Whiskey Tears, page 29
I know one day she’ll be a teenager and we’ll have our work cut out for us even more than we do now, but the girl is always looking out for me, standing up to her father to “’rotect” me as she’s so fond of saying. She’s the first one to throw him under the bus for everything, even when something’s not his fault.
There’s more to why I’m mad at her father, things she won’t understand as a child.
“You’re right. Next time I should let her keep her phone.” He mumbles something under his breath, something he doesn’t want her to hear. Unfortunately I’m too far away to decipher what it is.
“I’m always right, Daddy. You should listen better.”
I can’t cover my mouth quick enough to hold back my laughter and because of it, I give up my spot. Matching sets of green eyes fly my way.
“Mommy!” Paisley squeals. My husband’s mini-me in looks stands up on the island, looks down to the ground, back at me, then at Ethan. “Daddddy, help me down.”
“You didn’t say please,” I correct, crossing the kitchen and lifting her off the island. “Hi, baby. Were you good for Daddy while I was gone?”
“Don’t forget ‘good’ is subjective,” Ethan mutters, side-eyeing me.
In my arms, Paisley thinks for a moment, her pointer on her chin, contemplating what to tell me. A raise of her shoulders. “No. I go to time out.”
“Wow. First time she ratted herself out. Impressive, young one.”
Ignoring my husband’s words, I ask my daughter, “Why did you go to time out?”
“I make Piper cry. So loud.” She covers her ears, her face scrunching up to match her disgust at her baby sister’s behavior.
“Paisley, we talked about being nice to your sister. She’s a baby.”
“She barfed right on my foot. Ew, ew.” I swear her little eyes roll with her comment.
Piper decides to make herself known. Ethan had calmed her down, but now that she’s seen me, she’s not happy in her father’s arms.
“Why is my baby crying?”
“She barfed right on my foot. Ew, ew,” Ethan mimics, handing Piper off to me, taking Paisley in his arms.
With a roll of my own eyes, I jest, “Ridiculous.” Piper paws at my shirt, trying to get to my breast. “Daddy didn’t feed you, baby?” I coo, popping my breast out. She latches on immediately, contorting her body to make the position work for her.
I walk out of the kitchen, Ethan calling after me, “She refused the bottle. Don’t let her cute face fool you. And don’t forget about our talk later.”
Waving him off—or more like flipping him the bird, neither of which he can see—I settle on the couch to feed Piper, maneuvering her so we are both comfortable. She’s a fast eater, but I can’t imagine the way she was sitting on my arms, with her head positioned like she had it, will be comfortable for long.
While I feed Piper, Paisley rushes in, plunking herself as close to me as she can get, shoving Piper’s feet out of the way to snuggle closer.
“Paisley, be careful with your sister,” I caution. “She’s eating.”
Completely ignoring everything I’ve just told her, she rattles off what she did while I was gone, how Ethan put her in time out, how much she missed me, and when she could watch her movie. I swear, I don’t know where she came from, where she comes up with her ridiculous schemes, things my husband has a hard time saying no to. It’s the reason why l left earlier—needing to get away from him, letting him fend for himself with the kids.
“Dinner and bath time without arguing, then we’ll talk about your movie.”
“But,” she starts, her bottom lip starting to quiver, her only tell when it comes to being upset.
“No buts. I don’t want to hear even one complaint from you about your bath.” To add insult to injury, I tack on, “And it’s Daddy’s turn for bath.”
Crocodile tears spring from her eyes, her wails startling Piper, who needs to switch to the other boob. She looks up at me, surprise in her eyes, looks to her sister melting down, and I swear, if she could, rolls her eyes at her sister’s dramatics before latching on to my other breast.
Right there with you, kid.
Ethan joins us in the living room, taking a seat next to Paisley, prompting her to scoot closer to me—as if that’s even possible—and cry harder. Motioning over her head, he mouths, “What’s with her?”
“I told her you were doing bath tonight.”
