Chapter Text
NOW
Jack is eating at home for a change. Elsa’s cooked. They dine in silence, neither brave enough to address the pink elephant in the room. Which is fine with him—he’s in a foul mood. The story of his miserable fucking life.
There was a pain in the ass customer at the restaurant today, a suburban mom and her doormat husband with his receding hairline and their hoity-toity demonic brats and enough combined entitlement to fill an Olympic swimming pool. Food was wasted. Threats of lawsuits were made. Catty name-calling had happened (he wasn’t proud of that one). And a clandestine video of Karen dearest being served (pun intended) is probably going viral in the wild wild west of the internet somewhere.
He needs some de-stressing. And tonight’s poison shall be nuclear levels of heat. 200k Scoville units burning holes in his internal organs shall bring him that much-awaited release. And it’s not even like he loves spicy food or anything, but the masochist in him craves controlled doses of pain. Midway through the meal, he goes to the cabinet and brings back a small jar of chili oil. He plops a hefty spoonful on the risotto and gives it a stir, making orange the new reigning color on his plate.
Elsa lets out a huff, cutlery scraping loudly against porcelain. When he looks up, she has her lips pursed, eyes trying to set his place mat aflame with the power of her mind.
“What’s wrong with the food?” she asks.
“Nothing.” He shrugs, shoving rice into his mouth. The peppers’s impact is instant. His whole mouth burns and those crazy survival hormones flood his bloodstream. He eats more.
“I’m sorry my cooking is too bland for your refined palate,” Elsa grumbles with a huff.
He sets his fork down and takes a moment to cleanse his palate with half of his water. “Calm down, it’s just chili oil.”
“It completely changes the flavor profile of the dish.”
“Flavor profile?” He mocks with an arched brow. “Someone is brushing up on their foodie vocabulary.”
“I don’t even know why I try.”
Jack rubs his eyelids, trying to relax the ache underneath his skull. Something tells him that her antipathy is not resulting from his abnormal chili consumption, but he’s not in the mood to entertain her. “I told you, the food is fine. I was just in the mood for some extra spice.”
“Sure.” Her chair screeches against the floor. She grabs her plate and stomps away from the table.
“Where are you going?” he asks, following her toward the kitchen with his eyes.
“I’ve lost my appetite.” Dishes clank violently in the sink. He worries she’s breaking their expensive wedding gift dinner set on purpose.
His fist tightens around his fork, knuckles going white with the force of his grip. Frustration mixes with leftover adrenaline, making his temper rise. “Seriously? You’re gonna make a big deal out of this?”
“Of course not,” her muffled voice reaches him. She’s not coming back this way. “I have a presentation to finish. Enjoy the rest of your meal now that you’ve adjusted it to your liking. And don’t forget to take out the trash.”
He hears a door clicking shut. So that’s how it’s going to be, huh? Back to square one, they go. Jack wants to slam his head through the wall. Why does a simple meal have to end in disaster too?
Give him a fucking break.
THEN
Something was definitely wrong with her. Considering the way she seemed incapable of piecing two coherent thoughts together, her fingers’ repetitive smoothing of nonexistent wrinkles on her dress, and her inability to cross the street without almost breaking an ankle, Elsa would venture a guess at those being the side effects of a brain tumor. That, or having an extremely attractive man walking right next to her, and not just any attractive man—a charming, funny, sweet attractive man.
That was the second time she met Jack (third if you considered the time she’d attacked him with a dart), but the increase in encounters had done little to lessen her nervousness so far.
It had been a while since someone had that sort of effect on her. Normally, she was so good at keeping herself at a distance. Elsa’s composure however flew out the window anytime Jack was involved. She felt like a teenager again, giddy and over the top, which would be humiliating if it wasn’t also somewhat thrilling. It felt as if her world was more vivid with him in it…
They reached a little French bistro and Jack gave his name to the hostess, but there seemed to be a problem with his reservation. Apparently, their table had been double-booked and it would take at least half an hour for another table to become available.
Jack didn’t take the news well. He was at a loss, flustered and angered, and it didn’t suit him at all. From what she’d learned about him, she could tell he was a carefree guy full of mirth and with an unhealthy penchant for mischief. He was playful, ready to cheer anyone up. Seeing him distressed troubled her immensely. It made her want to be the calming hand on his shoulder. If he was in a pinch, she would be the one to soothe his mind. If there were setbacks, she wanted to be the one to provide him with alternatives to put his plans back on track. She wanted to bring out his best.
