My Baby, My Darling.

Dexter POV

“What?”

She was coughing, struggling to swallow what I think was a bite of chocolate chip waffle. I wasn’t sure.

I don’t even know how those words came out of my mouth. Move in with me? I hadn’t even intended to say anything. The words were in the air before I could even process what she was saying. It was just, to watch her sitting there and chewing on that stupid, cholesterol-filled bacon in that adorable way she does. I don’t know what came over me. All I could think to myself was, I would never, in a million years, have wanted this scenario with anyone other than her. I don’t even like CSI shows, but she does. So I put one on. I hate breakfast foods with every ounce of my being, but I eat them all the time because she likes it and it’s the only thing she can cook. And, subconsciously, I think she likes cooking for me. It makes her feel like she can contribute something besides take-out, which is always my first choice. I take her to restaurants that I hate and she loves. I buy shit that is processed and sealed and drowning in sugar solely for the smile it brings to her face when she opens my pantry and sees a bag of those shitty sour candies that she loves. And she’s the only one that I ever want to do these things for. She’s the only one I could imagine doing all these things for, besides Lydia. And I guess that’s why I asked her to move in with me. I wanted her, every part of her, around me at all times. And I wanted to know, I wanted to be certain that she wasn’t going to go anywhere. And that was selfish of me, but I didn’t care. I wanted to live with her. And slowly, the idea wasn’t as horrible as when the words left my lips.

“Why…why are you asking me this?” She coughed and reached for her water bottle on the table. I handed it to her and watched her struggle to breathe evenly. After a while, she found her normal breathing pattern and set her eyes on mine. And she looked, she looked angry. Of all things. “Where did this idea even come from?”

“Are you saying that you won’t?”

“Oh, my god.” She rolled her eyes, looking at me like I was some sort of leper. But I wasn’t phased. I was willing to do whatever it took to get her to say yes. “Why are you asking me this?”

“What do you mean, why am I asking you this?” I said, my irritation slowly growing. “I want you to move in with me.”

“I understand that.” She breathed, biting down on her lower lip and I tried my hardest not to notice the gesture but, my God. “We just got back together, Dexter. We’ve literally been back together for, what, two weeks. And, it’s just-“

“You don’t want to.” I finished for her, although I hoped that wasn’t the case.

“God. No. That’s the problem. You’re not letting me finish. I want to. I really want to, that’s the thing. But I shouldn’t. And you should know that. This isn’t something that we should be doing right now. You have so much stuff going on.”

“What does all the shit in my life have to do with us moving in together?”

“You aren’t thinking clearly.”

“Baby, all I do is think.”

“Okay, but you aren’t being rational here. What about Lydia? And all these things going on with your family? You don’t need the stress of reorganizing your apartment and hiring movers and-“

“Those are all very small things.”

“Dexter.”

“Look. All of this shit aside. My family and the movers and all of that. Put everything aside and just think of everything on the most simple terms possible. Think about you and me. We would wake up next to each other every morning, we would come home to each other every night. You wouldn’t have to go back to your apartment to grab a change of clothes and come back. You wouldn’t need to worry about moving your car and shit like that. You and me, that’s what I’m asking you.”

She blinked, her eyes on me but she wasn’t looking at me. It’s like she wasn’t even in this conversation, instead she was in a conversation of her own. With herself. In her head, she was making a pro con list and having a socratic seminar with her fighting thoughts and emotions. And slowly, I was regretting the decision to ask her. She was going to say no. Of course she was going to say no. It took her nearly a month to admit that she was in a relationship with me. And then after we got back together, it took her another month to decide that we were actually back together. She would never make this decision on the spot. She would spend another two months thinking about whether or not it was a good idea. But I couldn’t wait two months. There’s a good chance that by the time two months rolls around, she’ll realize how complicated my shit is. And then she’ll leave. And maybe that’s the reason that I wanted her to move in, so that she couldn’t run away. I then realized how fucking selfish I was being. It wasn’t fair for me to ask her to move in with me. It wasn’t fair at all. She was still learning to trust me. Fuck, she couldn’t even tell me she loves me. Of course she’s going to say no. I’m a fucking idiot.

