of my lips. I am thinking about them too. “One month.” Her eyes slowly meet mine, then she stares at the wall behind me. “If it doesn’t work, I will never disturb you again.”
Man, I will always disturb her. But I will give her breaks in between. We must work out. There is no me without her. “Do you love yourself now? Do you think you deserve all the best life has to offer?”
To her second question, I might have the answer when she is mine again. For now, I don’t know. “I am trying, El. I am trying to love myself.” Her eyes flicker to mine, her gaze holds me captive. “I really am.”