Her take-charge attitude kicked in. She forgot all the unease eating away at her mere moments before. With a kind smile, she informed the hostess that another table would not be necessary. And with a hand on his arm, she led them back onto the street.
“I am so sorry,” he grumbled, shoulders slumped and eyes downcast.
“I see no reason you should be apologizing, Jack,” Elsa replied, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I know it’s not French haute cuisine but perhaps we can find somewhere else to eat around here?”
He ran his free hand through his hair. “Will be tough without reservations at this hour.”
Elsa hummed as she took a glance around. There was a park nearby, with food trucks lined on the parking spots. String lights stretched over the surrounding area. “How about that?”
He let out a laugh, half self-deprecating, half amused. “Don’t you think we’re kinda overdressed for scarfing down burgers while sitting on the grass?”
“I don’t know about the scarfing down part but I could never say no to a good burger.”
“How patriotic of you.” Jack rolled his eyes but showed no resistance when she tugged him with her. As a last counter-argument, he added, “You’re gonna get stains on your dress.”
“I don’t mind getting a little dirty.” She immediately wished she could take her words back. But then, feeling a little bold, simply let them freely float in the air. She smoothed her hair with both hands, trying to hide her nervousness as her cheeks colored an incandescent shade of red.
Glancing at Jack, she found him watching her with a raised eyebrow. The double entendre was not lost on him. An intrigued smirk adorned his lips.
“How can I say no to that?”
NOW
That menace of a dog has destroyed her garden. Broken stems, torn leaves. Holes in the dirt and wilted plants scattered everywhere. Months of diligent work for naught.
Elsa lowers herself to the bottom step and lurches forward, head buried between her knees. Her heartbeat speeds up. Throat burns. She wants to scream. This isn’t about just the garden. It’s months of repressed emotions. Months of pain.
The puppy finds her, wet nostril touching the side of her face.
“Get away from me!” she cries, frustration, and anger, and resentment merging in an ugly fit that frustrates her even more.
The dog seems confused. He licks the hand she used to shove him away as if this is a game they’re playing.
“Stop.” Hot tears run down her cheeks. She hates this dog. She hates how innocent he looks. She hates that she can’t blame him because he doesn’t know better. The more she tries to push him away, the more eager he gets. Dirty paws make smudges on her jeans as he tries to climb onto her lap. Slobber and mud fly everywhere. What a complete comedy.
When the back door screeches open, she rushes to wipe her face, forcing her tears to stop and hoping the newcomer won’t notice how puffy her eyes are.
“Aw, look at you two finally bonding—” He stops and Elsa prays with every passing second that he’ll just leave. “Why are you crying?”
The puppy waggles his tail, oblivious to any tension in the air. She sniffs.
“I’m not.”
He steps closer, his shoes coming to the edge of her field of view. “And now you’re lying.”
She unclasps the clip keeping her hair up and lets the loose locks hide her face from him. She hates that he can read her. That he can see her bleeding. Letting the other know how much they affected you—how much they've hurt you feels like the worst kind of humiliation. “I’m just tearing up. Hay fever.”
“Hay fever,” he repeats. He calls the dog and crouches down to pet him. “How dumb do you think I am?”
Elsa hugs her knees now that the dog lost interest in their unilateral wrestling match. “Excuse me?”
Jack shrugs. “Since when are you allergic to pollen?”
She rubs her eyes with her sleeve so hard it burns. “It’s actually pretty common to develop new allergies in adulthood.”
“If you say so.” He sits on the step above hers. “Are you okay?”
Even with her eyes staring straight ahead, she can still feel his presence, intimidating and immovable behind her. Can’t he just leave her alone? Unwilling to show any more weaknesses, she snaps, “Why do you care?”
“We’re supposed to be husband and wife here,” he sneers. “For whatever it’s worth.”
Her jaw tightens. The tears threaten to return full force so she shuts her eyes to stop the wave from crashing. Pressure tightens her muscles. She gets up with stiff movements to put some space between them. She can't handle it—the words, the proximity. Every single bit of his presence feels like another stab to her already wounded pride. “Can we not do this right now? I have tomatoes to replant.” Your dog destroyed them , she wants to add but keeping her voice from breaking is a struggle.
