The Ground Rules: Undone

by Roya Carmen

  * * *

  Dear Weston,

  Thank you for the very informative email. You will be happy to hear it’s a check on all bullet points. And also, it should be noted that I am aware that alcohol and pregnancy don’t mix… I haven’t been living under a rock. But I’m pretty sure the line of coke I do every morning is cool. : )

  P.S. Why don’t you take a yoga class — you obviously need it more than I do.

  * * *

  Dear Mirella,

  I can see you haven’t lost your sense of humor.

  I also wanted to suggest you stop wearing underwire bras — they can apparently restrict the milk flow from the milk glands.

  * * *

  Dear Weston,

  At this point, I don’t believe my breasts are producing milk. And besides, my new boyfriend thinks underwire bras are very sexy.

  I can’t believe I’m flirting with him. But I feel like being playful, just for a minute. But if I know Weston, he will not play along — he’s always so serious.

  * * *

  Dear Mirella,

  Well, I’m glad your new boyfriend is keeping you occupied. Why, with the drugs and the new guy, you must be having a grand old time.

  I also wanted to remind you to keep your calcium uptake up.

  As expected, he’s all business. I don’t know what it is, but when he’s being so stern like this, I’m driven to try to break his shell, to loosen him up a little. He becomes a fun challenge.

  * * *

  Dear Weston,

  Yes, I am drinking a glass of milk right now. You seem to be extremely knowledgeable in all subjects concerning pregnancy. I have one question for you. I’ve been really horny — is it safe for me to masturbate?

  * * *

  Dear Mirella,

  : )))

  It is perfectly normal to experience an elevated libido during pregnancy as a result of elevated hormones and increased blood flow to the pelvic area, resulting in engorged genitals. Yes… it is absolutely safe for you to masturbate.

  Damn, always so serious.

  * * *

  Dear Weston,

  You are starting to really turn me on. : )

  * * *

  Dear Mirella,

  I must say goodbye now. Keep well.

  * * *

  I think about Gabe as I read the emails again. I realize I’m behaving rather badly, flirting with Weston. I’m just so confused. My life is excruciatingly frustrating at the moment. I just want to pretend everything is fine. I just want life to not be so complicated, and so serious, just for once.

  It’s Saturday morning and Gwen is making Mickey Mouse shaped pancakes again. The girls absolutely love them. She’s spent quite a few nights here in the last little while.

  Claire wiggles in her seat. “Do a whip cream bow tie with blueberry polka-dots like last time.”

  I smile. “Sorry, demanding little girl, isn’t she?”

  Gwen smiles up at me as she slaps three perfectly round pancakes (one large one and two small ones) on the colorful plate. “She’s adorable. I love this.”

  “When are you two going to have kids?” I ask, out of the blue. “You’d be a great mom.”

  She shoots me a wide smile. “Well, actually, we’ve started trying.”

  My spirits lift instantly. “Really? I’m so excited.”

  “Yes. I’m thirty-one now, it’s time.”

  “If you get knocked up soon, our babies can play together,” I gush. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

  She pours two glasses of orange juice. “It would be awesome. We could go on stroller walks together. And shopping for baby stuff, and Baby and Mommy yoga classes.”

  The doorbell rings. I tie my housecoat closed and try to fix my hair as I make my way to the door. I hate pop-ins. I especially hate pop-ins when I look like hell. I wonder if it’s Gabe. I do want to see him but he’s not supposed to come until tomorrow. He can’t just be changing things up like this without contacting me first. I curse under my breath.

  As soon as I pull the door open, my breath catches as I see Weston’s face. He stares down at the patio stones, not quite looking at me. He’s still bruised up pretty badly, but he looks damn good still, in light grey chinos and a thin navy blue t-shirt. It occurs to me that I haven’t seen him in weeks.

  He rubs the back of his neck as his gaze slowly lifts to meet mine, but just for a second. “I’m sorry to just drop by like this,” he says, not quite looking at me. He clears his throat. “I-I just got in my car this morning for a ride, and I ended up here.”

