Due At The Same Time

Chapter 10 (Ambrose)

(DISCLAIMER: this is a rough and not edited story, also THIS STORY MAY BE TRIGGERING TO ANYONE WHO HAS EXPERIENCED INFERTILITY)

I tried to concentrate on what Dr. González was saying during the faculty meeting, but my mind kept wandering.

Indi with that adorable frown on her face, Indi with her nose wrinkled up

The way she used to sing to the garden because she said it made the plants grow better

Indi in front of me on the bed, her back arched, that rich auburn color spilled all over her back as I buried my hands in her hair, smelling her scent, whispering filthy things in her ear that I could barely believe were coming out of my own mouth.

Filthy, raunchy, dirty things, because somehow the way she looked at me, with that light, wicked look in her eyes always drove me mad. . .

My cock stiffened in my pants, not a very comfortable thing at a faculty meeting, and I shifted, trying inconspicuously to slide my briefcase into my lap so no one would notice my cock was at attention, when Dr. González turned to face me.

“Dr. Hargreaves, we’ve received a really concerning video, and unfortunately it’s necessary to play it for the Archaeology faculty as the election for the new Chair is coming up. This does cast some doubt in your ability to lead the department in a professional manner.”

I stiffened in my chair, my hands tightening on the briefcase.

What now

Dr. González pointed his projector at the screen and an image of a giant, yellow hot air balloon came into view.

Oh shit

He played the entire episode for the rest of the faculty, my coworkers watching in stunned silence as I leaped onto the screen, and the laughter began as I swung a punch at Finn. At first the laughter was quiet, then it got louder as I took his fist directly on the chin, and finally they broke out into open guffaws as Astrid began to hit me with the ice scraper on the back.

My face was contorted in pain as I tried to dodge her blows, and that was where Dr. González paused the video, my mouth opened in a very unattractive manner, my glasses sliding down my nose.

“Several weeks ago,” Dr. González said, “I was attending a dinner party at your house where evidence came forth that you had been annoying your ex-wife, and here I see video evidence that you have been annoying her again and engaging in boorish fisticuffs with her new lover. This is becoming an obsession with you, Dr. Hargreaves. Explain yourself.”

My colleagues were laughing openly now, nudging each other and asking if they could get the video sent to them.

My cheeks burned, and my coworkers did not help with statements like:

Oh wow, Indigo really traded up, didn’t she?

Isn’t that Finn O'Donoghue? Oh my god, he is so hot

Ugh, I wish Ambrose wasn’t in the way, I can only see half of Finn here

Ambrose, is there any way to edit you out of this footage

Did you see those paparazzi pics of Finn on a yacht? The one where you can see how big his. . .you know is? Damn, Indi is so lucky

My throat felt scratchy and raw and I swallowed convulsively.

“I—know this doesn’t look good. I’m—just trying to tell her how I feel.”

“Do you need to take a leave of absence?” Dr. González asked, his voice clipped and disapproving. “You need to get a hold of yourself. This is very embarrassing behavior.”

I slunk home like a dog.

I didn’t think I’d be getting that Chair position and now everyone knew that I was obsessed with my ex and she had moved on.

To complete my misery, on the way home I passed by Indi and Finn, walking hand in hand on their way to the park. He had a picnic basket on his arm and her Stanley cup cradled in his biceps, and I was stricken with such insane jealousy that my eyes clouded with bitter, regretful tears.

Astrid was sitting on the porch when I got back, sipping a big glass of milk.

She looked angrily over at me.

“Your baby is taking up so much space even milk gives me heartburn and I’ve got the squirts from your horrible cooking and I can’t walk to the mailbox without getting Braxton-Hicks contractions and you,” here she paused to take a deep breath, her bloodshot eyes glaring at me as she struggled for words. “I heard about your stupid poetry,” she finally spat. “What is wrong with you?”

There was silence for a minute as I tightened my hold on my briefcase.

“I’m still in love with Indi,” I said.

“Fuck you,” Astrid said, beginning to wail. “Stealing you away from her was supposed to be fun and awesome and exciting. Not this.”

I had nothing to say, because I couldn’t believe I had cheated on Indi.

And I had compounded my initial stupidity by not immediately falling to my belly and begging for her forgiveness because the explanation, such as it was, for my behavior, was so shamefully stupid and moronic that I couldn’t bear to have her know how utterly dumb I had behaved.

