It wasn't the first day back to work I was hoping it would be.
Chris wouldn't let me do any of my own stunts. Not one. No matter how much I insisted I could. So there was a good bit of sitting, waiting, and when I wasn't waiting, when I could actually take part in a scene again, my mind wasn't fully in it.
It was on too many things at once.
Everyone noticed that I was distracted, and I should've cared more than I did. But today—these last few days—had been hard. Mads and I...
Things weren't okay. They weren't completely bad, but they were nowhere close to good.
After I'd confronted her last week, after she'd left the house for hours, I had a rough night. She seemed to have fallen asleep almost immediately upon getting into bed, but it took me forever. I tossed and turned, watching her every so often, remembering for whatever reason, those early days we'd spent together. Before Lila, before marriage, before we really knew each other very well at all.
Those early days as an official couple.
We didn't really have the privilege of getting to know each other like most couples do. We met, and then we were separated for months at a time for the first year of our relationship. We talked every day, of course, but we didn't have the chance to get to know each other in person like almost everyone else in the world.
Which meant that when we were physically together, we jumped hurdles faster than most couples, too.
We were sleeping in the same bed the second time I was in New York—essentially the second time we met. And I remember the thrill of it all. Of knowing this person so thoroughly from all our long talks by phone, but feeling like I didn't really know her either. Because we were so unused to being together physically, every touch felt like fire. And sleeping with her—just sleeping—I was so nervous, but so excited, it was best not to touch her at all.
Every time we had the chance to be together, to sleep in the same bed together, I was too aware of her beside me to really sleep soundly. I would wake up in the middle of the night and look over, and remember all that I felt for her. Everything that those feelings were becoming—how deeply they ran, and how overwhelming they were. And I would watch her.
She slept so deeply I almost envied her, but at the same time, it made me smile. She wasn't a graceful sleeper. She drooled, sometimes she talked, and she moved around a good bit, but I loved it all. Every second of it. Because I didn't take it for granted. Because I wasn't with her—physically in the same space with her—very often, I didn't take her for granted.
The other night as I lay awake in our bed, a room away from our sleeping daughter, I was reminded of those nights early on in our relationship. Because I watched her the same way. She hadn't really talked in her sleep in ages. At least, not that I'd noticed. But she did still drool sometimes. And she still moved around quite a bit. She wasn't a deep sleeper anymore though. She hadn't been in some time. Since before Lila was born, really—when her belly was too big to really get comfortable.
And I wondered if I'd been taking her for granted. If these last few months, I hadn't really fully realized just what it was she was going through every single day. And I wondered how I could've let that happen. How I could've let things get so bad without noticing how bad they were. And those thoughts kept me up half the night.
They'd woken me in the middle of the night ever since. And stolen a good bit of my focus during the day, too.
Hence the bad first day back at work.
But it was over now. And I was in my dressing room getting ready to head home, already dreading tomorrow because I knew it was likely that it would be just as bad as today. So, as I changed out of my costume, I wasn't just exhausted. I was annoyed.
Someone knocked at my door. Opened it.
"I'm gonna head out," Jeff's voice said. He'd been peppering me with questions about what was going on with me all day, so I was happy to have him go.
"See you tomorrow," I said, hanging up my clothes without glancing at him.
When the door closed, though, I knew he hadn't left. I knew he'd come inside.
I turned around and headed for the counter where I'd left my phone charging. "Look, I don't really want to talk about it."
No one had texted or called me.
I unplugged it.
Jeff sighed. "I can't help being a little worried, dude. Is it the ankle? Is it still bothering you?"
"No," I said, annoyed to be answering the question for the fiftieth time today. "It's fine. And I told Chris as much, I wish he would've just—listened to me."
"Harry, c'mon. You know it was for the best. And besides, you were distracted to begin with. Imagine if he had let you do some of the stunts. You could've hurt yourself even more."
I didn't dignify that with a response. Just tossed a hand towel onto the couch and grabbed my bag, tugged it onto my shoulder. "Yeah, well... It is what it is."