His eyes go wide, his lips pressing into a thin line. He knows I’m pissed, that he’s in the doghouse, but I keep piling more and more on him.
It took over a year for us to get pregnant with Paisley. We stopped using condoms once we got engaged, and I had long given up on the shot. Our agreement was, whatever happened, happened. But then nothing happened for a while. I often questioned whether the miscarriage left lasting effects, making it almost impossible to become pregnant.
Ethan noticed how emotional things were for me, and at his suggestion, we ended up conceiving her in the back seat of his car. As he put it, “You always let your abandon go in the back seat. It’s where you most come alive.” Not that our sex life is anything to squawk at. There’s just something about our connection in the back of cars that can’t be rivaled. Ironically, Piper was also conceived in the back seat of a car. Not for the same reason as her sister. Hers was more of an “our toddler is driving us crazy and we need to get out of the house and ended up in the back of the car having sex” kind of thing.
Ethan and I have built a great life, one I wouldn’t trade for the world. And while we have our tiffs and arguments, at the end of the day—and when I’m done being mad at him—I know this is the life I was meant to live.
Because of his inheritance and how he’s invested the money, we don’t have financial worries, which I’m grateful for. It’s one less “fight” we have to contend with.
Paisley’s cries bring me out of my thoughts. I want to snap, “Ethan, deal with your daughter,” but I bite my tongue. As much as I’m pissed at him, I can’t take my anger out on my girl. She’s most likely overtired, seeing as she didn’t make much use of “nap” time today, choosing to take all the books off her shelf rather than actually sleep. Again, Ethan’s fault.
I try to shake my bitterness off. It’s just when he…
“Enough, Paisley,” his voice interrupts. “But just for that, Piper gets her bath first tonight.”
His comment makes Paisley cry harder, because now “it’s not fair” how Piper gets to go first because she “really, really wants to take a bath first.”
Ah, the “threenage” years.
I hand off my youngest to her father, and scoop Paisley into my arms. I don’t tend to fall for her dramatics, but I know how a hug from my mother can turn my attitude around when I’m upset about something.
Rubbing her back, I comfort her, letting her get everything out. It takes a good ten minutes, but finally she stops, shutting off her tears like only a capricious toddler can do.
“I love you, Mommy. I stop crying now.”
“I love you, baby. I don’t like when you’re sad. Ready to help me make dinner?”
She scoots down off my lap, escaping my grasp as if I told her she had to get a shot. “I’ll help Daddy give Piper a bath.” Her voice carries behind her, making me laugh. Anything to get out of helping in the kitchen.
Pushing up off the couch, I head to the kitchen to make dinner, hoping to beat out some of the aggression at my husband on the chicken.
Later, when dinner has been eaten, Paisley had her bath—both laughing and crying, from her and Ethan—Paisley weaseled her way into watching her movie. Because I couldn’t listen to her cry about it and still stay mad at Ethan too. So, tonight, she won, because I’m not letting Ethan out of the doghouse yet.
She fell asleep within ten minutes, something I presumed would happen given how tired she was. After Ethan gets back from tucking her into bed, he flops down next to me on our bed. Piper’s dozing on my breast having fallen asleep during her feed. Usually she sleeps through the night after a good feeding, but my spidey senses tell me she’ll be up at some time during the night, hungry for a snack.
“As much as I disagreed with your giving in about the movie, I must admit it was pretty brilliant on your part. No bedtime tears.”
As emotional as Paisley is about the bath, she may be even worse about bedtime. Usually it takes both of us to cajole her to sleep, and on the nights we both give up, she ends up sleeping with us. I’d blame that one on Ethan too except that was all me.
“You’re welcome, but I’m still mad.”
He turns to face me, propping his head up on his bent arm. “I said I’m sorry and I’d buy you a hoodie and some fancy whiskey.”