“Need help?”
She takes a controlled breath in. She feels her heart cracking a little more with every step she takes. If she has to hurt, she’ll be the one to decide how. She’ll hold the knife that cuts her; she’ll pick the bullets that are aimed at her chest. “I think you’ve done enough, thank you.”
“Don’t let me get in your way then,” he grumbles, the hatred in his voice so dense it’s practically palpable. Whatever half-hearted truce he was trying to reach before is dead now.
This is for the best , she tells herself. Because she can’t take him pretending to care. Pretending to love her still. She doesn’t want his pity, but she will gladly take his resentment. Him being angry in the heat of the moment, she can manage. Everything else… she will have to wait and see.
THEN
At some point in the night, Elsa had exiled him to the tiniest strip of the bed possible. One wrong move and he would be sleeping on the floor.
Carefully, he rolled onto his side, head propped up on one hand, and watched the even rise and fall of her ribcage. She was slightly curled up, arms folded to her chest, hair sprawled over the pillow, soundly asleep. With a featherlight touch, he delicately moved her bangs from her eyes. Her lips were parted. She looked so innocent when she slept. Less worried. A lot softer when out of the heavy armor she chose to wear during the day.
It felt a little creepy to keep watching her sleep, so he carefully crawled out of bed to explore the rest of the place. The kitchen was pristine—her entire apartment was absurdly neat. He easily found some mugs and decided to brew him and Elsa some coffee. There was a fancy roast in the pantry. Sharp, dark. Smelled heavenly. It suited her to a T.
Coffees ready, he headed back, and upon his return to the bedroom, found her back on her side of the mattress wrapped up in blankets like an adorable little burrito with only her head poking out. Slowly, he approached her side of the bed. A loose floorboard creaked under his weight, making her jump with a jolt. Eyes wide and sharp intakes of breaths, it took her a moment to fully recover her senses.
“Morning.” He sat down and handed her one of the mugs. “Black, no sugar, right?”
“You remember how I take my coffee?” She held her mug under her nose, inhaling the aroma with her eyes softly closed.
“‘Course I do. Scootch.”
Yawning, Elsa shifted to give him some room in the bed and when he opened one arm, she snuggled against him, legs flung over his lap and head nestled on his chest. She took another sip of coffee before asking, “Any plans for the day?”
Jack made a pensive face, free hand stroking idle circles on her bare arm. Her skin felt smooth as silk under his calloused fingers. Her shampoo smelled fresh and sweet. “Other than cuddling in bed with you? Nope.”
Elsa chuckled into her mug. “Bold of you to assume I will be cuddling with you.”
Grinning, he leaned down so he could confide right in her ear, “Your loss. I’m an amazing cuddler.”
Her body shook with quiet giggles. She reached up, palm resting against his jaw, nails scratching his stubble and eliciting a soft moan from him.
“Not that your proposition is without appeal,” said Elsa, “but I think we would require more sustenance than just coffee to see it through.”
He pulled her closer, fingers trailing down to her hip where her pajama top had ridden up, and took a long and elaborate drink of his coffee. “Are you asking me to cook for you?”
“I'm not. I am, however, warning you that I'm not a very nice person when I'm hungry.”
“Nice is overrated,” he mocked obnoxiously. “But I hear you. Breakfast for two coming up. Before that though…”
His gaze roamed her body: her long legs in those flimsy little shorts, the exposed collarbone, the sexy bed hair, and those pink lips that had scorched every inch of his skin, and memories of the night before came back full force, making him shudder with desire.
His eyes darkened, earning him an interesting reaction from her in return. Elsa’s breath faltered. Legs pressed together. Her voice lowered to a husky whisper. “Yes?”
He put his mug down on the nightstand, then did the same with hers. He pulled her onto his lap, hands gripping her thighs, and his hardening cock rubbing against her through their clothes. Elsa’s little mewl of pleasure traveled through his entire body.
Jack leaned closer, his breath hot against her lips.
“First, I’m gonna kiss you.”
NOW
Jack gets home like a zombie, brain-dead and operating solely on instinct. It’s all dark inside. His wife must’ve gone to bed already. He falls on the couch on his stomach, muffling a groan against the pillow smothering him. Jesus, crossing the entire house to the bedroom is going to be a nightmare. He’s so tired even his bones feel sore.
