by Nikki Ash
When he softly chokes, sounding like a congested pig, I pull up Google. It says sleeping on your side can help, so I push Ryan over. He goes willingly, and for a good minute, the room is quiet. Until it starts up again.
My God, he’s loud.
I read some more recommendations, but they all involve surgery or suffocating the person…
I try to block it out, fluffing my pillow and closing my eyes, but it can’t be ignored. So, I reach over and gently squeeze his nostrils for a few seconds. His eyes pop open and he sucks in a deep breath.
“Are you… trying to kill me?” he splutters.
“What?”
“For you falling in the toilet…”
“No.” I shake my head emphatically. “You’re just… snoring really loudly and I thought something was wrong.”
He squints his eyes. “So you thought you would plug my nose so I couldn’t breathe?”
“Well, when you say it like that it sounds bad…”
I roll over on my back and release a sigh. “I’m so tired,” I whine, sounding like a baby. “I can’t sleep with you snoring.”
“You snore too,” he volleys back.
I swing my head back toward him, shooting him a glare. “I do not.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Well, if I do, there’s no way it sounds like whatever it is you’re doing,” I scoff. “Like you’re literally sawing logs in our bed.”
“Okay.” He chuckles, pulling me into his arms. “How about you fall asleep first, so my log-sawing doesn’t keep you up?”
I nod, laying my head on his chest. His arm comes around me, his fingers running soothing lines up and down my back. My lids become heavy and I’m almost asleep, my head feeling slightly fuzzy, when a loud choking sound has my eyes opening.
He can’t be fucking serious. How the hell did he fall asleep that fast?
I move out of his hold and grab my iPad. It’s obvious I’m not going to fall asleep right now, so maybe I can read a few chapters in my book. I always fall asleep while reading when I’m tired.
After reading the same paragraph several times and having no clue what I’ve read—because Ryan’s snoring is so close on my radar, I can’t not hear it—I grab my blanket and go to the living room. It’s already three in the morning. If I don’t fall back asleep soon, it’s going to be a rough morning when RJ wakes up, bright-eyed and ready for the day.
Out here, I can’t hear Ryan’s snoring, but the couch obviously isn’t meant to be slept on, because as I shift around trying to get comfortable, my back screams in pain. I finally give up and turn on my iPad. I read the remainder of my book and then start on another one before my body finally submits and I fall asleep.
“Bababababa.” The sound of RJ has me wrenching my eyes open. Not even on the monitor does he sound that close. Forgetting I fell asleep on the couch, I roll over and fall onto the hardwood floor with a thump.
“Ugh.” I close my eyes and take a deep breath. My knees and back are both moaning in agony, and my head is pounding. I couldn’t have gotten more than a couple hours of sleep.
“Are you okay?” Ryan asks, concern in his tone.
I glance up and find him standing in front of me, dressed for the gym and holding our son in his arms. RJ is no longer in his pajamas and is sucking down a bottle.
“Yeah,” I grunt, slowly rising to my feet.
“Why did you sleep out here?”
“It was either that or suffocate you in your sleep,” I say dryly, dragging my feet to the kitchen to make myself a cup of much-needed coffee.
“I’m sorry,” he says, following me. “I had no idea I snored that loudly.”
“Your wife never pointed it out?” Or tried to kill you…
“We slept in separate rooms,” he says with a shy shrug.
RJ drops his bottle and reaches for me. I take him from Ryan and he picks the bottle up, throwing it into the sink.
“It goes in the dishwasher,” I point out.
“Huh?”
“The bottle goes in the dishwasher, after you rinse it out. Otherwise it will stink up the bottle.”
“Oh, sorry.” He rinses it out and places it into the dishwasher, while I pour milk and sugar into my coffee.
“You’re going to the gym?”
“Yeah…” he says slowly. “Is that okay? I work out every morning, but I don’t have to—”
“No. It’s fine.”
“You sure?” he questions.
