For some love is simple. A certain person appears in your life and that's it. No more searching. For most it is messy; a complicated weighing of pros and cons - fights, blissful moments, and everything between, forcing you to decide what you can liv...
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She'd been home less than a day, and while they were carefully trying to navigate around one another they still ended up well on their way to another barb-filled argument. He hadn't meant to keep Max's desire for a treasure hunt from her. He genuinely had wanted it to be a family affair. But then she'd made him feel momentarily miserable for having to reschedule, all because he –
Well, what did it matter now why? She'd stayed over a little longer and left him to make up excuses to try and placate their son – her son.
As soon as the thought passes through Tom's head it draws his shoulders up, his guilt manifesting to further the tension plucking at his muscles. It's not a distinction she's made in quite some time. Max is theirs – theirs – and they are muddling through as best they can.
It's just that he still feels this looming threat, that something will happen to destroy all they've worked towards. All that he's worked towards. Because honestly sometimes it still feels like she's angling towards that cliff, aiming to throw them off it.
That is what drives him to rise to her baiting, to match her ire with some of his own as he readies their little indulgence. He'd wanted – well – he's no fool. Tom knows this bottle of red won't lead them to the reunion he'd hoped for while waiting for her at the airport, Little Man spinning in dizzying circles before him. No. He'll see if they can steer themselves back to civility before the bottle is finished and then bid her goodnight. He'll find his way home to an empty house – empty house, empty arms, empty bed – and spend the rest of the evening nursing a bruised ego, a bruised heart.
"I appreciate it, that you waited for me. I do, Tom."
He senses the 'but' before she airs it, knowing simply from the way she's standing that he's not going to enjoy whatever else she's going to say to him.
"But."
Tom sets the bottle down, the glass base of it landing a bit harder than he intended, causing her to flinch even through her frown. It's yet another thing that's happened. Done. Another thing he can't take back. Might as well add on to the pile, because why not. "Really. Cause I could've taken him to Mum an' Dad's on my own, you know. Thought about it. Rather than spin waiting. Than going through the effort of getting your son to wait to dig up the garden."
Shouldn't have said that. Shouldn't have said it like that, either. Didn't really mean it, didn't mean to say it. The fact that it slipped out only aggravates him more. But he's on a roll now, unable to stave the flow of words. Not that he's trying all that hard. Yes, he'll likely be licking his wounds for days after, but she'd started it! She'd illuminated the old familiar path and all but shoved him down it. At the moment he's only too happy to walk on, damn the consequences. Damn the way she's not even hearing what he's saying.
Damn the way she's not even listening to him! --- Though that could be a good thing considering the way his words are bypassing the filters set up by his brain, heading right out his mouth. Instead she's readying whatever she plans on using to drive them further down the path towards the cliff, intent on driving him further away.
