(Brad)
Of course, I love you
.
“AH, COME ON,
stink. Don’t hide from me. You know he was only joking!” I shout, rushing up the stairs. As I walk into the bedroom, I find Colleen curled up underneath the covers. I crawl in behind her and wrap my arms around her waist. Her head is beneath her pillow. She refuses to move it.
“Why are y
ou hiding from me?” I ask, somewhat afraid of what the answer might be.
“I’m not hiding from you. I’m hiding from the world. I stink,” she whines, clutching tightly to her pillow. I know
that’s not the real reason, but I’ll accept this answer for now.
“Yeah, well, you just stay right there,” I say, curling around her and getting
comfortable. “We have a few hours before we have to go. Let’s nap.” She doesn’t speak, but she does remove the pillow from her face and toss it across the bed opting instead, to lay her head on my arm. We lay like this for a while before she dozes off. Sometime later she stirs and her body stiffens in my arms.
"
Brad?" My pretty girl's voice breaks my thoughts. She shifts in my arms and turns to face me. Only, her head is cast down and she's refusing to meet my eyes. "I'm not on anything," she whispers.
I'm a detective. I should be perceptive enough to know what she means. At the very least I understand that this statement has significance.
"I never said you were," I defend myself, thinking she thinks I'm accusing her of something. Colleen likes to fight with me, so there's a very good chance she's just throwing this out there to see how pissed off she can make me. She knows I hate it when she puts words in my mouth.
"Do you get what I'm saying?" her voice gets small, almost indistinguishable from the low whizzing of the heater as it pushes warm air through the house. The thing is, I don't get what she's saying. Though, in the back of my skull, I wonder if I really do ge
t it and I'm just playing dumb.
I lift up her chin, forcing her to look at me. She stubbornly refusing to look me in the eyes; instead opting for staring at my ear. I use my other hand to lightly flick her nose. Imme
diately, she shoots me a glare.
"The hell?" She grumbles.
"Eyes front and center, pretty girl," I demand. Okay, so it's not much of a demand. If she didn't do it, what could I really do about it? Nothing. But she does look at me. Just when I think she'll never listen, she does. And that's part of what I love about this insufferable woman-- she keeps me guessing.
"I don't know what
you're talking about, but it sounds important," I say. Being straightforward is probably the best option at this point. I think.
"
Brad," she whines and tries to cover her face, but I block her. Without turning away she from me she says, "I'm not ON anything." It takes only a split second before her meaning seeps through my thick skull. She's not ON anything. No birth control. We've never used a condom, and it’s been great.
Not for a single moment have I ever considered birth control. It just wasn't a concern. With every other woman, I've been Captain Careful; but this is
Colleen. Who cares if we have a kid? I guess that's what I was thinking at least, because the fear of pregnancy never struck me.
"Please say something," she whispers, her eyes filled with unshed tears. I smile at her as best I can. It's not that I'm annoyed with her, I'm just in shock. I don't know what
to say or do right now. I can't place the responsibility on her because I never brought it up. And even if I could, I'm not pissed about the possibility. Maybe I sound lame for saying it, but I want to be a dad. I like kids. They're fun and entertaining, and damn if James and Darla's daughter, Lilly, doesn't have me wrapped around her little finger.
I look at
James and see the way his entire demeanor changes when he sees his kids and I envy the bastard. The day Lilly was born, he actually cried. Bawled like a bitch in front of all the boys in the middle of the hospital. A few of the guys there thought he looked like a tool, but most of them "got it." Meanwhile, I stood there wishing I'd "gotten it."
"So?" I manage to say because my brai
n hasn't caught up to my mouth just yet. And that does it. She starts with the goddamn crying. I want to tell her that it's alright. I want to tell her that I'll be here for her no matter what. I want to tell her that I love her and that if I have or do knock her up, that I'll be the happiest man on the planet. But I'm an idiot so I don't.
"Ah, come on," I say. I wipe the tears from her eyes and kiss her forehead. "Why
are you crying?" I ask, trying to sound gentle because I don't want to see anymore fucking tears.
"You're an asshole!" she shouts in my face. I pull back, my ears ringing, annoyed. What the
hell is with the shouting now?
"What's your
damn problem?" I snap back.
"MY problem!" She snorts. When she's pissed, like now, her accent is really strong and it's hot. "I tell you that we've been having sex without any protection and you stare at me like I'm speaking a foreign goddamn language!" The truth is, sometimes I do think she's speak
ing a foreign goddamn language.
"I'm trying to be comfort
ing here!" I growl, because I'm really trying and she's not making it easy. Once again, I go from wanting to kiss her to wanting to choke her.
"Ha!" She laughs, but not a trace of humor
is to be found in her features.
"Do you want a baby or not!" I yell. I can feel my veins pumping with adrenaline. All I wanted was a nice nap a
nd she's pulling the theatrics.
"What?" Her eyes go wid
e and she stares at me blankly.
"You heard
me! Do you want a baby or not, because if you do, just say it and I'll knock you up!"
