While We have This Moment Ch. 02

Old instincts from my teenage years kicked in. Go to his bedroom, get clean clothes. Get a wet washcloth and a bowl of warm water (cold water would wake him up, which makes things worse). Put shoes by the door. Remove clothes and take directly to the washing machine. Notice the familiar smell of cigarettes, alcohol, and despair clinging to the clothes. Start the laundry. Use warm water to wipe down face, chest, and arms. Pat dry with a soft towel. Put clean clothes on. Cover with a blanket. Put water and food in easy reach. Go try to pretend it never happened.

I had done it dozens of times with Brett growing up. After a while, it was just something I did to help my mother, who knew it was happening but who would be crushed to have to face the reality of it. It was funny how none of us ever stopped loving Brett, no matter how bad it got. You always looked at him and saw the boy he was before he got addicted, and you somehow believed that that was the true Brett, not this smelly, beastly thing that came crashing through the door sometimes.

I knew I couldn't just pretend that nothing had happened. At least he was keeping his drugs out of the home, but really it was just a matter of time before that wasn't the case. I had been working there for 2 months and had only witnessed this one really disruptive incident. So it was probably relatively early in his addiction. There was still a good chance he could get help and that he would be open to receiving it.

I carried his wallet and keys up to his room and set them on his nightstand. As I walked out of the room, I saw some legal papers on top of a freshly opened envelop, sitting atop his dresser. I couldn't resist a look.

The papers were dated a week earlier and had arrived by courier the day before. They were from Aaron's ex-wife. She had agreed to relinquish her parental rights to Maya and Derek. The wording was very specific that Aaron not only had sole custody but that, upon his death, if necessary, custody would pass to his designate rather than to his ex-wife. He really had taken care of it. I supposed that was reason enough for anyone to want to go out and make a mess of their life for a night.

I tried to imagine life through his eyes. As far as marriage and family, I lived on the side of hope-not-yet-realized. There was a certain anxiety, a nervousness and yet an excitement on that side of things. The world was filled with possibility, diminishing though it may seem over the years. Aaron, however, lived on the side of hope-disappointed. Marriage may have done more harm than good, I thought, then chided myself for implying that Maya and Derek were insufficient to make any difficulty he experienced worthwhile. It was complicated. Marriage was not a happy prospect for him but rather a painful memory. Left alone to rebuild in the wake of the mess his ex-wife had left, of course he was struggling. Who wouldn't?

I checked on the kids, who were still sound asleep, then wandered down the stairs. I stood behind the couch and listened to Aaron's slow breathing. He was sleeping rather peacefully. I wondered if that was unusual for him. The persistent ticking of the grandfather clock moved from the background and became an insistent cadence in the otherwise silent house.

He was handsome, in a way. Handsome, mature, kind, stable... quite the catch, actually. I was sure he could easily find an available woman, if only he had the time and confidence to do so. My nurse's instincts kicked in and I stooped over his body, checking his vitals. His pulse was a little weak, but otherwise OK. His temperature and breathing were fine. But I didn't feel comfortable leaving him like this.

I was startled by the harsh ding of the washing machine, a noise that normally seemed soft enough, but in the late night it seemed abrasive and unnecessarily loud. I heard Aaron stirring on the couch as I walked away. Switching his clothes to the dryer, I came back to find him sitting up, hunched over with a water bottle in his hand. He was holding out one arm and examining his sleeve.

"You reeked," I said softly, startling him.

Aaron spun around to look at me, wincing as he did so. "Time?" he rasped.

"A little after 11:30," I said, stepping into the room and sitting on the chair nearest the couch.

"How did I get home?" he asked, rubbing his temples and yawning.

"Dasha," I stated, watching carefully for a reaction. A wince. A grimace. A nod.

"Did she tell you...?" he began, looking up cautiously.

I nodded.

"So now you know," he said. There was not much shame in his voice, contrary to what I expected.

"I was already suspicious," I told him, a little proud at being vindicated.

"Really? Why..." he began, but seeing my raised eyebrows he caught on. "Ohhh, right. Nurse."

"That, and someone I love took the same path," I sighed. "Not necessarily the same stuff, but the story plays out the same way." I was trying not to sound accusing. I didn't want him to push me away when I actually stood a chance of helping.