  I cock a brow. “I thought you didn’t like to drive,” I say, eyeing the sleek convertible Beamer in my driveway.

  “I do occasionally,” he tells me, still standing on my step — I’ve yet to invite him in. “To clear my head,” he explains, “to blow off some steam. I just wanted to check on you.”

  I wonder why he’s really here. I wonder how he knew where to find me. But then I remember — his driver has picked me up here so many times. And he’s also had a private investigator following me these recent weeks.

  I rub my nose vigorously. “I was just finishing my line of coke,” I joke. “Come in.”

  He smiles as he steps in and takes in the space. “So this is where you live? Nice.”

  I know my house must seem very common, middle-class to him. “It’s all right.”

  He smiles, gazing past me. I look back to see the girls and Gwen standing there, like statues.

  “Hi, Weston,” Claire says, her sweet voice breaking the silence. “Nice to see you again.”

  He smiles down at her. “Yes, it’s very nice to see you again, Claire. And you too, Chloe,” he adds as his gaze travels to her. She gives him a little nod — that’s all he’s going to get, I’m sure.

  Gwen stands there, motionless, a can of spray whipped cream in her hand.

  “Hello,” Weston says. “I’m Weston…a friend of Mirella’s.”

  “I’m sorry,” I pipe in. “I should introduce you two.”

  “I know who he is…” Gwen trails off, mouth still hanging open.

  “The spirited Gwen, I assume,” he says with a smile. “Gwen.”

  “Gwen Robbins,” she says as she offers her free hand. “Wow, that web picture did not do you justice. You are breathtaking.”

  I laugh a little. This is trademark Gwen. She loves to joke around like this with men, whether it be our waiter, the young guy at Gap, or that police officer who graciously dismissed her speeding ticket.

  Weston cocks a brow and shoots me a shy smile. I can tell she’s made him a little uncomfortable.

  “I think I want to photograph you and paint you,” she goes on, all smiles, “and make a collage with glitter, and hang it over my bed.”

  I laugh. “Yes, I’m sure that would go over well with Greg.”

  “Greg? Greg who?” she says.

  Weston laughs. His wide smile suddenly does very unexpected things to me.

  “Oh, and that smile,” she adds. Apparently she’s not quite done with him. “Now it all makes sense,” she whispers in my ear. “How he managed to strip Mother Teresa’s panties off so fast.”

  I glare at her and cover Chloe’s ears. “I told you to stop calling me that, Gwen.”

  Yes, Mother Teresa, I am definitely not.

  I look up at Weston who is clearly amused. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to excuse Gwen. She likes to kid around.”

  He smiles still. “No worries.”

  I want him to stop smiling…because God, he’s sexy when he smiles. I glare at Gwen again. “Go to the corner.”

  “Yes, Miss Mirella,” she smirks. “C’mon girls, let’s go eat those pancakes.”

  “Please come in,” I urge. “How are you?” I ask. I still feel so badly about what Gabe has done to him, and seeing him still bruised up like this makes my heart sink. “You look awful, still.”

  He rubs his chin. “Why, thank you, Mirella.”

  “I didn’t…I mean you look good as al
ways,” I stammer, kind of making a fool of myself.

  And he smiles, still. And he’s standing a little too close to me. And suddenly I feel a heat rush through me.

  He shifts from one foot to the other. “It’s not that bad. My nose was broken but fortunately, it was a clean break.”

  “You’ve never broken your nose before?’

  He cocks a brow, a hint of a smile lifts the corner of his mouth. “No. Why? Have you?”

  “No, but Gabe has had his nose broken four times. That’s why it’s a little crooked.”

  He nods, hands in pockets.

  I gesture him over as I walk to the living room. I take a seat on the sofa. “Come and sit.”

  His movements are slow and measured as he sits down next to me on the sofa, at an acceptable distance. He doesn’t quite look at me and his foot bounces on the hardwood floor.

