The smile is no longer on her face. OK, she’s feeling something, too, and doesn’t like this either. This sneaking out of the house nonsense is not going to work for me. I rake a hand through my hair, trying to organize how to say this to her. It’s better to be upfront.
“I understand what you’re trying to do,” I say carefully, “and why you think you need to do it. But this is the last time I spend the night with you and slip out the side door early in the morning. And don’t expect me to pretend I don’t love you, that we’re not involved, when we’re around your kids.”
Her eyes flash. “That’s not what I’m asking you to do. I’m asking you to have a little sensitivity for my children. You can’t force change on children too quickly. It’s better that we move slowly in this.”
Sensitivity?
Is she fucking kidding?
That was insensitive to me, Chrissie.
“One of your children is mine,” I bite out before I can stop myself. “Am I sneaking out the back door to be sensitive for her, too? For how long are we going to do this? One year? Ten? This is absurd. You’ve already told your kids everything. They know I’m Khloe’s father. Me being here with you shouldn’t surprise any of them. I’m not being insensitive. I want to be here. With all of you. It isn’t even change for the kids.”
Where the fuck did that speech come from? Be here? With all of them? What am I saying? Even I’m not sure and lack of declarative sentences is never a good thing with Chrissie. She always takes everything wrong.
I shift my gaze to find her studying my face. Fuck, I know that expression.
“I think you need to leave, Alan,” she says, lowering her gaze to Khloe as she takes back her nipple. She jerks her shirt down and hurries into the house.
Oh fuck, that worked out brilliantly.
I don’t finish my coffee. I go back into the house and into the kitchen to wait for her. A few minutes later, she returns. She doesn’t have Khloe in her arms anymore. Hopefully not an indication she’s in the mood to continue the fight. Time to start this over.
“Why don’t we just get married this time, Chrissie? We can figure it all out as we need to.”
I say the words before I realize what they are. What the fuck is wrong with me? Did I just ask her to marry me after our first night being back together over coffee and a fight? This is not going to go well.
The air fills with prickling tension.
She stares at me.
Anxious. Frustrated. Angry.
“I’m forty-one years old, Alan. I have five kids. I don’t have a right to make snap decisions. I don’t have a right to have affairs in front of my children. And I definitely don’t have a right not to put them first. I can’t let myself decide life changes for them for the sake of expediency or sleeping a few extra hours in bed in the morning. I’m sorry if you find that inconvenient. It’s the way it is. Learn to deal with it.”
All those words. A tight little speech. Not one useful line to clarify things for me. Fuck, she didn’t even acknowledge the proposal with a direct answer. I may have done that badly, but I was serious and I know that she knows that.
Damn it.
I can feel it.
We’re slipping back into the quagmire. It’s time to be perfectly clear. It will probably have the effect of a pipe bomb being lit inside Chrissie.
“I’m here, Chrissie. That’s my daughter in the nursery. So get used to the idea of me fitting in somewhere in your life. As for where we are today, whatever we’re doing, it’s not an affair so don’t call it that again. Talk to your kids. Do what you need to do. Decide what you want from me. I asked you to marry me. I apologize for having done it poorly. But I meant it. I expect a serious answer from you. And this is the last time I slip out in the morning so the kids don’t see me.”
She stares at me. Silent. No explosion, but she doesn’t look happy. Fine, Chrissie. We’ll do it your way. Oh fuck, just don’t make it last forever.
It’s time for me to leave. This is not the way I hoped my morning would end and I don’t want to ruin it further.
I lean in and place a light kiss on her cheek. She doesn’t look at me. Nope, she’s angry and not going to soften up anytime soon and she certainly is not going to go back to bed with me.
I go down the hallway to the nursery. Khloe is asleep in her crib. It’s an unexpectedly unpleasant feeling knowing I’m slipping out the door in a house where my daughter sleeps.
I stare down at her and then drop a kiss on the top of her head. Nothing. She doesn’t stir. She is a sound sleeper. I could have had a great fucking morning with Chrissie if I hadn’t blown it.
As I make my way to the front door, I debate going back in and trying to talk to her. I’m not sure what more there is to say. I told her my perspective on this. I’ve asked her to marry me. I’ve asked for an answer. Better not to go back. I should give her some time to sort through this. It will work out better if I don’t push her.
I stop at the console table next to the front door. Fuck, my keys are gone. I pat the pockets of my pants and don’t feel anything. Who took my keys? Oh fuck, if it was Ethan I’ll never find them.
I open the front door, grab my phone from my pocket and then hit the app. I’ll just turn on the car remotely. I don’t hear anything. Does the fucking app not work?
I stop. I stare. I turn off the phone. Fuck. My car is gone. Did someone steal it? Then I see Kaley’s black Lexus parked in the driveway. Oh fuck. She didn’t. Dread curls in my digestive tract.
Why would she do that?
Why would she take my car?
Oh no. She must have come back last night. She saw me here and she’s old enough to know what I was doing with her mother.
She’s upset.
Sensitivity.
I get it, Chrissie.
Message received, Kaley.
Discovering me here last night has propelled Kaley from hostile over Khloe to ready to provoke confrontation. I’m not certain why Kaley is so angry about this—it’s indisputable she’s angry—but we used to have such a good relationship.
I don’t understand her anymore. Her unrelenting unpleasantness. That’s not Kaley. Memories of her as a little girl intrude in my thoughts. She was such a little sweetheart, but then I remember she did like confrontation. The girl has been throwing emotional Molotov cocktails whenever she could almost from birth. An attribute that irritates the hell out of me. Though there were times it was amusing. But it’s not going to be amusing today. She’s decided to finally let it out and she wants a face-to-face with me.
I need to find my car.
I hit the find my car app and wait. A map loads. Well, at least she didn’t go far with it. I take a moment to wonder why she’s at Ian Kennedy’s, then I recall when she texted Chrissie that she was spending the night at the Kennedys’.
It’s been a long time since I’ve walked a city mile anywhere. I’ve always found LA an unpleasant place for pedestrians. At least it’s still early. The streets are nearly empty and not enough cars have crossed the concrete yet for the asphalt to have that horrid carbon monoxide smell that makes walking even in Pacific Palisades particularly unpleasant. There’s still the undiluted salty tang of an ocean breeze as I walk downhill toward Ian’s place.
Clear air in LA for a change.
This is fucking humiliating.
No one walks in LA.
Kaley wants to get my attention.
Well, fine, she’s got it.
I’ve been to Ian’s house hundreds of time. Why does everything look different when you walk? I check my phone, using the GPS for directions. Everything is thrown together, especially the residential streets, in a haphazard way in LA.
There, I know that house. Large Spanish villa, stucco walls, and black iron gate. Oh fuck, there is no way through the gate without ringing.
I hit the button on the intercom. I wait several minutes. Nothing. I don’t give a fuck if you’re sleeping Ian. I camp on the button.