The Marriage Rival: An Office Romance

by Kat T. Masen

  “So that’s it, you want Grace to feature?”

  “I’d like her and many others. It’ll be a bi-weekly feature. What do you think?”

  I pull into the driveway, turning the engine off. “Listen, it sounds great, but you need to run everything by Noah and he can see how this all fits. Pitch something to him, and if he thinks we can work with it, he’ll organize a meeting with his team.”

  She squeals, girly, but very Eloise. “Thank you, Haden. We’ll chat soon.”

  I hang up the phone, contemplating whether or not I should mention anything to Presley. Depending on her mood, I decide to keep it quiet until something eventuates, if anything.

  The house is dark. As I make my way through the front door, leaving my suitcase in the hallway, I keep my footsteps quiet not to wake anyone. I’ve missed Masen and want to hear his voice plus see his tiny little face light up, but the exhaustion is overwhelming, and my own bed is heaven right now.

  The door to our bedroom is closed. Pushing the door slowly, it begins to creak, stirring Masen who is asleep in our bed beside Presley.

  Go figure, no chance of getting laid tonight.

  Selfish me wants to wake her up, but she looks peaceful and probably needs the sleep after taking care of Masen for the last four days on her own.

  I don’t bother retrieving my suitcase to unpack my things, showering quickly before hitting our spare room. Only last week, Presley purchased a nice bed because sleeping on the couch was becoming a regular occurrence. The second my head hits the pillow, I fall into a deep, much-needed sleep.

  The weight of a body lays on top of me. It’s small and begins to giggle as I stir.

  “Daddy, are you awake?”

  I groan, rubbing my face. “Yeah, buddy.”

  “Mommy asked if you want coffee.”

  My arms wrap around his body, inhaling his scent. I missed him. He rips off my blankets, grabbing my hand to join him in the living room. I do so, reluctantly, barely able to keep my eyes open as I shuffle through the house.

  Presley is in the kitchen, dressed and ready for work. She’s wearing that sexy black dress with the red belt. Fuck, I needed to be inside her like right now.

  I lean in to kiss her cheek as she hands me a cup of coffee.

  “You got in late?”

  “You fell asleep early,” I point out. “You’re heading to work, now?”

  “Yes, I’ve got an early meeting. Rosa has offered to watch Masen and take him to pre-school.”

  I yawn, despite taking in a few sips of coffee. This shit needs to kick in quickly. My body is feeling like absolute crap. Noah’s late-night ramble at the bar the other night which led to way too many scotches is catching up with me now.

  “I was thinking of working from home today. I need some peace and quiet after the last few hectic days.”

  Her eyebrows rise a notch. “Wow, you never work from home?”

  “I’m tired.”

  She doesn’t press any further, almost welcoming my absence from the office. I swear there’s a slight skip in her step. Eyeing Presley from head to toe, she doesn’t appear worried about my curiosity. She leans in to kiss me goodbye, but I stop her, grabbing her wrist.

  “What’s with you? You almost look happy I’m staying home.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says with a straight face. “You’re tired. I understand. Can you please let me go? I’m going to be late.” She pulls away, not leaning back for that kiss.

  When the door shuts behind her, I sit quietly questioning my sanity. I’m able to think for a moment before Masen comes barreling through the house yelling in a panic.

  “Daddy! Daddy! I lost my T-rex dinosaur Aunty Gemma bought me.” His eyes well up, lips quivering as he waits for me to respond.

  “Hey...” I hop off the stool. “We can look for it, okay? I’m sure it’s around here.”

  We spend the next hour searching the house. I lift the couch and get on my hands and knees to check under the beds. We go through his bedroom while I question him over and over again. He mentions playing in the kitchen, prompting me to search in there.

  When I come up empty-handed, I text Presley, but she responds with the same places we have already checked.

  I’m about to give up when an idea comes to mind. Despite my reluctance, I go outside and open the trash can. The dinosaur is small so it could have easily been amongst the things thrown out.