“You know what-“

“I need to think about it.” She said, finally meeting my eyes. She was actually considering this? “You need to give me time to think about this.”

“Okay.” I heard myself say and I wondered who the fuck came up with that response because it sure as hell wasn’t me.

“Alright.” She nodded and handed me the water bottle in her hands. I watched her gaze return to the TV and I wondered if she really was paying attention to what was going on in the show. The last I remember before Chelsea walked into the room, there was somebody found in a gas station bathroom. And my mind didn’t stick around enough to figure out who killed him. But now, there was some guy, the brother I think, testifying on the stand saying that No, he did not kill his brother. And the thought of Ben popped into my mind. Not in a sense that I was going to commit murder or anything, but just the subject of his betrayal. There’s something about lies and manipulation in crime shows that parallels the secrets in a family. I tried to remember a time where Ben was just Ben, the brother I went to hockey games with while I listened to him complain about his fiancé, now wife. Even then, it was always about Ben, what he wanted to talk about.

“Dexter.”

Chelsea was waving her hand in front of me and I looked down to meet her gaze. She looked concerned, and I wondered how long I’d zoned out. Did I fall asleep?

“I’m sorry.” She said. She was sitting cross-legged beside me, her empty plate on the coffee table sitting next to my still full plate. Although, my bacon was missing.

“No, it’s fine. I just zoned out for a little bit.” I said, a yawn escaping past my lips, betraying me.

She shook her head, “No. Not about that. In the car, when you…” She looked down and cleared her throat. “When you said-“

“When I said that I loved you.” I finished for her and she nodded, meeting my eyes.

“I’m sorry for not saying it back.” She pushed strands of hair behind her ear and looked away from me and I could tell that this was hard for her to say. She hated apologizing, not that she needed to in this case. It’s not like she was required to say it back.

“It’s okay.” I said, my voice raspy with sleep. “It’s not like you had to say it back. You don’t feel the same way, and that’s okay.”

“It’s not- It’s not that. I don’t know why I didn’t say it, to be honest.”

I was quiet. I didn’t know what to say to that.

“I mean, what I feel about you is really strong. And I don’t want you to think that I don’t feel the same way about you that you do for me, because I do. But, it’s just-“

“You don’t love me.” It’s not like I was going to become some obsessed teenager that worried constantly about Does she like me? Does she know I like her? and pick flowers and shit like that. If she didn’t feel the same way about me, then she wouldn’t be here, beside me, telling me this. I wasn’t saying that it didn’t hurt when she didn’t say it back, but I understood. She told me this in New York. She needed time. Like always, she needs time. And I was willing to wait.

“I don’t know. It’s just- so much has happened, you know? And I don’t want to say it just to say it, if I don’t really mean it. I want to mean it. I sound like a bitch, I know. I sound like such a bitch, I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.” I shook my head and she let out a deep breath of air. Locks of hair fell onto her face and I moved to push them back, like I‘d always seen her do. Her hand moved over mine when I cupped her cheek and she reached out to trace the bottom of my jawline, her fingers slowly inching up to trace over my lips and holy hell, I would never not love that feeling.

“Do you know how perfect you are?”

She laughed, her fingers dropping from my lips as her other hand moved to intertwine her petite fingers with mine. He round eyes looked up at the ceiling. “Yeah, shut up.”

“What is so funny about that?”

“How would you feel if I called you perfect?”

“I don’t know. I’d probably agree with you or something. Maybe I’d make you sit down with me and write a ten page research paper as to why I am so perfect. Works Cited page included.”

She threw her head back in laughter. “You are so arrogant it physically pains me.”

“It physically pains you, huh?” I poked her side and watched her jump up from the couch.
“No. Don’t you dare.”

“What are you talking about?” I grinned, standing up from the couch. She narrowed her eyes and slowly backed away.

“Dexter. I swear to God, if you try that shit with me right now…” She warned, her arms moving to cover her stomach and I laughed.

