Heartbeats

Chapter 5

Him...

Why I chose Atlanta, I'll never know. It's less of a decision and more of an impulse. I guess I realize she could be there. After all, I am heading to the apartment that we bought together in what feels like a fever dream all those years ago. But I convince myself that chances are slim, and, if I'm being entirely honest with myself, I'm not sure how that makes me feel.

Regardless of the reasoning behind the trajectory of my travels, once I realize the apartment is very much occupied, I have every intention of leaving in the morning, packing my things, waking the baby, and offering her my well wishes on the way out the door before the coffee is fully brewed.

What I fail to anticipate is my own exhaustion and when I wake up at 10 a.m., I roll out of the bed in a panicked stupor. Reality only sets in when I hear two sets of giggles echoing from just outside the door, both unmistakable—one belonging to my child, the other to my ex-girlfriend. I allow myself to revel in it for a moment in spite of myself, having dreamed of this exact moment countless times and woken up to the dull reality that it will never happen.

I drag myself out of bed and shrug on a t-shirt and sweatpants before heading to retrieve my child. As if the sounds weren't enough to set my heart in a frenzy, I am unprepared for the sight that awaits me in the living room. She is seated on the couch in a pair of leggings and an oversized sleep shirt, her hair piled haphazardly on top of her head. My daughter is bouncing up and down gleefully on her lap as she makes silly faces. We lock eyes and she sends me an easy smile, tucking a stray hair behind her ear and blushing boldly. I can honestly say that for all of the glitz and glamour I've been privy to in my short life, I have never seen a something more beautiful.

I decide then and there that for the sake of the preservation of my own sanity, I have to leave. Quickly.

"Daddy's awake now, so we can finally have our breakfast." I realize then that the table is set with a stack of muffins and coffee. It'd be rude to walk out now.

We fall into easy conversation about life over breakfast. She tells me about the new movie she's working on and how she ironically ended up back in Atlanta for filming. I bore her with talk of non-profits and fundraising. We hopscotch around serious topics and run headlong in the opposite direction from anything that might trigger discussion about my current state of affairs. Still, it isn't uncomfortable or awkward. She's always had a way of making me feel exceedingly seen and accepted without all the psychobabble.

"Hey look," I offer once we reach a lull in conversation and the coffee has turned cold. "Thank you for your hospitality. I know this was a lot all at once and it was exactly what we needed." I nod toward my daughter who is preoccupied with squishing bits of muffin between her fingers. "But we'll be on our way now."

I should leave it at that—vague, noncommittal—but something in her eyes tells me its safe to share the truth. "I haven't quite figured out where we're going yet or what we'll do when we get there. I didn't mean to intrude upon your space, but it was the only place I knew to go where I could stay long-term." I proceed to spill my guts about the cheating and the confrontation and the separation, words falling out of my mouth before I can censor them, and she just sits there, patiently listening like its her job. With a heavy sigh, I pull myself together before I completely lose it. "Anyway, cut the melodrama." That pulls a smile from us both. "All of that to say I'm not sure where I'm going."

"Then stay," she shrugs, as if it's the most trivial of dilemmas with the simplest of solutions. And so I do.

Her...

It is only a matter of time before we fall into an easy domesticated routine, cleaning up after one another and splitting bills. Nothing about our relationship has ever been platonic, and yet, somehow we make it work. I can't help but wonder if it is as difficult for him as it is for me.

He doesn't say as much, but I can tell the divorce is taking its toll. He never wanted to be this guy and he certainly never wanted to be this guy under the careful scrutiny of the public eye.

If we were together, I would be climbing onto his lap to give him a thorough scalp and shoulder massage. But, of course, we aren't, so I just sit on what has become "my side" of the sofa and we watch the news in silence. I sneak a few glances his way because it's a particularly uneventful evening and the television can't hold my attention. He's visibly carrying a massive amount of tension and stress that he won't open up about, that he has no business opening up about with me. I'm up on my feet with a new idea before I can think it through in its entirety, sneaking up behind him with a kitchen chair and dropping my hands to his shoulders.

He lets out a soft groan of surprise but is otherwise silent and compliant as I kneed his taunt muscles. Despite the fact that my fingers feel like they are on fire with each brush of his bare skin, I manage to keep up a steady, soothing rhythm. Words can't express how much I've missed touching him.

It takes a moment for me to realize he's crying, a stream of silent tears soaking his cheeks as I massage away his tension. "Hey," I whisper, subconsciously drawing him closer as one arm snakes around his neck and the other buries itself in his hair. "Deep breaths. Let it all out. You're safe here."

I breathe him in on accident and I am immediately overwhelmed by the scent of his aftershave and the scratch of stubble against my cheek. As if on autopilot, my lips move to his skin of their own accord, pressing soft kisses along the column of his neck. I would probably stay like that forever if it weren't for him startling me out of my haze with a heavy sigh. I feel a blush rise on my cheeks and move to extract myself from him. My mind is abuzz with apologizes, but none of them feel genuine, so I choose to bury my shame.

Only when he reaches up and threads our fingers together, pulling me back to him, do I realize its okay. "Stay," he breathes out, still awash with tears. And so I do.