Page 25 of Christmas Sunrise
"Jenna, don't be like this. I'm sorry for being pissed off but I just don't understand—" His words are closer to a peace offering than they've been since he saw the present, but his tone is anything but apologetic or soothing. He still sounds so tense, so conflicted. It's so unlike him and as annoyed as I feel at his stubborn resentment towards me, I'm also seething at myself for still desperately needing him to comfort me even though I know he isn't going to. That's what makes me sit up in bed and shout at him.
"Just fuck off, Marty!" I throw my body back onto the pillow and roll over so my back is to him.
I didn't think I could hurt anymore but when I hear only a few seconds of rustling before the click of the door closing, pain swamps me. I don't need to roll over and check he’s left because I know he's gone. Ifeelhe's gone. And then there's nothing left to do but curl up in a ball and sob.
Chapter Nine
Christmas Day
Marty
Iwake feeling wet and warm. On my toes. Long slick licks of a rough tongue lapping away at my feet.
"Jesus fecking Christ! Rocky, you manky dog, get off!" I pull my feet away from the mutt's long tongue that is still trying to lick my feet. His growl is more of a grumble as he plops down to lie on the floor next to the couch. Sitting up and reaching for my phone, I glance around the room that is mostly dark as the sun is a long way from coming up. 6:45. I know I was still awake, tossing and turning at 1:30 so I think it's fair to say I've had a fucking shite night's sleep.
"Merry fucken Christmas," I say to myself as I lie back down and put an arm over my eyes.
What a mess. What a fucking cunting mess.
I shouldn't have been so angry with Jenna about the present. I should have said more to reassure her about the baby, or rather, no baby. I should have stayed and tried to hug and comfort her. But that's what I would have been doing, that's how it would have felt; trying. Because I was hurting too last night. I was hurt that she ignored what we agreed together to do about presents. I was hurt that she couldn't see how that made me look foolish. I was hurt that I felt foolish. I was hurt by what she said about the baby, because... because it's true. Sometimes, I want a baby with Jenna so much, I don't know if I'll be okay if it doesn't happen.
I certainly know if Jenna is not okay with it, then I will really struggle to find peace with it too. I don't want her to hurt like that. I don't want something we can't control or change to be such a huge source of pain to her. Not when that something - her age and the passing of time - has already been a thorny topic in our relationship.
It may be somewhat simple for me to realise all this now as I lie in the dark in a quiet house on Christmas Day, but it certainly wasn't clear or easy to think about last night. That's why I didn't comfort Jenna. That's why I left when she told me to.
It's also why I got fuck all sleep last night.
As Rocky's snores start to fill the room, I realise that AJ, our other dog, is nowhere to be seen. Slowly getting up off the couch, I pad around our living room and kitchen but fail to find him. After using the toilet, I tip-toe upstairs and peek into the spare bedroom. There I see the sleeping figures of Jake and Maeve under the covers - the latter in something of a starfish arrangement taking up most of the bed and the former with his back to her as he balances precariously close to the edge - and on top of the duvet close to Jake's feet is AJ. I smile at the scene before closing the door. I'm about to go back downstairs, but I pause and step up to my own bedroom door. Opening it, I see the faint outline of Jenna's curled up body, still with its back to my side of the bed. It's as if she stayed in that position, crying, until she fell asleep, although I pray that wasn't the case.
Letting out a long silent sigh, I close the door gently and return downstairs.
I know Jenna and I have to try and sort this out, and for my own part I want to offer her the apology she deserves, but I honestly don't know where to start. We've never had a fight like this before - I've never slept anywhere but by her side since we moved in together - and part of me is truly petrified that this is a turning point in our relationship.
God, please don't let this be that.
After flicking on the kitchen lights, I open the fridge. Seeing all the food ready for me to cook brings me some comfort. I may not know how to sort out this mess with Jenna, but I definitely know how to cook a Christmas feast. Closing the fridge, I take some deep breaths and think about going upstairs to crawl into bed beside Jenna and offer her an apology, any apology, but even thinking about it makes my tongue heavy in my mouth. I don't have the right words. I'm not even sure I have the right thoughts yet.
After I rest my forehead against the cool metal of the fridge, I decide I should do what I do know instead. Cooking. And that's exactly what I set about doing after I make myself a quick coffee and shove a banana down my throat.
I scrub and peel potatoes. I wash, peel and cut carrots. I slice onions and shove them in the food processor with several handfuls of sage and breadcrumbs. I turn the oven on and whack the temperature right up, ready to sear the turkey that I also prepare in a tin alongside onions, garlic, lemon, rosemary and thyme. And when that's all done, I grab a piece of paper and start writing down all the timings for the rest of the morning.
"Jesus, put some fecking clothes on," Maeve's voice startles me.
I look down at the apron I'm wearing over my boxers.
"My giblets are covered," I point out.
"That's about all that is." She wrinkles her nose in disgust. "What the fuck are you doing cooking so early?"
"I'm not cooking, Maeve. I'm prepping. Christmas dinner doesn't just happen in a heartbeat. It's mostly preparation."
"Still, it's barely seven-thirty." She reaches across me to get a mug.
"Which begs the question why you're awake?" I glance at her wearing a pair of my pyjama trousers rolled over at the waistband several times and accompanied byone of Jenna's T-shirts.
"Jet lag," she says quickly. Perhaps a little too quickly.
I turn to lean back against the countertop. "Are you okay after yesterday? With Arabella?"