Jeff stopped me at the door, and I rolled my eyes. "Dude... what's up with you?"
I let out a breath. "Nothing. Just..."
But I hadn't told him. For whatever reason, I didn't feel it right to tell him about what was going on between me and Mads—not just because I didn't really want to talk about it.
"Nothing," I repeated, looking him in the eye. "Can I leave, please?"
Jeff's hand was on my chest, pressing lightly to keep me where I was. And he studied my eyes. I tried not to roll them again, but I couldn't help it.
"Is everything okay?" he asked. "With Maddie, with the baby—"
"Everything's fine," I said with an annoyed sigh. But from the way he looked at me, I knew he didn't believe a word.
He dropped his hand from my chest and nodded anyway. "Okay, well... When you want to talk, I'm here."
I didn't say that there was nothing to talk about. I didn't say that I didn't want to talk to him. I didn't deny anything. I'd done enough of that today. I only nodded. "Can I leave now?"
Jeff lifted his brows but stepped aside. "Say hi to the girls."
I was already out the door. "Will do," I called over my shoulder.
Other people said goodbye on my way out. Cindy, who worked catering, a couple of the guys on crew, a few of the extras I'd become friendly with, and Leah, who was a makeup artist.
I was in the parking lot—almost in the clear—when another voice shouted out. "See you tomorrow, Harry."
I looked over to find Vanessa getting into her car. She smiled and waved when we made eye contact.
I waved and did my best to smile back. "Have a good night, Vanessa."
By the time I got into my car, I was ready to be home. But I was also dreading being home. Because after our confrontation last week, after Mads came back home, after we slept (or in my case, barely slept), we didn't talk about it again. In fact, she acted as if none of it had happened.
She'd been giving Lila most of her attention, which was fine—I wasn't going to stop her. But after a full day of barely saying more to me than, "Do you want more coffee?" and "Could you hold her for a sec?", I was bursting at the seams.
Annoyed and frustrated by the whole situation, but determined not to make it worse.
"I know you don't want to talk right now," I'd said over dinner. A meal she'd made. A meal she wouldn't let me help her with.
Mads had only kept her attention on the baby, and the smile she was wearing to keep Lila entertained fell at the corners when I spoke. But I pressed on anyway.
"But I want you to know that I'm ready to listen when you're ready to talk. Whenever that may be."
Mads had looked at me then, but not for longer than a few seconds before she stretched her smile out again for Lila's benefit and went on trying to make the baby giggle.
It wasn't entirely comforting, but her smile was. So was Lila's.
I told myself ever since that there wasn't more I could do right now. I didn't want her to shut me out any more than she already had, or worse—leave again. So, I had to support her however I could. Let her know that I was around. Help her before she had to ask.
Which didn't ease the strain on our everyday interactions.
She didn't look at me or smile at me as often. And with all that was weighing on me, I couldn't find it within myself to even try to make her smile. We were both using Lila as a buffer—she was the only thing we talked about at length, and it was mostly covering the logistics: when she last pooped, or where her dummy had gone. Or one of us asking the other to hold her for a moment. We each smiled and laughed at Lila's funny little quirks, like the way she'd taken to grabbing onto our hair and pulling—hard. Or her soft grunts and the way her little cheeks reddened while she was pooping. Or the sound of her giggle, which we were hearing more and more often despite everything going on between us.
And she was saving us. It had only been a few days of real strain, but without Lila, without the common joy and love we found in her, I didn't know where we'd be right now.
Because at night, when Lila was asleep and it was just the two of us again, we went to bed with the awkwardness. We went to bed with the quiet. We went to bed with the tension. All of it laid between us—a shield as much as it was an obstacle. Because if Mads really wanted to talk about it, she would've brought it up already. And if I really wanted to face it, I would've spent more time pushing her.
But we used the awkwardness, the quiet, the tension to protect ourselves. We climbed into bed each night, slid beneath the soft, cool sheets, and wished each other a good night before we turned on our sides, facing away from each other. And I hated it. Couldn't stand not to hold her, pull her close, kiss her, make love to her. But I didn't know how to be close to her given what was between us. I didn't know if I'd make it over the hurdle, and she was making no attempts to jump.