"I... I don't think you ever mentioned that," he said.

"It never came up," I replied softly, still masking my growing anger. He was so casual about this. How dare he! Didn't he know he was ruining at least three lives?

After we sat quietly in the dark room for a few minutes, I asked, "How long?"

He cleared his throat and said flatly, "Less than three years."

We sat in silence again as I processed that. Three years? It was remarkable that he was not worse off than he seemed to be. Aaron sipped the water and reached for the food. Bringing it to his mouth, he paused and put it back down. "Even the smell of food makes me sick," he lamented. I felt no sympathy. We sat in silence for another minute or two.

"You didn't need to stay," he said at last. "But thank you."

"Should I stay the night?" I asked, more concerned for the kids than for him at that point.

"You don't need to," he said. "I'll take off tomorrow and rest up."

I looked carefully at him. He was weary, ill, but not in any danger. I decided to leave. I had to be at the clinic in less than 7 hours. I was looking at less than 5 hours of sleep that night.

Aaron rose to see me to the door. He staggered a bit and put his hand on the back of the couch to steady himself. Taking a few hesitant steps, he said, "Denise?"

I paused and turned back to face him. "Yuri?"

His expression twisted in confusion for a moment, then softened into a light chuckle.

"Denise, I... I'm sorry you found out this way. I was going to tell you eventually."

I hope my face didn't show the complete skepticism I felt towards that assurance. More likely he was going to continue deceiving himself and others as long as he could.

"Well, these things have a way of being found out," I said. When he didn't respond, I added, "Keep that in mind with regard to your kids."

He nodded in understanding. One more question occurred to me. "Aaron, the next time this happens..."

He raised an arm and waved off my question. "Don't worry about it. This is... I'm done for a while."

That's what they all say, I thought. Every damn time.

Aaron turned around to take his seat again, but his legs seemed to give a little at the knees and he leaned on the back of the couch. "Help!" he croaked weakly, as I rushed over to him. Then he cleared his throat and said, "Help me back to the couch please." I did so, holding under his arm as he shuffled around the sofa and resumed the prone position he had been in earlier.

"See you tomorrow?" he asked hopefully, opening one eye to gauge my reaction.

"Yeah," I sighed. "Tomorrow."

I sat back down in the soft leather recliner to make sure he was settled for the night. The soft rumble of the dryer in the distance soon soothed me to sleep.

*******

"Denise?" A small voice whispered. "Denise? Denise, wake up!" Little hands on my arm shook firmly until I opened my eyes. Where the hell...?

Still on the recliner in Aaron's living room, I was being awakened by Derek. The dryer had stopped, the clock still tocked.

"What is it honey?" I asked him.

"I got scared, and Daddy's not in his bed," he told me, sounding on the verge of tears. I looked over at the couch, where Aaron slept soundly. Derek followed the direction of my gaze. Seeing his dad, he remained at my side.

"Can I sit with you?" he pleaded.

I shifted around in the chair and pulled out my phone for a quick look. Four in the morning. Aw, hell. I opened my arms and Derek curled up on my lap. He was heavy, but not so heavy that I felt uncomfortable. He had dragged his favorite blanket down the stairs with him, and I tossed the tattered cloth over us. His head rested on my shoulder and he was quickly asleep. I changed my alarm to be early enough that I would have time to drive home and get ready for work. Only another hour. Fortunately, I was weary enough that I had no trouble making use of that hour.

Before the sun would rise, I would have gotten up and placed a still-sleeping Derek on the recliner to finish his night. I would have checked on Aaron's breathing, temperature, and pulse again, and I would be well on my way home for a quick stop before work. I had no lack of things to think about that morning and actually welcomed the busy clinic work ahead of me.

*******

Aaron called and left a message that day, thanking me for staying, assuring me I would be compensated for my time, and insisting I allow him to be the one to tell the kids when the time was right. It was, he explained, obviously a matter that needed to be handled carefully. I knew he was right, but I was also angry. More than that, I wanted him to get his shit together and clean his act up so that he didn't need to tell his kids anything. But I also knew that you never stop being addicted, even if you stop using.

