Forgive Us Our Trespasses

by M. L. Steinbrunn

  “She is with Katie, my babysitter. They were out running errands when I got home, but they should be here anytime,” he answers as he throws everything over his shoulder. He leads us up the walkway. We enter the foyer and he immediately leads us upstairs to a long hallway with a string of doors on either side.

  Brooks looks completely relaxed in his faded, scuffed-up blue jeans and soft cotton tee. Instead of the shrewd, polished architect, he is loosened up and carefree, just like I remember from college. His broad shoulders and toned muscles are at war with the thin, tight shirt he has selected. I can see every bit of his definition, and it’s a gorgeous sight to behold. As the slapping of his sandals smack against the wood flooring, I begin to pull my eyes away from Brooks’ body and take in our surroundings.

  The décor throughout the house is very masculine; the color pallet a mixture of light greys and cobalt blue. It’s certainly not what I would have expected in a log home, but it works and feels like Brooks. While there are pictures of Grace everywhere, the family pictures stop with her. There are none of his mother, or brother, or even friends–nothing, just him and Grace.

  A lonely feeling settles within me at the thought of the two of them having only each other, and it makes me want to create more for them, build a family together. The thought hits me like a sledgehammer; it’s not the typical Vivian line of thinking, and I can’t explain my ease. In that moment, I’m not scared of the idea of creating a family with Brooks and our children, but I know that if I let my mind settle with the notion, guilt will no doubt creep in and squash my content.

  We pass by Grace’s room, which is completely decked out in hot pink and zebra print. It looks like Barbie and Joan Jett had a paint war. It melts my heart to see a girly room filled with dolls and Barbie cars in this masculine house. We then deposit each of the kids in their own guest room to let them get settled, allowing Brooks time to show me to my room. I’m a little surprised that he doesn’t bring me to his room; I can’t deny that I’m not a little disappointed.

  Brooks lays my bag on the queen-sized bed and grabs me to sit on his lap on the edge of it. With one arm coiling around my waist, he uses the other to push my hair away from my neck. “You have the room across the hall from mine. I figured you might want your things in here for appearances for the kids, but I have no intention of letting you sleep in here,” he whispers into my ear.

  His breath tickles my neck and I giggle, attempting to turn away from his mouth. Scooting around to face him, I kiss his cheek, and then glide my tongue across his jaw to nibble on his earlobe. I feel him shiver under me. Brooks is not the type to relinquish control, and I certainly look forward to handing it over to him; in this moment, it is exciting to make this strong man squirm.

  “That’s good to hear,” I mumble against his neck. “I may have brought some special pajamas I think you’ll enjoy.”

  He throws his head back, and I take the opportunity to attack his neck, lathering it with soft kisses. “Fuck, Red, I’m not sure I can wait until tonight. Would it be bad to send all the kids to the movies with Katie, instead of staying here?”

  “Yeah, I don’t think that would fly,” I answer, grinding into him and earning a muted groan.

  “Can we maybe spike their juice with Benadryl to ensure they fall asleep early and stay out for the night?”

  I pull away from his neck, “Did you just ask me to drug our children?” I laugh. “Yeah, I don’t think that will work either.”

  “I’m kidding, but, Vivian, be prepared. I know you brought something special to wear tonight, but you have me so worked up that by the time I have you really alone, I don’t think it will be on long enough to appreciate it.”

  “Noted, now let’s go find everyone and get this show on the road,” I say, giving him one last kiss before climbing off his lap.

  “Why don’t you get everyone unpacked, and I’ll go get dinner going and wait for Grace.” Brooks stands to leave, but slaps me on the ass as he passes. I yelp at the hard smack.

  “See you downstairs, baby.” He laughs as he exits the room.

  Shaking my head at his lightheartedness, I immediately unzip my bag and hang my clothes that are prone to wrinkles. I work on unpacking my suitcase and let my mind reflect on the evening ahead of me, and the man that I can’t help but think I’m betraying.