Valentino finds him and hops up on his back, making the air exit Jack’s lungs with a pained oof . Good Lord, when did he gain all this weight? Elsa would have a fit if she saw the dog shedding all over the couch but he doesn’t have any spare energy to give a damn. His eyes refuse to open back up. His muscles are heavy like lead. His whole body feels grimy and disgusting.
Sometimes, when exhaustion speaks louder, he starts to regret opening his own kitchen. The demanding schedule, the boring administrative side of things, all the planning required to keep his business in the black. No wonder more than a third of restaurants failed within the first few years of operation. It was an entirely ludicrous endeavor. Why the hell did he ever imagine he could do it? That he had what it takes to beat the curve? Oh, right. It was Elsa. She believed in him.
Naivety wasn’t a word normally associated with her, yet there it was: Bereft of any malice, Elsa had ingenuously supported him, rooted for him, and way back when, he’d do anything to meet her expectations. Now, he just feels bad that her faith has been so terribly misplaced. If he could go back in time, he would probably warn her off. Don’t bother. Steer away from him altogether.
His head feels so heavy it’s hard to think. He can’t remember what he was doing. Right, he was trying to go to bed. But the bedroom is so far…
At some point, he must doze off, for next thing he knows, his soul is crashing back down on the physical plane and he startles awake, his whole body hurting like he’s fallen off a building for real. His bones crack. He should go to bed. But he can’t move. Maybe one night on the couch won’t be that bad. Oh, well.
Jack’s always been good at fooling himself.
There’s a chainsaw trying to split his brain in half. He wakes up with a jump that sends him straight to the floor and is confused to hear that the deafening screech has followed him to the land of the living. Not a part of his dream, it appears.
“The hell?” he yells at the universe.
He follows the noise to the kitchen, rubbing his elbow, tender from a rug burn resulting from his fall.
Elsa senses his presence and spins in his direction as she turns the blender off. So that’s the source of all this blasted ruckus. “Ah. Glad to see you’re not dead.”
“What?” Jack scowls at the offending appliance. All that godforsaken noise for a stupid smoothie?
She goes to the sink and with her back to him, pours the gloopy concoction into a travel mug. “You didn’t come to bed,” she says flippantly. “Had me worried all night, husband.”
He shrugs. “Didn’t want to wake you up.” A yawn. God, his back is killing him. Who would’ve thought that crashing on the couch would be such a colossal mistake? Literally anyone over the age of twenty-five.
“How considerate.”
Her contempt irks him. He feels a nerve throbbing on his neck. He takes one step, and then another. His feet are heavy, each movement deliberate and a veiled threat. “I’m sorry, are you saying my consideration is a bad thing ?”
Elsa plants her hands on her lips. “It’s not consideration if you don’t take the other person into account.”
God, the audacity of this woman. Is she really trying to guilt him when she never considered his opinion before? Really? Jack wants nothing but to kick her off her stupid pedestal. “Of course. I shall strive to be more like you, the considerate queen.”
She raises her eyebrows. “I’m sorry?”
“You should be.” He barks out a laugh at her shocked face. A while ago, he would say that he fought back out of a sense of self-protection, that he reacted to her attacks. Well, not anymore. Now, he simply acted . “Setting reminders on my calendar, making me take overpriced vitamin supplements, picking my damn clothes... Pretending that the worst moment of my life never happened. I mean, you’re always acting in my best interests, right, sweetheart?”
Elsa throws her hands in the air. “I’m trying to help you, you ungrateful buffoon!”
“It’s not consideration if you don’t take the other person into account,” he parrots, satisfaction making its way to his bloodstream. When he feels at his lowest, the small things are what entertain him the most. And using Elsa’s own words against her? That's an entire banquet.
Elsa blinks slowly. Momentarily, she’s at a loss for words. She clears her throat, shoulders thrown back, chin jutted up. “Right. Well. Maybe it’s about time I stopped bothering then.”
“Yeah.” The word feels like acid in his mouth. Sirens blast inside his head. He desperately wants to take it back. To force her to look at him and see through his flesh and bones, through all the layers of pretense, and see the desperation, the broken pieces of his soul, the emptiness that festers in the place where her existence resided once. But he doesn’t. The apology never comes. Making amends feels like a foreign concept. Self-preservation roots him in place.
