The Man Who Can't Be Moved

“Classic Winnie the Pooh or….” perched on the cool, smooth granite counter top, I flip over one of the glossy, colourful pages of the Babies R Us catalogue spread across my thighs. “….Baby Bambi?”

From where he’s parked beside me, stomach resting against the edge of the island as he wolfs down a massive plate of re-heated lasagna -leftovers from the evening before- Max glances down into my lap as I fold the page in half order to compare the two separate nursery themes. “Isn’t there anything less…girly?” he inquires, and then takes a sip of milk -ice cubes tossed in for good measure- from a massive, plastic, neon orange cup.

“They are not girly,” I protest. “They’re unisex. A boy or a girl can have either Classic Winnie the Pooh or Baby Bambi. And seeing as we’ve already said that we want to be totally surprised when it comes to what we’re having…”

“There’s flowers on both of those,” my husband complains.

“Tiny ones, Maxime. So tiny that unless you look really, really, really closely, you can’t even see them.”

“I can see them,” he points out. “And I’m not looking that closely. Isn’t there anything in there that’s unisex and doesn’t have flowers on it? ‘Cause I don’t want my boy or boys having anything with flowers on them. Why can’t they have something with sports or teddy bears or…”

“And what if both of the babies are girls?” I challenge. “Why would I want my daughters sleeping in a total jock room?”

“There’s nothing wrong with my daughters being tomboys but everything wrong with my sons being girly men,” Max reasons.

“Why are you like this?” I ask, as I heave a dramatic, exasperated sigh and continue to browse through one of my many baby accessory catalogues.

Yesterday Max had come home two hours later than normal from practice and had brought with him an entire library of books from not only Babies R Us but Pottery Barn, Bed, Bath and Beyond and my absolute favourite place in the world, Wal-Mart. His interest in the babies outside or the incessant worrying over the upcoming operation -and the possibility of losing them both as a result- had signified the beginning of a remarkable change in both of our attitudes towards the pregnancy. After a week of intense, all consuming ‘situational’ depression that’s had me unable to get out of bed or do anything worthwhile aside from crying, I’ve been able to resume a relatively normal life; both Max and I have managed to successfully -yet not one hundred percent entirely- shove the stress and the fear onto the back burner in favour of talking about long term plans.

We’re smiling and laughing again; we’re engaging in our playful, flirtatious banter and we’ve regained some semblance of a sex life. There’s still the uncertainty and the nagging fear that haunts us; moments of emotional distress that creep up out of nowhere and render me a bawling, irrational mess with my face buried in my husband’s chest. Yet there’s glimmers of hope through all of the doom and gloom; Doctor Abrams has filled us with hope and we’ve been finally able to acknowledge the existence of our babies and celebrate it.

At least amongst ourselves and the small handful of people that have been entrusted with our secret. We’ve yet to come to a firm decision on when to break the news to our remaining family and friends and of course Max’s teammates and the Penguins’ staff, management and ownership group. We’re still torn on whether or not to wait until after the operation; we’re worried that if we tell people to soon and the end result is disastrous, we’ll have to do a whole lot of damage control while dealing with our own grief. Whereas if no one knows and things go wrong, they were none the wiser.

“Seriously,” I huff, and tossing the Babies R Us catalogue aside, scoop up the one for Pottery Barn. “Why are you so damn difficult? Why do you always have be so ‘alpha male’? Lots of men are perfectly okay with a little splash of floral here and there. I mean, you own pink and purple shirts, don’t you? There was a time where everyone considered those girly colours for men. And you, my love…” I reach out to comb my fingers through his hair -pulling and twisting the short strands until they’re sticking up in several different directions- and the lean sideways in order to press a kiss to his forehead. “…are as far from girly as one man can get.”

“Owning pink and purple shirts is entirely different from owning anything floral,” he objects. “It’s just not right, Emma-Leigh. There’s something so wrong about making any dude sleep in a room or on or under blankets that have flowers on them. It’s like my parents’ second bathroom. You know, the small one off the kitchen? Why do you think my brothers and I will hold of on taking a leak until the big bathroom upstairs is free? ‘Cause my mom’s got wallpaper in the small one with huge ass pink and purple roses all over it. No man can take a piss or a dump in a place like that.”