  I watch him as his gaze travels across the living room, to the girls’ pictures on the wall and a few colorful paintings. I’ve tried to make the space as beautiful as I could. Thankfully we have quite the selection of high quality furniture, and the cushions, vases and frames were a steal at Target.

  “I like your house,” he says and his words seem very genuine. “It’s quite warm.”

  “Thank you,” I say, sheepish. “I know it’s not as ultra-cool as your place…places.”

  He smiles at me. “It’s great. It’s you.”

  “You’re pretty gutsy popping in like this. What if Gabe had been here? Do you have a death wish?”

  He doesn’t quite look at me. His gaze falls to the floor. “I knew he wouldn’t be here. I know he’s staying at Bridget’s,” he says, looking up at me. “I’m so sorry for that.”

  “So you and Bridget are not together anymore?” I can’t resist asking I’m so curious.

  “Yes, we’re separated for the moment. As you can imagine, she hasn’t taken the news well.”

  My heart feels heavy. I think about his poor children and I feel so responsible. “But you guys plan to work it out, right?”

  He bites his lip, not quite looking at me. “I’m not sure, to be honest.”

  He’s still so beautiful despite the reddish-purple nose and eye.

  “Does it hurt still?”

  He smiles. “Only when I breathe.”

  I wince. “I’m so sorry.”

  He pulls his gaze away from mine again. “Gabe loves you very much,” he says, his voice quiet. “He obviously holds a lot of passion where you’re concerned.”

  I bite my lip, not wanting to talk about Gabe. “I know.”

  “You’re not supposed to be here. You made a promise to Bridget.”

  He turns to face me. “I wanted to check up on you. Make sure you’re eating well and taking care of yourself.”

  Not this again. “I am,” I assure him. “I’m following your list religiously.”

  “What have you been eating?”

  I mull it over for a second. What have I been eating?

  “Macaroni and cheese, lots of soup, homemade pizza…. lots of crackers and cream cheese…. pancakes.”

  He shakes his head. Apparently Dr. Hanson does not approve. “That’s dreadful, Mirella.”

  “What?”

  “Have you been eating protein…vegetables?”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m fine.”

  He scratches his chin. The sight of him scratching his sexy stubble makes me…damn, these hormones.

  “I have a chef I like,” he says. “I’m thinking of sending him your way. His name is Manny. He’s French. I think Manny’s short for Em—”

  “I don’t need a personal chef, Weston,” I scoff. “Jesus…”

  “Do it,” Gwen calls out from the kitchen. “Get the personal chef.”

  I gasp and glare at the same time. “Gwen, stop listening to our conversation.”

  Weston laughs, seemingly quite entertained by Gwen. I, on the other hand, am just about to kick her out on her Lululemon-clad rear.

  “Do you want to go for a walk?” I ask.

  He smiles. “Sure.”

  I jump to my feet. “Let’s go.”

  “Uh…you are going to change...”

  I look down at my shabby housecoat and bring my hand to my messy hair and suddenly remember I look horrible. “I’m sorry. Yes. I look rather…”

  He smiles again. “You look beautiful.”

  I change into a pair of stretchy shorts and a yellow t-shirt. I do nothing with my hair — he’s seen me at my worst — the damage is done. I bound down the stairs and slip on my Birkenstocks.

  His gaze stills on my midsection.

  I look up at him. “Yeah, I’m getting a little belly.” I whisper. “It’s barely noticeable.”

  “It’s beautiful,” he says as he inches closer to me. “May I?”

  He presses his hand softly on the small bump. His hand feels warm against the thin fabric of my shirt. My whole body heats at his touch. I close my eyes for just a second, breathing in his wonderful scent. I open my eyes to see him staring down at me, his eyes dark. Part of me wants him to kiss me, right here in the front entry hall of my house, but I know that’s just not possible. I know I’m misbehaving. God has not answered my prayers. He hasn’t set me straight yet. I’m still a complete mess.

