Page 61 of June: Jess' Story
“Yep. Ready as I’ll ever be.” Moving into my first house today. I’m 42 and this is my first house. Hoping it’ll be my home. Moments like this are always a bit bittersweet. I’m not a monster. I still think about Tally. Sometimes about Amy. But it’s not how you think.
It always happens when I move into a new phase of life. With Tally, I wonder if she would’ve liked this house. Would she like Jess? And with Amy, it’s always, she’ll never get to have this. She never got to move into the house of her dreams with the man of her dreams. She never got the Alex who’s settled more with age and isn’t living on the outside. Would she have ever gotten there with me? Or were we always destined to end that day?
I feel like I was always destined to be here with Jess. And I do believe in destiny, in fate, in all that shit. As an operator, most of us have an air of untouchability. Nothing bad can happen. “I can’t die” shit. But inevitably one of you does. And the longer you do the job, the fewer peers you have.
Why am I the one that survived, huh? In some of the instances, it should have been me. I sometimes wonder if the whole reason I joined the Army in the first place was because I’dhopedit’d be me.
Three massive moving trucks descend on my house and I can’t believe it, but I actually get chills. Feels like this is the precipice. The start of my life.Ourlife, maybe?
Never thought I’d be here.Never.
Jess
If you ever want to be humbled (and quickly), fly cross country with a one year old — alone. With the connecting flight, it was 8 hours of anxious misery. So as soon as we cleared the gate after landing, I burst into tears. (Eden was already crying.)
When she refused her pacifier at take off, I knew it. Right then, I was fucked. And then from there, it was all downhill, just like I thought it would be. She cried the entire first flight while Iwantedto cry the entire flight.
People stared, some people complained, but seriously, what do you want me to do? Alex booked us first class, and in this instance, we might have been worse for it. In economy, there’s probably other kids, but in first class, Eden was the only baby. And certainly the only one crying. I tried to reset during the layover (because there’s no direct flights to Hicktown, USA), but nothing did it. We strolled. I rocked her. We tried a bottle. We tried the paci. We changed diapers. Nothing.
One year might be the worst age to fly with. (Yeah, I said it.)
When we finally make it to baggage claim, Eden loses her shit completely. She screams bloody murder, and I have the urge to scream with her, but instead, I cry.
“Baby girl, pleaseee.” I’m fucking begging my one-year-old while I try to shush her in between my own tears. I drop my purse on the ground next to the stroller and pick her up. It doesn’t help. She squirms and fights me, all while continuing to scream.
People watch — some with sympathy, some with disdain, some who recognize us from the flight and look like they might give me a piece of their mind. I feel like my chest is on fire, my hands tremble. Sweat rolls down my spine even though it’s probably 65 degrees inside the terminal. It makes me want to give up. It makes me furious. It makes me want to walk off the edge of a cliff and never look back. (I’m just being honest.)
“Whoa,” a deep rumbling voice says. “Hey.” Then a warm hand finds the small of my back. He shushes both of us, “Come here.” And then we’re enveloped in a warm embrace. Eden is still squirming, but she stops screaming.
Have you ever hugged someone and rested all your weight on them in that hug? Your body, your problems, your responsibilities and you just trust that person has you? That’s what this hug with Alex is like. I said I’d never depend on anyone. Ever again. But if I did, if I could, it’d be him.
He runs one of his dinner plate-sized hands down my hair and to my back, eventually stopping just below the curve of my ass. I inhale his warm scent. It’s woodsy and musky, but classic. Like this is what I imagine Tom Selleck smells like. My one free hand has absentmindedly found his chest, and he keeps stroking my head, shushing me lightly. (Snapshot title:“Heart-Wrenching Family Reunion.”) My heart sinks at the thought.I wish.
“Shhhhh. It’s okay,” Alex says nice and low.
“Our suitcases,” I hiccup on a sob and Eden does the same.
“They’re not going anywhere, let ‘em take a lap,” he says in response. “Give me the baby, Jess.” I pass over Eden and he lets me go in the process.
He puts her over his shoulder and starts rubbing her back and within seconds the little traitor falls asleep. It’s so relieving, I can’t even be pissed about it. Instead, I take a deep inhale and try to catch my breath. Alex is looking at me as he continues to rock Eden against his shoulder. (And my ovaries start to hurt.)Fuck me.
He’s wearing jeans and a plain long-sleeved t-shirt. His hair is about the same length, but he shaved his beard. Suddenly I have the most insane urge to rush him and run my hands along his face in awe. He was handsome before, but now he’s approaching sex-symbol status.
“You shaved,” I say, mouth probably hanging open.
He blushes. “Yeah, figured it was time for a new look.” There’s that little voice at the back of my head wondering: Did he do this…for me? And why does that make me giddy?
It’s a war right now. My body is yearning to throw myself at him, kiss him, love him, but my mind is being rational. It’s thinking cautiously, pragmatically.This is a means to an end. If I have any hope of lasting 12 months without falling (even more) desperately in love with this man, I have to have boundaries. And stick to them.
“Do you mind if I use the bathroom?” I ask. He nods back reassuringly, continuing to rock the sleeping monster.
Picking up my purse off the terminal floor, I walk briskly to the bathroom. I have the most insane urge to rub one out to take the edge off the ache that’s already started in my pelvis. Alex plus babies equals danger zone.
I don’t rub one out, but when I go to the bathroom, I actually laugh when I pull down my underwear revealing what can only be described as something similar to slick. (If you know, you know, my friend.)
I check myself in the mirror after. Face is red and puffy, but at least I refrained from makeup today, meaning I’m not fighting what would surely be a losing battle with mascara. I splash cold water on my face, redo my hair that’s fallen out of its half-up-half-down clip. I dab on a little solid perfume and just accept my leggings, t-shirt, and Converse are entirely basic, and that is entirely fine. Think of it like a boundary holder, I tell myself. The less overt I am at trying for his attention, then maybe he won’t give it. And we can ride this thing out. (I’m now picturing myself riding him.)Mistake.
When I get back to the baggage claim, Alex already has all our bags loaded on a cart and is still holding Eden.