//16// Before It Gets Any Better, We’re Headed for a Cliff

“Say something,”

The sound of Kate’s desperate voice punctured the silence that hung between us, just the kick-start my synapses required to begin firing. My eyes slowly turned to focus on her, the unease and tension obvious on her face. She was searching my face for any sign of reaction, and failing to detect one, shifted her eyes away from me to the floor.

Amidst the chaos brewing within me, I felt my lips move, heard my voice speak, without thought to what came tumbling out: “Is it mine?”

Kate flinched as if I’d slapped her, not asked a question. She took a sharp breath, returning her eyes to mine once more. “Yes, Zac…whose else would it be?”

“I don’t know—Richard or Robert, or whomever it is you’ve been having sleep overs with.”

Kate laughed, a hearty laugh that echoed off the walls; it sounded just as it had so many times before and yet somehow it seemed so different. The bitterness muted the usual joyousness of her laugh. “I’m not sleeping with Richard, Zac.” When I cut my eyes at her, she sat down on Mom’s chaise longue, and crossed one leg over the other, sitting up rather straight. “Zac…Richard is gay. There were a few nights, at the beginning, when I felt…I just needed a man in the house, and Richard—he’s a friend who offered to help with the kids, OK?”

There was something genuine in her voice that made me relax a small fraction, and I found myself believing her, despite the darker parts of me wanting to dismiss her and the baby. I slumped back in the chair, sighing heavily. “Ok…ok. This…this will be fine,” I said, sitting up again. “We’ll make this work. I can…I mean, I don’t have space for a nursery at my place but, I can always find a bigger apartment, probably even in the same building;”

“Zac?” Kate shifted down the length of the chaises so our knees were almost touching between us. “After…I mean, I know I said some really nasty things to you at your apartment and…seeing you with the kids today, and with the baby. What I’m trying to ask, Zac, is, well. Will you please come home to us?”

Laughter burst from my lips before I could stop it, the guffaws overtaking my vocal chords until I couldn’t breathe. “No,” I replied when I had regained control.

“But…”

I held my hand up to silence her before she continued, pushing myself to my feet. “I want a DNA test, and then I will be as present and available as required to assist you with raising all of our children.” I left her sitting in the den, walking back through the house. The kids and women had migrated inside; a Disney movie was on the TV in the living room, my mom, sister, Ryland, and Natalie all sipping coffee in the adjacent kitchen. A peek through the doors revealed Dad and Taylor sitting by the fire, smoking cigars.

“Zachary!” my mother exclaimed as I came into the room. “I was wondering where you had gone off to!”

“Sorry, Mom. I’m actually going to head out,” I forced a smile. “Thanks for dinner,” I leaned over and placed a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll come back through after I say goodnight to Dad and Tay,” I reassured.

I made my way to the patio, stepping out into the thick summer evening. The fire was still crackling, though it had diminished significantly. I walked up to the fire pit, holding my palm toward the flames until it was too hot. “I’m heading out,” I said after a moment.

“Sure you wouldn’t like to join us for a cigar first?” Dad asked, offering me his small humidor. I shook my head in response, and he set the box down before standing. “Alright, well come give your old man a hug,”

I obliged him, inhaling the scent of Old Spice and campfire from him. “I’ll come by and visit in a few days,” I told him. “Taylor,” I nodded toward my brother.

“Goodnight,” Taylor’s voice was colder than I would have expected. I realized he was pissed—with good reason—but he was normally a quick forgive. I supposed I couldn’t hold his lingering animosity against him; I had given him a pretty gnarly black eye, after all.

Hanging my head, I shuffled back into the house, giving out hugs to my nieces and nephews before pulling both Shepherd and Junia into my arms. “Daddy’s gotta go,” I kissed each of them on the forehead, and then hugged them tightly before standing.

Junia started bawling as I walked toward the door, her toddler legs waddling in my wake. When I stopped to open the door, she wrapped her arms around my leg, sniffling. “Baby girl,” I whispered as I bent over to pick her up. She clung to me, burying her face into my shoulder. Kate appeared in the foyer a moment later, Ryland and Jess standing awkwardly behind her.

“Do…do you want to take them?” Kate whispered.

My heart began to beat again, a huge smile spreading across my face. “Can I?”

“Sure,” Kate nodded, biting her lower lip. It looked like she’d been crying after I’d left her in the den, her lashes still wet. “I’ll help you get the seats out of the car,” she found her keys and walked with me to the driveway, where we silently swapped the car seats from her car to the truck.

After both the kids were securely fastened into their car seats, Kate gave each a final kiss on their forehead and said she would be by the next afternoon to pick them up. She gave me a strange, uncomfortable hug and hurried back into the house, leaving me standing in the driveway with Natalie and Ryland.

“Do you want some help with them?” Ryland asked. “I could ride back with you, help you get them to bed. I would take a cab back or have Jess come get me later, obviously,” she added quickly.

