The curls of steam that came up from the cup of coffee dissipated almost as soon as they were seen, I turned and looked at my new home. This is what I have made for myself, the light didn't seem as soft as it did in my real home, the one I had left recently. Then again everything seems a bit warmer and softer there.
It was too late though, I had asked for forgivness from her, begged even, but she held fast. How could I have been so stupid?
Eight years ago this very evening, I was with her, laughing and walking the streets of San Francisco. I remember, her full length red wool coat wasn't enough to keep her warm, it was me that took over the job.
We had seen the Christmas Carol at the Geary Theatre, then talked and laughed late into the evening at Joe's. I wasn't sure if it was the city, or the atmosphere in the restaurant, but I knew that this was her, the woman that had been created as my other half. Christmas Eve had never been so magical in all my life, not even as a child with all the anticipation of the next morning.
I take the remote and flick on the TV, the bluish light casts a harsh glow across the room. I haven't had the heart to paint the white walls, or to hang pictures. Actually buying this small house was hard enough. It meant it was over, really over. If I start making this home, then it makes it true, I have lost them, permanantly.
Isaac and Taylor live far, in fact, that's where mom and dad are this year, with them in Chicago. I could call, but then they would know. I don't want them to ever know. I don't want anyone to feel sorry for me. I could see the look in mom's eyes when I told her it was over between us. It's like she had failed. It was me though, I was the one who failed.
The blush on her cheeks is so radiant, you could see it through the veil.
"...I will honour, cherish and remain faithful...till death do us part". A tear runs down her face as I lift the veil and kiss her lips sealing that promise, before God and man. Later that night we sealed our commitment with each other yet again. It was messy, and awkward, but yet so utterly beautiful. I remember laying beside her that nite, thinking that I had the rest of my life to drink in her beauty. Little did I know.
A sob rises from my chest as I think of all she has given me over the years. Herself, a home, two beautiful children. She upheld those vows we took that day. Every one of them.
"It's Christmas, Charlie Brown." I sigh to myself and look at the sad little 3 foot tree perched on the table in front of the living room window. It's drug store tinsel and few ormanaments gathered from the collection when we divided our goods. The tree at home, or what used to be home, was always so much bigger. But what's the use, this isn't home, not without her, and the kids. This year it's her turn, she gets them for Christmas.
Her dark curls tumbling over the pillow as the monitors quietly keep a a steady beep in the background. Her grips starts to tighten again. A nurse quietly opens the door, casting the light from the hallway into the dim room.
"How are we doing?" I remember thinking her voice was almost reverent. Maybe it was in the face of new life. Behind her grimace she manages to shake her head. A flurry of activity and in whats seems just a moment, I am holding my first daughter , red faced and screaming in my bare hands. Her big black eyes open, looking into mine, and she quiets instantly. It's a miracle.
I pass by the extra room in the hall that I have attempted to make into a room for them. For the small amount of time they will be spending here, with me, their father. It really shouldn't be this way. Kids need to learn to share, but parents shouldn't have to.
She was four and a half, that first dance recital. I think we were more nervous than her. Typical parents, following her around half the day with the video camera. Her pink tutu and tiny little crown, she wouldn't take it off the whole day. Of course she did it perfectly, her tiny little pirouettes, and pleayes.
Last week, we did it again. A preschool production of the Nutcracker. She did it perfectly, just like her sister. Only this time with mom and dad on opposite sides of the room. My eye feel hot from trying to hold back the tears that I know will eventually make their way out of them and down my cheeks. I suddenly realize, I have none of those, the pictures, the video's. I will have to remember to ask her for some of those. Next time we see each other that is.
I turn off the glowing butterfly lamp and slowly walk down the hall, the bottom of my worn sheepskin slippers scratching along the cold wood floor, it almost seems to echo. My whole body feels heavy opening the door to my room at the end of the hall, I almost half expect to see her , laying there asleep, under that mountain of blankets I used to so fiercly complain about. What I wouldn't give for those musty old quilts now.
"Zac, come join me...." I could see the glint of skin peeking out from under the quilt as she raised it for me to join her. I felt sick. That was the first night I had betrayed her. We made love for hours , I guess I was trying to make the guilt disappear. But not guilty enough to fix things right there and then.
I continued to betray her. It was my choice and I made it again and again. Thinking back now, it was almost like a drug. Change, excitement, variety and no resposibility. She knew I was married, she didn't care. I blamed her, my mistress, at first. You know what though? She isn't the one who took the vows. I was.
I hear the sound of carolers and a knock at the door. I strip off my shirt and crawl in between the cold, harsh sheets pulling the vellux blanket from Walmart over my head. Maybe when morning comes, things will be better.