When he speaks next, his voice is hoarse, dejected. He can’t even look her in the eye anymore. “Maybe it is.”
THEN
Jack found her while she brushed her teeth. He stopped by the entrance, leaning casually against the doorframe with his arms crossed.
“Something you forgot to tell me?” he asked.
She rinsed her mouth, then met his eyes through the mirror. Jack had a coy smile on his face, the kind that told her he was keeping secrets from her. “What?”
He went to the drawer under the sink and pulled it open.
Elsa peeked inside, and glaringly out of place between the cluttered toiletries lay a hastily wrapped toilet paper burrito. Oh. Crap. In hindsight, she should’ve picked a better hiding place than that.
“Didn’t mean to snoop,” he admitted. “I was looking for the body wash.”
“I’m guessing you know what’s inside?” She turned around, making herself busy with untangling her hair. Her eyes refused to look at the mirror.
“I do.” Jack nodded as he stepped behind her, close enough that she could feel his heartbeat, so even and reassuring she had to fight the urge to lean back. His hands slowly made their way to her belly and rested there. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because…” Her throat hurt. This was a disaster. He wasn’t supposed to know. “Because I’m not sure what I’m going to do.”
Even without seeing it, she could picture his expression clearly. Confusion mixed with hurt and a hint of anger. Sadness. Disappointment. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice reluctant.
Her breath came out in a ragged exhale. “We haven’t really talked about it yet.”
“We can talk about it now.” His nose nuzzled her neck, lips planting soft pecks along her skin. He was so sweet it made her want to cry.
Before she could break down and drop all her insecurities on his shoulders, Elsa untangled herself from him and pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes. She felt cold without his touch. Empty. She welcomed it as a punishment with no protests. “We didn’t plan this,” she spat frustrated.
He chuckled gently and took a step closer. “You can’t plan every step of your life, babe. But it’s okay—”
“No, it’s not!” Elsa nearly screamed. Bile rose to her throat. Everything was so wrong. This pregnancy was a mistake. Jack had just opened his restaurant; he was barely home as it was. How was he supposed to find time for a baby? How was she supposed to put her career on hold to raise a child? Who’s to tell she could even raise one to begin with? Motherhood was kicking on her door, and she wasn’t ready to answer that call.
“Elsa?”
Elsa closed her eyes. If she let her emotions overflow now, she would break. And she couldn’t afford herself to break. Elsa took a deep breath, compressing her turmoil of emotions into a tight package she could exile to the back of her mind. She needed to be in control. “Look. I just need some time”—a luxury she didn’t have—“to think.”
He touched her hand tentatively, linking their finger together. He spoke with care, cradling her vulnerable, pathetic self like she was a small flickering flame on the brink of dying out. “Can we think together?”
She hated that she was hurting him. She hated that she couldn’t be the wife he deserved. Elsa looked down at their hands and smiled weakly. Her thumb stroked his skin, the pointless gesture all the reassurance she could give him at the moment. Poor Jack had been catfished and was stuck with a broken shell of a woman.
“I think this is the kind of thinking I have to do alone.”
Things between Jack and Elsa had been… strained. Respecting her wishes, Jack had given her space, not bringing up the baby again though she sensed he desperately wanted to. She could feel him hovering, waiting, hoping . It suffocated her. She couldn’t sleep, hormones made her weak and irrational. Less and less, her body felt like it belonged to her.
Something was wrong with her. Maternal instincts were supposed to be innate to humankind and yet, she couldn’t bring herself to feel that joy women always raved about. To bond with this little existence growing inside her. To see it as anything other than a parasite slowly draining her vitality tanks. Would that ever change?
She couldn’t tell anyone, not even—or especially—her sister. Anna would beam with unfiltered delight; she would start planning a baby shower with all the bells and whistles. She would go on and on about what a great mom Elsa would be. And Elsa could not deal with that yet. She just couldn’t. So she pretended it wasn’t real.
Inertia was her natural state of being. Not thinking about it was the only thing that allowed her to get up from the bed every morning. Otherwise, she would be consumed by dread. Indecision would paralyze her. Guilt would make her lose sight of everything. The clock was ticking. Time was running out. She couldn’t make the decision. It was as if her heart stopped every time she came close to making her mind…
… And then, the decision was taken from her hands.