“There’s a massive difference in your parents’ second washroom and Baby Bambi or Classic Winnie the Pooh crib bedding,” I argue. “I highly doubt it’s going to do any damage to your sons -if I’m actually carrying one or two boys- if they have blankets with tiny, barely noticeable flowers on them.”

“I’m not asking for much here, babe. I am just asking that any male offspring of mine don’t get turned into girly men. Think about it this way; do you want your son or your sons growing up to be like Mike Fisher? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure Carrie Underwood makes him sleep on floral sheets. And look what he’s starting to be like.”

“Hmmm…” I frown. “…you raise a very valid point. Although…” I snatch his cup from the counter and raise it to my lips. “…if a man is truly comfortable with his sexuality, floral patterns wouldn’t bother them so much.”

“I backwashed in that,” Max warns, eyes sparkling playfully.

Giving a shrug of indifference, I help myself to a sip of milk and place the cup back down on the counter. “I’m nearly four months pregnant with your twins, Maxime! I think it’s safe to say that we’ve shared a hell out of a lot of bodily fluids and passed around our fair share of germs. I’m past caring about whether or not you backwash in your beverages. And as far as this whole aversion to flowers goes…”

“I am perfectly comfortable in my sexuality, okay? I just don’t like floral patterned blankets and sheets. In the same way that I don’t like satin sheets. ‘Cause they make me feel…”

“Girly,” I conclude. “They make you feel as if you want to throw on a pair of my undies and climb into a pair of stilettos and…”

“Weird, alright? They make me feel weird. I don’t know why you’re making such a huge deal out of this. Why you always have to ride my ass about it whenever it gets brought up. Why you…?”

“Just because you feel…weird…when it comes to satin sheets and blankets with flowers on them, doesn’t mean your sons will. Maybe they’ll take after me! And I love satin sheets! And floral patterned blankets and wall paper!”

“And you call me difficult,” Max grumbles, as he finishes his dinner and drops his cutlery onto the plate with a clatter.

“Admit it…” I tousle his hair playfully. “You have an inner cake boy inside of you and you’re afraid to unleash it. There’s some small part of you that really wants to wear silk shirts and try on women’s underwear; that wants to doll himself up with eyeliner and lip gloss and…”

“You are disturbed,” he declares, and downs the remains of the milk.

“And aren’t you going over to Flower’s to break a sweat?” I inquire. “Aren’t you putting those muscles to good use with all of that baby furniture that needs to be put together? How come you’re eating now? Afraid the disgustingly happy, unmarried couple won’t feed you?”

“Vero’s a slave driver and she could keep me there for days without food and water. And guess what?” plucking the catalogue from my hands, he tosses it onto the counter top and then steps between my legs. The beginnings of a cocky smirk tug at the corners of his mouth as large, strong, slightly calloused hands travel slowly along my denim clad thighs and those incredible eyes -now a deep and phenomenally intense dark blue- hold a long, smouldering gaze with mine.

I’d heard a saying once about the eyes are ‘a gateway to someone’s soul’; Max is a master at conveying all of his inner most thoughts, feelings and concerns with even the simplest of glance and with the way his eyes constantly change shades depending on his moods. Right now he’s looking at me with a mixture of pure idol worship, utmost love, respect and adoration, and undeniable lust. And as my stomach flutters and my pulse immediately quickens, it’s quite clear that the only gateway his eyes are beckoning me towards is the one that leads straight to off the hook, earth moving sex.

“You’re my wife,” he reminds me, that playful smirk spreading across his face as his hands slip over my hips and around the small of my back. “It’s your duty to make sure I’m taken care of. In every possible way.”

“Oh you think so do you?” I give a derisive snort and then laugh as he grabs a hold of my ass and yanks me towards him. “I never realized it was a ‘duty’. Doesn’t that mean I should be compensated for all of my hard work and emotional pain and suffering? Do I get hazard pay?”

“Ask me, you get compensated in the best way possible,” Max replies, as he begins pressing a series of feathery kisses along my jaw line and the side of my neck; the scruff covering his cheek scraps against my sensitive skin and causes me to shiver violently from head to toe. “What was it the doctor said? About pregnant women and their hormones?”