I'd put it out there. I was ready to listen when she was ready to talk. So, we lugged the awkwardness, the quiet, the tension under the sheets with us—the only real protection we had to combat this new phase of our relationship. Because I think we both knew that if we didn't take it to bed with us, we'd be facing a reality neither of us wanted to face.
A reality we were terrified to look in the eye.
The difference between Mads and I was, I was as ready as I could be. And I didn't have a clue where her head was at concerning it all.
So as much as I wanted to get home, to get away from this whole day of thinking about her, thinking about what was going on between us, what was going on inside her head—not to mention, how annoyed I was to find out that I would be sitting out most of the day at work—I didn't want to enter the house where all that awkwardness, all that quiet, all that tension was waiting for me.
And knowing that—it broke my heart.
But it had only been a few days of this, and we'd overcome hardship like it before. I tried not to think of it often—those initial days after the miscarriage. Lila's brother or sister. The baby we'd never get to know. He or she was always there in the back of my mind, and I knew, in the back of Madelyn's mind, too. Especially given all the joy we'd found in getting to know Lila.
We'd gotten through that together. We'd gotten through all the hardest times of our relationship, our love, together. There wasn't a doubt in my mind that we would get through this, too. We always did.
The only question remaining was—how bad would things get before they got better?
I didn't know what to expect when I opened the front door to the house. I didn't know if a day apart would've done us some good after everything, or if my being away, leaving her alone with the baby, would've only made things worse.
"Harry?" she called.
And there was... excitement in her voice.
My heart leapt as I kicked off my shoes. "Yeah?"
Mads appeared at the top of the hallway, the entrance to the kitchen.
And she was smiling.
"Guess who's going to have dinner with us tonight?"
I was so relieved, so excited to see her smiling, that even the slight bit of disappointment in learning someone else was to be joining us couldn't take away from my happiness.
"Who?" I asked, humoring her as I walked toward the kitchen, smiling as her smile grew.
Smiling because she didn't look away.
Mads glanced at Lila in her swing. "Our big girl."
I looked from Lila, who was staring at us, open-mouthed, in her swing, back to Mads, whose arms were crossed over her t-shirt as she stared at the baby, too. She was dressed today. Jeans and a nicer t-shirt, not one of my old worn ones. Her hair was in a bun, but she had a bit of makeup on. Nothing too apparent—her lashes were darker, and the purple smudges beneath her eyes were barely visible. And I wasn't sure if it was the makeup or something else, but... she looked... brighter somehow. Like she'd turned the light on inside herself again.
And it broke my heart all over again to realize just how long it had been since it had gone dark.
But I didn't have long to linger in the sadness.
"The doctor said she can start having solid foods," Mads explained, exuberant as she looked from me to Lila and back.
And then I realized I'd completely forgotten about the doctor's appointment.
"Really?" I asked, trying to match Madelyn's smile. Trying not to berate myself too much for failing so miserably after promising myself to be more present for her sake.
"Yup," Mads said, pride coloring her voice as she walked further into the kitchen. There was food on the stove, I realized, watching her walk past all of it to the far end of the counter. "And I picked up a bunch of different kinds," she said as I noticed the different jars on the counter, as she picked two of them up, "And we agreed to wait for Daddy to get home before we tried any because we figured you'd probably want to be here for this."
Mads smiled my way, and I smiled back. She'd waited for me. Even with everything going on between us, all the awkwardness, all the quiet, all the tension—she chose to wait for me. So that we could share this together.
As a family.
"Of course I do," I said, feeling my smile widen. I stepped further into the kitchen, heading for where Mads was standing. "So, uh... what're our options here?"
"Well, I only got the single food options because the combinations just sounded gross, to be honest. So we've got apple, banana, sweet potato, peas, carrots, butternut squash, and green beans." Mads looked up at me as she set the jars down. "I couldn't pick just one or two. And of course, we don't know what she'll like, so I figured it best to only get one of each for now."
