Marital Bitch (Men with Badges)

Chapter TWENTY THREE

(Colleen)

You want a baby?

I WANT, MORE than anything, to rewind the last five minutes of my life.

I want to strike the entire conversation from memory.

I want out of this house.

For a split second I had it all. I had a career. I had a beautiful husband. I was in love. Deeply in love. And I was loved in return. And then with three little words, I had nothing. For a split second, Brad loved me. Or so I thought.

"As a friend," he said just as I had gotten up the nerve to tell him that I love him, too. I must have looked like the biggest idiot.

And to top it off, it wasn't until Brad was holding me in his arms, asking me if I want a baby, that I really knew what I want and where I belong, and who with. I belong with Brad. I always have, but it seems that I am an idiot because it's only taken me thirty-five years to really believe it.

Hearing Brad say he loves me was indescribable. I wish I could capture the feeling in a bottle so that I'll always remember it.

I want out of this room.

I just want to hide in my misery. I close my eyes and shove my face in my pillow as the tears pour out of my eyes. Soon enough, I move from the acceptable "I'm hurting" cry to the all-out, balls-to-the-wall-ugly-cry. And breathing is difficult; not that I care much about breathing at this moment.

Brad is in the bathroom, throwing up. I'm kind of annoyed at him for making it there first. I feel sick. I should go and see if he's okay, but my puffy eyes give me away. It's one thing to sort-of, kind-of tell your best friend that you love him. It's another for him to know how much it's hurting you. Eventually, I compose myself enough to yell out and ask him if he's okay and if he needs anything. Thankfully, he doesn't. So I stay in bed and sob.

I hear the flush of the toilet, knowing he will be out soon, and run to do something about my red eyes. I find an unopened jar of an organic face mask that I just had to buy. I remember buying this at Macy's. It cost me fifty dollars. When I first moved in Brad told me I was beautiful just as I am and I don't need this "expensive crap" and that it's a waste of money. At the time I was annoyed with his judgment, but now, I don't know what I was thinking when I bought it.

The bathroom door cracks open and I rip the lid off the jar of expensive goop. I dig my hand in and slather it all over my face just in time for Brad to walk down the hall, holding his stomach. His eyes are red, but that’s no surprise. He always gets watery eyes when he throws up. I have no excuse for my red eyes except that I’m in love with him and he doesn’t feel the same.

“What the hell is on your face?” he asks, inspecting the foreign substance.

“Face mask,” I mumble, avoiding his gaze. He makes some sort of grunting sound and plops into the bed.

“Were you drooling, stink?” he asks. I turn to find him looking curiously at my soaked pillow. I laugh it off as best I can.

“I guess so,” I shrug. “I’m going to go take a shower,” I say. I hear some sort of groan coming from him before I realize the effects of the laxatives haven’t quite passed yet.

Once I’m alone in the bathroom, with the door shut, I can’t hold back anymore. I manage to turn on the water in just enough time to muffle the sounds of my sobs. I undress slowly, clutching my stomach in pain. This is the same pain I felt when grandpa died, only this feels even worse if that’s possible. Grandpa didn’t have a choice; but Brad is still here. He just doesn’t want me the way I want him. And I can’t even believe that it hurts this much when a week ago I was oblivious to my own feelings. How can it hurt this much?

I step under the spray of the water and lean my head against the tile, my cries racking my entire body. I’d been trying to be quiet; to cry in silence. I don’t want Brad to know that I’m crying. There’s nothing he can do to make it better anyhow. I can’t force him to love me the way I love him.

I hear Brad open the bathroom door and I think that I should straighten up and pretend that I’m okay, but I can’t. I scream loudly and throw my arms against the tiled wall. I don’t open my eyes, but I know what he’s doing. He’s coming to save me. He’s always coming to save me. Some obligation I must be.

“Colleen?” Brad asks, shoving the curtain aside and stepping into the shower. I sob even harder having him in here with me. I can’t even throw my pity party for one in peace, apparently. “Did you get that junk in your eyes?” he asks and wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me against him. I let my body sink against his solid frame as I continue to cry. He’s fully clothed and now soaking well to boot.

Before I can protest, he directs the spray to the top of my head. Water runs down my face and he uses his hand to clean my face off. He’s so gentle. He always is. I continue to cry, propped up against his body.

“Is that better?” he asks. I scream out again, still clutching my stomach.

“It hurts,” I whine. It does hurt. It hurts like nothing I knew I could feel, if that even makes sense.

I love him.

He loves me.

As a friend.

He asked me if I want a baby.

I don’t just want a baby.

I want his baby.

“Brad,” I sniffle, trying to calm down my cries. “Why did you ask me if I want a baby?” I can’t stop from crying but I have to ask before I lose my nerve.

“I’m getting up there in age, pretty girl,” he smooths my wet hair out of my eyes and redirects the spray. “I need to get started on that baseball team and who better to do that with than my best friend?” I feel his lips against the back of my head and the little bit of composure I had falls away.

“So, my uterus is convenient?” I whimper. His body shakes for a moment. I think he’s getting cold back there but then he goes stiff. His heart is beating fast, nearly thumping right out of his chest. I turn around and wrap my arms around his waist.

“Colleen,” he says sternly, “you are anything but convenient.”

“Yes,” I blurt out without thinking about it. For once I’m acting on instinct. I’m saying exactly what I want from him and not what I think he wants to give me. Back in high school, I wanted him to ask me to prom, but I didn’t want him to feel obligated to do it. So when he asked, I acted like such a bitch—my trademark reaction to everything it seems. Thankfully, he’s as stubborn as I am and he didn’t take no for an answer.

“Yeah?” he asks, resting his chin on the top of my head.

“Yeah,” I say, “I want a baby.” His chin moves on top of my skull and I just know he’s smiling. I’m not fighting him or questioning him or doubting him for once. There’s a slight nagging feeling in the back of my head telling me that this is a disaster waiting to happen. And it probably is. But then, part of me thinks that maybe it’s not. Our marriage should have been a disaster; but here I am. In love. Our cohabitation should have been a disaster; but here we are. Wanting to have a baby. I know that bringing a baby into this mess is the worst idea imaginable, but this is Bradley Patrick. He said he wants to keep me; and even if he only loves me like a friend, I can live with that. I’d rather have some of him than nothing at all. I can live with being just his best friend and his wife and the mother of his children. The very idea gives me butterflies. He doesn’t have to be in love with me. He just has to keep me and I’ll be alright.

“We should get started then,” he laughs and starts to strip. “We only got an hour before we have to be at your parents’ house.” I laugh at the sudden shift in our moods. Adam says we’re perfectly normal, capable human beings; but together, we’re bipolar. I can’t say he’s wrong.

Brad steps out of the shower and then grabs me, throwing me over his shoulder and carefully walks back into our bedroom where the throws me on the bed. “We’re really doing this?” he asks, a grin on his face. I smile, a blush heating my face.

“Yeah,” I say quietly, “we are.”