There was blood one night. She thought it was nothing out of the ordinary—a little bleeding wasn’t alarming. But the bleeding didn’t stop. The tightness in her muscles grew. Nausea had her holding her breath until she almost passed out. Cold sweat drenched her clothes. She was as pale as a ghost. The wrongness of the situation made itself more and more obvious until Elsa’s dismissals were no longer credible. Jack overruled her. Less than half an hour later, they were in the hospital. She hoped they were anywhere else.
She knew what was coming, yet the doctor’s news came as a shock. The rug had been pulled out from under her feet. She had no strength left to stand. Everything that happened next was a blur. It was as if an understudy had tapped in, and delivered the lines using her voice. Moved her in and out of rooms. She only came back to her senses when she and Jack were back inside his car.
Elsa looked down at her belly. It was borderline offensive how quick the post-miscarriage procedure was. Her root canal had taken longer than that, she was sure. Objectively, there was a piece of her missing. Subjectively, she’d died along with the tiny being no longer growing inside her. She blinked. So that was what emptiness felt like.
She glanced at her husband driving. Aside from the exchanges with the doctor and nurses seeing to her, he hadn’t said a word in a while. She feared he would never speak to her again.
Tightly shutting her eyes, Elsa cleared her throat. “Eighty percent of miscarriages happen during the first trimester,” she recited the data she had googled incessantly while waiting in the doctor’s office for the world to stop spinning so out of control. “Twenty percent of first pregnancies end in fetus loss—”
“Stop,” he begged in a choked sob. The grip he had on the steering wheel made his knuckles turn white. “Stop.”
Elsa’s throat tightened. Her eyes threatened to tear up. She forced herself to keep going, “From a rational standpoint, the biggest abnormality was not having any complications until now.”
“Can you not sound so clinical right now?” he snarled. “This isn’t just a statistic, it’s our baby you’re talking about.”
It hurt. It hurt more than anything else had ever hurt her. That was the first moment Elsa felt like a mother . And it was gone. Because of her. Because she didn’t want it.
The car came to a stop. Jack turned off the engine. They were home.
Jack opened the door and stepped out, not once did he look her way. “Congratulations. You’ve got your wish.”
When the door slammed behind him, something crumbled inside her. Like a glass sculpture breaking into a million pieces. The ugly and uneven shards scattered over an abyss of pure desperation. Alone in the dark, Elsa buried her face between her hands and finally, she cried.
NOW
She doesn’t know how much longer she can keep up the charade. Standing so close to Jack and not being able to reach for his hand hurts. But Tooth and Bunny are throwing a get-together and Tooth is such a generous and kind host, she’d hate to dampen the mood with their marital drama. So Elsa plays her part, laughing on cue and smiling until her muscles are stiff like nothing’s wrong in the world.
“Shut the fuck up!” comes a shocked scream from the drinks table’s direction. Heads turn to a flabbergasted Hiccup standing with wide eyes and a hand over his mouth. The beer in his other hand swishes violently as he waves emphatically at Tooth. “You’re pregnant?”
The silence that ensues notifies Hiccup and Tooth of the third-party interest vested in their conversation, and the glaring spotlight seems to sway the apparent soon-to-be mother out of axis. Tooth’s head darts from side to side.
“Oh. Uh…” she stammers, then visibly relaxes as a tall frame enters her view. Tooth circles an arm around Bunny’s waist and her head nestles on his shoulder. The picture-perfect happy couple. “I guess now is as good a time as any to make the announcement.”
“Hiccup jumped the gun,” Bunny gruffly adds. “But it’s as he said. We’re pregnant.”
Cheers of joy erupt around the room and soon the couple is surrounded by best wishes and well-intentioned yet still intrusive inquiries about the pregnancy. They both seem to glow, their combined happiness contagious, but it’s hard not to let the jealousy monster crawl with its slimy fingers all over her skin.
Elsa gets up from her seat on the sofa as well, a myriad of emotions whirling inside her brain. She tries to cling to the excitement. When she hugs Tooth, it’s mostly with genuine warmth, for the woman who’s always been so welcoming and sweet to Elsa deserves nothing but the very best.
“Aw, everybody’s popping out babies these days,” Jack mumbles when he clasps Bunny on the shoulder in an affectionate bro hug.
