Page 98 of Unspoken Words
“Either is fine.” I smoothed my hands along my lap, needing to busy them. It was something I did when I was nervous.I don’t belong here. Why am I here?
This room, his house … I wasn’t supposed to be in it. I wasn’t a part of his life anymore and sitting among family photos and kindergarten handprint paintings only heightened my anxiety, as if I were an imposter ready to destroy it all.
I shifted uncomfortably, which was when I noticed a photo to my right of a dark-haired, midnight-eyed little boy sitting on a ride-on tractor, dimples beaming from his adorable cheeks. He was Connor all over despite the rich, stygian hues of his mother and uncle.
Taking hold of the frame, I brushed off a light film of dust just as Connor entered the room, holding two glasses of water.
“This is Max?” I asked, my throat dry.
“Yeah.” Connor smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. I sensed it was because he feared my reaction, and that was disheartening. Max was his son, his pride and joy, and he should be able to openly show that without fear of upsetting me.
“He’s gorgeous. I can see you in him.”
“Really?” Connor handed me my water. “Mum thinks he looks like Lila—”
I choked, her name a shard of ice in my throat. “Yes, I can see you both.”
“Sorry, Ellie. I didn’t mean—”
“Didn’t mean what …” I took a sip, “to speak the truth? Don’t be silly.” I put down the picture and smoothed my hand over my lap again. “So where is Max now?”
“He’s at kinder. I dropped him off this morning, and his mother will pick him up. He’ll stay with her until next Thursday and then I get him for a week.”
“So you get him for a week every fortnight?”
“Yeah. 50/50. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Max is mine just as much as he’s hers.”
“Of course he is.”
Connor sunk into the seat beside me and leaned forward, knees apart, elbows resting on his thighs. “Talking about Max makes you uncomfortable, doesn’t it?”
“No.” I shook my head and gulped my drink. “Why would you say that?”
“Because he’s the reason you and I aren’t together.”
I laughed, but it wasn’t exactly a laugh. “No, he’s not.”
“He is. Admit it. If I hadn’t fucked up and slept with Lilah, Max wouldn’t be here, and you and I would be together.”
“Connor, stop. Why are you doing this?”
“Because we need to discuss it.”
“We don’t. It is what it is, so what’s the point?”
“Because I need you to understand.”
I scoffed. “I do understand.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Fine,” I said, exasperated. “Help me understand then. Tell me what happened between you and Lilah? Why aren’t you together now?”
“Because we were never really together to begin with.”
Searching his eyes, I realised I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand a damn thing. “What does that even mean?”
He sighed and diverted his gaze to his glass of water. “It means Lilah was only ever the mother of my child, nothing more, nothing less.” He took an uninterested swig of his water and continued. “I moved in to their house shortly after Tristan moved out and went to Uni, roughly one month before Max was born. Lilah was struggling with the pregnancy. High blood pressure. Lots of swelling.” Connor turned to face me, his grey eyes wide and pleading. “I wanted to help. That’s why I stayed, Ellie, to help out and be a dad.”