  Thankfully, there are two bags inside. The first bag has empty food scraps, enough to make me dry heave, the second has a bunch of tissue.

  There’s something hard.

  I pull it out to reveal a pregnancy stick.

  I scan the window area.

  The test is positive.

  “Daddy!” Masen comes running outside, waving his dinosaur. “I found it in my school bag.”

  My brain stutters for a moment trying to gather some sort of response to give Masen. “Go inside, I’ll be there in a minute.”

  He runs back inside as I continue to stare at the test. A surge of happiness sweeps through me, instantly lifting my mood. I’m going to be a dad, again. Being a father means everything to me. Masen is the best thing ever to happen in my life. And now, I get to feel that love all over again.

  With a smile fixated on my face, I quickly get Masen ready for school and decide to head into the office. I don’t plan to stay, dressing in a pair of jeans and a polo shirt. My plan is to take Presley out to lunch to celebrate.

  As I enter the office building, employees looked surprised to see me dressed so casually. I say hello, ignore anyone trying to stop me for a meeting, which could easily be written in an email until I’m standing inside Presley’s office.

  Presley appears stunned, her mouth slightly open. “What are you doing here?”

  I place the pregnancy test on her table. “Were you going to tell me?”

  Her eyes wander to the stick, and almost instantly, her face drops into disappointment.

  “I was trying to process.”

  Moving behind her table, I beg her to stand so I can wrap my arms around her. I bury my head into her neck, smelling her intoxicating skin. Knowing that over the next eight months or so, I will get to watch her beautiful body change from carrying our baby, makes my heart sing like fucking crazy.

  She pulls away, her body stiff as she straightens her posture.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I’m trying to finish this presentation for tomorrow.”

  I’m surprised by her lack of joy but quickly remember the hormonal thing and decide to back off from my usual assumptions.

  Let her go through the emotions.

  Tomorrow she’ll be wanting to go stroller shopping and buying an entire store of baby clothes.

  “Okay, I understand. But are you happy? I want to be there every step of the way this time.”

  “Um... yeah,” she mumbles, distracted by an email on her screen. “Of course, why wouldn’t I be happy?”

  I bring her hand to my lips, kissing it gently. “Okay, Mrs. Workaholic. I’ll let you get back to what you’re doing. How about lunch?”

  She purses her lips, a small smile following. “I’m really busy.”

  I raise my hands in the air, calling defeat. “Okay, okay, but tonight, you’re all mine.”

  We both agree not to mention anything to anyone until the twelve-week mark, especially to Masen since he has a big fucking mouth. However, on the way home, I did tell Lex, knowing he will keep the information confidential.

  “Congrats, this is where all the fun begins again,” he teases over the phone.

  “I know,” I tell him. “It’s just Presley’s been acting off.”

  “It’s that hormonal thing,” Lex reminds me. “One minute they’re up, the next they’re crying over some stupid fabric softener commercial.”

  “Right, I guess I wasn’t around the first time, so I missed a lot of that.”

  It wasn’t my choice exactly to be away fr
om Presley during her pregnancy with Masen. Life back then was entirely different.

  However, this time I want to be there every step of the way, already feeling a loss by not being there when she took the test, but now isn’t the time to tell her that. I didn’t want to rock the hormonal boat.

  “Trust me, I’ve done this three times. Just go with the flow. Embrace the mood swings and be prepared to wake up at three in the morning on the hunt for butter pecan ice cream and Cheetos.”

  Lex has a point. I need to man the fuck up, not sweat the small stuff because Presley has the hardest job of all.

  “As long as I don’t have to push anything out, I’m good to do whatever.”

  Nine

  Haden

  We sit in the waiting room surrounded by several patients.

  A good majority of these patients are women at different stages of their pregnancies, some with smaller bumps to many who appear ready to pop. A few appear agitated, annoyed at their significant other and fanning themselves, complaining about the heat.

  It is fucking hot in here.