“Which I can’t drink for another six months. How is that helpful to me now?” The raised inflection of my voice wakes Piper. Instead of being upset, when she realizes she’s still attached to my breast, she sucks hungrily, finishing the meal she started a while ago.
“You told me to tame my ‘inner bitch’ all while forcing me to take Piper out when I said I needed a break.” He closes his eyes, wincing as I throw his words back in his face.
“I’m sorry. Again. I’m sorry. The words came out wrong. And Piper didn’t want me. She never wants me when you’re around. I think she loves you more.”
“She uses me for food. That’s not love,” I quip, a faint smile coming on my lips.
Ethan sneaks a peek at my breasts. After two pregnancies, they are bigger than what I previously had, a fact not unnoticed by my husband. Only time will tell what happens after I wean Piper off the breast, but Ethan’s already made it clear he’ll still love them even if they shrivel up.
Isn’t he just the best?
“I love you, Adley.”
“Even when I’m mad at you?”
“Even then.” He moves closer to me. “Maybe more,” he adds.
I roll my eyes but inwardly I let go of a tiny bit of the animosity toward him. He has never once broken his promise to stand by me, never leave, to love me. And he’s more than proved it with his actions rather than just his words. Although I won’t lie and say his words don’t get me.
“Is she done?” He motions toward Piper who’s fallen back to sleep.
“Yeah. Can you put her to bed please?”
The man has never shied away from taking care of the kids, even as newborns. He’s been hands-on since day one. Actually before, taking care of my needs during pregnancy, indulging all my cravings, including some crazy sandwich requests.
With a kiss to the top of my head, he gently removes Piper from my breast, her little lips staying in the “o” position as if she were still attached.
“We still need to talk. I’ll be right back.”
I groan as I tuck myself back into my nursing bra and pull the hoodie over my head.
Every once in a while, he gets these grand ideas into his head about traveling, which is what he wants to “talk” about tonight. And I love to travel with him. Or I loved it. Pre-kids. When we could do whatever we wanted, including not leaving the hotel room for a few days, especially on a tropical island like he once promised me all those years ago. But traveling with kids—an infant, no less—isn’t something I want to entertain right now. Even if Piper will be a little older by the summer, the thought of going on a plane with two kids in tow isn’t high on my priority list.
Then there are the thoughts reminding me I can’t deny him the chance to go “visit” his family in California, especially because we haven’t been there since before getting pregnant with Paisley. Two five-hour plane rides—there and back—should be a compromise I can make for everything he does for our family. However, merely thinking about it brings pain to my stomach and head.
He’s back in a few minutes, with a piece of cannoli on a plate for me, a peace offering. I accept it with a raised brow.
“Hear me out,” he pleads in the voice that still turns me to mush after all these years.
“Fine. I’ll hear you out.” I refrain from rolling my eyes.
He settles back in next to me, fluffing his pillow so he’s able to be comfortable when he faces me.
“You once told me we would never work if we weren’t there for the other one in times of need. I know it’s horrible timing, but I need this soon. The last few years, growing our family with the kids, something’s been missing for me.” As I consider his words, he shakes his head. “Not so much missing but lacking a stronger connection to family. I love the family we are building, you as my wife, Paisley and Piper, but I can’t shake the emptiness in my heart when I’m reminded about the family I came from. And as much as we can’t introduce our kids to their grandparents, their aunt, I have this unsettled need to at least show them where I grew up. And selfishly, it’s for me. No way do I think they will remember any of it when we take them back in a few years. But this is something I need soon, a way to feel more at peace.”
All throughout his speech, his voice falters between a sense of calm to one of unease. When he finishes, I can’t say yes fast enough. At the end of the day, no matter what he’s done to annoy me, he and the girls are my whole world. If there’s something I can do to make him happier, I’m going to do it. Even if it means getting on a plane with two kids three and under. It’s a small sacrifice for having this man by my side for eternity.
Ethan’s eyes pool with moisture. “Yes?”
“Yes. Start planning it but give me a little time to adjust to the idea, get my mind around it.”
