The Conversation
      Chapter 21

 

"Well, that's progress."

Her kind eyes welcome him into her sanctuary. His loving embrace welcomes her into his safe haven – his arms, his shelter, her home. As her head rests comfortably along his heart, she takes in a deep breath and tries desperately to remember her life without him. But she finds it increasingly difficult, because it wasn't until she met him that she felt she truly had a place in this world. Not until the day she first laid her eyes on him did she feel a sense of belonging. For before that day, she had only been living her life in name only. She was a good student, a good girlfriend, and a good friend. But what was she here to do? She tightens her grasp as her hands lock behind his back… It was only when she saw him, married him, and loved him that she felt as though she had a purpose, that her life had meaning. She could stay this way forever, but the ringing of the phone on his nightstand interrupts their embrace.

"Go ahead, I have to run to the bathroom."

"You, run? Yeah right."

"Ha. Ha. I'm going! See?"

Moments later, as she hears Danny through the cracked door, she washes her face and hands while staring at herself in the mirror. The past 12 hours have brought up so many feelings that she thought she had buried forever, that she began to wonder what else lie dormant in her that has yet to reveal itself. She shakes herself out of reflection, undoing her hair and letting it fall about her circular face. She brushes her fingers through her strands gently and looks carefully at her two-toned hair… her natural dusty blond taking over as the dark red that adorned her crown this past Spring has begun to retreat. She piles the mound of curly locks on top of her head, re-adjusting it accordingly, feeling unsullied and fresh. As her hand slowly follows the shape of her head down to her neck, it rests on her shoulder. She remembers every sweet caress that Danny has bestowed upon her full head of hair, and the way he would playfully toss it around after the big cut last May. The softness of his touch always reminded her of his presence, though no reminder was needed. She remembers the way he always pushes a stray hair out of way and tucks it behind her ear just to see her "beautiful brown eyes" more clearly… the way his hands find her shoulders for reassurance after wading through her long locks or brushing her short strands in either direction… the way he holds it so tightly, to the point of sheer agony, as they do away with pleasantries during their most intimate moments. But she has never complained in those moments of ecstasy, not once. His touch was all she needed. And she knew the feeling was mutual… to feel her close to him… to know that she's with him, every day, in every way, was all it took to get him through a particular tense moment or, and this was her favorite, for no reason at all. A placid smile covers her lips as she quickly snaps out of her reminiscence by the sound of those very same hands wrapping the door behind her. Her eyes closed, her hand still sleeping on her neck, she turns to see her husband's head poking behind the door and entering slowly.

"Michelle? Sweetie? You ok?"

"Hm? Oh yeah, I'm fine… sorry."

"It's ok, I called but you didn't answer… Rick's on the phone, wants to talk to you."

"Okay, just one second."

She tightens her ponytail, wipes her face of any long-standing tears from this morning, and follows her husband out the door, grabbing for the phone that's dangling from his thumb and forefinger. He meanders toward the dresser and casually thumbs through his mail as he waits for her exchange to finish.

"Hi Rick… oh, I'm feeling better, she kicked this morning… oh yeah, oh ok, Danny told you?… Is that ok?… You sure?… How about next weekend?… Great… ok, ok… we'll see you then… give our love to Abby… ok, you too… bye."

The ripping open of business-size envelopes comes to an end as she hangs the phone on the receiver. Turning toward her, he reads through various stock quotes and bills.

"So, next weekend, huh?"

"Yeah, that's ok, right? I didn't remember you saying you had any plans."

"No, that's fine…"

"Good! We'll have fun, I promise."

Her excited steps across the room finds her directly in front of him, mischievously rifling her hands through his parcels, trying to pry his attention away. A smile that could brighten the darkest night greets him as he tears his eyes away from an outrageous bill from "Mommies and Me," Michelle's favorite maternity wear store. He reaches behind him and rids himself of the bothersome correspondence, re-focusing instead on his glowing wife.

"It's ok Michelle, I don't dread these outings with Rick and Abby… I'm actually starting to like `em."

She wrinkles her forehead, as only she can do, which automatically tells him that she needs him to continue.

"Well, we're not the best of friends, but it feels good… it feels normal when we all just sit and talk about normal things. I remember a time when I never thought I'd be like that."

"Like what?"

"Normal."

