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“You do?”
He gives me a look and furrows his brow at me. “Of course I do. And I forgive you for being an idiot and thinking that I could ever, ever look at another woman the way I look at you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Tess. See, when I was seventeen I fell in love. And I never fell out. I was lucky.”
“No, Barrett. I was the lucky one. Still am.”
Before I have a chance to say more, he climbs back into bed and crawls near. When he reaches me, he grabs the back of my neck and pulls me in for a kiss. Apparently not feeling quite so tired or upset anymore, he flips me onto my back as he simultaneously rolls over on top. Even though emotionally I feel we’re a bit off, physically we have been too. Having this connection is important to us and without it, the rest of what I was feeling was amplified. It’s been so long that I can’t remember if we were missing each other physically first and the rest faded away or vice versa.
“Maybe we both got lucky, yeah?” he says as he looks down into my eyes, his own eyes shining a little darker than his normal hazel shade.
“You may be right,” I say quietly as I graze his cheek with my hand, the stubble coarse against my fingertips.
His weight on top of me is a welcome feeling as his hand trails down my ribcage to my stomach. His fingertips graze under my camisole and move up toward my breasts, all the while his lips never leaving mine. His tongue invades my mouth, claiming me once again. As if I wasn’t already always and forever his.
“Mom!” the sound of Harper’s screech followed by footsteps coming across the hall is like a bucket of ice water dumped on both of us.
Barrett rests his head on my forehead while mumbling curses and reluctantly rolls off me with a groan. He reaches up and presses the heel of his hands into his eyes, clearly as frustrated as I am.
Harper comes barreling into our bedroom, jumps onto the bed, and curls her body up to mine before we can even speak a word to her.
“Harper, baby, what’s up?” I ask, my voice raspy.
“Bad dream,” she mumbles before drifting off into a sleep as quickly as if we’d given her a tranquilizer.
“This is ridiculous. She’s six years old. Why is she still coming into our room almost every single night?” Barrett grumbles.
“It is ridiculous, and I don’t know why she does it, but right now I’m too tired to fight it because I know if I bring her back to her room, she’ll fight it and be awake until who-knows-how-long, and then we’ll be in for a bigger fight before school in the morning.”
“I’m too something right now, but tired isn’t it.” I giggle at his grumpy attitude but mainly because I know exactly what he means, and I get it. I really do. It’s a stupid vicious cycle that I know we need to pull ourselves out of, but we really can’t figure out how. Apparently, he’s not as quick to let go of his grumpiness.
“I’m serious, Tess. This is ridiculous. Why are you acting like this is not a big deal? We’re letting her run our lives.” He whispers to not wake up Harper, but it’s angry, definitely not the sexy whisper.
“What do you suggest I do, Barrett?” I reply, my giggling mood now gone and, in its place, frustration and anger — all directed at him, whether he deserves it or not. Our earlier fight still rings in my head.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he replies with irritation lacing his voice. “Maybe bring her back to her room? Maybe put your foot down and don’t allow her to join us in our bed that’s supposed to be for two?”
“Well, excuse me. I didn’t realize your frickin’ legs were broken! I wasn’t informed that you weren’t able to walk your tired ass across the hall and bring her to her room, or that this was all on me, and I was the one who screwed up our marital bed all on my own,” I whisper shout back to him.
“Tess.” He growls, ready for a fight but I don’t have the energy for it.
I turn my body away from his, my sign ofgo away.
Brat. Brat. Brat.Going to sleep angry isn’t a good idea. I know this. But my feelings are hurt, and I’m irritated. Why is it only my fault that we don’t communicate? Why is it only my fault that we never have time alone? I have what feels like a million questions about our marriage right now and don’t seem to have a single answer.
When Barrett and I first got married, we always made time for each other. It was easy. It was just the two of us, and there were no kids. Our commitments began and ended with our jobs, so when we weren’t working, we only had each other to focus on. Neither of us could go all day without talking to each other, seeing each other. Barrett would surprise me a few times a week to take me to lunch or with a coffee and candy bar from a gas station. I would do the same. We never parted without a kiss, ass grab, hug, whatever we felt like. If we watched movies, we sat together. We played cards, danced under the moonlight in the back yard, cooked together, walked around the house naked. It sounds cheesy as hell, but it was our early years in marriage.
Then Cole came along. Adding Cole to the mix was never a problem. Adding all the kids was never a problem. No matter how hard it is now, we would never change that. The problem came when we forgot how to be Barrett and Tess, husband and wife, and only focused on being Barrett and Tess, Mom and Dad.
No more going for Sunday afternoon walks, no more Saturday morning sleep-ins. Going out to dinner alone seems like a thing of the past; having a schedule that doesn’t revolve around our kids is next to impossible. Definitely no more walking around the house naked. It’s not that our life is bad. It isn’t. It’s wonderful. I’m blessed — we’re blessed. We have a happy and healthy family. But damn it all if I don’t miss the way it used to be.
I don’t remember the last time that Barrett surprised me for lunch or made plans for just the two of us to do anything that didn’t involve us putting on the school colors and attending a sporting event. When had he last grabbed my hand and pulled me outside to dance under the stars or pulled me down next to him while watching a movie or even really kissed me goodbye? Not the peck on the lips, have-a-good-day, babe type of kiss. The bend-me-over, show-me-what-he-has-in-store-for-me-later type of kiss.
I love my husband, but I miss him.
* * *