  One lady—her stomach enormous—mentions the word triplets. It hasn’t even dawned on me that Presley could be expecting twins, or even triplets. Suddenly, the room does begin to feel even hotter as I tug my collar away from my neck trying to get some air on my heated skin.

  Triplets, holy fuck, talk about saying goodbye to any sex. It would be the end of any intimacy between Presley and me, not that I have been getting any lately. Presley complains she isn't feeling well or has a headache. If I try to touch her, she pulls away, annoyed I woke her up even though she doesn’t look like she is sleeping.

  The cold, hard reality is that I haven’t touched her in two weeks but do my best to control my overbearing sex drive knowing her body is going through changes.

  Jerking off has become the new norm.

  I lace my hand into Presley’s in an effort to calm my wild thoughts, admiring her perfectly manicured nails and platinum wedding band nestled on her finger.

  She doesn’t say anything, reading an email on her phone.

  “Put your phone away,” I gently scold her. “Work can wait. Just enjoy the moment.”

  “This is important.”

  I grab the phone from her, placing it inside the pocket of my pants. Grimacing, she folds her arms with an annoyed pout, letting out a frustrated huff as the receptionist calls her name.

  We follow her down the narrow corridor and into a small room. The area looks similar to the one we last visited in Manhattan—a bed, plastic chair beside it, and the sonographer’s equipment.

  The receptionist offers for me to take a seat while Presley gets comfortable on the bed.

  “Are you excited?” I ask, watching Presley pull her blouse up to expose her stomach. “Can they tell the sex now?”

  Presley doesn’t make eye contact, and I sense her nerves. Presley always wants to be in control, and when she can’t control a situation, she acts just like this. Careful not to stress her out, I touch her hand and rub it gently.

  “They can’t tell the sex now,” she states, matter-of-factly.

  The sonographer, Anne, walks in and greets us hello. She is an older lady, probably mid-fifties with a blonde bowl haircut. It’s rather unusual and comical, but I keep my amused opinion to myself for now.

  “Are you ready, Mrs. Cooper?”

  Presley nods with a smile.

  “So, this is your second pregnancy, correct?”

  “Yes,” we both answer at the same time.

  “Let’s see how far along you are.”

  Anne places the lubricant-looking stuff on Presley’s lower abdomen and pushes the stick-looking thing around. She slides back and forth, typing with her left hand as she continues.

  It is hard to make out anything on the screen, just a bunch of black and some white lines. Given that Presley isn’t far along, the sonographer tells us to hang tight as some odd noises played over the speaker. However, not far into the appointment, the sonographer places the scan device down and removes her glasses. She turns to face us with a sympathetic expression.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Cooper, unfortunately, we don’t have a viable heartbeat.”

  I don’t understand, my gaze fixated on her face waiting for some sort of joke to play out. The words refuse to register, my body numb on this stupid and uncomfortable plastic chair. I’m trying to connect my thoughts, but they begin to jumble up.

  “I… I don’t understand. The pregnancy test was positive,” Presley stutters.

  Anne turns the machine off. “Most pregnancy losses are due to factors women can’t control. Miscarriages early into a pregnancy aren’t uncommon. Around eighty percent of miscarriages occur in the first trimester.”

  My eyes wander toward the ground, staring at the floor. How did this happen? Did we do something wrong? I didn’t understand.

  “But… but… how did this happen?”

  Anne takes a deep breath. “I understand this is devastating news, and it’s best to make an appointment to see your doctor. There could be a number of reasons including genetic issues. Again, the best thing to do will be to speak to your doctor.”

  “But we have a son. How does this happen?”

  “Mr. Cooper, many women go on to have healthy pregnancies post-miscarriage,” Anne explains. “Now, please schedule an appointment as soon as you can.”

  Presley removes her hand from mine, not saying a single word. She grabs a tissue from the box, wiping the gel as she pulls up the waist of her pants and drops her blouse back down.

  “It’s not meant to be. A lot of my friends have had miscarriages, so I understand it’s a possibility.”