“Yeah. I have some stuff to do around the house.” I stand on my tiptoes and give him a kiss. “I’ll see you when you get back.”
After he’s out the door, I set RJ in his swing, put on a baby show for him to watch, and go about tidying up a little. I notice Ryan brought in his duffle bag and left it by the door. When I pick it up to move it to the room, I find it’s seriously heavy. Emptying it out, I set his stuff—like the photo album I got him—on his nightstand, and then grab all the dirty clothes to put them in the hamper. When I go to lift the lid, I notice the boxers, sweats, and shirt he was wearing last night are on top of the hamper. Not inside… but on top. Really? Is it that difficult to lift the lid and place them inside?
Grabbing his clothes, I add them to the pile in my hands and put them all into the hamper. Since the hamper is now full, I figure I should probably just do a load of laundry. So, scooping all the clothes back out of the hamper, I bring them to the laundry room and throw them into the washer, along with some detergent. I read the dials on the washer to make sure it’s set correctly. I’ve occasionally done my own laundry, but usually my mom—or the cleaning woman Dad hired to help out—handles it—I know, I know, I’m spoiled. But I’m not above learning.
When RJ squeals to get my attention, I close the lid, press start, and head back out to the living room to check on him before I throw the rest of the dirty dishes into the dishwasher and turn it on. While I’m in there, I take a frozen package of chicken out and set it in the sink. I’m not the best cook, but I’m trying to learn. And with Ryan home, I figure I can make us dinner tonight. He’s all about eating healthy, so I figure it’s best I learn.
When RJ fusses to be let free, I take him out of his swing and settle us on the floor on his fluffy blanket so he can stretch out. I’m exhausted from my lack of sleep, and my head is still pounding, but I push it aside, giving RJ raspberry kisses to his belly. He giggles and wiggles and my heart soars.
We’re playing pat-a-cake—which means I’m playing while he smiles and squirms—when the washer buzzes that it’s done.
“Be right back, little guy.” I kiss the tip of his nose and run to the laundry room to rotate the laundry. As I’m pulling each item out and putting them into the dryer, I notice everything that was once white is now pink. All of Ryan’s white shirts, white boxers, white socks… pink, pink, pink.
What the hell? Why is everything pink? I have jeans in here… different colored shirts… But nothing pink.
And that’s when I see it—my brand-new red sweater my mom bought me. I only wore it once.
“Damn it!” I throw the last of the clothes into the dryer and slam the dryer shut, pressing start.
I go back to playing with RJ, until the dryer dings it’s done. Hoping somehow the clothes miraculously will have gone back to white, I pull the dryer open, only to find dry, pink clothes.
I carry them to the couch, so I can figure out what’s now garbage, when I hear something…
Drip, drip, drip…
Is it raining? I glance outside and see the sky is blue. I follow the sound to the kitchen, where I find bubbles leaking out the sides of the dishwasher.
“Shit!” I flick the handle and pull the dishwasher open. The entire thing is filled with soapy water. It’s brand-new, so why the hell is it broken?
I grab the detergent from under the sink, confused, until I see that I used laundry detergent in the freaking dishwasher! I must’ve grabbed the wrong bottle.
Tears of frustration and failure prick my
eyes, as the front door creaks open and Ryan’s voice fills the house, letting me know he’s home.
While I’m trying to get myself together, he finds me, holding a pair of his pink boxers, with a smirk on his face and one brow raised in amusement. “Was this your way of punishing me for leaving my clothes on the floor?”
I know he’s only joking, but the dam of emotions breaks and I let out a sob, the tears that were threatening to spill falling over and sliding down my cheeks.
Ryan drops the boxers onto the counter and cuts across the kitchen to me. Only he doesn’t see that the floor is soaking wet, and almost busts his ass on the puddle of water that’s seeped out of the dishwasher.
“Oh, shit.” He grabs the counter to stabilize himself.
“I used detergent in the dishwasher.”
Ryan snorts, ready to crack up laughing, but when he sees the glare on my face, he schools his features. At that moment, RJ lets out a tired cry, ready for his nap.