“They’re apparently ten times hornier than non-pregnant women,” I confirm, and tunnel my fingers in his hair and bite down on my bottom lip as the tip of his tongue drifts along the edge of my t-shirts scooped neckline.

“I am a lucky man,” he declares. “And I am more than capable of living up to my end of keeping you happy and satisfied.”

“I have very lofty expectations,” I say, as he licks, sucks and nibbles his way along the hallow of my throat and over the bottom of my chin. “I don’t even know if you can live up to them.”

“You seriously underestimate me,” he scowls, and drawing my bottom lip between his teeth , scrapes them along the moist, soft skin before kissing me with a blinding, ground shaking passion that I’ve only ever experienced with him; it’s intense and all consuming and it turns my insides to Jello and sends my already bubbling hormones straight into overdrive.

“We actually don’t have time for this,” I mutter against the side of his throat; my protests against his wandering hands and beginnings of the erection pressed against me sound pathetic to both our ears considering my hands are already delving under the front of his shirt and making short work of his belt buckle and the button on his jeans.

“There’s always time,” Max says, as he curls an arm around my waist and dumps me onto my back in the middle of the island. “All I need is a few minutes and…”

“A few minutes!” I protest. “That’s not even worth getting naked for!”

“Half naked,” he stresses, and reaches for the button on my jeans. “I only need you to be half naked and…”

The doorbell sounds throughout the house; the melodic chime travelling through the entire house and sending the puppies into a near frenzy as they snap out of their peaceful slumbers in the living room and bark hysterically as they race for the door.

“Your friends have seriously bad timing,” Max complains, as curls his fingers around my bicep and helps me back up into a sitting position.

“Suddenly you’re using the term ‘friends’ to describe us?” I ask, as I smooth down my hair and straight out my t-shirt. “When did that start?”

“When I decided to be the bigger man and leave the past in the past in order to start concentrating on what I have right in front of me,” he replies, as he hurriedly does up both the button and the zipper on his jeans and buckles his belt. “I’m going to go and let him in and take off. You know where I’ll be so if there’s anything you need, you just have to…”

Stretching out my legs, I wrap them around his waist and pull him into me. “Are you sure you’re okay with this, Max?” I ask, as I tenderly cradle his face in my hands. “Because if you’re not entirely okay with this, I don’t need to…”

“You do need to,” he interjects. “And I’m fine with it. It was my idea, remember? I’m the one who told you to do this; to call him and tell him to come over here. He deserves to hear it straight from you, babe. ‘Cause what we did him fucking dirt the first time around; we never should have handled things the way we did and we’ll probably never stop feeling bad for that. I think we need to do things right by him this time, don’t you?”

I nod in agreement.

“I trust you,” he presses a kiss to the tip of my nose. “If I didn’t, I’d be sticking around to keep an eye on things. You need to do this alone. This is between the two of you.”

“I just want you to be sure that…”

“I trust you,” Max repeats, and kisses me softly. “A hundred percent. Even if I’m not entirely sure I trust him.”

“I think this…” I nod down at my stomach. “…will push him away for good, don’t you?”

“Nothing pushes someone away when they’re that much in love with someone,” my husband reasons, and then kisses me a final time before wriggling out of my grasp and snatching his car keys from the top of the microwave. “I gotta go. I shouldn’t be too long, okay? If there’s anything you need…”

“There’s going to be a lot I need after you come home,” I promise. Like crazy hot sex on the kitchen table.”

“Your wish is my command,” he says with a dramatic, gallant bow. “Je t’aime,” he calls on his way out of the kitchen.

“Je t’aime aussi,” I respond, as I jump down of the counter and hurriedly gather up all of the baby catalogues and shove them into the bottom drawer on the microwave stand. “All three of us!”

He pauses in the doorway and gives me a playful wink before disappearing out of the room.

***********

“Max didn’t have to take off,” Sidney says, as he wanders into the kitchen and pauses awkwardly at the end of the island; chewing nervously on his bottom lip and his eyes curiously surveying the room and never fully settling on me as I pick up Max’s dishes and carry them to the sink. “I mean, this is his place.”