I looked at each jar, thrilling in just being near her, in just feeling close to her again, and then looked at her.
She was still smiling.
I hadn't stopped. "Why is it that none of these seem appealing to me?"
"Because you're a grown man and jars of blended baby food shouldn't be appealing to you," she said with a laugh.
I rolled my eyes, but chuckled. "I meant that none of them seem appealing to me for her sake, but thank you for that."
Her laughter eased something in me, and I knew it didn't solve everything—it barely solved anything—but hearing it...
I just wanted to hear it again.
Mads' attention went back down to the baby food. "Maybe we should start with the ones that are sort of meant to be mushy. Like bananas or peas."
"Or apples," I added.
"Or sweet potato."
I chuckled. "We're great at this."
"So decisive," Mads agreed with another breath of laughter. She looked at me, sort of shy and uncertain.
My heart fluttered.
"We could just give her a bit of everything and see what she likes," I suggested.
"Then we're gonna have a ton of open baby food in the fridge."
I shrugged. "So? At least we'll be able to rule out the ones she doesn't like."
Mads looked pensive for a moment, and bit her lip as she considered. I couldn't help myself. I reached up, I tugged that lip out from beneath her teeth, and stared at it as she smiled.
"Okay," she said as I ran my thumb over her chin, her smile widening with mine. "Let's do it."
I was excited because she was excited, but also because our daughter was going to be eating solid food for the first time, and like Mads, I was dying to see how she reacted. And as we gathered the jars of baby food to bring over to a now-fussy Lila, we were laughing.
"We still need to pick one to start with," Mads said as she set her jars down on the table. I set mine down and hurried over to Lila, shushing her gently as I lifted her from her swing.
Her long whines became smaller, shorter whimpers as she settled into my arms. "Maybe we should start with something sweet. Like the apples or bananas."
Mads surveyed the jars with her hands on her hips, and her lips twisted up to the side. "I would agree, but I think I read something about starting with a vegetable first because they'll be more likely to refuse a vegetable after having fruit."
"That... makes sense," I said, bouncing Lila in my arms. "Okay so that narrows it down." I shifted Lila over to one side and turned the jars with my other hand. "Lila, my girl, what would you like to try first? We have for you a delectable carrot puree. Or an... interesting choice of pureed green beans." Mads was giggling as I lifted each jar, and I had Lila enthralled, too. "Might I recommend the very mashed sweet potato? Or the old British fall-back, mushy peas?"
Lila grabbed at the jar of peas and I smiled at Mads, more pride than I wanted to admit taking up residence in my chest. "What Brit can resist a bit of mushy peas?"
Mads giggled as she took the jar from my hand. "Very, very mushy peas."
I looked at Lila again and she looked at me, blue eyes wide. "Hang on, my girl. We're getting it all ready for you, alright?"
"Put her in the high chair."
I hadn't even noticed it on the other side of the table. All I knew was that it wasn't there this morning. "You put it together?"
Mads shrugged and cracked the jar open. "Yeah. Figured I might as well."
I slid Lila into it, feeling guilty again—for not being here and for not having thought to put it together myself at some point. Thinking of Mads dragging in the box from the garage, then spending who-knows-how-long setting it all up... But I was distracted from my guilt when Lila started to whimper, gearing up for a good wail. "It's alright, my girl, it's alright. Look," I pulled a chair up behind me and sat in it, "I'm right here, okay? Shh."
"Do you want to do it?" Mads asked as Lila continued to fuss, as she fastened a bib around Lila's neck.
I glanced between both my girls. "Let's take turns."
Mads smiled and pulled up a chair. "Okay." She sat down still smiling, and I could feel her excitement sparking my own. "I know, baby girl, I know. It's alright, I know you're hungry." She swirled the spoon a bit in the jar and then lifted it out, only a small bit of green mush coating the orange spoon. Mads blew out a breath, and smiled at Lila. "Okay. You ready, baby girl?"