“I need to lay him down,” I say, stomping past him. I scoop RJ up and carry him into his room, change his diaper, and lay him in his crib. I put his pacifier into his mouth and his eyes roll back, ready to pass out.
I need to deal with the pink clothes and wet floor, but I’m too tired and cranky. So, instead, I go to my room, climb into bed—flicking the monitor on so I can hear RJ when he wakes up—and, covering my body and head with the blanket, close my eyes and go to sleep.
If it’s one thing I’ve learned as a new mom, it’s that when the baby sleeps, you sleep. Everything else will be waiting for me when I wake up.
Ryan
I have no fucking clue what just happened. It’s obvious Micaela is upset, but I’m not exactly sure why. Sure, the clothes are pink and there’s a puddle of soap on the floor, but it’s not that big of a deal, right?
Giving her a minute to cool down, I find a mop in the pantry and mop up the liquid. I set the dishwasher to rinse and place a towel on the floor in case any more soap spills out. Then, I grab the pink clothes, keeping what I can and chucking what I no longer want. Pink boxers are fine, but I’m not about to sport pink socks. After folding the rest of the laundry, I grab the stack of clothes and set off to find Micaela, only to find her fast asleep in our bed. She must be tired since she couldn’t sleep last night. I feel bad that my snoring kept her up and led her to sleeping on the couch. I’ll have to make sure she falls asleep before me, since my snoring is so bad she can’t fall asleep.
I leave the laundry on the dresser and jump in the shower, making sure to put my dirty clothes into the hamper this time. When I get out and am getting dressed, I hear RJ’s voice come through the monitor. He’s only been asleep for less than thirty minutes. I switch the monitor off and head into his room to grab him so Micaela can sleep a little longer.
While I’m changing his diaper, my phone buzzes in my pocket. After I left the gym, I stopped by the store to get a replacement for my broken one.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Hey, Son, how’s it going?”
“Good… I think.”
Dad laughs. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, just…” I take a deep breath, unsure how to explain what happened. “I don’t know…”
“You know I’m here any time you want to talk, right?”
“I know, and I appreciate it. So, what’s up?”
“What’s up is that your mom is chomping at the bit to see her baby boy. Any chance you’re planning to come by today?”
I glance down at RJ, who’s staring up at me with an adorable grin splayed across his face. His lack of nap doesn’t seem to have affected his attitude—unlike Micaela, who clearly needs to finish her nap.
“Yeah, Micaela isn’t feeling well, but I can bring RJ over.”
“She okay?”
“Yeah, I think so…”
Dad chuckles. “How about we talk when you get here?”
“All right. I’m on my way.”
After packing up the diaper bag Micaela uses full of diapers, wipes, bottles, and formula, I load RJ into his car seat, buckle it into my truck—make a note to buy one for my vehicle so we don’t have to keep switching it from vehicle to vehicle—and head out.
“My baby!” Mom squeals when I walk into the house with RJ in tow a few minutes later. I assume she’s talking about me, so I roll my eyes playfully, but then she snatches RJ from me and starts planting kisses all over his face. “I’ve missed you so much,” she coos, leaving me standing in the foyer, while she walks into the living room and sits on the couch with her grandson.
“Wow, what am I? Chopped liver?” I joke, following her in.
“I missed you too,” Mom says, blowing me a kiss. “But I haven’t seen this handsome man in several days.”
“You haven’t seen me in four months,” I scoff. “And I almost died.” It was meant as a joke, but Mom stops what she’s doing and glares, clearly not taking it as such.
“Don’t go there,” Dad warns, sitting next to Mom.
“It was a joke.”
“A bad one,” Mom points out. “And, of course, I missed you too.” She hands RJ over to Dad and walks over to give me a hug. “I’m so glad you’re home safe.” She hugs me tightly. “I’m too young to have all these gray hairs you’re giving me.”
She sits back down next to Dad and takes RJ from him, peppering more kisses on his cheeks. He giggles and squirms, loving the attention.