Showing up at his house that afternoon, I wondered why I even needed to be there, since Aaron was home all day. But as I pulled into the driveway, I realized his car wasn't there, which meant it was probably still parked outside whatever hell hole he'd crawled into the night before.

Aaron was remarkably upbeat when he saw me. A little sheepish perhaps, but happy nonetheless.

"Thanks again," he said softly, before the kids were within earshot. It irked me how casual he was being about this.

"So here's what I'm thinking," he said, once the kids were nearby. "I take a cab out to get my car, and you three meet me at Jackal's for dinner. Sound good?"

Jackal's was where Macy worked, so I knew the food was good. And the kids were excited about bringing me along on a dinner out. Their enthusiasm was contagious, both at the house and at the restaurant. It was hard not to enjoy the meal. Aaron and his kids seemed so very happy together, and I felt blessed just to be with them. He seemed a model father, caring, devoted, playful, fair, and everything else I saw in my own dad growing up. But I knew he had a secret, a secret that I wanted to make go away.

*******

On Saturday evening, I was sitting on Jared's couch, eyes closed and moaning in pleasure as he rubbed my calves and feet. Though a part of me still wanted his hands to creep higher up my legs, I still had enough of my wits about me to know how bad an idea that was. I sipped a little after-dinner wine and told him a little bit about my week, omitting for the moment any reference to Aaron's drug usage. I only mentioned needing to stay there one night because the kids' dad was too sick to care for them. Jared seemed a little uncomfortable with the idea of me spending the night there, but when he heard that Derek had slept on my lap, I think he realized just how innocent it all had been.

Sitting up and turning my back to Jared, I tapped my shoulders, hinting that I wanted the massage to continue. When he squeezed the muscles around my neck, I sighed in appreciation. His hands worked around my shoulders, down my back... and a little bit under my shirt. That was fine. He was just rubbing my back, right? His hands worked their way up, slowly pushing my shirt higher and higher. But he was just rubbing my back... and my sides a little bit. And it felt so good after a long week.

One hand slipped under the back of my bra and rubbed the smooth skin there. "Want me to take this off?" he asked quietly, trailing his fingertips around the edges of the strap.

He seemed to hold his breath while he waited for an answer. "OK," I agreed. "But just so you can rub my back better."

"Of course," he answered, with some laughter in his voice.

And for a while, that was just what he did - long, luxurious strokes up and down my back, his hands bumping along my ribs as I hunched forward. Sometimes he would run one hand along my spine and I would straighten up to share the pleasure with different muscles. I felt like I could drift off to sleep like this.

Jared's soft voice started talking about his day and about some clients he had met this week. He had just been assigned a project working with a famous romance novelist, and he was excited about that. His words distracted me - their smooth, even tone was almost hypnotic. So much so that I failed to notice that his hands had begun rubbing my sides and belly as well. It was a slow, gradual process of claiming more ground. It wasn't until he slowly rubbed up my ribs and paused under my arms, his hands almost cupping the sides of my breasts, that I realized how far he'd strayed from my back.

"Lean back?" he suggested. I knew what that meant. It meant his hands would wrap all the way around me. I wanted arms to hold me like that. I wanted hands to touch me that gently, that carefully, all over my body. And I would tilt my head up and we'd be making out, only with fewer barriers between our bodies. And it would naturally lead to removing another barrier, perhaps our pants or shirts. And this was the opposite of what we had agreed to.

Without panicking, I leaned forward instead. "Your turn," I suggested. "Turn around."

"I'm fine like this," he smirked.

I sighed. "Jared, we need to talk about this," I said reluctantly.

I could sense his hopes deflating. "Right now?"

"Yes," I insisted. "Or another time, but before we go any further." As I said that, I gently, and somewhat reluctantly, pushed his hands off my body. Then I turned to face him, both of us sitting cross-legged on the couch.

I suddenly recalled a heated discussion I once heard between Kara and Macy at a cookout we had all attended one Labor Day a few years ago. Kara had insisted that the best time to get a guy to talk about a relationship was once you'd gotten him all worked up and turned on so that he'd be ready to agree with anything. Macy argued that it was manipulative and teasing to do that, and you weren't likely to get the guy to tell you what he really wanted or thought, only what was likely to get him in a position to finish what you'd started. She said you should keep such conversations as disconnected from any sexual activity as possible.

