She Held Fire In Her Hands

It had been the fifth time our neighbors were up until four a.m. arguing in what I could only assume was Lebanese that I insisted we move.

We had been living in the same second story apartment for the duration of my pregnancy, and now our son was almost a year old. But the Lebanese people had moved in when Gordon was about nine months old. At first it was alright, I would only hear the occasional harsh word, and it wasn’t like Gordy could understand it (he only knew a few English words anyway) or would learn it, so I let it slide.

Then, they were up all freaking night shouting at each other like one of the two was an enemy spy or something. Gordy screamed his little head off along with them, even when I tucked him into bed with us. The next few times it was the same thing, Dom pissed off because he had work in the morning and me desperate just to get the baby back to sleep. When it happened and Gordy slept through it, then I sat Dom down and told him the apartment thing was kaput.

“I don’t like that he’s used to all the fighting.” I said as Dom drank coffee at the table, me cooking blueberry pancakes as sort of an offering to go with the request. “What if some day he spends the night at a friend’s house and there’s an earthquake or something, and when he doesn’t wake up they assume it’s because you and me yell all night long?”

Dom kind of snorted into his mug. “What might happen in five years is the least of my worries. I think it’s a good thing he’s becoming a heavy sleeper after all those hours we put in from dusk ‘til dawn.”

“Dom, you aren’t getting the point.” I set his plate of pancakes in front of him with a little more force than needed. “I don’t want him to grow up in a cramped environment like this. And I’m not trying to be argumentative, but I know we have the money to rent a house.”

“You’re right.” Dom rubbed his face, still unshaved, dusted with dark brown stubble to match his messy hair. It was hard not to go soft on him in the morning, when he was at his cutest. Since becoming a mom I was a real pushover. “We can think about it. Look today and if you find anything we’ll talk it over when I get home.”

And I did find something.

Once Gordy was up and in his high chair, messing around with the mushy breakfast cereal I made him (I’d had to give him baths every morning after breakfast anyway, so it eventually became routine and I didn’t care how dirty he got himself during breakfast), I sat at the computer desk and looked through the classifieds for the local newspaper. It was a testament to our need to move that the computer desk barely fit in the living room, one nearly having to go on a diet every time they needed to sit at the chair shoved between the couch and the wall.

I scrolled through a bunch of stuff, not really looking, talking to Gordy about boats that were for sale. He gurgled and blabbered, chubby fists full of slop as he watched me enthusiastically. Everything my son did was enthusiastic, and I appreciated him for that. It stopped me from getting sullen or bored, at home with him the majority of my life.

And he was such a sweet little thing, brown hair like Dom’s that curled like mine, a gorgeous hazel mix of my brown eyes and Dom’s green ones, and dimples. When he was old enough for it to be obvious he had dimples I had laughed, because it was too ridiculous. How could a child of mine be so freaking adorable? I’d been an ugly duckling all my life, still awkward and prone to pimples at the age of twenty-four. It was also still a mystery how I got an attractive and smart thirty-year-old husband that insisted he actually loved me, even if we did elope. But hey, I wasn’t questioning life’s undeserved gifts to me.

“What about a used pick-up truck, Gord-onzola?” I twisted at my waist to look at him, a few feet away painting himself with his breakfast. “We need one of those, kid?”

He cackled and stuck a finger up his pug nose. Great, that would be totally easy to clean out. I shook my head at him and looked back to the computer. Time to get serious and actually look at…houses for sale. Okay, so I could dream. Dom would have rolled his eyes if he could have seen me with my legs pulled up, looking at houses we would never be able to afford. Oh, the things I could do with six bedrooms…

“Ma!”

I glanced over, a bit startled like I always was when Gordy spoke the few words he knew. “What?”

He splayed out his fingers in the air, giggling, proud of himself. I grinned and nodded, though I probably should have been doing something to teach him not to be so messy. “Excellent work, Gordon. Bath time will be suitably traumatizing for both of us.”

He found that hilarious, so I returned to the internet chuckling. My son could barely walk and he was a lunatic.

My eyes flickered down the list of houses, getting bored with looking at things I could never have. Just when I was going to return to the top to find the tab labeled ‘Rentals’ I saw a gorgeous red brick house. I stared at it wistfully, always having wanted a brick house, one I could plant flowers in front of and sit on the porch drinking lemonade. I didn’t even like lemonade, but that didn’t matter in the fantasy.

Just to torture myself, or to laugh about it with Dom later, I looked at the price. When I did I nearly fell out of my chair, which I’m sure would have been a spectacular bit of shtick for Gordy. I kept looking at it, highlighting it with the cursor, copying and pasting it into a Word document and blowing it up huge, coloring it pink and then rainbow.