Wrapping me up in his arms, I go willingly, despite my sentiment of still being angry with him over today’s antics.
“Thank you, Gorgeous. Thank you for doing this for me.”
“You’re welcome. Besides, I owe you one for all the things you do for me.” I don’t fight the smile encroaching my lips.
“Am I still in the doghouse?” A cautious tone accompanies his question.
“Absolutely. But if you agree to take bath and bedtime for the next few days, I’ll be a little less angry.”
He contemplates my proposition. With a shake of his head, he announces, “No deal. Stew as long as you need.”
My mouth opens in disbelief at his words. I can’t believe he didn’t go for it.
Feeling a bit more anger course through my veins, I grab my pillow and fleece blanket off the bottom of our bed and stomp out of the room.
“The kids are yours if you wake them,” he calls after me.
“Not if it’s because of your shouting,” I yell back before realizing they’d be more likely to hear me in the hallway.
Marching downstairs with lighter steps, I set up my bed on the couch, not wanting to be in Ethan’s presence for the time being.
“‘Stew as long as you need,’” I imitate, lowering my voice to match that of my husband’s tone. Turning my head up to the ceiling, I whisper-yell, “And I let you have California!” Huffing and definitely stewing in my anger toward him, I snatch the remote off the coffee table, jabbing my finger into the buttons. I can’t even make myself a drink. “Ugh,” I complain.
I try to watch TV, but nothing holds my attention, so I end up starting a bunch of movies, watching for several minutes, then choosing a new one.
About half an hour later, Ethan comes down, his pillow and blanket in hand. I watch his movements like a hawk as he settles himself on the other couch. I don’t want to notice how hot his body still is, how much the guy still turns me on.
I want to be mad at him.
“What are you doing?” My snide remark doesn’t even faze him.
“Going to sleep.”
“Why aren’t you upstairs sleeping? In our bed?”
“Because you’re down here.”
I open my mouth, but no words come out. I mean, what does one even say in response?
“But I’m still mad at you,” I protest, although my voice holds less conviction.
“I know. But I’m not mad at you.” The words slip out of his mouth so easily and quickly, like he didn’t even process what I said yet still replied appropriately. I don’t know why his comment doesn’t make me more irate. Clearly he’s not going to give me the space I want, and if I storm back upstairs, he’ll simply follow.
“So, what are we watching?” he asks, like a normal day where we’d cuddle on the couch together to watch a show or a movie.
“I can’t find anything good.”
He leans over the couch to face me. “Want to watch Pretty Little Liars?” The bastard waggles his eyebrows, knowing I can’t ever say no to the show, as stupid as it is.
“Only if we can start from the beginning.”
“That’s a deal I’ll take.” A deep chuckle liberates with the knowledge I’m right where he wants me.
“I love you, Ethan McThune, even when I can’t stand you.”
Still facing me, he puts his hand over his chest. “Aw, that might be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me, Adley Sage McThune.” He bats his eyes, really playing the part. “Toss me the remote.”
And I do.
Normally I only give up the control in the bedroom, because the man knows how to work me over, make it good for me, change it up to spice everything up. However, tonight I can’t fight with him anymore.
I relax into the couch, pulling the blanket around me tighter, as he sets up the show.
“Remember the night we met and you told me to call you A?”
His question catches me off guard. He’s usually not so reminiscent of the past. “Too many bad memories,” he always says. Can’t fault him there.
“Yeah, and you wondered if I watched this show.”
I hadn’t seen it then, but one day during our “separation,” I came across it on Netflix when I was missing him. Wrapped in one of his hoodies, I started it, binge-watched the entire series in less than a week. Not because it was good, but because I needed answers. And also, it brought me a sort of comfort, a small connection to the boy I loved, the one who got away.
“That night, I never imagined we’d be here, married, two kids, sharing the same space but not the same couch, but I’m damn glad I worked up the nerve to grab a drink with you.”