  I’m trying to rein in my anger, my body tensing as I sit here, legs planted wide while I try to grasp what’s happened. This isn’t fair. I don’t care what happened to other people. Fuck everyone else. I only care why this happened to us.

  “Is there something we did wrong?”

  “Of course not,” Anne reassures us. “Like I said, it’s quite common. I’d like you to take these home.”

  In my hand, sits pamphlets on coping with pregnancy loss. I scrunch them up as the anger pours through me, pacing the small room until I stop at the wall. With my fist clenched into a tight ball, I’m desperate to connect it with something hard in an effort to relieve the escalating rage within me.

  We walk back to the car, sullen and without a single word. As we both stop in the parking lot waiting for the car to unlock, my eyes wander across to Presley. In my fit of rage, I hadn’t stopped to think about her or how she is feeling, blinded by my own feelings to such a loss.

  Walking around the car, my arms wrap around her, pulling her in for a warm embrace. I instantly notice the distance, the cool temperature of her skin, and the way she allows her arms and hands to fall by her side instead of around me.

  A pained smile graces her face as she reaches out and caresses my cheek.

  “It’s okay,” I tell her. “We keep trying, right?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it now.” The smile on her face disappears in a fleeting moment. “Let’s just get home and spend time with Masen.”

  Back at home, we do just that. We cook in silence together in the kitchen—pasta primavera just like Mom used to make it when Dad was alive.

  The three of us sit at the table, eat dinner as Masen speaks about his day. He rambles on for a good hour about some drama that happened in the sandbox. This kid can talk, oblivious to our silence beside him.

  Presley drinks three glasses of red wine, and I chose not to comment nor berate her for drinking so much on a Wednesday night. I nurse a beer for the whole night, barely able to think about anything else besides today’s event.

  My phone rings off the hook, voicemails and text messages sitting on my screen demanding attention. Perhaps I need a distraction, but the thought of trying to be professional when slowly my heart feels like it has been torn apart seems like an impossibility.

  Together, we
clean up, bathe Masen, and read a story to him in bed. He has been our saving grace, a reason to continue on when neither one of us feels like functioning.

  When Masen’s gentle snores echo in the room, Presley retreats to our bedroom, and I follow her like a robot. She quickly gets changed into a pair of sweats and tee, then leaves the room toward the study.

  After drowning my sorrows in a long, steaming hot shower, I make my way toward the study.

  She’s immersed in work, two screens open and a phone call. I don’t recognize the voice until minutes later when I realize it’s one of her senior editors. I stand at the door waiting for her to finish, but the call seems to drag on. What feels like an hour later, she finally hangs up the phone.

  “How about we watch a movie? Or better yet, come to bed?”

  She shakes her head. “I’m busy. I need to be prepared for tomorrow’s meeting.”

  “Don’t you think you should take the next few days off? I’ll stay with you.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Presley…” I croak, struggling with my emotions. “It’s okay not to be fine.”

  She stops typing but keeps her eyes fixated on the screen. “Haden, Anne gave us the statistics. There’s no point dwelling on this. When the time is right, it’ll happen.”

  Her voice is devoid of emotion, again. She’s trying to control the impossible. Yet, maybe she’s right when the time is right, it will happen. However, it doesn’t erase the sadness that consumes me. Somehow, I feel like a failure for not protecting our baby. This feels like it is my fault, and I can’t shake the guilt.

  “Okay, I’m heading to bed.”

  “Good night,” she says, casually.

  “Good night.”

  I make my way to our bed and climb in, only to stare up at the ceiling. In a moment of loss, my world feels like it has collapsed. I only had a glimpse into what would be our future with another child. The pain, where the light becomes shadows and the darkness surrounds me, brings back the memories of losing Dad. The nightmare begins to replay—the cops at the door, the shrilling scream my mother let out as she collapsed onto the floor, and the unbeknown anger which follows every day as to why he was taken away from us.