It’s a strange situation to say the least; the ex boyfriend -ex fiancé considering the plans had been effect even if the ring had never gotten onto my finger- paying a personal visit to his old girlfriend’s home when she’s married to someone else. I don’t blame him for being uncomfortable; he’s never handled social situations with the greatest of ease to begin with and now all of a sudden he’s stepping into the house I share with his former best friend. I even feel slightly unsettled about the entire thing; I’m still unnerved and emotional about our phone call three weeks ago and I can’t deny that my heart skips a beat every time he so as much steps into whatever room I happen to be in.

It doesn’t help that he’s so damn attractive; his curls are peeking out from underneath the back of his ball cap, his jeans are snug around his massive, powerful calves and thighs and his baggy Pens hooded sweater does little to hide his broad shoulders and chest.

“He’s on his way to Flower’s,” I explain, as I rinse the plate, cutlery and cup with hot water before dropping them into the dishwasher. “He promised he’d help put the furniture for the nursery together. And if you don’t do it exactly when Vero says to do it…”

“Her hormones definitely have her on the warpath about everything,” Sid agrees. “I just didn’t want Max thinking that he had to leave just because I’m here. I don’t have anything to say that I can’t say in front of him.”

“He just doesn’t want to get involved anymore,” I say, as I dry my hands on the thighs of my jeans and then turn around to lean against sink ledge. “He wants me to act like a big girl for once and deal with my own personal business. It was actually his idea for me to call you over here to talk to you. Some things just can’t be talked about over the phone. They’re better done face to face.”

Sid nods in agreement. “I’m sorry I’m a bit late,” he says, and then holds up the manila envelope he carries in his left hand. “I had a meeting with the realtor and it went a little bit long.”

“Realtor?” I arch a quizzical eyebrow. “You’re moving out of Mario’s?”

“I just need a place of my own now,” he reasons. “Something with more privacy. I mean, I’ve been living in the guest house for a while now, but with all the kids running around and bursting in unannounced…”

“You need something to call your own,” I conclude, and placing my hands on the granite, drum my fingernails against it before casually asking, “Is Autumn moving in with you?”

“Not right now,” he replies. “We’re not ready for that kind of thing. But if and when we are ready, it’ll be nice to have a place she can just wander into.”

“So I guess things aren’t that serious if you’re not ready to move in with her,” I remark. I’d be lying if I said that the thought of Autumn and Sid not being that ‘into’ each other doesn’t fill me with some sort of perverse sense of satisfaction; if there’s not that immature little brat side of me that is tickled pink over the fact that he hasn’t totally gotten over me.

“She isn’t the type to rush into things,” he explains. “She’s the type that has to analyse things to death and ask a million and one questions about intentions and long range plans before she can devote herself to anything. I get that; she’s older and she’s been married before and she’s got her son to worry about and she doesn’t want to make a decision without making sure something is legit. I don’t think she totally believes me when I tell her that I love her and that I want to have a long term thing with her. Not that I’ve really given her a reason to believe me considering certain things that have gone down lately.”

“Well I’m sure if she cares about you in the same way you do about her, she’ll wait forever. You’re the type of guy any woman would wait forever for.”

“I think that’s a stretch, don’t you?” he stares at me pointedly. “I didn’t see you exactly waiting around or giving me the benefit of the doubt or…”

“Do you want anything to eat?” I push myself away from the counter. “Something to drink? I’m sure I’ve got a million and one things that you’d be interested in. I’m sure that…”

“I’m fine,” he says. “I can’t stay long anyway. I told Autumn I’d swing by her place and grab her son before picking her up at work. We’re going bowling. Can you believe that? Me bowling?”

“Considering how bad I know you are at it?” I can’t help but laugh. “And the fact that you’ve been practically a recluse since you started playing in Pittsburgh? You must be pretty crazy about her; you’re actually willing to go out in public and act like a ‘normal’ person.”

“I’ve got a lot to prove to her,” he says with a shrug. “She doesn’t want to have to live her life in a fish bowl. She says I need to ‘get a grip’ on the whole being a celebrity thing. That even if I didn’t ever want to be one, I am. That I need to realize that even though my life isn’t really my own anymore, it doesn’t mean I can’t have one.”