His hands sweep to his side to showcase his apparel and surroundings - his practical shoes, his ordinary slacks, and his run of the mill button down silk shirt. She runs her hands up his chest and places one on the crook of his neck, cradling his contented and striking features in her palm. She kisses him lightly.

"Babe. Please. You? Normal?"

He pulls away and again exhibits everything around him in a grand gesture before drawing her to him, turning her around and encircling her from behind, hanging his head on her shoulder, swaying to the inaudible music that forms from deep within.

"I'm serious! Look at us… lounging around on a Sunday afternoon, just you and me and our little future soccer player here."

"Heh, you're telling me."

"My Sundays used to be a pretty different than this."

Sensing a serious tone, and an opportunity to learn more about his childhood, a time he doesn't like to talk about, she turns toward him, his hands now firmly placed together at the small of her back. She meets her husband's eyes with inquisitiveness and benevolence only to be faced with his own bewilderment and unabashed adulation.

"Tell me about them?"

"About what? My Sundays?"

"I want to know everything there is to know about you, Mr. Santos… if I don't already."

"There may be one or two things I've kept hidden… to bring out on a rainy day… just to shock you."

"Oh, do tell…"

Their lightheartedness soon scatters, to be replaced by a sense of remembrance… a sense of fondness… a sense of loss. He places a kiss on her forehead as he backs away from her, continually keeping her hand in his. A beam finds her lips as she thinks back to her bathroom daydream only minutes before.

His childhood was nothing that he has ever intentionally kept from her. In actuality, he felt as safe as he ever had in her presence and never doubted that she would want to be there for him, should he someday find the right time to disclose the memories he had repressed all these years. His mind wanders back to the days when everything was simple, to a time when the most important thing in his life was spending time with his father…

"My Sundays… they started out innocently enough, when I was young. My father… my father would take me out to his boat every weekend, remember I told you about this?"

"Yeah, I do… but you barely talked about it…"

"Oh, well… there's not a lot to tell. But they were… they are, some of the best memories I have of my childhood. I loved waking up on Sundays. I'd get dressed up… I didn't like that part… but then we'd all go to church like any other family… then my father and I would come home and change and head out to the marina. Those were days just for the two of us. Those were the only days he didn't work, he never worked on Sunday… he even… yeah… he even left his cell phone at home so we wouldn't be disturbed. I remember that so vividly because my mother, she'd yell at him every time we left `Miguel Santos, you take your phone with you otherwise I'll come down to that marina myself!' Every week, the same thing… every week he'd leave it in his desk… every week, she stayed at home with Mick and Pilar. She never bothered us. She knew better than to interrupt us…."

"It sounds like he treasured those Sundays as much as you did."

"Yeah. I think he did."

"So did you ever actually go sailing with him?"

"Oh yeah, he taught me everything about it, about boats and the ocean, about girls, cars… everything a father is supposed to teach his son. On Sundays he was just my father, not Miguel Santos. In his casual clothes… with his pants rolled up… laughing whenever I caught a fish I couldn't reel in… he was… he was just normal on Sundays."

Pride pours from her as she looks at her husband, wishing that she could've known him in his youth - to see the hope and anticipation… to hear of his dreams and ambitions before his life changed… to have known his father, a man who was so dear to him, a man who raised the best part of him. She witnesses her husband's longing eyes and recognizes his wish for the same.

"Sounds familiar."

"Anyway… those were my Sundays."

"Until he died."

He turns away, heading back to the mail that has fallen to the floor. He briskly picks all the mail as he keeps his back to her, unable to face the death that shaped his life.

"I don't really wanna talk about that, if it's ok."

"I think we should."

"I don't."

"Danny."

"I said no. Please."

His eyes beseeched hers for time and space while still shining with strains of force behind them. She knows when to stop.

"Okay. Another time?"

"Another time. What about your Sundays?"

He throws the mail onto the dresser and points all of his attention back to Michelle. She turns around and heads to the bathroom, picking up her empty glass from her nightstand on the way. Filling it with water, she empties her pre-natal vitamins into her hand and heads back into the room where he stands, hands in pockets, awaiting her answer.

"Oh, you're talking to the daughter of Mr. And Mrs. Normal. It was pretty average… we'd go out to a movie, or go shopping, lunch, barbecue, whatever we felt like doing… together. And after they were both gone, Sundays didn't mean much to me anymore… it was just another day in the week."

