I glance over at Nycole sitting next to me and put my arm around her. Pressing her head down on my shoulder, I lay my cheek on her forehead as we watch in silence. Halfway through, I glance back up at Blake, who’s in almost as much awe as the girls. The look of wonderment in his eyes makes me grin. Pushing myself off the ground, I stand and move to his side, taking his hand into mine. He smiles, but something’s different. Something is looming between us, and I don’t like it, not one bit.
Sadly, I have a gut feeling that like two pieces of flint rock, the tension filled shift between us tonight ignited a spark, lighting the fuse to our very own Morgan family firework show.
One capable of blowing us completely apart.
“Alex, please, let me help you with that,” Blake huffs at me after asking for what must be the twentieth time today. The clanking of the dishes as I stack them reminds me of the uncharacteristically quiet breakfast I just experienced. Well, not true. We’ve been having a lot of silent meals lately. The girls still have their stories and usual high-pitched banter, but there’s been an unusual lack of conversation between Blake and I.
My brand new, unimproved husband. Brand new sucks.
“I’ve got it. Don’t worry about it.” Grabbing the last plate, I throw the fork on top of it and set it on top of the others. I can tell he just rolled his eyes, but I don’t feel like fighting, so I ignore it.
Grabbing the stack of plates off of our brand new kitchen table, I silently carry them into our brand new kitchen, in our brand new house. While I do, my mind’s bombarded with the same thought over and over. What the hell is his problem?
Rinsing the dishes in our brand new sink, I find myself lost in my own thoughts. As the warm water cascades over them, removing all remnants of our tension loaded first meal of the day, Blake makes his way into the kitchen, setting the glasses of orange juice and milk right beside the sink. He leans against the counter, right next to me, and crosses his arms, staring at me the entire time. I can feel the green lasers being shot at my head and I fight the instinct to punch him.
“What?” I ask, staring into the sink. As the eggs circle around the drain, my thoughts are drawn to our relationship. Circling around and around. Going nowhere.
He continues his unyielding glare. I can feel my blood pressure rising, which isn’t a good sign. It’s been happening a lot lately. He continues to watch me for a couple of seconds before pushing himself off of the counter. “Nothing, Alex.” He forcefully runs his hand through his hair and lets out a deep sigh before walking out of the room without saying another word.
What the hell is going on?
What the hell has been going on?
We had been one of those annoying perfect couples that I love to make fun of up until a month ago. But these last few weeks, something’s changed. I know it’s not the girls, or work, or the house. Blake seems only increasingly agitated at me. And he won’t talk to me about it.
Welcome to my brand new life.
I shake my head in frustration. I want to scream my head off. I want to run up to him, push him, shake him, smack him on the arm…whatever it takes to get him to talk to me. But, I don’t. I just let the frustration simmer in my heart, heating my nerves and raising my blood pressure.
Letting out my own sigh, I finish rinsing off the dishes, and decide to leave them in the sink. I’m just too tired to put them in the dishwasher right now. I’ve been tired a lot lately, which is really weird considering I’m only eighteen weeks pregnant. None of my other pregnancies affected me this way. Wiping my fingers with the dishtowel, I throw it on the sink and move on to my next set of chores. I’m exhausted, but I have to get to them before the girls get home, or they’ll never get done. Resigning to this fact, I head off quickly, hoping to be able to squeeze in a nap afterwards.
Swiping my hands along the top of my yoga pants, the only type of pants I seem to want to wear these days, I shuffle my way across the living room. Harlow’s getting really tired of these babies. She actually told me I couldn’t wear them to work anymore, even after I explained that I’d already bought at least ten pair. So, in an effort to make her happy, I traded up for a pair of baggy sweat pants. Now, I get to wear my trusty ol’ yoga pants to the office as much as I want.
I laugh an evil laugh silently to myself. She’s so easy.
Once I’m inside the laundry room, I raise my hand to flip on the light switch. Nothing happens. I try flipping it again, but still nothing. Shit.
Well, I’m definitely not asking Blake to fix it. I’ll just have to take care of it later. Practically blind, I feel around for the basket. Once it’s located, I grab it off the washer and start on my clothes collecting journey.
Slowly, I approach the one and only thing I hate about this house, well, except my new mute husband. My nemesis…the God awful stairs.
This hate started when we moved into our brand new house, and it grows exponentially every day that I become more pregnant. With a whimper of detest, I place the basket under my arm and start the tedious climb. Once at the top, I take a second to catch my breath and continue on to the girls’ rooms. I really should start working out. Or...
Walking into Nycole’s room, I turn on the light and as my eyes focus, I involuntarily cringe. I do it every single time I breach her living space. Words cannot express how much I hate the animal print patterns she used to decorate her entire room, but, I’m glad she finally has a room of her own. I know it makes her happy, so I’ll let her keep her horrendous zebra print walls, for now anyway.
I bend over and swipe her peace and love covered pajama pants and matching cami up from the leopard print rug.
Or is it cheetah?
Jaguar, maybe?
Well, whatever the hell it is, I’m getting out of here ASAP before I’m caught in the middle of a stampede.
Closing the door behind me, my feet instantly become tangled in the pajama trail that Kyndall so lovingly left for fear that I wouldn’t be able to find my way to her room. Leaning over to scoop them up, I laugh to myself. It’s not the location that’s the problem. It’s getting lost upon actual entry. I tend to keep her door closed at all times because her room also freaks me out. Whenever I open it, I feel like I’m looking into Carol Anne’s bedroom from Poltergeist, record playing protractor and all. It’s absolute chaos in there! Honestly, I’m scared I’ll get sucked in through the closet and have to go through that nasty membrane jelly crap in order to get out again.
No thank you.
I glance back down at the puppy and kitten covered pajamas under my feet, letting out another sigh. This is the only bad thing about having Tatum watch the girls. They get so excited that they tend to just spontaneously combust, leaving their clothes right where they stand. She called right after our silent breakfast this morning, offering to take them to the movies, and I was more than happy to oblige. Was being the operative word. Now I kind of feel like I’d rather have them here to buffer the overwhelming tension between Blake and me, but still, I am glad they’re getting their Tatum time. Ever since the wedding they’ve been inseparable on the weekends. She loves them and they love her.