  As I unfold the lingerie I bought, I think about my expectations for the evening. If I’m being honest with myself, I’m not sure what to expect from tonight or even if I truly want anything to happen. Either way, my nerves have reappeared full-force. I’m overwhelmed with the guilty feeling that I’m cheating on Will. I know he’s gone, and I know that he would want me to move on, but I fear that things with Brooks are moving too fast. The heart that I finally found again feels like it is being torn in two. I want Brooks–with every breath I want him–but I feel like I’m being disloyal to Will for even considering it.

  It hasn’t even been a year since Will’s accident, and I’m not sure any amount of time will completely take that hurt away. More than anything, though, I want Brooks to take that pain away. I’m desperately trying to ignore the guilt that consumes me every time I let myself think about Will. I wonder if he would be okay with Brooks and me being together, and letting him be a part of our children’s lives. I can’t help but feel like I’m disappointing him, but if I listen to my heart, I realize I don’t want to let Brooks go again. Wrong or not, I want to fight for him, for us.

  Closing the last drawer, I hear Blake’s laughter down the hall. I take a cleansing breath, straighten my dark blue jeans, and smooth out the soft flowing pink shirt I have layered over a white tank top. I take one last look in the mirror, and then head in the direction of the other guestrooms.

  Brooks

  As soon as I close Vivian’s door, I hustle down the stairs to get everything ready for everyone. I figure I would let the kids decide on dinner, but I want to lay out the options for them to pick. I want this evening to be perfect for her, and for the kids to be completely comfortable.

  I don’t think I would be able to wipe the grin off my face even if I tried. Vivian, my Clover, staying in my house–and by her own free will I might add–is a freaking miracle. I’m not sure how many karmic good deeds I need to do to show my thankfulness, but it would be worth the trouble.

  Just as I reach the landing of the stairs, Katie and Grace come through the door. Katie is loaded down with grocery bags, and of course, Grace is toting her favorite stuffed elephant and her purse that she insists she carry everywhere. She races to me, crashing into my knees and wrapping her arms around them.

  “Well, hello there, baby girl,” I say before bending down to kiss her forehead. She looks up to greet me with a smile before she takes off past me and up the stairs.

  I then rush to Katie and grab some of the bags she has begun dragging into the living room. “My God, Katie, I asked you to pick up a few groceries. I’m not stockpiling for the zombie apocalypse or anything.”

  She swings a bag at me in response to my verbal jab; preparing for the blow, it faintly collides with my stomach. “Very funny. Grace said you had a date tonight, so I picked up some extra things for her and me.”

  We make it into the kitchen, and she flings her bags onto the counter with an exaggerated huff and begins to put things away. “You know it would have been nice to know that I was babysitting tonight. What if I had plans?”

  I try to interrupt, but she continues with her unnecessary rant. “I realize that I don’t have much of a social life, but seriously, finding out from a four year-old that my Friday night has been booked-–that’s not cool, Brooks. Besides, what is this new girl, flavor of the month, week, or just sprinkles for the evening?”

  She slams the refrigerator shut and stands there, waiting for my response. Very few people would ever get away with talking to me the way Katie just did. She has been the closest thing to a female confidant that I’ve had since Grace was born, and I value her opinion. Not only is she a loyal
employee, she is a friend, someone whom I can always trust to call me on my shit when others are afraid to stand up to me. So I look past her mini-tantrum.

  “So, first of all, I do have a date tonight, but she and her children are here. I won’t be going anywhere.” Katie’s hands that were resting on her hips slide down to her sides, and her mouth hangs open in disbelief. Yes, this is the first time I’ve ever had a woman over to my house, and she is very aware of that fact.

  “Second, while I appreciate that you are willing to give up your Friday night for Grace and me, it would never be relayed through her; I think a whole hell of a lot more of you than that, Katie. And finally, Vivian is not just some flavor of the week; she is the whole damn sundae that I would feel lucky to have every day for the rest of my life.”

  Katie quickly steps to me and gives me a warm hug. “I always hoped this would happen for you; I was starting to think you were a lost cause.” I pat her back, a little thrown off by her emotional outburst and drastic shift in moods.

