Rob Kelly (dirty_liar) wrote in midway_ic, @ 2011-10-17 22:59:00 |
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Entry tags: | backstory, rob kelly |
Who: Rob Kelly
What: Loss
When: Six months ago
Where: Boston
Rating: PG-13
Status: Complete, backstory
Rob didn't know how to paint. He had no eye for decorating. Neither did Josephine, if either of them were being honest, but at least she'd been able to make a space feel lively. What Rob contributed was the furniture, the pieces of solid wood that grounded the room. Their place was small, of course, but there was enough space in their bedroom to fit a crib of Rob's own making. He remembered the night Josey told him she was pregnant, how he had tried to go outside and start working on the crib immediately.
"Robert Kelly, where the hell do you think you're going?" Josephine had said, all stern and assertive, arms crossed as she caught him halfway through their front door. And he had paused long enough to reassess his actions, turn, grin, and rush towards her, pulling her into a hug that took her feet off the ground, his other hand pushing through her thick, fragrant hair.
Rob remembered how the front door was still open as she wound her legs around him and pulled his face properly to hers, kissing him in a way only she could. It didn't matter whether it was good or not, sloppy or perfect; the way she kissed him made nothing else in the world matter. The knowledge that they'd made a baby together was blissfully heavy in his thoughts, and Rob had responded so eagerly that she'd laughed and smacked the back of his head.
"The door," she'd whispered, so close that their lips still brushed when she spoke. It was cruel, and he told her as much. That woman could be a terrible tease, and every time he reminded her of that, mischief streaked through the warm brown of her eyes. Glaring playfully, Rob had lowered her to the ground, closed the door, and then backed her flush into the wall.
"We're having a baby," he'd said, shaking his head. It hadn't felt real, not until she was kissing him again, dragging him down to the floor to strip him bare and straddle his lap. Clinging to each other, desperate and happy and so very in love, the concept had somehow clicked. And then they were both shuddering and moaning, fingers pressing even harder against shoulders and hips before trembling orgasms gave way to heavy breathing and lazy touches over sweaty skin.
Rob's hand found her stomach and it all made sense.
But as he looked at the finished crib in the dark, still space where he and his wife had slept and talked and made love throughout the months of her pregnancy, he failed to see the sense in any of this. He kept waiting for someone to say 'They're gone' and have his brain fill with that familiar, nagging sensation that always told him someone was lying.
The crib was finished. There were linens and blankets in it. There was a soft stuffed bear next to a tiny pillow, and Rob knew there was supposed to be a dark-haired, pink-faced little creature resting there, so the empty space made no sense.
So he stepped closer, touched his fingers along the wood, felt the finished product borne of excitement as much as necessity. And when he didn't hear Josephine calling him a sappy fool from the doorway, when he didn't hear her laughter or feel her touch his shoulder so he'd turn and kiss her, that was when it finally made sense. In one crashing wave of brutal reality, Rob broke down, clinging as desperately to the rails of the crib as both he and Josey had to one another that night she told him about their baby. Except this desperation was painful, not joyous.
This desperation was something Rob was all alone in suffering through.