“We can afford that.” I said to no one in particular, though I’m sure Gordy was interested in what I was saying. I reached up to smooth my ponytail, my hairstyle of choice because it managed my naturally slapdash curls. “With a loan we can afford that. Not even a big loan, something we can pay off in a few years. Wow…”

I grabbed a piece of printer paper and scribbled down the information, folding it and running to the kitchen to set it under the salt shaker on the table so I would remember to talk to Dom about it. I wanted to dwell on it more, possibly call the realtor, but then there was a dull thud and Gordy absolutely exploded with mirth. So I had to clean up the carpet as well as my eleven-month-old.

Dom came in the door at seven, looking exhausted and already half-undone. His tie was hanging on by a thread, blue button-down shirt on its way to being untucked. He saw me standing there waiting for him with Gordy (a tradition of ours) and smiled, kissing me on the mouth and grabbing Gordy to kiss him on the forehead. Gordy burrowed into his arms, babbling about how much he missed him in whatever language he spoke. Crap, hopefully not Lebanese.

“How was work, darling?” I batted my eyelashes at him as he rubbed Gordy’s back.

Dom quirked a thick eyebrow at me, blowing a raspberry on Gordy’s cheek before responding. “Same old, same old. I assume you want something.”

“You only give me so much allowance for groceries.” I kept on with my barefoot-and-pregnant housewife routine. I really needed to change that up if he knew I did it before I asked for something. “But anyway, I found something completely awesome and affordable and did I mention awesome?”

“I think so.” Dom made his way into the living room, sitting on the couch with Gordy, who continued spewing nonsense. Probably telling his dad all about how boring a day alone with me was. “What is it?”

I followed on my toes. “A house. A house that we can buy.”

“What is your mother talking about?” mumbled Dom to Gordy, who I kind of expected to shrug but didn’t. Dom fixed me with one of his ‘Babe, where do you expect that kind of money to come from?’ looks.

“Where would the money for a house come from?”

I grimaced at him, crossing my arms. “My savings, and a small loan. Seriously, very small. Let me show you where I wrote down the details.” A jog to the kitchen and back later (about seven feet), and I handed my husband the information.

He squinted at it for a good twenty seconds. “Jen, I think you wrote this down wrong. No house is that cheap.”

“What did I say?” I beamed. He was coming to my side, slowly but surely. “It’s not far away, it’s gorgeous, and it’s within possibility.”

Dom shook his head a little. “I don’t believe it. I wanna talk to this realtor.”

“You can call her first thing in the morning.” I told him brightly, practically hopping up and down. Gordy watched me with a dimpled grin, so I crossed my eyes at him, earning a laugh as well. “Plus, you know…Gordy told me he loves it.”

Dom smirked, gently ruffling the baby-soft curls on Gordy’s head. “Well, if Gordy loves it.”

I joined them on the couch and snuggled into Dom’s side, occasionally reaching over to tickle Gordy’s slightly pudgy belly. Dom and I chatted lightly about our days, though mine sounded like some kind of weird kid’s show and his sounded boring as hell. Even if we were stuck in a crappy apartment for the time being I had an awesome husband and son. That was pretty good, right? Yeah…

I hadn’t thought about it until then, but Gordy and I didn’t take our customary nap that day. I must have been too excited about the house. So in a matter of minutes I was laying my head on Dom’s shoulder and dozing, unsure but believing that they were probably doing the same thing.

A few minutes later the phone was ringing. I groaned and shoved my head behind Dom, hoping to block out the noise between the couch and his back. I distantly heard him laugh and say something, then lay Gordy on my lap. I lowered us to the couch and cocooned him in my arms so he wouldn’t fall off, then I was quickly asleep.

It could have been hours or seconds later that Dom was shaking me awake, and Gordy was missing from my arms. I opened my eyes and the lights were on, so it had been probably an hour. I blinked awake, sitting up and smiling at Dom. I heard a strange snuffle and was instantly alert. Motherhood had also taught me to wake up at the slightest of human noises.

“Dom?” I jumped up and swayed a little, horrified to find that his cheeks were wet and his eyes were red. He was trying to hide it, wiping his face continuously and breathing deeply. I grabbed his shoulders, having to reach up a little, my heart racing out of control. “Dom, what’s wrong? Where’s Gordy? Are you okay?”

He sobbed wetly, gruffly. I had never seen him cry. “Gordy’s fine, Jen. I put him to bed.”

“What’s wrong?” I could feel my heart breaking, though I didn’t know what was wrong yet. Nothing should have made my husband look like that. I wanted to find it and kill it. “Dom, talk to me!”

After a few shuddering breaths he spoke in the weakest voice I’d ever heard come from the tall, muscular man I’d married. “Becca and Reese were in a car crash.”

All I did was blink stupidly at him for a moment. This wasn’t the time to be half-asleep. “Your ex Rebecca?”

Dom was too upset to notice I was dazed. “She and Reese were driving. They got hit by a drunk driver. Becca was dead on impact. Reese is in a coma.”

His ex-girlfriend was dead, leaving their five year old daughter to Dom.

And suddenly a house was a lot more necessary.