“I have no idea what you’re getting at.” We were now circling the couch and the whole scene would have been amusing to anyone that would have walked in at that moment. It’s like we were in elementary school or something.

“If you fucking tickle me…” She hissed, narrowing her eyes at me as she moved to the opposite end of the couch.

“Tickle you?” I rolled my eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. Come here.”

“I will kill you. Don’t test me-“ She laughed, her eyes widening as she darted toward the kitchen. And what could I do? She would have looked stupid running away if no one was chasing her.

—-

Chelsea POV

The waffle house was literally between a rock and a hard place. That’s what Monica said when she gave me directions to Lydia’s favorite restaurant. The shop beside the restaurant was a collector’s shop for rare, expensive rocks called “The Rock.” And on the other side was a hardware store uniquely titled “The Hard Place.” I wondered if they planned that or if one was there before the other and once both of them were there, both owners were too stubborn to leave. I mean, who stays? The Rock or The Hard Place.

Monica was already there when I walked into the restaurant. There was a place setting across from her with a steaming cup of something sitting in front of the empty plate. I hoped and prayed that it was coffee. I had an early class this morning and I didn’t get a chance to make myself coffee before I left my apartment.

“Hey,” she smiled once she saw me. She moved to stand up but I shook my head.

“You don’t have to get up. Sorry I’m late.” I said, shrugging off my coat. It was snowing outside and I tend to be bitter when the temperature is the same as my age.

“No, it’s fine. Did you find the place okay?” She asked, nodding toward the cup in front of me. I took a sip and oh, my god. It was tea.

I put the cup down and forced a smile. “At first, I didn’t know what you meant by rock and a hard place. It’s really clever.”

She laughed, “Yeah. I thought you would like that. I mean, Lydia likes this place because of the special strawberry syrup she loves to douse her waffles with. I like it because everything is gluten-free and the situation is just so clever. I take pride in the fact that I’m sufficiently enjoying myself in between a rock and a hard place.”

“Gluten-free, huh?”

“Yeah. I’m guessing Dexter didn’t tell you how much of a health nut I am.”

“No, he did not.” I said, looking down at the gluten-free menu. How was I supposed to find something edible on this thing?

“Yeah. Everything I feed Lydia is organic.” I never understood what that meant. All I knew was that organic apples cost at least fifty cents more than regular apples.

“I did not know that.” I said, scanning the menu for anything that looked even remotely appetizing. Everything here was sugar-free, gluten-free, void of anything that would boost my mood and my metabolism.

“He’s probably more focused on getting the satan’s mistress thing embedded into your mind, am I right?” She smiled and I choked on my own breath. And I was forced to drink the tea to stop myself from coughing up my lungs. After I finished my coughing fit, I looked back up at her and she was laughing.

“I’m sorry.” I choked, taking another sip of my tea. Dexter called Monica satan’s mistress all the time when she wasn’t around, but I didn’t think she knew about it. “Where did you hear that?”

“Believe me, I know what he says about me. Annie doesn’t shy away from the epithet’s when I come over to pick up Lydia.”

“Annie babysits for you?”

She nodded, “Dexter’s schedule is insane. If I’m going to all these job interviews, then I need someone to watch-“

“You’re looking for a job?”

“Maybe like a waitressing job or something. I didn’t exactly go to college what with being pregnant and all. It kind of wasn’t a possibility. I thought you knew. That’s why I cancelled this lunch twice on you. I had job interviews. Dexter didn’t tell you?”

“No.” I admitted and she nodded. All Dexter said was that she had to cancel. I just thought that something came up with Lydia. It didn’t occur to me until now that Monica was actually setting up a life here. She would be a face I would see all the time. And if she was going to be a part of Lydia’s life, she was going to be a part of Dexter’s life. And if I was going to be a part of Dexter’s life, then Monica was going to be a part of my life.

Lunch proceeded in a way that was nothing like I expected it would be. I half-expected Monica to turn into this demonic gorgon that Dexter always cautioned me about, but she didn’t. And for my sake, and the sake of my slightly tolerable “chocolate chip” waffles, I forced myself to push everything aside and enjoy her company.