“Where’s Micaela?” Mom asks.
“Sleeping.”
Mom’s brow rises at my one-word answer, silently telling me to elaborate, but before I can, the doorbell rings and in walks Marco and his dad, Caleb.
“What’s up, G.I. Joe?” Caleb extends his arm and we bump fists. “How’s it going?”
“Chilling.”
“Where’s my daughter?” Marco asks, glancing around.
“She… umm…”
“She, what?” he prompts.
Fuck, I guess I should just come out and try to explain this to someone.
“I don’t know.” I sigh in frustration. “Yesterday I got home and everything was perfect. But then last night… I left my clothes on the floor and she fell into the toilet… She turned our clothes pink, and I guess she used detergent instead of dishwasher soap and soaked the kitchen. Apparently I snore and she couldn’t sleep… And then she cried and laid down for a nap.”
I take a deep breath at the end of my long as fuck explanation, and everyone goes quiet. Mom is holding back a grin, and Dad is smirking, Marco’s eyes are bugging the hell out, and Caleb is full-blown smiling like what I just said is hilarious.
“Welcome home, Son,” Marco finally says, patting me on the shoulder.
I open my mouth to ask what the fuck he means by that, when my phone rings. It’s Micaela.
“Hey, baby, you sleep good?”
“Oh, thank fucking God! Your phone works!” Micaela cries loudly through the phone.
“Yeah, I got a new—”
“RJ is missing! Please tell me you have my baby.” I might not be able to see Micaela through the phone, but I can hear the tears in her words.
“Yeah, I’m at my parents’.”
“You didn’t tell her you were coming here?” Mom gasps.
“Ryan,” Micaela breathes. “You can’t fucking leave with my baby without telling me! I was about to call the police. I woke up and he was gone.”
I’m about to ask where she thinks he could’ve gone without me, since he can’t get out of his crib, let alone walk, but stop myself.
“I’m sorry,” I say instead. “I didn’t think…”
“No, you didn’t,” she snaps. “What time will you be home?”
“Uhm…” Fuck, I’m not sure what the right answer is here. “When do you want me home?”
Dad snorts and Mom slaps his chest.
“Will you be home for dinner?” she asks slowly.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “I’ll be home soon. Do you want me to pick something up?”
/> When she doesn’t answer, I move the phone from my ear and see she’s already hung up.
“You didn’t tell her you were coming here?” Mom repeats.
“She was sleeping. I thought I’d take RJ so she could get some sleep.”
“That was a very thoughtful gesture,” she says. “Especially based off everything you said happened last night and today, but you can’t leave with a mother’s baby without letting her know. Our first thought is, what if someone stole him?”
“Yeah, I didn’t think about that.” I scrub the sides of my face. “Apparently I haven’t thought about anything since I got home. I’ve fucked up more in eighteen hours…” I breathe out a sigh. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”
“You’re not doing anything wrong,” Marco says, sitting next to me. “It’s all new. Micaela has never lived on her own before. She doesn’t know how to do the laundry properly or run the dishwasher. She’s done it occasionally, but for the most part, her mom or our cleaning lady does it. The kids have always had chores, but they were also busy with school and extracurricular activities. She’s going to have to learn.”
“And it drives women nuts when you leave the toilet seat up,” Caleb adds with a laugh. “Hayley almost killed me when she fell in once.”
“No woman wants to pick up dirty clothes from all over the floor.” Mom scrunches her nose in disgust.
“And you have to always let the woman fall asleep first,” my dad says. “Especially if you snore. Your mom needs absolute silence to fall asleep. I can’t even watch the television in the room.”
“I didn’t think about any of that,” I admit, feeling like shit. “I might’ve lived with Laura for years, but I was rarely home, and when I was, we were like two ships passing in the night. More like roommates than spouses. We didn’t even share a room.”
“It just takes time and patience,” Mom says.
“So, what do I do now?” I ask. “How do I fix this?”