I should have said no. I should have told her that I had it; I was their father, after all–I could handle getting two small children to bed. Something in her tone made my mouth betray my brain; I nodded, slowly, and said, “Ok,” before I even realized it had happened. Natalie didn’t seem to think anything awkward about Ryland’s offer, or my acceptance, and just gave me a hug, advising me to call her if I needed anything. Ryland went back inside to say let Jess know what was going on, and I climbed into the truck, smiling at my kids.

We were on the expressway a few minutes later, navigating the lanes to my apartment. Shepherd and Junia were fast asleep by the time I merged with traffic. Ryland sat quietly in the passenger seat, her hands tucked under her thighs. She seemed to be making a point of looking away from me; her eyes trained on something outside the truck every time I dared to sneak a glance.

“Tulsa looks pretty much the same, but just feels so much different, than I remember,”

The sudden break in the silence startled me, and I nearly missed our exit as my brain tried to process the unexpected stimulation. Ryland didn’t elaborate, just went back to staring out the window, and I couldn’t seem to formulate a suitable response, so the silence settled over us again, uncomfortable and tense.

Silent we stayed as I parked the car, as we unhooked the kids from their seats and carried them inside. We deposited them in their respective rooms, tucking them in with kisses and whispers of swet dreams. The first words spoken did not come until I had switched Junia’s monitor on and left the room, leaving the door just slightly ajar.

“I’m gonna go grab their bags,” I said to Ryland as I passed through the living room. “Make yourself at home,” I added. The offer was awkward at best, despite its sincerity, and Ryland gave what appeared to he a forced smile.

I took the opportunity to duck out of the apartment, practically running down the stairs to get to the truck. Something about the way Ryland was acting was making me uncomfortable, but I couldn’t quite place what or why. As I thought about it, it occurred to me that Ryland had been acting strange since Seattle, her demeanor toward me running hot and cold, one exchanged for the other without warning. Her offer to come home with me–and perhaps more so my eagerness to agree to it–had me especially concerned.

Realizing Ryland would grow concerned if I took much longer, I gathered the kids bags up and began to close the door to the truck. The thought of Ryland had started a familiar panic rising in the pit of my stomach, however, and before I could stop myself I was reaching into my pocket for the last few crumbs of cocaine.

I snorted it as inconspicuously as I could, putting it on the back of my index finger–if anyone saw me lift it to my nose, it would have merely looked like I was rubbing an itch. I stood there with my eyes closed while the drug circulated through my veins, absorbing into my brain. When I felt the high kick in a few minute later, I locked the car and bolted up the stairs, two at a time.

I heard the soft hum of voices as I came back into the apartment, and I followed the murmurs to find Ryland curled up under a blanket on the couch, opening scene to “The Princess Bride” underway on my TV. I set the bags down on the side of the couch and bounced into the kitchen, looking for an alcoholic beverage. I grabbed two beers from the fridge, handing one to Ryland when I made my way back to the living room.

She took the bottle from me, glancing up at me as she did so. “Oh my gosh, are you ok?!” she exclaimed A moment later, she did a double take and leapt up off the couch, her hands coming to my chin and holding it in place.

“I’m fine,” I said pulling away from her.

“Zac, your nose is bleeding,” she said the words as if it was obvious, that I should have known I was bleeding. I wiped the back of my hand across my nostrils, and sure enough there was blood on my hand when looked at it.

I hurriedly grabbed tissue from the coffee table, trying to remember if my Boy Scout Troop Leader had told us to tilt your head forward or backward to stop a nosebleed. I never did get my First Aid badge.

“Here, sit down,” Ryland helped me to the couch, and I sat, my legs bouncing with nervous energy as a result of the drugs. “Are you sure you’re OK, Zac? I’m really worried about you.”

“I’m fine,” I snapped. “What do you care anyway? You probably hate me. If you don’t, you should.”

“I knew what I was getting into when you and I started sleeping together, Zac,” she countered. “So if anyone should be hating anyone else, it is you hating me. I, on the other hand, get to suffer with the repercussions of my sins, with no hope of repentance.”

“What repercussions could you be facing?” I inquired, taking a swig of beer.

“You wanted to know why I care enough to worry? Why I don’t hate you? It’s because I am in love with you, Zac. Because I would rather die than leave you hurting,” her voice broke and tears began to fall. “Now please do not make me pull you back from the edge, because I don’t think I am strong enough to let you go a second time,”

Her words hit me with such force, the wind seemed physically knocked out if me. I felt the paranoia settling in as my high began to waver, and tears pinched the corners of my eyes. I was terrified; unlike the invincibility the high provides, the after-effects of the drug simply amplified the negative emotions swirling around in my brain.

It was then that I realized I did, in fact, need help. I was scared of what I was doing to myself, spiraling out of control. The hole I had fallen into dragged me down deeper with every passing moment; all I could see, hear, think, or feel was Ryland. Retrospect told me Ryland was a side-effect, and not the cause, of my current state of marital transition, which in my impaired state rationalized being with her now.

“What if you didn’t have to let me go this time?”

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