"Wha
t?" She asks. She's paled and she looks almost sick.
"Would you knock that off?
" I lower my voice. "You want a baby?"
"Um," her voice waivers and she starts crying again.
Oh hell. I can't win for losing here. "With you?" She asks through the tears. I can't tell if she's hopeful or disgusted. In order to spare my ego, I decide to go with the former.
"No," I smile, trying
to stop the damn waterworks, "with the mail man." She laughs. A real fucking laugh; and I know we're going to be okay.
"We have a mail lady,"
Colleen quips. I roll my eyes. Hot and cold all the time; Colleen can't pick a mood and stick with it
"Come on, pretty girl," I whine, "quit bustin' my balls, will ya?" She giggles and
buries her face in my chest. So she's shy all of a sudden?
Hm.
"Y
ou're not mad at me?" she asks.
"For what?" I stare at her dumbly. Again, I'm slow on the uptake. "Oh, no actually, this was part of my plan," I laugh, trying to make her feel better. "I
think I'll keep you," I smirk.
"You want to keep me?" her head pops up. She's looking at me like I just invented chocolate or something else she'd really like. Hm, for once it seems I've said the right thin
g.
"Of course, I love you," I blurt out without thinking. She looks
like she's been shot in the butt with a pellet gun. This isn't good. This isn't how this was supposed to happen.
"Uh," she says. She's stopped breathing and hasn't moved her eyes fr
om mine.
"
Colleen,” I ask.
"Huh?" she says, looking appropriately stunned. Of course she doesn't know what to say. I'm her best friend. I'm not REALLY a husband
, I guess. I feel like a fool. These past few weeks I'd allowed myself to believe that there was more to our relationship than just friendship.
"You... love... me?" she mutte
rs. I wish she knew how much I love her. I wish I could tell her. My mouth keeps opening and closing of its own volition, but nothing comes out.
"Yeah," I say, staring into her eyes, imploring some kind of sign that she could possibly love me, too. Even if it's a little bit, I'll take it. I feel a moment of
hope before my world shatters.
"Oh," she whispers. Her mouth opens and then closes and opens again. She doesn't know what to say. I don't blame her. She can't help it if she doesn't feel the same way. I feel like throwing up. If I don't do something, I'll have completely ruined w
hat little bit I have with her.
Her mouth opens and in a moment of panic, I rush to t
alk over her.
"As a friend," I lie and laugh lightly. Thr
ough my own voice, I hear hers.
"I love you, too," she says and then laughs. There's a moment where I think she's serious. Or maybe I'm hearing things. And then it passes and it's gone so quickly tha
t I think it never happened.
"As a friend," she clarifies. I laugh a little more, forcing myself not to fall apart. I've loved this woman my entire life; and this is what's co
me of it. A lifetime's worth of disappointments fester in my gut, threatening to spill out. The laughter that comes from her sends my lunch to my throat and I rush from the bed to the bathroom where I expel my breakfast.
(Colleen)
You want a baby?
I WANT, MORE
than anything, to rewind the last five minutes of my life.
I want to strike the e
ntire conversation from memory.
I want out of this house.
For a split second I had it all. I had a career. I had a beautiful husband. I was in love. Deeply in love. And I was loved in return. And then with three little words, I had nothing. For a split second, Brad loved me. Or so I thought.
"As a friend," he said just as I had gotten up the nerve to tell him that I love him, too. I must have
looked like the biggest idiot.
And to top it off, it wasn't until
Brad was holding me in his arms, asking me if I want a baby, that I really knew what I want and where I belong, and who with. I belong with Brad. I always have, but it seems that I am an idiot because it's only taken me thirty-five years to really believe it.
Hearing
Brad say he loves me was indescribable. I wish I could capture the feeling in a bottle so that I'll always remember it.
I want out of this room.
I just want to hide in my misery. I close my eyes and shove my face in my pillow as the tears pour out of my eyes. Soon enough, I move from the acceptable "I'm hurting" cry to the all-out, balls-to-the-wall-ugly-cry. And breathing is difficult; not that I care much about breathing at this moment.
Brad
is in the bathroom, throwing up. I'm kind of annoyed at him for making it there first. I feel sick. I should go and see if he's okay, but my puffy eyes give me away. It's one thing to sort-of, kind-of tell your best friend that you love him. It's another for him to know how much it's hurting you. Eventually, I compose myself enough to yell out and ask him if he's okay and if he needs anything. Thankfully, he doesn't. So I stay in bed and sob.
I hear the flush of the toilet, knowing
he will be out soon, and run to do something about my red eyes. I find an unopened jar of an organic face mask that I just had to buy. I remember buying this at Macy's. It cost me fifty dollars. When I first moved in Brad told me I was beautiful just as I am and I don't need this "expensive crap" and that it's a waste of money. At the time I was annoyed with his judgment, but now, I don't know what I was thinking when I bought it.
