Eternal Adoration [ON PAUSE]

21. Fresh Air

SERAPHINA

Everything happened so quickly.

One minute, I was trembling on Aristide's bed, practically on the brink of madness, ready to name my firstborn after him if he asked, and the next moment, Chiara was at the front door, rubbing her perfectly rounded belly as both he and I stared in horror.

Or maybe, it was only me who did. Because Aristide remained stoic and silent, then in another minute, he was ushering a gratified Chiara through the door, still no words having been uttered, his face grave but void of any emotion.

He directed Chiara to his office, then darkly told me to make sure to eat, before he shut the door down and commenced whatever plan he had to put out the fire. Or maybe, behind the door, he's asking questions about her hospital visits, the baby's gender, rubbing her aching feet.

Now, I'm standing in front of the stove, staring at nothing. I grit my teeth and tap on what I assume is the on button. A small orange light comes on at the top left, so I drop my hands, watching one of the flat circles representing the gas stove turn red. I place the small saucer pan on it.

He's a father. A father-to-be, but that's damn near the same thing.

And within the same house where the future mother of his child now sits, I just had the single most exhilarating experience of my life and I'm currently making myself some oatmeal like I have the right to. I suppose it's just like me to leave one mess for another one.

By the time I've gone through the motions and scooped my oatmeal into a bowl and added milk and sugar, Aristide and Chiara are still locked behind the office, with no sign of finishing their talk anytime soon. Robotically, I eat my breakfast by the counter table without sitting down, but watching the silent hallway.

When I finish eating, I wash and dry the bowl then place it inside the cabinet. When that is done, I wipe down the counter and the stove, then do it again for good measure. Nothing left to do, I search around the kitchen, but everything is already perfectly arranged, the cabinets spotless and smooth, the appliances sparkling.

Aristide is a bit of a neat freak. For some reason, something about his quirk makes my heart warm despite myself. Before we settled on a movie last night, I remember watching him from the couch as he wiped everything while I teased him about being a germaphobe.

He'd only grunted and cut me a warning look, which of course, I ignored because, despite how frightening I'm sure his reputation is, I can't find myself cowering in the presence of a man who cooks for me and serves me fruit salad he cut himself.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" I mutter to myself in frustration, clearing all those gooey thoughts of him from my head.

Aristide might be good to me and I might be growing accustomed to his sweetness, but this new revelation changes everything. For him and Chiara especially, and despite how much my heart aches when I let myself be selfish and think about myself, I can't make this about me.

Whatever happened between Chiara and him, whatever is still happening between them, as much as it makes me want to hurl, is strictly between the two of them. My problems and my worries have to take a backseat for now. I will regroup, of course, I will, but I just have to let Aristide figure out his problems right now.

I'll have to move out of the apartment, which is not a big deal given the fact that I never truly moved it, but I'll figure it out soon enough. I'll let him know and he'll insist on helping, or maybe, now that he has a family to plan for, he won't care too much about where I end up.