Chapter 9
Chicken and dumplings.
It was the fifth meal I cooked after living in our new house for two weeks.
It’s the only meal Jeremy ever threw against the dining room wall.
I’d known for several days that he was upset with me. I just didn’t know why. We were still having sex almost every day, but even the sex felt different. Like he was disconnected. Fucking me because it was our routine and not because he craved me.
That’s the reason I decided to cook the goddamn dumplings in the first place. I was trying to be nice by making one of his favorite meals. He was having a hard time adjusting to his new job. To make matters worse, he was upset with me for putting the girls in daycare without consulting him first.
Back in New York, we hired a nanny as soon as my books started selling. She would show up every morning when Jeremy left for work so that I could retreat to my office and write every day. Then she’d leave when Jeremy came home, and I’d come out of my office and we’d cook dinner together.
It was a great setup, I’ll admit. I never had to care for them when Jeremy wasn’t around because we had the nanny. But out here, in the middle of nowhere, nannies are hard to come by. I tried watching them myself the first two days, but that was beyond exhausting, and I wasn’t getting any writing done. So, one morning last week, I was so fed up, I drove them into town and enrolled them into the first daycare I came across.
I knew Jeremy didn’t like it, but he realized we had to do something if we both wanted to continue to work. I was more successful than he was, so if anyone was going to stay home and care for them during the day, it certainly wasn’t going to be me.
But the girls being in daycare wasn’t what was bothering him. He seemed to like the interaction they were getting with other children, because he couldn’t shut up about it. But we had discovered a few months earlier that Chastin had a severe allergy to peanuts, so Jeremy was cautious. He didn’t want anyone caring for her but us. He was afraid the daycare would be careless, even though Chastin was the kid I actually liked. I wasn’t stupid. I made sure they knew all about her allergy.
Whatever it was that had him irritated with me, I was positive it was something a bowl of dumplings and a good fuck would help him forget.
I intentionally started dinner late that night so the girls would be in bed when we ate. They were only three, so luckily, they were tucked in by seven. It was almost eight when I set the table and called Jeremy to come and eat.
I tried to make it as romantic as possible, but it’s hard to make chicken and dumplings sexy. I lit candles on the table and set up my playlist through the wireless speakers. I had on clothes, but underneath them, I was wearing lingerie. Something I didn’t do often.
I tried to make small talk with him as we ate.
“I think Chastin is fully potty trained now,” I said to him. “They’ve been working with her at daycare.”
“That’s good,” Jeremy said, scrolling through his phone with one hand and eating with the other.
I waited a moment, hoping whatever it was on his phone would take a back seat to us. When it didn’t, I adjusted myself in my seat and attempted to grab his attention again. I knew conversation about the girls was his favorite subject.
“When I picked them up today, the teacher said she’s learned seven colors this week.”
“Who?” he said, finally making eye contact with me.
“Chastin.”
He stared at me, dropped his phone flat on the table, and took another bite.
What the fuck is his problem?
I could see the anger he was trying to stifle, and it made me nervous. Jeremy never got upset, and when he did, I almost always knew why he was. But this was different. It was coming out of left field.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I sat back in my chair and dropped my napkin on the table. “Why are you mad at me?”
“I’m not mad.” He said it too fast.
I laughed. “You’re pathetic.”
He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. “Excuse me?”
I leaned forward. “Just tell me, Jeremy. Enough of this bullshit silent treatment. Be a man and tell me what your problem is.”
His fists clenched and then unclenched. Then he stood up and slapped his bowl, sending it across the table and all over the dining room wall. I had never seen him lose his temper. I stiffened, wide-eyed, as he stomped out of the kitchen.
I heard him slam our bedroom door. I looked at the mess and knew I’d have to clean it up after we made up so he’d know how much I appreciated him. Even if he was being a major fucking douche.
I shoved my chair under the table and walked to the bedroom. He was pacing back and forth. When I closed the door behind me, he looked up and paused. He was trying so hard in that moment to put his words in order—everything he needed to say to me. As angry as I was at him for throwing the meal I had worked so hard making for him, I felt bad that he was upset.
“It’s constant, Verity,” he said. “You talk about her constantly. You never talk about Harper. You never tell me what Harper learned in school or how Harper’s doing with potty training or all the cute things Harper said. It’s Chastin, all the time, every day.”
Shit. Even with how much I try to hide it, he still sees it. “That’s not true,” I said.
“It is true. And I’ve tried to keep my mouth shut, but they’re getting older. Harper’s going to notice that you treat them differently. It isn’t fair to her.”
I wasn’t sure how to get out of that predicament. I could have gotten defensive, accused him of something I didn’t like. But I knew he was right, so I needed to find a way to make him think he was wrong. Luckily, he turned away from me, so it gave me a moment to think. I looked up, like I was turning to God for advice. Stupid, girl. God won’t help you out of this one.
I stepped forward, cautiously. “Baby. It’s not that I like Chastin more. She’s just…smarter than Harper. So she accomplishes things first.”
