Page 14 of Untangled
“Is the good time in the car with us? Or…?”
“You’re insufferable.”
“You love me,” he says.
“I do.”
With that, he brings both hands to my face and pulls my mouth toward his. I try my hands on the armrests and then his shoulders before dropping them to his upper thighs, where they stay. The kiss starts slow, languid, with some teasing mixed in. We settle into a rhythm that’s not quite the usual but flows with the jazz lilting in the background. I ignore the press of the steering wheel against my lower back until I can’t anymore, and shift my weight to reposition.
Daniel sucks in a breath as he breaks from the kiss, then says, “Feel free to do that again.”
I drag my hips in a purposeful grind against the soft flannel of his pj pants and I can feel him hardening beneath me in real time. I do it again just to watch him flutter his eyes closed. His hands grip the flesh at the top of my ass.
“You’re trouble,” he says.
“You asked for it,” I reply.
He gives a muffled “mmm-hmm,” before bringing his mouth back to mine. It’s more frantic than before, faster and deeper. Am I breaking thenothing furtherrule by continuing to grind against his lap? I don’t care because it feels good. Easy. Like fun. It feels like being twenty-four with no responsibilities.
Until a cry echoes from the baby monitor. It’s like a cold bucket of water tipped over our heads, drenching us in the reminder that fun and easy isn’t where we live anymore.
I bring my forehead to his chest, resting against his worn shirt and feeling the thump of his heartbeat for just a moment.
He holds me there, his hand splayed against the back of my head while he takes a deep breath. Then he whispers, “Duty calls," and taps twice on my hip. Oh right—he can’t get up until I do. I shimmy backwards and he reaches for the door, until I can drag one leg and place it awkwardly on the ground while I try to maneuver the rest of my body in a tight twist to escape under the frame.
He follows behind, and I don’t miss the way he adjusts his pants when he stands.
“You want me to get her?” he asks.
“Nah, I want the snuggles,” I reply with a shrug.
He grabs my hand as we walk toward the door, and there’s delight in how the simple affections lifts my spirits. “I liked that,” Daniel says before I break off for Violet’s room. “Like I said—best kisser.”
“Maybe we should try it again sometime,” I whisper in the dark as I release his hand. “I liked it too.”
Day9
Discuss your favorite past date, and how you’d modify it (if at all).
Ithought dinnertime would be easier as Violet got older but until she learns to keep a spoon upright while bringing it to her mouth, I think I’m out of luck. There’s yogurt on her tray, her shirt, her hair, the floor, the table, and Daniel’s arm which he has resting too close to the line of fire.
“You’re going to smell like sour milk if you’re not careful,” I say. He turns to meet my gaze and his eyes are soft. Hischocolate brown irises are more milk than dark in this light. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take to keep this girl happy,” he replies before scooting his chair even closer to her.
I didn’t know what to expect from him when I got pregnant. I knew he’d be thrilled—he’s talked about being a dad ever since our first date. But with the demands of his job, and being estranged from his own parents, I worried. I wondered how he’d manage our relationship and another one (with an exceedingly demanding little being, at that) with everything else on his plate. I questioned if he’d still feel like mine, or if I’d still feel like his, or if we’d both feel like hers.
It was fair to worry that things would change, because they have. I feel more likemomthanwifemost days. But watching Daniel being Dad? It’s a thrill I don’t know how to put words to. He is so patient, so engaged. He’s sogoodwith her. When she was born, a secret paternal light switch flicked on and it often brightens the path for me, as sometimes I think I lack the maternal equivalent.
“It’s good, isn’t it, Lettie?” he says with affection dripping from his tone.
That’s his special nickname for her and I often wonder if it’s what she’ll go by when she’s old enough to choose.
She replies with a squeal of delight that turns Daniel’s light brighter.
“How did we get the best one?” he asks me.
“The best baby?”
“Yep,” he turns back to her, “the very best baby in the entire world right here.”