  “Um, thanks, I think,” I tell her, moving away from her grasp.

  “If she really is that great, though, please don’t fuck it up. I would prefer we keep the Brooks brothel closed; I wouldn’t be surprised if there is an “‘I slept with Brooks Ryan’” support group out there somewhere,” she laughs lightly, slugging me in the arm.

  I pretend to be wounded, and feign insult, which she only laughs at. “Thanks a lot.”

  She and I both walk back to the front entrance where I open the door for her, and again thank her for bringing Grace home and running my errands.

  “Anytime, Brooks, you know that.” She exhales deeply and smiles once more before turning and walking down the front steps towards her car.

  I close the door just as Vivian and all three children skip down the stairs, laughing about some giraffe joke Blake has shared. I turn and watch them giggle and bump into each other; Vivian’s smile is bright, and when her eyes meet mine, it feels like I melt into them. This is my family. She is my family.

  Vivian

  Brooks is watching us move down the stairs, and every little butterfly that I thought I had gotten a grasp on has escaped from the net and is bouncing around my stomach. His look is one of admiration and desire, and if there were no children in the room with us, he would be taking our date night from PG to X-rated within seconds. I breathe through the anxiety and smile at him.

  “Hey, guys,” he says, returning my grin. “How about we go into the kitchen first and pick out dinner, and then we can narrow down the movie options.”

  He meets us at the bottom of the stairs and takes my hand to lead me to the kitchen. His thumb brushes along my knuckles, and the intimate touch calms my tension.

  There are several dinner choices displayed on the counter top; the man has definitely prepared for the evening. “Okay, we have spaghetti, pot pie, chicken patties and potatoes, tacos, or Hamburger Helper,” Brooks says as he travels down the line like Vanna White, offering up each kid-friendly option.

  I scan the counter, eyeing my arch nemesis, hoping the kids don’t select most kids’ go-to dinner of choice. Hamburger Helper and my stomach don’t get along well; I have actually banned the product from our house. I have an iron stomach, but when I even smell the little boxed wonder, my stomach revolts, and I experience the worst case of what I’ve come to call Momentary Irritable Bowel Syndrome.

  Remembering my children’s tendency towards unfiltered verbal diarrhea, I’m hoping to direct everyone’s attention away from the demon noodles. Before I can get a word in though, my lovely daughter decides it’s the perfect time to protect my stomach instead of my pride.

  “We can NOT have Hamburger Helper,” she loudly declares for the group.

  “What? Why not? I love it.” Grace asks.

  “Mom says Hamburger Helper is the devil,” Blake adds, trying to clarify, and everyone turns to me to explain further. I feel my hands begin to sweat as my face flushes with embarrassment and my eyes pin my son in place. He raises his hands in defense, as if my glare will physically harm him.

  I grab the box off the counter, staring at the back label, trying desperately to avoid eye contact with Brooks. “I don’t think that I have ever actually said that it is the devil.” I quickly look to Blake again, daring him to contradict me. “I just said that I don’t really like it, and since I’m the one that does the cooking, I choose not to make it.” Seems like a plausible explanation, and I’m hoping the topic is dropped until I look at my second unfiltered child to see the wheels in her head grinding away.

  “No, Mom, Blake is right! I remember. That one time we had it for dinner, you spent the whole night in the bathroom with a tummy ache, and the next day you said Hamburger Helper was never allowed in the house again because it gave you diarrpea.”

  Mayday! Mayday! I feel my eyes widen; I’m not sure what I could even say to save the moment. I am completely mortified, and when I hear Grace laughing, I know that our sexy evening has not only nose-dived, but has completely crashed and burned.

  “It’s not diarrpea, silly,” Grace corrects through giggles.

  “It is at our house. When Mom locked herself in the bathroom, it sounded like she was having a water gun fight in there. So now, we call it dia-ppp-a, because of the sounds she made,” Blake explains. It clicks for Grace, and she bursts into even bigger hysterics. Yup, this is completely awesome; I now know why some animals eat their own young.