Monica was the type of person that bought people flowers for no reason. She knits, I kid you not, scarves and bonnets and headbands for Lydia. And anyone that knits, I’m convinced, has a beautiful heart. My grandmother used to knit. My mother knows how to knit, but never does it. I do not knit. I am not the knitting type. Monica is. Without much questioning, I found her sipping on a cup of that horrible green tea and spilling out her whole life story, starting at the engagement.

“I was eighteen.” She smirked, “Do you know how many stupid things I did when I was eighteen? Nothing. I didn’t do anything crazy or outrageous. I wasn’t stupid at all. The craziest thing I did was accept Dexter’s marriage proposal. Can you believe that? I was eighteen and accepting a marriage proposal. I was an idiot.”

“You were eighteen.” I smirked and she nodded.

“Exactly! I was eighteen. And truth be told, what we had wasn’t even the kind of love you should get married for, you know? It wasn’t. I mean, the love we had— I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t be talking to you about this. This is weird, right? You don’t want to hear about mine and Dexter’s relationship.”

“It’s fine.”

“I don’t want you to think that by reminiscing on the golden days that I’m trying to win him back or something. If anything, I’m trying to convince you that it’s the opposite of what I’m doing. You probably don’t even want to hear about this. I tend to babble and say things that people don’t really care about sometimes. And I don’t even realize it. That’s what’s so terrible about it all. If people let me, I’ll talk for hours and I won’t even realize that I haven’t let them get a word in edgewise.”

“You aren’t babbling.” I shook my head, picking out the chocolate chips in my waffle. “And I don’t mind, really. Oddly enough, I want to hear about this. It would be nice to not picture you as some demon from Dexter’s past, you know? And he never really talks about anything that happened before I met him, I have to pry it out of him.”

She laughed, “Yeah. That’s how he is. He’s so closed off, it’s scary sometimes.”

“The proposal.”

“Oh, yeah. The proposal.” She snapped her fingers, taking another sip of her tea. I don’t know how she can stomach that liquid shit. God, why doesn’t this place have coffee?

“We weren’t in the type of love you propose for. And I think, deep down, he knew that. But I don’t know, everything about the two of us was always so scheduled, like a routine. We were together just to—be together. Because it was easy. That’s kind of how my whole life was, you know? Scheduled, simple, easy.”

I looked up at her, and it’s like I was seeing her for the first time. And I understood her. She felt trapped in the same routine. The same, safe routine. I tried to picture her as an obedient, cookie-cutter teenage girl that alternates sweater vests for everyday of the week and neatly pins her hair back with bobby pins and always files her nails perfectly, polishing them with nothing other than clear nail polish. I pictured a girl that was afraid of doing anything off schedule, anything that would piss off her parents, anything outside of her world. The girl she used to be, that girl was unhappy. And that was the opposite of the girl sitting across from me. The girl across from me was well-fashioned, wore dark lipstick and a navy trench coat. The girl in front of me found herself in the heavy rains of urban Seattle. The girl in front of me was free. The girl in front of me was happy. And I was more than convinced that she wasn’t the girl that was trying to win Dexter back. He reminded her of a time in her life when she was afraid of everything and trapped by everyone.

“But, stopping the wedding was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. That was kind of my breaking point. I remember standing in front of that mirror in the church with Annie and my mom and my god-awful cousin Gwen, who now that I think about it, I have no idea why she was even my bridesmaid. I don’t have a lot of cousins my age. But, dear god, I would never choose her again. I can’t tell you how many times I caught her flirting with Dexter when she thought I wasn’t looking.”

“Gwen sure sounds like a bitch.”

“Oh, she was the bitchiest. Anyways, I remember standing there and thinking, this is not me. If I do this, if I marry this guy who I’ve known and dated for five years, the only guy I’ve ever been with, this will be it. Then I will be done. I will have run my course and I will be trapped in this life that isn’t mine, this life that I don’t want. I’ll be stuck here forever. I do not want this.”

She looked up at me and pulled her lips into a thin line. “That probably sounds terrible. I sound like a terrible person, don’t I?”