It’s just the four of them now, the rest of the guests having returned to the party. Tooth’s hand still clasps Elsa’s, and the former tugs on it affectionately. “You know, I wouldn’t mind if the little one had a playmate early on,” Tooth says in a low voice, playful but with just an eager tint that hints at the seriousness of her statement.
There’s a tick on Jack’s jaw, imperceptible if one hasn’t been specifically looking for it. “Nah, sorry, Toothy,” he sheepishly says, then takes another swig of beer. “The universe’s made it pretty clear that Elsa and I are not meant for that shtick.”
“What?” Tooth lets out a confused laugh, tilting her head in question. Her eyes are so big; she looks so naive it’s hard to burst her bubble. It’s a tough task being the one to remind Tooth that it’s not all rainbows and sunshine and that sad, terrible things happen sometimes.
“I mean, we can barely keep a marriage together, thank God we didn’t bring an innocent child into this clusterfuck.”
“Jackson,” Elsa wheezes out. It’s too much. Her teeth dig into the inside of her cheeks until she tastes copper. What is he doing? The hostility is not unprecedented, but it’s hard to believe that he would ever be so cruel as to bare her deepest scars to this unaware couple like that.
“Oops. Beer really got to my head there.” He giggles, but it’s a forced sound that dissipates none of the awkwardness taking residence in that cramped space.
Elsa puts a firm hand on his arm. Saying she's mortified would be an understatement. “Maybe you should get some air.”
He shrugs. “You’re the boss.”
She gives Tooth and Bunny an apologetic smile as she leaves after her husband. Bunny protectively steps in front of Tooth and gives Elsa a short nod, then shifts his eyes to the back of Jack’s head. Deal with him , the gesture appears to say.
Outside, she finally lets go of his arm with a jerk. “What the hell was that?”
Jack huffs, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, I was out of line.”
Her hands land on her hips. “You think?”
“It was all the baby talk. Got to me.”
Her eyes soften for a second. Better than anyone, she would be the one to understand. But that doesn’t give him the right to bring his friends down this spiral with him. “You can’t let it get to you like that.”
Jack spins around, eyes hard on hers. His jaw is clenched, muscles pulled tight. There’s murder and pain in his eyes. “Sorry I can’t walk it the fuck off like you did.”
Elsa freezes. Air doesn’t enter her lungs. Her vision blurs. “Is that really what you think? That it didn’t affect me? That it doesn’t affect me still? ”
“What else am I supposed to think?” He throws his hands in the air, voice increasing in volume to a level likely audible from inside the house. “You moved on like nothing happened. Like we didn’t just lose our fucking kid!”
“What else was I supposed to do?” Elsa screams back. “Let the weight of what happened crush me?”
“At least then you would be feeling something.”
Elsa buries her face between her hands. Tears burn her skin. Her hands shake. “I couldn’t stand you hating me!”
“I didn’t—”
“Yes. You did.”
It’s true. He knows it is. Maybe it wasn’t all the time. Maybe it wasn’t all of him. But there was a moment he blamed her for what had happened. A moment when he hated her. And that single moment was enough to sink her to the bottom of an endless ocean of despair. An emptiness had set in the depths of her bones that night. A void that was never filled. A chill that killed her slowly. And the more time passed, the more that wound festered, to the point that it consumed all she had. All she was.
“I’m done.” The pounding in her head is so loud she isn’t sure whether she used her voice or not.
“What?”
“I’m done,” she repeats, shaking her head. She thought the words would make her feel better, but they don’t. They just make her realize how exhausted she truly is. She slides the wedding ring off her finger. It feels heavier there in the middle of her palm. “You win.”
Elsa holds out her hand but Jack doesn’t move. He just keeps staring at the ring as if he’s never seen it before. When the moment drags too long, she lets out an audible exhale and sets the wedding band on the banister.
“I’ll stay at my sister’s for the time being,” she mumbles to the grains in the wood. In her head, she’s already methodically planning the next steps. She’s packing an overnight bag; she’s finding a cheap motel to spend the night. It helps her maintain the measle grains of composure she still has. “I’ll be contacting a lawyer. I advise you to do the same.”
She looks up. He still doesn’t say anything. She takes it as enough of an answer.
“Goodbye, Jack.”