I held my breath as Mads lifted the spoon, as Lila's watery eyes fixed on it, as Mads slipped it into her mouth and let it touch the baby's tongue...
Lila closed her mouth.
Mads slid the spoon out.
Lila's little brow crinkled and the red went out of her cheeks.
A bit of green pushed out onto her lips as her tongue poked out, tasting.
Mads caught it with the spoon before it could fall.
But then Lila's mouth started moving. And she stopped crying altogether as she continued tasting, her little tongue doing its best to keep all the food in her mouth. And she looked at each of us with a question in the blue of her eyes, in the wrinkle of her brow, a question that had both of us breathing sighs of relief and laughing.
"Is that yummy?" Mads asked, leaning forward with a smile so wide, I felt the effects of it in my heart.
"I think she likes it," I said, more excited than I ever anticipated I could be over a baby eating mushy peas.
"She definitely doesn't hate it," Mads agreed, and dipped the spoon back into the jar. "But let's see... maybe she won't want another one."
Lila wasn't crying anymore, but she watched the spoon come towards her face and brought her chunky hand up to it. Whether she wanted to stop it or not, we couldn't be sure, but Mads got the second small spoonful into her mouth.
Spoon seemingly forgotten, Lila's little tongue started working again, and she continued looking between the two of us as she tried to figure out what was happening, what was in her mouth, and why we were cheering her on.
"She likes it," I said again, too thrilled for many more words.
"Here, you give her some," Mads said, handing me the jar and the spoon.
I dipped the spoon into the green mush just as Mads had, and when I lifted it towards Lila's mouth, her hands came up again, and I paused long enough that she got one hand around it.
Mads laughed. "Oh, hang on." She got up and hurried to the counter behind me.
"Lila-lie," I gently chided, laughing as I took the spoon away from her, as she studied her green hand. "Thanks for helping me out."
"Here," Mads said, wiping Lila's hand as I swirled the spoon in the jar once more. She was sitting again when I lifted a second spoonful.
"Alright," I said, holding the spoon aloft, watching those little fists shoot up into the air as she waited for what was next. "Work with me here, babe."
Lila only stared as her mother giggled, and I smiled and felt myself opening my mouth right along with her as I slid the spoon past her little pink lips.
Feeling successful and excited, I watched her smack those lips together, watched a little bit of the green stick to them, watched that little tongue continue to taste and work it all to the back of her mouth to swallow.
And I laughed as Mads clapped, as she cheered, as Lila's wide eyes went to her mother again, still confused as to what was happening, but swallowing the peas and looking to me, presumably for more.
Several spoonfuls and exclamations of praise and happiness later, Lila finally decided enough was enough and she wanted out of the high chair, so we decided to stop feeding her the baby food so that Mads could breastfeed her until she was full.
"So much for trying a bunch of them," Mads said from behind me as I lifted a now-clean and still crying Lila from her high chair.
I turned to face her as she looked through the rest of the baby food jars and shrugged one shoulder as I swayed with Lila in my arms. "I forgot about the rest when it seemed like she was enjoying the peas."
I passed the baby to Mads, and my own stomach growled loudly enough that Mads laughed.
"Everything's ready to eat when you are. I made a meatloaf and some veggies." She started walking to the living room, and I glanced at the stove, where all the food she'd cooked was sitting with aluminum foil over it.
"I can wait," I said, following her.
Mads glanced back at me before sitting on the couch. "You don't have to. She's already had a little bit to eat so this probably won't take as long as usual."
I sat at the other end of the couch as she lifted her shirt. "I want to."
Mads looked at me as Lila's cries turned to whimpers, as she latched onto her mother's breast, and she smiled. "Okay."
It wasn't much, but it felt like progress. This last half hour felt more normal than these last few weeks—months—had. And I knew it was because of her. Because she'd waited for me. Because she wanted to share this with me—with Lila—all three of us together, even though things had been strained. Because she'd opened up to me again.
But I didn't know how long she would stay open.
"Thank you," I said when things fell quiet between us.