  I see Brooks struggling to keep it together; his hand is balled up in front of his mouth, and I’m just waiting for the explosion of laughter. “Go ahead; I know you want to laugh. I’ll put you out of your misery. Go ahead, ha ha, laugh it up,” I say as I lightly punch him in the bicep.

  He grabs my arm and pulls me into a bear hug of an embrace. “I’m sorry; I won’t laugh, and we can take the devil food off the list of options for dinner. You have to admit, though; it’s kind of funny.”

  I look up at him, his ear-to-ear grin shining down at me, and I can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, okay, it’s a little funny. But seriously, no Hamburger Helper, or the humor of this conversation will become tragically real.”

  “All right, deal,” he says as he snuggles into my neck and kisses the skin below my ear. His attempt at calming my humiliation works and I relax into him, absorbing the moment. He then releases me and grabs the spaghetti noodles, tossing the closed package to Blake. “So, spaghetti it is!”

  Vivian

  After my dignity is restored and we make it through dinner, we all find spots in Brooks’ media room to enjoy the movies. Of course, there is a buffet of junk food, and Brooks helps the kids make a massive fort to camp in during the films. By the second movie, all three have fallen asleep. We debated whether or not to just leave them, but in the end, we figure that Blake and Emma might get scared or lost if they wake up in the middle of night.

  So, one-by-one Brooks carries them to their rooms. My heart melts watching each one lay their head on his shoulder and burrow into his neck.

  Seeing Blake and Emma react so well to Brooks and Grace puts some of my fears to rest, but it has done nothing to ease the guilt. I am deep in thought when Brooks finally returns, and it isn’t until he grabs my hand that my thoughts are entirely interrupted.

  “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go upstairs; everyone is settled,” he says, pulling me off the couch.

  I wrap both of my arms around his and rest my head on his shoulder, allowing him to lead me up to his bedroom. I halt us in front of my door, though, and I insist that I need a few minutes to get ready for bed. He agrees to return to his own bedroom to wait for me, and when he turns to leave, for a split second I contemplate staying in my room for the night instead of going to him. But then he looks over his shoulder at me, his sapphire blue eyes calling to me, and his smile scorching me. “Don’t be long, Red,” he says as he slides past his doorframe and into his room.

  I mop up the puddled mess of myself off the hallway floor, and enter my room with a new resolve; I
must keep myself under control when in his swoon-worthy presence. I quickly slip out of my jeans and top and replace it with a simple tee shirt and boy shorts. I forgo the lingerie. I think that by wearing it, it ups the pressure, and I don’t think I can handle anymore sexual tension between the two of us, or be strong enough to not be sucked into the heat of the moment.

  I hurriedly wash my make-up off, brush my teeth, and take my hair out of the wild bun creation I had used to tame it during dinner. I tiptoe across the hallway and take a deep breath before knocking on Brooks’ door.

  It swings open within seconds, and Brooks’ eyes stroll down the length of my body before eventually meeting my eyes. The corners of his mouth curl up, and a mischievous look takes hold, letting me know that he appreciates what he sees.

  He looks completely edible in his blue flannel pajama pants and white tee shirt. I can smell the mint from his toothpaste and the apples and spice of his cologne.

  I step through the door and quietly close it behind me, careful not to wake the sleeping children down the hall. Brooks pulls me into to his strong arms, and his cologne envelops me. I melt into him as the feeling of safety washes over me. He grasps my hips tightly, and I can hear him exhale deeply into my hair; he is allowing himself to relax into me as well.

  “I still can’t believe you’re here. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this; I just wouldn’t let myself believe that it was possible,” he whispers into my neck.

  I rest my head against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. “I never thought I would see you again. I think we both have tried to forget about one another, and what we had. I think we both know now that our love is unforgettable. When we aren’t together, we are just pretending to be whole,” I say softly. Brooks grips me tighter with every word, as if he’s afraid that if he lets go my words will disappear.

  I pry myself away from him, hoping that when I meet his eyes I will see my feelings reflected back at me. But I see more than yearning and love shining through–I see sadness, relief, even regret. Brooks cups my face and draws me to his lips.