"I'm sorry…"

"No, it's okay... really… I'm okay. I look forward to my Sundays now… with you."

"Hey, I have an idea. Let's make a new… family rule or tradition or something."

"A family tradition? Okay, what kind of tradition?"

He joins her on the bed, animation crossing his face as his excitement for this idea grows.

"Every Sunday from now on will belong to us, our little Santos family. You, me, this little girl, and her future little brothers and sisters."

"That sounds wonderful, Danny."

"Then it's a deal. It's a new tradition… rule… thing. Just us."

"Just us."

He leans in and nuzzles his nose with hers, their foreheads becoming one. He places small kisses all over her face in the following order – her left cheek, her chin, her right cheek, her nose, the bridge of her nose, her right eyelid, her left eyelid, finishing with three ceremonial kisses across her forehead. She giggles with delight at his playful gesture as she holds his face in her hands and pulls him back down onto her mouth. After quenching her thirst, he retreats slowly and looks into his reflection in her eyes. Brushing back the stray curls that have fallen so perfectly out of her hair band, he smoothes the skin at her jaw line with his thumb repeatedly. He revels in her wonderment before he hears a low growl… coming from her stomach. Laughter fills the room as Michelle rubs her tummy lovingly.

"Atta girl."

"Oh, so you're blaming your new endless appetite on her now, hm? That hardly seems fair. Hungry, huh?"

"Are you kidding? When am I not hungry?"

"Good point."

He bends down to her belly before continuing.

"It's ok sweetie, your mommy couldn't stop eating even before you came along."

He picks himself back up.

"Want me to run down and get something or would you rather come down with me and make one of your special peanut butter… ice cream… pickle concoctions?"

"I'll come down with you…"

He starts to get up before he feels a tugging at his hand.

"But you know we're not done here… this is only a break. We really have a lot more to talk about."

"I know, I'm not trying to get out of it, I'm not… can we just have lunch first?"

"Sure…"

They make their way down the stairs to their expansive, yet oddly unfurnished kitchen. The guesthouse at Laurel Falls doesn't have a "look", it was built to appease every guest's tastes, and in that attempt, it became a bland and featureless dwelling. Michelle has done as much as she can to spruce it up with rich colors and personal mementos, but knowing that this was only their temporary residence, she never exhausted too much time, money or personal investment into it, at least not until after the baby was born.

Danny, who has quickly become her favorite chef, wanders through the living room in front of her and pushes the white swing door, holding it open until she eventually follows behind him. He's become used to her newfound sluggishness and has changed his routine accordingly. After she's settled at the kitchen table with a glass of juice, he begins to assault the refrigerator and pantry to see what he can come up with.

"Sandwiches ok?"

"Yeah, fine, just don't forget…"

"The pickles, I know."

"Thanks, honey."

After having a pleasant lunch filled with more pickles than one can imagine, they rinsed off their plates and headed back through the living room to the stairs. She pulled on his hand again, causing him to face her.

"Is it ok if we just stay down here? I don't really feel up to climbing the stairs again."

"Of course, honey, c'mon…"

He leads her to the loveseat and helps her down as he then opens the windows to let the crisp air join them. He places a few additional pillows behind her back before settling down on the opposite side of the couch. Kicking off his shoes, he sits comfortably with his feet up on the couch facing his increasingly uncomfortable wife.

"Need any help?"

"No, I'm fine. I can do this," she says, continuously shifting around until she comes to a stop. "You know, someday I'll get used to this, and it'll probably be right around the time she's due."

"That sounds like the infamous Santos luck."

"It's infamous?"

"Well, let's just say that what usually happens is that if a Santos has something good in their life, or find themselves in a good situation, they usually finds a way to turn the situation into something miserable, for themselves and everyone involved until it's too late."

"Yeah, that definitely sounds like a Santos. One, in particular."

"See?"

Her feet find his lap and once again, without hesitation, he is in her service as he begins to rub.

"So, that infamous Santos luck… sounds very familiar."

"It pretty much sums up every day and every night when I was with you back then."

"I'd say so… so where were we? Oh yeah, after the day in the park… let's see… I went back home and… oh, then I was lucky enough to walk in on Jesse and Drew in bed… then Jesse and I broke up… same ol' fun stuff… how were you doing?"