He spins around, angrier than before I even opened my mouth. “Chastin isn’t smarter than Harper. They’re different. But Harper is very intelligent.”
“I know that,” I said, taking another step toward him. I kept my voice low. Sweet. Unoffended. “That’s not what I meant. I meant…it’s easier for me to have a reaction to what Chastin does because Chastin likes that. She’s animated, like me. Harper isn’t. I give her silent affirmation. I don’t make a show of it. She’s like you in that way.”
His stare was unwavering, but I was almost certain he was buying it, so I continued.
“I don’t push Harper when she’s in those moods, so yes, I do talk about Chastin more. Sometimes I focus on her more. But only because I realize they’re two different children with two different sets of needs. I have to be two different mothers to each of them.”
I was good at spewing bullshit. It’s why I became a writer.
Jeremy’s anger was slowly melting away. His jaw wasn’t as tense as he ran a hand through his hair, taking in what I had just said. “I worry about Harper,” he said. “More than I should, I’m sure. I don’t think treating them differently is the right thing to do going forward. Harper might notice the difference.”
A month earlier, one of the daycare workers had expressed concern to me about Harper. It wasn’t until that moment—when Jeremy was expressing his concern for her—that I remembered her mentioning it to me. She said she thinks we should have her tested for Asperger’s. I had forgotten all about it until that moment during my fight with Jeremy. And thank God I remembered because it was the perfect way to back up my defense.
“I wasn’t going to mention this because I didn’t want you to worry,” I said to him. “But one of their daycare teachers told me she thinks we should have Harper tested for Asperger’s.”
Jeremy’s concern grew tenfold in that moment. I tried to subdue that concern as quickly as possible.
“I’ve called a specialist already.” At least I will put a call in tomorrow. “They’re going to call back when they have an opening.”
Jeremy pulled out his phone, becoming sidetracked by the potential diagnosis. “They think Harper is on the autism spectrum?”
I took his phone from his hands.
“Don’t. You’ll worry yourself sick until the appointment. Let’s speak to the specialist first because the internet isn’t the place we need to seek out answers for our daughter.”
He nodded and then pulled me in for a hug. “I’m sorry,” he whispered against the side of my head. “It’s been a shitty week. I lost a big client at work today.”
“You don’t have to work, Jeremy. I make enough money for you to spend more time at home with the girls if that would make it easier.”
“I would go insane if I didn’t work.”
“Maybe so, but it’s going to be really expensive putting three kids through daycare.”
“We can afford…” He paused, pulling back. “Did you say…three?”
I nodded. I was lying, of course, but I wanted the mood of the night to disappear. I wanted him to be happy. And he was so happy after I told him I was pregnant again.
“Are you sure? I thought you didn’t want more.”
“I was sloppy with the pill a couple of weeks ago. It’s still early. Really early. I found out this morning.” I smiled. Then I smiled even bigger.
“You’re happy about it?”
“Of course I am. Are you?”
He laughed a little, then he kissed me, and all was back to normal. Thank God.
I gripped his shirt in my fist and kissed him back with everything in me, wanting him to forget all about the fight we were having. He could tell by my kiss that I wanted more than just a kiss. He took off my shirt, then took off his own. He kissed me as he backed up to the bed. When he removed my pants, he saw the bra and panties I had put on for him.
“You’re wearing lingerie?” he asked. He dropped his head into my neck. “And you made my favorite meal,” he said, disappointed. I wasn’t sure why he sounded disappointed until he pulled back, brushed hair from my face, and said, “I am so sorry, Verity. You were trying to make tonight special and I ruined it for you.”
What he doesn’t understand is that he could never ruin a night for me when it ends with him loving me. Focusing on me.
I shook my head. “You didn’t ruin it.”
“I did. I threw my food, I yelled at you.” He brought his mouth to mine. “I’ll make it up to you.”
And he did. He fucked me slowly, kissing me the whole time, taking turns with each nipple as he sucked them. Had I breastfed, would he be enjoying my breasts as much?
I doubted it. Even after twins, my body was nearly perfect. Aside from the scar on my abdomen, the most important parts of me were still in tact. Still fairly firm. And Jeremy’s temple between my legs was still nice and tight.
When he had me close to the edge, he pulled out of me. “I want to taste you,” he said, moving down my body until his tongue was spreading me apart.
Of course you want to taste me, I thought. I kept things in tact for you down there. You’re welcome.
He stayed between my legs until I came for him. Twice. When he began to crawl back up my body, he paused at my stomach and kissed me there. Then he was inside of me again, his mouth on mine. “I love you,” he whispered between kisses. “Thank you.”
He was thanking me for being pregnant.
He made love to me with so much care, with so much compassion. It was almost worth faking the pregnancy just to have him love me like that again. To get our connection back.
If there was one good thing the girls brought to our life, it was that Jeremy seemed to love me the most when I was pregnant. Now that he thought I was about to give him a third child, I could already feel his love multiplying again.
There was a small part of me that was concerned about faking the pregnancy, but I knew I had options if I didn’t get pregnant that week. Miscarriages were just as easy to fake as pregnancies.
