“Are you the only one allowed to drink your sorrows away?”
“It doesn’t make them go away.”
“Oh, save it,” I sneered, annoyed that he would try to impart wisdom on me. “You are not allowed to lecture me about this.” I grabbed both the glass and the bottle and left the kitchen, heading to my room, where I slammed the door with my foot.
Why was he here? How could I have him in my house, in my space, in my life?
I crossed to the bathroom and dumped the contents of the glass down the sink, then left it and the bottle on the counter.
I had never had any intention of drinking it, because he was right. I didn’t use alcohol to cope, mostly because of him and all the crap he’d put me through.
There was also the fact that I was pregnant and that the little drinking I used to do had stopped altogether as soon as Jonas and I had started trying for a baby.
But Sean didn’t know about the baby. He would figure it out eventually if he stuck around like he had threatened to do, but for now I had no intention of telling him. Sean didn’t have any claim on that part of me. My hands went to my stomach. I was wearing a stretchy t-shirt, so my tiny baby bump was obvious, at least to me, but I doubted Sean would have noticed. He probably just thought I’d gotten a little chubbier over the years, and that’s the way I wanted it to stay. This part of me belonged to Jonas.
I went and lay down on my bed, pulling the blanket over me as I curled up and reached out a hand to Jonas’s side of the bed, running my hand over the indentation that still curved the mattress. Missing him. Missing him. Missing him.
I slept all night. It was incredible how tired I could be when grief and pregnancy hormones got together for a rager.
I woke up, rolled over, and swore as my stomach rolled.
With everything that had happened the night before, I’d forgotten to take my medicine—the magic medicine that kept the morning sickness at bay—and now I was paying the price. I was tempted to just stay in bed and lie still in the hopes that it would pass.
I knew better. It wouldn’t pass. Without taking the meds last night, I would be sick all day today. So I rolled out of bed and walked carefully into the kitchen in search of toast. I drank a glass of water, then pushed a couple slices of bread down in the toaster, but as I was waiting for them to brown, the nausea won. I ran to the half bath in the front hallway and threw up. Then I cried over the toilet bowl because that’s how it went. Vomiting and crying were a package deal for me.
My misery increased another notch when I heard footsteps approach and realized that Sean was still in my house. I hadn’t closed the bathroom door, so he walked right in and rubbed my back.
“Get out,” I cried at him.
“Are you sick?”
“No. I’m throwing up for the fun of it. Yes, I’m sick. Get out!”
He left me alone to pull myself up off the ground and rinse my mouth.
When I left the bathroom, I glared at him. “Did you sleep here last night?”
“Yes.” One syllable. Simple. No apology. Just a statement of fact.
I shook my head, confounded by the whole situation. I headed for my bedroom and my toothbrush.
After brushing my teeth, I grabbed the rum off the counter and brought it with me out to the kitchen, still avoiding looking at Sean where he sat on a barstool at the counter. I opened the cabinet above the fridge and put the rum away, but something was off. There had been a bottle of fireball, Jonas’s favorite, and one of my favorite wine, but both were now gone.
I froze.
He wouldn’t. Would he?
What other explanation was there?
I slowly, deliberately closed the cabinet and then turned to Sean, doing my best to hold on to my composure as it slipped through my clenched fist.
His face was perfectly composed, and that made my haze of anger thicken. “The liquor disappeared, Sean.”
He looked me in the eye, his gaze level. “Yes.”
“Do you know what happened to it?”
“It’s gone.”
“You took it?”
“Yes.”
His simple admission broke a dam inside me. The dam that had been holding back a huge portion of my hurt and resentment. “How dare you! How dare you come into my house and steal from me! Do you have any idea—”
“I didn’t drink it!” he shouted over me.
His words and his volume stopped my tirade. I tried to absorb what he’d said, tried to decide if I dared believe him.
“I didn’t,” he said, his voice calm and controlled this time. “I dumped it out.”
My eyes narrowed dangerously. “And I’m supposed to just take your word on that? After all the bars? All the drunken belligerence I put up with?”
“Do I look drunk to you?”
He didn’t. He looked handsome and healthy. I clenched my teeth. “Then why? If you didn’t drink it, then why take it?”
“Because you’re pregnant, Libby,” his voice was still quiet but it felt like he was shouting.
The frustration coming off of him was palpable, and while it made me mad simply because I felt like he didn’t have the right to be mad at me, it also made me happy in a strange, twisted way. Happy that he had noticed. Happy that he would protect my baby from a perceived threat. But still angry that he would come into my house and act like he had the right to do something like that.
His eyes were sad and worried as he continued. “You’re pregnant and you took a bottle of hard liquor to your room with you last night.” The sorrow and concern swirling in his gaze ate away at my fury. “Are you really so consumed by grief that it’s made you that reckless?”
I allowed a deep breath to fill my lungs and cast my eyes to the ceiling as I let it out in a heavy sigh, relieved that he hadn’t fallen back into his bad habits, but also frustrated that I had to explain myself to him. Refusing to explain was an option, sure, but I knew it would make things worse, not better. Apparently it was time for some better communication, so I sucked down my pride and rallied all my composure. I fixed my eyes on him and reached out a hand across the counter, not far enough to reach him, but enough to indicate I was reaching out. “I am pregnant. But I’m not drinking. I haven’t had anything to drink in months.” I swallowed, nearly choking on my honesty. “I pulled out that bottle last night because…” I opened my mouth, searching for the right words as my shoulders shrugged in defeat. “Because I’m really angry. And I wanted to hurt you.” That admission caused my chest to convulse with emotion and I had to swallow it down. “I dumped it in my bathroom sink, Sean.”
I watched as his chest expanded and when he released his breath, it stuttered out and he dropped his head. I could almost feel his relief washing over me as he nodded. “Okay.” He ran a hand down his face. “Okay. Good.”
“Don’t worry,” I said as my bitterness swooped in. “I won’t make you do for me what I had to do for you.” I walked away, my grand exit somewhat foiled by the way my gait had changed now that I carried a baby between my hips.
I showered, then headed to work, pausing at the door only long enough to look back at Sean, who stood with his hands in his pockets, simply watching me.
“You don’t need to stay,” I said, and then I walked out.