“Well she certainly does have some incredible little pearls of wisdom,” I remark. God, I hope I didn’t sound as bitter and jealous to his ears as I did to my own. “I’m happy for you,” I plaster a smile on my face and force some cheer into my voice. “She sounds incredible. You need someone like her, Sid. Someone that doesn’t expect you to give more than what you possibly can. And she’s more mature; you don’t have to worry about her being clingy and needy. She’s got her own life and her own career; perfect independent, assertive woman like you’ve always wanted.”

“That isn’t what I’ve always wanted,” he gently objects. “I wanted you, Emma-Leigh. Only you. And sometimes it’s still what I want. Not that that matters anymore, right? You’re with Max now; you’re married and you’ve got your own little piece of paradise right here with him. What difference does what and who I want make anymore?”

“I never meant to hurt you, Sid. I never meant for things to go down the way they did. But I can’t change what happened. I can’t help the fact that I fell in love with someone else. What did you want me to do? Did you want me to hide it from you forever? Did you want me to just go along with things and marry you despite the fact I was in love with someone else? Did you want me to just…?”

“I wanted you to stay away from Max. Why did it have to be him? Of all people, why did it have to be Max? Why couldn’t it have been a complete stranger? Why him? Why a teammate of mine? Why my best friend?”

“I don’t know why. I don’t know why I fell in love with him. I just did. I couldn’t help it and I couldn’t stop it and I couldn’t lie to myself or you anymore. I didn’t want to hurt you and I didn’t want to…”

“You didn’t think sleeping with him behind my back would hurt? You didn’t think that would bother me? Why couldn’t you just tell me that you didn’t want to be with me anymore, Em. Why didn’t you just come to me and tell me that you were in love with him? Because it would have been a little easier to deal with if you’d just been honest about it. If you had have just told me you wanted to be with him, I would have let you go. It would have hurt like a fucking bitch but I would have done it. Instead you go behind my back and sleep with him. Than you completely drop off the face of the earth and you run off and marry him.”

“I was screwed up,” I lamely reason. “I was messed up and I was scared and I handled things badly. And I am sorry that I hurt you; I’m sorry that I wasn’t honest about things and that I dealt with them the way I did. You deserved so much better than that. And I know you’ll probably never forgive me for it. But…”

“I do forgive you. It doesn’t mean I’ll ever forget about it. And I’m sorry that I couldn’t give you what you needed. That I couldn’t be the one to make you happy. I tried, Em. I really did. But I guess I was young and scared too. I didn’t know the first thing about a real relationship and I made all the wrong decisions and fucked things up royally. Doesn’t mean I didn’t love you, though. Or that a part of me won’t always love you.”

“Sometimes two people can love each other but can’t be together,” I say. “And maybe that was us. Maybe neither of us could really be what the other person needed.”

“Maybe…” he shrugs. “Guess it’s something we’ll always wonder about but never have an answer too. And I’m sorry about calling you that night. I never meant to cause problems between you and Max. I was just pissed off that Autumn phoned you. I just wanted to apologize and…”

“All water under the bridge,” I assure him.

“And that whole thing with Noot Sears,” he shakes his head in dismay. “Max told me that she was waiting on the doorstep when you guys got home from your appointment with the psychiatrist last week.”

I visibly cringe; both at the mention of my husband’s ex, and at the lie of having a shrink appointment.

“I’m just glad that you didn’t have a major freak out on him,” Sid continues. “That you believed him when he said that he never sent that text message. I know it would have been easy to think he was lying because of his history and all that.”

“Max wouldn’t hurt me like that,” I confidently declare. “And it takes a big man to admit guilt. Thanks for doing that; for ‘fessing up right away.”

“I was just really pissed off at the time and I wanted to get back at him. And then it completely slipped my mind and I never got the change to make things right and…”

“It’s in the past,” I give him a reassuring smile. “No harm, no foul, right?”