And so instead I had stalked out and gotten together with Astrid, who was as pleased as a cat with cream, but I could only delude myself for so long.

“Why does she get everything I want?” Astrid cried, the lines of mascara tracing down her cheek in rivulets. “She gets my first choice and my second choice. It’s not fair!”

And I still had nothing to say.

The next day, I sat at the kitchen table and took out a big piece of lined paper. My life was godsdamn falling apart but I didn’t give a fuck. If I could fix this one thing, fix it with Indie, nothing else mattered.

DE-OPTIMIZED PERSONAL CHOICES RE: INDIGO I wrote.

It was time to figure out how I had fucked up the best thing that ever happened to me.

The biggest fuck-up had been with Astrid but what else? Indi had said there were other factors in her decision to get divorced.

I sunk my head in my hands and began to think.

Domestic chore disparity? I ran over our chores. We had taken turns cooking, doing the dishes. I had arranged and hired a cleaning service, even someone to wash and fold our laundry.

Sex? Except at the end, we’d always had a fucking phenomenal sex life. Indi was the hottest woman I’d ever seen in my life, and I always made sure she came first, at least once if not more.

So what was it?

What were those mistakes I had made?

My eyes caught a motion outside and I looked over the hedges, to see Dad and Indigo in her front room.

Due to heavy rain last week, the baby showers had been delayed and would take place soon.

Indi was wearing a white T-shirt and her 32 week bump was really popping out, all of her already lush curves looking even more overflowing and tempting.

I was so jealous of everything to do with her. Finn for getting to go to every maternity appointment with her. Even my father for getting to sit on the floor with her setting up a Christmas train. It wasn’t even Thanksgiving yet, but Indi liked to get the whole house decorated early.

Damn, was he bothering her? I put my hands on the table, getting ready to go tell him to leave her alone, because the last thing I wanted was for my ex-wife I was still wildly in love with to be pissed off at me for dumping my visiting father on her, but then I paused.

Indi was having fun. The two of them were setting up the train set carefully, Indi cross-legged on the floor, her belly poking out from under her T-shirt. There was a newspaper between them, and I wondered for a moment if they were looking over the daily horoscope.

Indi had always liked doing that, wanted to do my star chart or some such bullshit, but I had had no time for such unscientific foolishness.

But now. . . I’d do anything as long as it was with her.

Strange. . . looking at my father, he wasn’t babbling, sitting there with a foolish grin or chewing his mustache. He wasn’t acting like he always did at my parents’ manor. His fingers moved deftly, and he looked relaxed. Strange, it was almost like he was a different person over there. He was wearing a big knitted sweater that I’d never seen him wear before, but suddenly it looked a bit familiar.

. . . Indi had made him that, hadn’t she? For a birthday or Christmas, maybe?

My mother hated it and I had just assumed Dad was just being polite when he told Indi he had loved it.

. . . But maybe that wasn’t true.

I frowned, feeling an uneasy sinking sensation in my gut.

The two of them sat there. Unbothered, unfussed, enjoying themselves.

Had I been looking at my father all wrong?

Indi had always told me I was too hard on him, but I had dismissed her concerns.

Dad was a fool, a man who couldn’t do anything right, an embarrassing babbler, someone Mom and I dragged through life with our much stronger intellects.

Wasn’t he?

Abruptly, I got up and walked out the door and out to the sidewalk. Indi wouldn’t like me messing up her garden.

Then I knocked on the door, my heart in my throat.

There was no reason either of them would want to see me, but I knocked anyway.

My palms felt sweaty and I kept swallowing convulsively.

It was such shame and dishonor when Indi came to the door and seeing me made the light drain out of her face and those full pink lips turn down.

“What do you want now?” she asked abruptly. “Finn is not exactly fond of you, you know. If he catches you here, he’ll kick your ass.”

“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry if my letter made anything uncomfortable for you. But I’m not sorry for what I said.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she said breezily, a lovely smile flashing across her face. Those little freckles on her nose crinkled up adorably. “I enjoyed seeing you get your ass kicked, Ambrose.”

Then she turned and went back inside, but she didn’t slam the door in my face so I followed her.

My dad was amiable, happy to see me, made a comment about the train, which allowed me to respond awkwardly.

