We All Roll Along

Winter, 2012
You may have noticed that Zack and I aren’t married, yet we have a child together. Noah wasn’t an accident. He was, actually, one of the most planned for children ever. Zack and I had always wanted children, and when we felt that we were far enough into our relationship to have one together, we didn’t want anything to go wrong. We read parenting book after parenting book; not just me, Zack too. He was so helpful too, during my pregnancy. When I was on bed rest for three painful weeks, he had been at my side the entire time. I couldn’t have asked more of him.

And that whole thing about not being married - Zack’s idea. Or, opinion, more like. Sure, he’s a firm supporter of love and people loving each other. But he also thinks marriage kills the love. He didn’t feel that you need to spend all that money, get those certificates and get people to buy you things you’ll never use to prove a love that is already proven. And don’t even get him started on how marriage was originally used so that a woman could be part of a man’s property. Divorce rates being so high - “Almost 60%, yikes,” he would say - and the sexist domineer of the whole concept just wasn’t for him.

Personally, I didn’t feel this way at all. Marriage to me,was is the greatest thing you could do to show your love for someone. Sure, knowing that Zack was going to be there for me forever was amazing. But it wasn’t the same as being truly bonded to him. Two people who love each other more then anything, being bonded together. In my eyes, marriage is spectacular.

The night Zack and I decided to have Noah was a blustery one. The sky was charcoal black, with bright specks of snow drifting down from the sky. We weren’t in California, as you could tell. It was one week until Christmas. Zack had rented a cottage in Stowe, Vermont for me; I’d never seen snow before. Now I wonder how I could have gone all those years, missing out on something so beautiful. The cottage he’d rented was a small one. In from the front door was the kitchen, right away, and down to the right was the living room. It was all wood and stone. In the middle of the living room was a stove. Not the cooking kind, though we did open it up to roast marshmallows (for Zack) and ju-jubs (for me).

I lay on the couch, watching the fire blaze through the glass door of the stove, my head resting on Zack’s lap, his legs, propped up on a long footstool. I was wearing a dark green cardigan, buttoned up except for the top five. My legs were wrapped up in grey sweats and my feet in thick, wool socks, pulled up over the bottom of my pants. One of my hands rested on my stomach, the other was above my head, playing with Zack’s free hand; the one that wasn’t grasping hold of eggnog and rum, only wearing a pair of sweat pants, too big for him around the waist; as he sat there, on the couch, the waistline lay on his abdomen, precariously low.

“Zacky,” I looked at him, his eyes instantly falling on my own.

“Yea, Dei-bee?” I loved his nick name for me.

“Want to make a baby?” Zack, though, didn’t reply. He just put his hands under my arms and pulled me into his lap. I moved on leg onto the other side of him, now straddling his waist; my hands on his shoulders.

I stood, on my knees, so that my head was above Zack’s. I opened my mouth to repeat my question, silly I know. But Zack put a finger over my lips before pulling my head down to kiss him. Somehow he managed to pull away, quickly placing his lips on my neck, leaving a trail of slopping kisses, leading to my chest. Zack slipped a hand into my shirt, which was now falling off my shoulder, and cupped my breast, squeezed a little provoking a moan from my mouth. His teeth unbuttoned my cardigan, leaving a kiss on my warm skin with each release. Soon my hands clenched onto his forearms, my back arched towards Zack’s legs. My cardigan had fallen down my arms, leaving my chest bare. Zack’s head was down around my abdomen; I felt a soft lick of his tongue were my underwear ended, sending shivers down my spine. His teeth pulled down my underwear, only for those shivers to sustain further.

All I can say is that was the most amazing time I’d ever had with Zack, only to produce the most amazing thing; my son, Noah.

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Present Day - Christmas Morning
“Dei! Dei! Wake up!”

“Wha -” I rubbed my eyes groggily to see Zack and Noah standing over me, Zack in pyjama pants, Noah in his footies. “Good morning, Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” I sat up and pulled Noah into a hug, giving Zack a kiss at the same time.

It had been tradition for the past two years, since Noah was old enough to know what Christmas was, for Zack and I to take as long as possible in the bathroom. This year was no exception. I lazily got up, slipping my hand into Zack’s, and walked into the washroom, Noah behind us jumping up and down in anticipation.

Zack pulled out his razor and shaving cream, and squirted a little into his hand. “Do you have to?” I asked him. He looks so sexy with a little stubble.

“It’ll be back by tomorrow,” he said, kissing my cheek.

I washed my face, brushed my teeth, combed my hair and brushed my teeth again. All the while Noah was in the hallway watching us, bent at the knees and putting on a show of biting his nails. After about five minutes of stalling in the washroom we turned to Noah, he knowing what he was allowed to do. Noah raced down the stairs, full tilt, to the Christmas tree in the far corner of our living room.

“Merry Christmas, babe,” Zack whispered into my ear as we watched Noah tear away the wrapping on his gifts. He, Zack, was sitting in our oversized arm chair, me on his lap, the both of us sipping on coffee.

“Hey, Noah!” Noah turned his attention away from the bright red fire truck he was scooting back and forth with along the white carpet, and looked at Zack, “pull out a gift for Mom, would ya?” I actually hated it when Zack said that. Called me Mom. It made me feel so old. Yea, I had a four year old son, but I’m only 25, and Zack 28.
Noah stood up and put one hand on his hip and a finger on his mouth, tapping with it to show he was thinking. A mimicked action of his father. It was cute; but hard. We had to be careful what we said around him, because who knew what we would remember, or when he would say it. I’ve always been like that, but it wasn’t until Noah said fuck at daycare did Zack tone down his cussing.

Noah picked up a red gift bag, and held the string handles with both his hands, and brought it over to me.

“I wonder what it can be?” I asked when Noah handed me my gift. I looked up at Zack, whose face looked a little uncomfortable. I peeked under the tissue paper to see what it was, before deciding if I should pull it out. “Aw, Zack,” I wined, in show for Noah, “you got me socks? What kind of gift is that?” I gave him a quick kiss, before whispering a thanks for the lingerie in the bag. “How about if you bring me a different one, kid? Somethin’ fun.” I snugged against Zack, happy with what he’d gotten me, and waited for Noah to bring me something else.

“Here,” he handed me a thin, square package; wrapped messily in brown paper,

“I thought I said fun!” Noah shrugged his shoulders before I took the gift from him and looked at it to see the single name Deidee scrawled on it. It wasn’t Noah’s writing or Zack’s, but I knew who it belonged to.

“Oh,” was all I could say. I sat up a little, away from Zack, as an uncomfortable knot formed in my stomach. “Um, Noah. Go and grab your Daddy a gift. I think I see one in the far corner,” I said, still looking at the gift, while getting up, giving Zack a quick kiss and whispering be back in a second, and heading into the kitchen, and then down the hall and into my bedroom.

I sat on the edge of my bed, still looking at the gift. Soon I gathered enough courage to tear it open. There lay a CD titled Secrets Don't Make Friends. The Maine. I closed my eyes and swallowed hard before lifting a shaky hand to the phone, picking it up, and dialling a number I could never forget.

“Hello?” I male voice answered.

“What the fuck?” was all I could say, in a weak and cracking voice.

There was a long silence. The only reason I knew he was still on the line was from the soft inhaling and exhaling on the other line.

“I miss you,” was all he said before the line went dead, and I fell on my back, exhausted and bursting with tears.