of
his wrist. “You can’t shoulder the responsibility for this, cara . No one can. Whether we tried two years ago or eight,” he told
her, reading her mind as always. “No one’s to say we would’ve been any more
successful then than we have been now.”
Turning, he grasped her by the shoulders and marched
her forward into the sunken family room, placing her down on the couch. As soon
as he turned his back, Nyssa was standing. He twisted around and put a palm
against her forehead, firmly pushing her back into the cushions.
Scowling, she slapped at the hand, annoyed that he
could manipulate her so easily. Sansone simply
switched his hold while dodging her attempts to get free.
“I can do this all day, baby,” he announced ; now covering her entire face with one of those huge,
irritating palms. “You’re well aware of my stamina.”
Nyssa dug her nails into his forearm until he grunted
and took hold of her wrists with his opposite hand. “You’re feeling vicious and
frustrated, so I’m going to ignore your attempts to mar my perfect, beautiful
skin and refrain from smacking your ass until it’s tender like the cattle cuts
Brian uses for his veal parmesan.” He released her and wagged a finger. “I’m
also going to ignore how you thought you
were getting past me and out the door.”
She snapped her teeth towards that finger, wanting a
fight. If she fought she wouldn’t contemplate the test and she wouldn’t listen
to the infernal tick tock of her
biological clock.
“Not fighting with you,” her spouse sung, walking
towards the double doors that led to the kitchen. “I will, however, make you
tea and get your stash of thin mint cookies.”
Barely resisting the urge to lob an extremely
expensive vase at the back of his skull, Nyssa burrowed into the throw pillows
behind her back and closed her eyes. And sadly, all she could see was that
little girl slipping away from her…
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Sansone muttered under his breath, his
hands clutching tightly to the stone counter beneath his grasp. He wanted to
sink down onto the tile and just stay there for a little while, linger on the
floor until the strength returned to his legs but he knew he couldn’t. Because
he had to be the brick wall. He couldn’t falter for even a moment or that meant
everything would crumble around him. So he sucked down a breath or four and
waited for the moment that he could rationalize that his disappointment
couldn’t be nearly as poignant as his wife’s.
He wasn’t even remotely naïve enough to believe she
wouldn’t bundle all of this up and carry it. There wasn’t a sentence that he
could whisper or scream to keep her from doing so. No matter how many times he
told her she was enough, that she would always be enough, his cara wasn’t entirely convinced. She didn’t
see what he saw or feel what he felt. There were very few prayers he’d had
answered in his lifetime but his pseudo-Catholic heart had seen what it was to
finally have a door opened that couldn’t be closed. He clutched onto that with
gusto, hoping that he never failed to acknowledge what he had, but as of late
that was being overshadowed. His wife was in some silent race against, what
seemed to be, the rest of the world. And with each setback, she got hungrier
for a victory. It was eating at her and spearing him.
The natural chemistry of them had been offset dramatically and spun into starts and spurts
of moments like the one they’d just had. He’d hoped that this time would be
different; he’d hoped that the little plastic stick wouldn’t shake the ground
beneath their feet, but for the eighth time in the last year, it had. Each
reaction was harder to witness. The way Nyssa’s face fell…
“Hey, it
happens. We’ve been through this before so…” she’d said. Sansone knew better. The nonchalance and the shrug couldn’t
help her hide from him the way she so desperately wanted to. Before her feet
had even moved, he’d
his wrist. “You can’t shoulder the responsibility for this, cara . No one can. Whether we tried two years ago or eight,” he told
her, reading her mind as always. “No one’s to say we would’ve been any more
successful then than we have been now.”
Turning, he grasped her by the shoulders and marched
her forward into the sunken family room, placing her down on the couch. As soon
as he turned his back, Nyssa was standing. He twisted around and put a palm
against her forehead, firmly pushing her back into the cushions.
Scowling, she slapped at the hand, annoyed that he
could manipulate her so easily. Sansone simply
switched his hold while dodging her attempts to get free.
“I can do this all day, baby,” he announced ; now covering her entire face with one of those huge,
irritating palms. “You’re well aware of my stamina.”
Nyssa dug her nails into his forearm until he grunted
and took hold of her wrists with his opposite hand. “You’re feeling vicious and
frustrated, so I’m going to ignore your attempts to mar my perfect, beautiful
skin and refrain from smacking your ass until it’s tender like the cattle cuts
Brian uses for his veal parmesan.” He released her and wagged a finger. “I’m
also going to ignore how you thought you
were getting past me and out the door.”
She snapped her teeth towards that finger, wanting a
fight. If she fought she wouldn’t contemplate the test and she wouldn’t listen
to the infernal tick tock of her
biological clock.
“Not fighting with you,” her spouse sung, walking
towards the double doors that led to the kitchen. “I will, however, make you
tea and get your stash of thin mint cookies.”
Barely resisting the urge to lob an extremely
expensive vase at the back of his skull, Nyssa burrowed into the throw pillows
behind her back and closed her eyes. And sadly, all she could see was that
little girl slipping away from her…
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Sansone muttered under his breath, his
hands clutching tightly to the stone counter beneath his grasp. He wanted to
sink down onto the tile and just stay there for a little while, linger on the
floor until the strength returned to his legs but he knew he couldn’t. Because
he had to be the brick wall. He couldn’t falter for even a moment or that meant
everything would crumble around him. So he sucked down a breath or four and
waited for the moment that he could rationalize that his disappointment
couldn’t be nearly as poignant as his wife’s.
He wasn’t even remotely naïve enough to believe she
wouldn’t bundle all of this up and carry it. There wasn’t a sentence that he
could whisper or scream to keep her from doing so. No matter how many times he
told her she was enough, that she would always be enough, his cara wasn’t entirely convinced. She didn’t
see what he saw or feel what he felt. There were very few prayers he’d had
answered in his lifetime but his pseudo-Catholic heart had seen what it was to
finally have a door opened that couldn’t be closed. He clutched onto that with
gusto, hoping that he never failed to acknowledge what he had, but as of late
that was being overshadowed. His wife was in some silent race against, what
seemed to be, the rest of the world. And with each setback, she got hungrier
for a victory. It was eating at her and spearing him.
The natural chemistry of them had been offset dramatically and spun into starts and spurts
of moments like the one they’d just had. He’d hoped that this time would be
different; he’d hoped that the little plastic stick wouldn’t shake the ground
beneath their feet, but for the eighth time in the last year, it had. Each
reaction was harder to witness. The way Nyssa’s face fell…
“Hey, it
happens. We’ve been through this before so…” she’d said. Sansone knew better. The nonchalance and the shrug couldn’t
help her hide from him the way she so desperately wanted to. Before her feet
had even moved, he’d
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