Mads looked over at me, one arm supporting a suckling Lila, the other hand resting on the baby's belly. "For what?"
"For waiting for me to get home to feed her," I said, then added, "For putting the high chair together. For taking her to the doctor today. For taking care of me all last week. For taking care of us," I gestured to Lila with my chin, "always."
Mads wasn't looking at me anymore. She was looking down at Lila, and her lips were pressed together. My heart, lighter than it had been in days since I got home to find her smiling, dipped in my chest. I knew it wasn't much, but... I didn't know what else to say. There was only so much she was allowing these days.
But there was only so long I could stop myself from saying what I felt I needed to.
"And I know things have been... difficult for us these days, but I want you to know that I—"
"You don't have to, Harry—"
"But I do, I—"
"No, you don't," she said firmly. Looking at me again. Her eyes softened. There were tears in them. "Believe me, I—I already know. Truly."
She tried to smile. And it looked genuine.
It always looked genuine.
I knew better.
"Well, good then. You're saving me the trouble of telling you how much I love you all over again. That's good. Means I've said it more than enough over the years." I sat back on the couch, trying to smile.
Mads breathed a laugh. Shook her head.
She was grinning again.
"I get tired of hearing it, too," I went on, watching her watch the baby hoping she might round that smile on me. "I mean, you've really tired it out, especially recently. It's good we've reached a place where it just goes without saying."
"I love you, too," she said, so quietly, I would've missed it if she hadn't waited for a break in my pathetic attempt at a joke.
I paused.
She looked at me.
"Always," she added, her eyes filling up.
Then talk to me, I wanted to say. Tell me what's wrong. Everything that hurts. Let me fix it.
But I sat there, staring at her, letting those words and their meaning fill me up. And then, because I loved her, because I missed her, because I felt helpless and guilty and because I didn't know what else to do...
I shifted on the couch, scooted closer to her. I kept my eyes on hers until I was right there next to her, my arm around her shoulders, feeling her warmth right up against my side. I studied her eyes, I watched the sadness, the ache, flicker in them as they studied mine. And I lifted a hand, brushed it against her cheek, brought it down to her chin...
And I kissed her. Softly. Let my lips linger. Felt her lips kiss me back.
Then felt her pull away completely. Too soon.
She smiled, breathless, almost laughing. Then she sniffled, and I knew that she was fighting tears.
When she tried to look away, I kept my hand on her face, tried to get her to look at me again. She only pressed her lips into my palm and angled her chin away from me.
Hurt, pain, frustration, all warring for attention inside me, I watched her lift a hand to her eyes and rub away tears before they could fall.
But I bit them all back—literally bit my lip, hard, to keep from crying out, to keep myself from saying something I'd regret, from forcing her to open up when she wasn't ready.
I bit my lip to prevent another fight. Another fight that might last another few days, or worse— even longer.
Instead, I did the only thing I felt I could do. The only thing left, in my mind.
I wrapped my arms around her the way I hadn't in days. Maybe even weeks. Around her and Lila. I squeezed them both close enough that I could rest my chin on her shoulder, close enough that I could breathe in the scent of her shampoo, close enough that she could tilt her head sideways, lean it against mine if she wanted to.
And she did.
___
Author's Note:
These two are trying so hard to come back to each other, in whatever ways they can, AND IT'S SLOWLY KILLING ME WITH FEELS.
Phew. Anyway, how are you guys feeling about all this? Let me know what you think in the comments! Or just vote if you'd like. Whatever floats your boat!
ALSO, let me just take a moment to THANK EACH AND EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU for 500K on Out of the Ordinary! I'm just blown away by how much love these stories have received, and it's all down to you guys. So, to everyone who has read and reread these stories, recommended them to friends, messaged me about them, commented on them, read them silently all along... THANK YOU FOR EVERYTHING. It's no exaggeration to say that my dreams are coming true every single day because of you!
Aaaand I'll end it there before I get too mushy (peas) lol. I COULDN'T HELP MYSELF OKAY.
Love you all so incredibly much. Meet'cha back here in two weeks. xx