Page 2 of Family Bonds: Alana & Brennan
He thought wrong.
“I’m going to finish dinner.” There was no response to her words. Not one that wouldn’t cause another colossal blow up.
He prayed things would ease up once the baby arrived, because walking on eggshells every damn day was wearing thin. Still, the last thing he’d ever do was push her—no matter how close he was to breaking.
He wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt that so much was happening in her body.
Even if not much of her tone, words, or actions had changed since they’d met.
Not being around each other much during their six months of dating allowed him to witness her personality in small doses.
Not anymore.
This was a crash course in “What the fuck did I get myself into?”
They’d moved in together three months ago when Rene’s lease was up. She’d been pulled out of work about the same time. Her job as an international flight attendant meant being on her feet all day and squeezing down narrow aisles.
“Bring me some more water,” Rene yelled.
He opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle, then brought it out. Their two-bedroom apartment wasn’t that big and he could see everything from the kitchen.
“Here,” he said, putting it down.
“I wanted the fizzy kind. And get me the remote too.”
He picked the bottle up to return, found the remote and handed it off, then went to fulfill her demand.
He’d never experienced so much bossing around in his life. Every part of his being wanted to clap back, but as his mother had told him—give it time. Wait it out. Make a plan after.
I’m doing it for my daughter. I’m doing it for my daughter.
If he said those words to himself enough, he could get through. A month or two from now, they’d figure the rest out. Life might be easier when Rene could return to her job and scratch her itchy feet.
If he had to hear one more time that she wasn’t meant to stay in one city seven days a week, he’d put his fist through a wall.
Twenty minutes later, dinner was done. “Do you want me to make you a plate or are you going to come do it?”
“I’ll do it,” Rene said, the chair returning to position, as she sat up and moved in for the food. She was walking easier, no moaning, no complaining.
It was hit or miss with her, but he brushed it off.
“Everything okay?” he asked two minutes into their dinner. She was crinkling her nose or smacking her lips at everything she bit into.
“There isn’t enough salt on any of this.”
“You need to reduce your sodium,” he said. “That’s why you’re retaining water.”
He was at the last appointment with her because he was concerned at how swollen her feet and hands had gotten. Little did he know she was home eating bags of popcorn and chips, pepperoni and cheese all day. Cravings, she called the salt overloads.
“I’m retaining water because you knocked me up,” she said. She got up easily and grabbed the salt he’d left in the kitchen. He would ignore the theatrics when she wanted things her way.
He took it out of her hands. “It will not kill you. Can’t you follow orders for your health and our daughter for just a few more weeks?”
“Whatever,” she said, plopping down. She jabbed her fork into the chicken, then scratched her plate with the knife cutting it. “It’s dry too.”
Like everything else, he wouldn’t respond. It wasn’t as if he enjoyed working sixty hours a week, then coming home and dealing with this.
There was a knock at the door. “Are you expecting anyone?”