I remembered how I’d always complained about my mom dumping him on us and felt grossly ashamed.

I had never heard him talk like this—the difference was night and day.

Indi with her sweet and accepting personality had allowed him to blossom, to talk about things he was interested in and show off his mechanical abilities. And as a result he was more relaxed, less jumpy and giggly.

He wasn’t who I thought he was at all, and I sat stiffly on the couch, barely putting a word in with their light, easy banter.

“Thanks for helping me set this up,” she said with delight. “It’s something I always did growing up with my dad but I could never figure out how to set this complicated track up.”

Indi had lost her parents years ago and I realized with a jolt my dad had been making sure Indi got to recreate something meaningful to her.

“He would have been proud of you,” my father said. “You’re a clever girl. Barely needed my help at all. Now I’ll go find some batteries and let’s see how this old devil can run.”

Dad hurried out the door and I was left in the room with Indi.

She sat there cross-legged like an angel, her little belly poking out that I would have died to be able to touch, her long auburn hair tied up so that little curls escaped all over her face.

Never once had I ever done anything but brush her off when she opened the paper to the astrology section. Or asked her about the boxes of model train sets in our attic.

“Indi—” I began, then stopped.

My throat closed up as I realized the most embarrassing tears were starting to prickle at my eyes.

“I am so sorry for everything. I see now that I was a pretty damn bad husband and I don’t know how you put up with me so long. I did everything wrong. Please, I want to start over.”

“I am carrying another man’s baby,” she said sharply.

Awkwardly, I slid off the couch and beside her on the ground.

“I don’t care. Indi, please—” then my voice broke, cracking horribly and to my horror I began to cry, and nothing else was able to come out.

She merely looked at me, arms crossed over her chest.

“Ambrose, we were only ever sex,” she said sharply. “It was nothing else. We had nothing in common besides fucking. You got bored and cheated on me, the end.”

“No, it was more than that,” I said desperately. “Just let me prove it to you! I love you, from the moment I saw you—”

“Even if I forgave you, I don’t see what you have to offer me,” Indi said. “I’m not in the market for selfishness and arrogance.”

“I want to do better—” I cried eagerly, but my dad was coming through the door with the batteries and she was already turning away from me.

The train ran like a dream, even puffing out little plumes of smoke, and Indi clapped and laughed, her face lit up and I was so intensely jealous of anything and anyone that made her look like that.

When we got back to my house, I turned to my father. This was step one in my crow-eating tour.

“Dad,” I said. “I’m sorry for how I’ve treated you. I haven’t been very fair to you at all. I want to apologize to you for that and make it up somehow.”

He looked surprised, patting down his flyaway hairs and bringing out a tiny comb to run through his moustache.

I resisted my urge to lecture, bulldoze, insist. I just waited.

“You surprise me, son,” Dad said slowly, and I felt like such a godsdamn worm. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

“Yes, Dad, there is,” I said, fighting my emotions again. "I want to be a better son to you. Would you like to do something together?”

He tucked the comb back in his pocket. “Well, now, I have been hankering for a real good game of Risk. And you know your mother doesn’t allow board games in the home because the colors clash with the decor.”

Spending hours over a tiny board moving pieces around and trying to capture Norway with my back cramping did not sound like a fun time, but instead of doing what I always did, I stifled my initial impulse and sat down with him.

I was 45 years old and it was time to stop being such a fuck-up.

The next morning, Astrid burst into the bathroom at around 9 am as I was shaving.

My now ex-fiancee had been strangely affectionate lately, which I hadn’t even noticed because I was too busy thinking about how to win Indi back. It consumed all of my waking moments.

“Get dressed, Ambrose!” she shrieked. “The baby shower is in 10 minutes and guests are already arriving!”

“But—” I said, glancing down at my phone to make sure. The days had all run together but surely I hadn’t forgotten that.

“Today is Indi’s baby shower,” I reminded her. “Not yours. Yours is on Friday.”

“I changed it,” she said.

There was a smear of lipstick on her teeth, as she smiled so widely I could see every one of her teeth and a gold filling shining at the back.

“After all, you wouldn’t want that little slut getting all the attention, would you? Now get down here.”

Next time . . competing baby showers get messy and a shocking secret comes out. . .

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Release schedule is 1-2x a week, usually on Sunday.