The conversation had gotten so animated that Gina came over to see what all the fuss was about. Sporting a baby on her hip, she nearly laughed as each side made their case. I pleaded impartiality due to inexperience. But I knew Macy had a lot of wisdom, so I suspected she might be right. When I asked Gina who she thought was right, she shrugged and said, "I can only tell you what works for me. I follow the advice an old lady gave me years ago, and it's never failed me. She said, 'Go home, give him the ride of his life, then talk about what's on your mind.'"

Jared didn't understand why I was suddenly fighting giggles. Gina's advice didn't seem too appropriate in our situation, though I couldn't imagine he'd be unwilling to try it.

Regaining my composure, I said, "Look, before I feel comfortable going where our bodies obviously want to go, I need to know where this is headed long-term. I need to know if we think this has a future. I know you said you're not interested in playing around, but we can't just assume-"

"You're right," he interjected. "I've been assuming a lot. I'm serious about you, Denise. You're beautiful and kind and smart and sexy and you're great with kids, and I think we have fun together. I can really picture this lasting."

My heart - and some other areas - warmed in response to his kind words. But I had given it enough thought to know that the problem didn't end there. "Yeah, but what would that look like? What do you expect? I mean, you seemed to imply that you wanted a woman to stay at home...? Or did I misunderstand you?"

Jared shifted a little in his seat, subtly adjusting his crotch and stretching one leg out. I guess he realized that I was serious, and his face took on a more focused expression. "Well, yes, I guess. Don't you? I guess I've always pictured the traditional thing- I've got a good job with good prospects, and you can keep working until kids come along. By then we'd be able to live off my income - hypothetically speaking - and you could raise the kids until they're in school, then maybe go back to working part-time or something, I guess."

It was Tim all over again. Dammit! These men and their plans for my life. Didn't I get a say in this? I took a few deep breaths and asked sincerely, "Is that the only version of our future that you'd accept? What if I preferred to keep working? What if kids weren't a part of the plan? Would you ever consider living off my income while you stayed at home?"

Jared's eyes went wide. "Are you serious?" he asked with a forced laugh.

"Dead serious," I replied without flinching.

He stood up and paced a few steps, putting his hand on the back of his neck, a gesture I knew he used when agitated. "Why would you...? I mean, that just doesn't seem like you! You... We've been taking it slow... You're doing the whole nanny thing... Even Kara's counting the days until she can get married and pregnant and stay at home. I thought-"

"I'm not Kara," I snapped. "I'm Denise. And I'm not some generic fantasy woman you can shoehorn into your plan for your perfect life." I stood up, snatching my bra off the couch with a twinge of shame for even letting it be removed in the first place. "I have my own plans and dreams and if that doesn't fit your world, then neither do I." I walked intently towards his door.

"Denise, wait," he pleaded. I turned around and softened a bit. It was unfair to unleash ten years of pent-up anger onto him, even if he deserved some of it.

"Jared," I said in a more controlled tone, "you are a great guy. There are plenty of women who would love to be a part of the future you described, and they'd be lucky to do so. But that's not me, it's not what I want. Maybe someday, I don't know. Maybe I'll find someone that I'm willing to shape my future around, but we're not there yet, and... and I don't think I want that with you. I'm sorry."

"Well... shit," he said glumly. As angry as I had been a moment ago, I couldn't help but laugh. I felt the same way. I guess it was what you would call an amicable departure. It wasn't like we lived close enough to maintain an illusion of friendship. It was just a failed relationship with no ill-will on either side. The best one could hope for, really, aside from a successful relationship.

"Yeah... shit," I agreed.

"Kara's going to be disappointed," he joked.

"Yeah, I should probably call her tonight."

"No, they're at Ollie's house tonight. His roommate's out of town, so..."

"Do not disturb, got it," I said with a smile. I felt a little bad for blue-balling Jared while our friends were across town knocking boots, but I couldn't keep messing with my emotions this way. "Well, I'll catch up with her later. Just don't tell Ollie before Monday - Kara will want to know first."