“I guess…” he sighs heavily. “So are we done? Have we both said what we needed to say? Are things good between us? ‘Cause I don’t want there to be all this tension and friction between us, Em. I want us to be…I don’t know…I don’t want to say friends ‘cause I don’t think it’s possible to be friends considering everything’s that happened between us. I just want things to be okay with us. I want us to be able to talk to one another when we’re out in the public.”

“I want that too,” I agree. “But there’s something I need to tell you. About me and Max. It’s the real reason I called you over here. And I don’t really know how to say this…”

“Are things okay? You guys aren’t having issues, are you? There’s nothing seriously wrong between you or…”

“I’m pregnant,” I blurt out, and he immediately recoils as if he’d been slapped. “That’s the real reason why were at the hospital last week and the reason why Max has been all out of sorts. We had to go and talk to a high risk OB about the chances of me successfully carrying and…”

“Pregnant?” his voice is barely a whisper. “You’re having a baby?”

“Two, actually,” I confirm. “I’m three and a half months. I’ve actually made it past the first trimester and…”

“But what about what the doctor said to us? About how you’d never carry to term and how you’d never…”

“I have to have an operation in a couple of weeks. They’re going to remove the cyst that’s causing the most issues. There’s a chance that we could lose the babies but we decided that it was better to try to save them and to give them a shot at making it instead of just writing them off.”

“Wish someone would have given our baby the same chance,” he mumbles.

“Our baby didn’t have a chance,” I gently argue. “It’s not like we knew there were problems ahead of time. It’s not like there was anything we could have done to prevent what happened. I know you wanted the baby, Sid. But it was my baby too and I’d wanted it just as much as you did.”

“I know…” he gives a small nod of affirmation and then gives a shaky, self conscious grin. “…not that that matters much now, right? You’ve gone on with your life. You’re married to Max and you’re having another baby with him. Two babies. Not like you actually care about what happened to our baby.”

“That’s not true,” I protest. “I do care about what happened to our baby. But I can’t go back in time and change things. Neither of us can. It happened, Sidney. It was tragic and unfortunate. But it did happen. And one day you’re going to get married and have babies with someone else, too. Just because we’re not having them together doesn’t mean that…”

“If we’d had have had our baby, you would have never married Max. And you never would have been having his kids. So…”

“So? That’s neither here nor there. Because I did lose our baby. Our baby didn’t make it. But does that mean you’re going to hope that the same thing happens to these babies?” I lay a protective hand on my stomach. “Does that mean that…?”

“Emma-Leigh…” he crosses the distance between us in less than six strides and lays his hands on my shoulders. “I’d never, ever think or say something like that. Ever. Just because I’m pissed off about you and Max doesn’t mean that I’d ever wish anything bad on you or your babies. You really think I’m that kind of person?”

I shake my head.

“I hope that everything goes okay,” he places his lips against my forehead. “I hope that you and the babies turn out fine.”

“Is that all you’re going to say?” I struggle to hold back a flood of tears. I can see the emotion that‘s playing on his face and the tears that are sparkling in his eyes; I can hear the hurt and the lingering grief that exists in his voice. I had prepared myself for two possible reactions; a massive freak out or a Sid shutting down and putting on his emotionally absent persona. And now that I‘ve gotten the latter, my heart feels as if it‘s going to shatter into a million pieces. “All you’re going to say is that you hope everything goes okay? You’re not going to get mad? You’re not going to rant and rave or…?”

He silences me with a tender, chaste kiss. “I’ve got to go,” he clears tears off my cheeks with the pads of my thumbs and then presses his lips to my forehead one final time. “It’s time for me to go, Emma-Leigh. It’s time for me to let go.”

“I’m sorry…” I whisper, and place my forehead against his. “…I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry that…”

“Things will be okay,” he promises, and then pats my face softly before stepping away from me. “Trust me; things are going to be okay.”

“I do trust you,” I say, as he journeys towards the door. “I always did. I’m sorry I couldn’t love you enough. I’m sorry I couldn’t be who you wanted me to be.”

“I never expected you to be anyone other than yourself,” he informs me, and then gives me a sad smile before disappearing from the room.

Just like that he’s gone; leaving a gaping hole in my heart in his wake.

I can't help but wonder why moving in is always so much easier said than done.

And why it seems as if complete closure continues to allude me.