“That isn’t terrible.” I shook my head. It didn’t sound terrible at all. It made sense. She didn’t like the situation she was in, so she removed herself from it. She wasn’t a bad person for doing what she thought was best for herself. And then my mind flashed to Dexter and I pictured him at an empty altar, waiting for a bride that would never come. The image made me sick to my stomach at the thought of him marrying Monica. It wasn’t so much that he was marrying Monica, specifically, but anyone. I had to remind myself that he was a completely different person at that time in his life, just like Monica was a completely different person. It all happened so long ago. They were both only eighteen.

“I didn’t know about Lydia until after I left town. I packed my things and left on the next bus to Chicago. And then I took a train. And then another bus. And pretty soon, there were no more buses or trains for me to take. I found myself at Seattle, and I loved it there. I still love it there, now that I think about it. After I found out about Lydia, I chose to keep it a secret. Telling my family meant coming back to Connecticut, something I wanted to avoid at all costs. My mom’s aunt supported me financially. She lived in Seattle and didn’t really get along with my mom at all. She was a really great woman, probably the best woman I’ll ever know. I think she’s partly why I am the way that I am. She kept me grounded, you know? But she died early last year. And I accepted it, you know? Aunt Mora had osteosarcoma, but she hardly ever went to the doctor, so by the time she found out about it, the tumor was way past operable. That’s what the doctor’s said, I think. It was inoperable.”

She said it so nonchalantly, but I could tell that on the inside she was willing herself not to think about it. She said something about Dexter always having walls up, but she was the exact same way. However Dexter would eventually talk to me about things he held inside. Monica couldn’t, she had no one. So she bottled it in. I wondered how much of that was inside her, how much built up emotion.

“Ben found me a few months after that, and I have to admit, I was in a pretty dark place. Aunt Mora didn’t have a will, so after she died, Lydia and I were kind of on our own. So when he offered me a quarter of a million dollars, I don’t know, what would you have done?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. I can’t say that I have any idea what that is like. I think that pretending to know what that’s like would be a pretty fucked up insult to you.”

“You have a way with your words, has Dexter ever told you that?” She said, her lips curving into a smile. “It’s like, I can see the gears in your mind grinding and you’re totally thinking about a million things a minute, but when you open your mouth to speak, you don’t say a whole lot. It’s like you condense hundreds of thoughts into a few precise, all-knowing sentences. That’s a wonderful skill to have. More people need that. I need that. It would sure help me out a lot when I get on a roll and babble long, elaborate stories like these.”

“You give compliments that no one would ever think to give.” I answered, partly because I felt like I needed to say something nice to her because she said something nice to me. And it was true, she gave compliments no one had the guts to say. Normally, the comment would sound corny. But she had a way of making things sound genuine. I wondered if the trait had always been with her or if she’d picked it up in Seattle.

“Honestly, if I were anybody else, I would hate me.” She laughed, fiddling with her empty mug and I wondered when she had finished the cup of stale, non-bitter tea.

I thought about her words, and then I pictured her eighteen-year-old self uttering the same words. Eighteen-year-old Monica hated herself when she was herself. Current, twenty-two year old Monica loves herself, despite the decisions that nineteen and twenty and twenty-one year old Monica made.

And I, I can’t love myself enough to love someone else. The more I thought about it, I was always labeling Dexter as the source of all our problems and arguments. I always wrote him off as the reason that I can’t trust him. But I realized that he wasn’t the reason why I respond to everything the way that I do. There is a reason why I push him away every time he does the slightest thing wrong. He said it himself, I dictate when we are together and when we are apart. It’s always up to me and it is that way because he puts the decision into my hands. And I ruin it. I push him away, and then I push him away, and then I push him away. And he fights back. With every push, he moves closer. That is why we are still together. He does all of this.

He is a great person. And despite everything that happens to him, he is still a great person. I am not a great person. He is fixing his family. He is being a father to Lydia. He is a doctor that sacrifices sleep so that he can watch over patients through the night. And me, I kissed Travis.