The Way We Feel

Chapter 26

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.