I kept my eyes on the album. "I don't know." I mumbled, turning the page. The plastic sleeve crackled under my fingers. That sound felt louder than his question. Louder than the house. Like every memory had its own little static. There we were again.
Me and him in Saint and Evie's backyard. That old grill behind us. Paper plates on the table. Jules standing behind me with both hands wrapped around my stomach like he knew what everything would end up looking like. Like nothing bad could ever touch us.
Back when we still took pictures for no reason and smiled without checking who was watching. Back when grief wasn't something we packed into the corners of the house like old furniture we didn't know where to put. I traced the edge of the photo with my thumb. "You remember this day?" I asked without looking up.
He didn't answer right away. "Yeah," he finally said. "You was hot as hell. Kept fussin'."
I almost smiled. "I was swoll."
"You was mean," he corrected. I nodded like he was right. Maybe I was. Maybe I'd always been a little mean because I felt like I had a reason to. The closet felt smaller all of a sudden. Like the walls had leaned in while we weren't paying attention.Clothes brushing my shoulders. The air heavy with detergent and old perfume.
He shifted his weight again. Then spoke, "Maybe we need to have a baby or some."
I froze, Like my body forgot what it was supposed to do next. I stared at him for a second before realizing that he was dead ass serious. This mutha fucka is crazy. My brain didn't even rush to argue. It just blinked. Like... what? "Go on with that Jules," I said, waving him off. My hand felt heavier than it should've.
He didn't laugh and he didn't back down either. "Real shit. We can't bring Juli back, but shit, maybe we can make something new. Fresh, the start of a different beginning." He said, crossing his arms. I stared at him. At how calm he looked saying that. Like babies was Band-Aids. Like grief was something you could just replace. Like the math added up. If one gone, just make another.
My chest tightened, "If you want some ass, Jules, just say that," I responded to him. It came out sharper than I meant. Sarcasm had always been easier than honesty. Because if I didn't joke, I might say something else. Something too real.
"I’m being dead serious, Nia," he said. That made it worse. I closed the album slow. Real slow, Like the pictures inside might spill out if I moved too fast.
I looked at him then. His shoulders still broad. Arms still strong. Same man who used to pick me up like I weighed nothing and built this whole life brick by brick.
But his eyes, they looked like prison never really let him go, and he was still pacing a small room in his head. "You think that's how this work?" I asked quietly.
He frowned. "What?"
"You think we just... make another baby and everything fix itself?"
"I ain't say fix," he muttered. "Just start fresh." Start fresh. Like we hadn't buried a child. Like Julise wasn't out here sneaking out windows in the middle of the night. Like our house didn't feel like two strangers sharing kids. Like we wasn't already duct taping this family together every day.
The words sat heavy between us, Thick and Sticky, like humidity before a storm. I stood up, standing face to face with him. The closet suddenly felt claustrophobic. Too tight. Like all them old memories stacked in boxes around us were watching. "Get out of my face Jules," I said, crossing my arms. My voice didn't rise, I had stopped screaming, throwing shit, and trying to figure it out. I had just hardened. I learned how to fold my feelings small and tucked them somewhere safe. It was like he wanted to get under my damn skin on purpose. Like every time I found a little peace, he came poking at it.
"If I don't?" he said, looking at me in my eyes. Same eyes I'd loved since I was fourteen, that used to make me feel chosen. Now they just made my chest tight.
"Get the fuck outta my face Jules," I said. But my voice cracked on the last word. Just enough for me to hear it. Before I could step back, he grabbed me by my chin, pulling my face to his. He wasn't soft or rough, Just certain. Like he was abouteverything he ever did. He didn't give me a chance to speak before he kissed me. For a second everything in me went quiet. All the noise. All the resentment. All the grief sitting heavy on my shoulders like wet clothes. It disappeared, as if somebody hit mute on the world.
I hated how easy it was. How my body remembered him, even when my mind was trying to let him go. After everything, funerals and court dates and nights sleeping back-to-back like strangers, my heart still folded into him like it always had.
I found myself feeling like a teenage girl again melting into him.
Back when loving him didn't feel like work, and everything wasn't so damn heavy. I wrapped my arms around his neck without even thinking, out of instinct. Like prayer, He lifted me and I let him. My legs wrapping around him like they'd done a thousand times before. The wall cool against my back. His hands steady and familiar. There wasn't nothing desperate about it. Wasn't nothing wild. It was quiet, Almost sad. Like two people trying to hold on to something they both knew was slipping.
The house creaked around us. Kids asleep down the hall. Laundry still in the dryer. A pot soaking in the sink. Real life waiting right outside that closet, and here we were pretending we could outrun it. No matter what we always ended up doing this. Like this was the only language we still spoke fluently.
Touch.
Breath.
Heat.
Everything else felt foreign. I was trying to fuck my feelings away and Jules was trying to fuck the whole situation away. It wasn't healthy. Lord I knew that. But in the moment, it felt damn good. Just to be close. Just to feel wanted instead of needed. There was a difference. Being needed was heavy. Being wanted felt light. I realized that's what I missed most. Not the old house or the old days. Not even the girl I used to be. I missedfeeling chosen. Like he reached for me because he wanted me. Not because I was just there. Not because we'd been together too long to figure out anything else.
His forehead pressed against mine after. Breathing slow and Quiet, Like this wasn't passion so much as habit. It was just a Band-Aid for the moment, comfort. He didn't say whisper anything sweet or promise anything, he just held me there for a second longer than necessary. Then stepped back like it ain't mean nothing. Like it was just something we did, Routine. And that's what hurt. How even intimacy had turned into maintenance. Something we did to keep the house from falling apart. I pulled my shirt back down slow, looking away. I didn't want to see this face; I Didn't want to see if he looked satisfied or empty. Because if he looked empty, I wasn't sure I could keep pretending this still meant something. This time I wasn't trying to fix it.
jules
I pulled up in front of my lawyer's office and cut the engine, letting the car idle for a second longer than it needed to. The building sat quiet, beige brick and tinted windows, same as it always did. Nothing about it ever changed, no matter what was going on inside me. Juste opened his door and stepped out first. I followed, locking the car and tucking my hands into my pockets like that would settle the tension climbing my spine. We didn't talk on the way in, there was no need to.