  “Uh…we should get going,” he breathes and I detect the slightest hint of a crack in his voice.

  “Yes, definitely.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Like a puppet on a string.

  I sit next to him on the bench and watch two children play with their mother at the park. My eye is drawn to the sweet little toddler with angel white blond hair. He’s not too steady on his legs. His mother helps him out, steadying him as he attempts to walk on the pebbles. I wonder what my baby will look like. Will he have a full head of dark hair? Will he inherit my freckles as he grows older?

  “I know I shouldn’t be here,” Weston says. “But I just wanted to make sure you were okay. See it with my own eyes.”

  I’m so drawn to him. I want to touch him. Just hold his hand. “I know,” I say as I put my hand over his. Our hands rest on the bench between us. He pulls his hand away softly and takes my hand in his. I close my eyes without a word. He trails his thumb along the inside of my palm. “I’ve missed you,” he says quietly.

  “Me too,” I whisper, not quite looking at him. The cute toddler with the angel hair goes down the slide. His mother catches him at the bottom, all smiles.

  The park is silent, with only the occasional shrieks of the little boy and his sister.

  “You’ve hurt me,” he says.

  My heart pounds as I wait for him to say something else, to explain. But he doesn’t say another word.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The last time we were together,” he says as he turns to me. “When we…and you said it didn’t change a thing. You told me you wanted me to stay away. You had your fun with me. And that was it.”

  “I’m sorry. I just—”

  “I told myself I wouldn’t contact you no matter how much I wanted to, despite the fact that I thought about you every second of every day, and all the while, you were carrying my child.”

  I inch closer, willing him to look at me. “I’m sorry. I’ve thought about you—”

  He finally turns to face me and presses his hand firmly against my cheek. “Is this a game to you?”

  “No.”

  He buries his face in my neck. “Because it’s not a game to me.”

  As he pulls from me, the warmth of his face lingers against my skin. I reach out and wrap my arms cautiously around him, trailing a lock of his hair between my fingers. My heart pounds against my ribs and the world seems to spin.

  “Weston…”

  “I can feel your heart,” he breathes against my neck.

  “I…”

  He pulls away again, his actions sudden. “I should go. I shouldn’t be here. Like you’ve pointed out, I’ve promised Bridget.”

  He stands, looking
pained. I reach for his arm but he pulls from me.

  “Weston...”

  He jerks away and sets off. “I should really go. I shouldn’t have come.”

  As I watch him go, I’m glad. I’m glad he’s had the strength to let me go. As much as I still desire him, this is not what I want. I want everything to be okay again. I want him with his family where he belongs, not with me. And I want Gabe by my side.

  Tears stream down my face as I watch the little toddler with his mother. That was me, not long ago, when the girls were still so little.

  My life was simple and beautiful.

  Only, at the time, I didn’t quite realize just how wonderful it was.

  I am such a procrastinator. I’ve been putting off laundry all week and now it’s coming at me like a tsunami. I’m buried in it. I scratch my head, trying to figure how many loads I’ve got on my hands — maybe five or six. I’ve already separated the whites and the darks. At least that’s one thing done.

  The girls are being good, for once. Chloe is completely wrapped up in her book. And Claire…well, I’m not sure what she’s up to. I haven’t heard a peep from her. And that’s cause for concern right there.

  “Claire,” I call out but am only met with silence. “Claire!” I yell, but there’s still no answer.

  I drop my basket on the floor and dash into the living room. I sprint out to the back yard. She’s not there either. I call out her name again, frantic. My heart beats a little faster as I run outside to the front of the house, last night’s conversation rattling around in my head. She had been upset with me and had told me she was going to go see her dad. I had smiled and had told her she’d have a ways to travel because her dad was in Chicago. “That’s a forty minute drive,” I had pointed out. “I’m good on my bike,” she had replied with a frown and a fire in her big brown eyes.