The bathroom door cracks open and I rip the lid off the jar of expensive goop. I dig my hand in and slather it all over my face just in time for
Brad to walk down the hall, holding his stomach. His eyes are red, but that’s no surprise. He always gets watery eyes when he throws up. I have no excuse for my red eyes except that I’m in love with him and he doesn’t feel the same.
“What th
e hell is on your face?” he asks, inspecting the foreign substance.
“Face mask,” I mumble, avoiding his gaze. He makes some sort of grunting sound and plops into the bed.
“Were you drooling, stink?” he asks. I turn to find him looking curiously at my soaked pillow. I laugh it off as best I can.
“
I guess so,” I shrug. “I’m going to go take a shower,” I say. I hear some sort of groan coming from him before I realize the effects of the laxatives haven’t quite passed yet.
Once I’m alone in the bathroom, with the door shut, I can’t hold back anymore. I manage to turn on the water in just enough time to muffle the sounds of my sobs. I undress slowly, clutching my stomach in pain. This is the same pain I felt when grandpa died, only this feels even worse if that’s possible. Grandpa didn’t have a choice; but
Brad is still here. He just doesn’t want me the way I want him. And I can’t even believe that it hurts this much when a week ago I was oblivious to my own feelings. How can it hurt this much?
I step under the spray of the water and lean my head against the tile, my cries racking my entire body. I’d been trying to be quiet; to cry in silence. I don’t want
Brad to know that I’m crying. There’s nothing he can do to make it better anyhow. I can’t force him to love me the way I love him.
I hear
Brad open the bathroom door and I think that I should straighten up and pretend that I’m okay, but I can’t. I scream loudly and throw my arms against the tiled wall. I don’t open my eyes, but I know what he’s doing. He’s coming to save me. He’s always coming to save me. Some obligation I must be.
“
Colleen?” Brad asks, shoving the curtain aside and stepping into the shower. I sob even harder having him in here with me. I can’t even throw my pity party for one in peace, apparently. “Did you get that junk in your eyes?” he asks and wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me against him. I let my body sink against his solid frame as I continue to cry. He’s fully clothed and now soaking well to boot.
Before I can protest, he directs the spray to the top of my head. Water runs down my face and he uses his hand to clean my face off. He’s so gentle. He always is. I continue to cr
y, propped up against his body.
“Is that better?” he asks. I scream out again, still clutching my stomach.
“It hurts,” I whine. It does hurt. It hurts like nothing I knew I could feel, if that even makes sense.
I love him.
He loves me.
As a friend
.
He asked me if I want a baby.
I don’t just want a baby.
I want his baby.
“Brad,” I sniffle, trying to calm down my cries. “Why did you ask me if I want a baby?” I can’t stop from crying but I have to ask before I lose my nerve.
“I’m getting up there in age, pretty girl,” he smooths my wet hair out of my eyes and redirects the spray. “I need to get started on that baseball team and who better to do that with
than my best friend?” I feel his lips against the back of my head and the little bit of composure I had falls away.
“So, my uterus is convenient?” I whimper. His body shakes for a moment. I think he’s getting cold back there but then he goes stiff. His heart is beating fast, nearly thumping right out of his chest. I turn around and
wrap my arms around his waist.
“
Colleen,” he says sternly, “you are anything but convenient.”
“Yes,” I blurt out without thinking about it. For once I’m acting on instinct. I’m saying exactly what I want from him and not what I think he wants to give me. Back in high school, I wanted him to ask me to prom, but I didn’t want him to feel obligated to do it. So when he asked, I acted like such a bitch—my trademark reaction to everything it seems. Thankfully, he’s as stubborn as I am and h
e didn’t take no for an answer.
“Yeah?” he asks, resting
his chin on the top of my head.
“Yeah,” I say, “I want a baby.” His chin moves on top of my skull and I just know he’s smiling. I’m not fighting him or questioning him or doubting him for once. There’s a slight nagging feeling in the back of my head telling me that this is a disaster waiting to happen. And it probably is. But then, part of me thinks that maybe it’s not. Our marriage should have been a disaster; but here I am. In love. Our cohabitation should have been a disaster; but here we are. Wanting to have a baby. I know that bringing a baby into this mess is the worst idea imaginable, but this is
Bradley Patrick. He said he wants to keep me; and even if he only loves me like a friend, I can live with that. I’d rather have some of him than nothing at all. I can live with being just his best friend and his wife and the mother of his children. The very idea gives me butterflies. He doesn’t have to be in love with me. He just has to keep me and I’ll be alright.
“We should get started then,” he laughs and starts to strip. “We
only got an hour before we have to be at your parents’ house.” I laugh at the sudden shift in our moods. Adam says we’re perfectly normal, capable human beings; but together, we’re bipolar. I can’t say he’s wrong.
Brad
steps out of the shower and then grabs me, throwing me over his shoulder and carefully walks back into our bedroom where the throws me on the bed. “We’re really doing this?” he asks, a grin on his face. I smile, a blush heating my face.
“Yeah,” I say quietly, “we are.”