Mary and I now live in one apartment. Actually, it was Mary who moved in because it's my bachelor apartment and we chose to stay here since it's much spacious than the place she used to occupy.
It's been almost a year and a half since the first time we met and a lot of changes have happened . Months ago, she gave birth to our twins, Jamie and Eli, and fortunately, as far as experience goes, she didn't suffer from post partum depression. In addition to that, we both agreed to delay that legal piece of paper called marriage although both our families are praying that we head to the altar soon and legalise our bond (the fact that we're both from devout Catholic families puts an additional pressure). But we insisted that as long as we're happy together, wedding would have to wait.
I'm still working in the same law firm as a family law solicitor (for those of you who don't know what it was, I am a lawyer who handles divorce and child custody cases ) which probably influenced our decision to delay marriage. Although I'm not a superstitious type, I have this secret belief that Mary and the babies brought luck into my life because recently, every case I handle always wins the favor of the judge.
I'm not going to lie that my life before was not an ideal one and I have this secret fear that Mary might leave me high and dry should she found out everything about my past (seeing me making out with another woman in the elevator during our initial interaction is enough and I don't want another repeat). Being one of the best young solicitors in our law firm and it's natural for us, being bachelors, to do crazy things in our lifetime. Before, there was never a party that I go to that I don't leave without a woman or two in tow.
I don't know about other fathers but I found out that having a child certainly tames a lot one's wild side. Maybe it's because I now have something and someone to come home to. When I called my father and first told him that Mary's having the babies, he broke into a huge, nearly hysterical laugh. I find this surprising since it's not typical of him to laugh because he's like any old-fashioned dad: quiet, decisive and strict. When I asked him why he laughed, the old man responded: "Finally, revenge."
In our year together, I have discovered a lot about Mary. First of all, she hates make-up. The only cosmetics I ever saw she had in her bag were a small tube of lip gloss and face powder and sometimes, she doesn't use anything at all. I find it amusing to meet a girl who's not keen on buying make-up but, maybe it's because her job requires little or no make-up at all or maybe I'm just used to dating vain women. Another thing that took me by surprise is that she had some sense of orderliness that in our first few months together, irritated me. On a second thought, it's the usual reason of our frequent heated arguments. She is the first woman I know who wouldn't sleep without making sure that the door is locked after I came in, the dishes are washed, my suits for tomorrow is well pressed and a weekly shopping list posted on the fridge door. You might call it a slight case of OCD.
Although there's a certain wonderful feeling with fatherhood, it can also be tiresome and somehow strained my intimate relationship with my partner because every night when I come home exhausted from work, I would usually find Mary curled up in bed fast asleep, equally tired from the duties of motherhood (she's on maternity leave for several months after undergoing cesarean section). One time, after coming home at around midnight, I was very tired and went straight to bed. I was about to close my eyes when I heard one of the babies bawl. Dragging myself out of the bed, I went over to the crib and picked up Eli, who was crying because of his wet diapers. I had just finished changing his diapers when Mary suddenly sat up from the bed.
"Sorry," she said sleepily while trying to get up, "you should have awaken me."
"No, I'll be fine," I replied cradling Eli in my arms. Mary got up and asked me to hand the baby over to her though, it was not quite an easy task for her because the twins were rather heavy (I suppose they inherited their built from me) and she was more of a petite type. So, while she carried Eli to her arms, I assisted her by supporting the baby's head as I helped her sit on a nearby rocking chair.
"Did you lock the door after you came in?" she asked me.
"Yes," I replied with a weary smile. Whether I've grown used to this interrogation or I'm too tired to argue, I have no idea.
"How about supper?"
"I had it while I was at the office. And yes, I've already brushed my teeth, changed in my pajamas and I am terribly sleepy."
"Alright, off to bed now, darling," she smiled at me, "I'll just feed the baby and he'll be asleep."
I was about to go back to bed when the corner of my eye caught sight of Mary, seated on the rocking chair, nursing the baby with her right breast. I felt a slight pang of yearning for her breasts that I have not tasted for a long time since the twins arrived. If only...
"Gerry," I heard her whisper, "you're falling asleep. Go back to bed now."
"Sorry," and wearily slipped my way between the sheets.
The next morning was a race. Mary and I woke up at the sound of the alarm, I rushed to the shower while she cooked breakfast. By the time I was set to eat, my breakfast was already set and she was feeding the twins.
"I'll stop by at the grocery after work, Gerry," she called while nursing Jamie, "do you need anything?"
"My shaving cream is about to run out. Please get me one, love," I said.
"But I just bought one last week," she said.
"Well, it's not the brand I use," I replied trying to eat.
"What's the difference?" she tried to reason out, "it's just a shaving cream."
I slammed the fork down.
"Fuck it, Mary!" I snapped back, I'm starting to lose my temper. If there's another irritating thing about her, it's her stubborn nature.
"Well, I just said—"
"Just buy me the fuckin' thing, alright?" I coldly told her as I stood up and snatched my coat.
"Gerry, you barely touched your food,"
"I'm running late!" I shot back before I ran out of the door.
It was already half past 11 o'clock in the evening when I came home. I quietly locked the door behind me and tiptoed my way to the bedroom. Exhaustion seeped through every fiber of my being as I lumbered my way to the walk-in closet. I have to walk very carefully because the twins were sleeping placidly on the nearby crib. Once they're awake, it would take a much longer time of lull them to sleep. After changing to my pajamas, I gingerly slipped between the sheets and laid beside Mary who was sleeping on her side facing me. The dim light from the lamp on her bedside shone behind her sleeping figure. I planted one butterfly kiss on her lips hoping it won't awaken her and stroked one stray lock of hair away from her face as I slipped one arm under her neck and held her close to my chest. As I close my eyes to sleep, the thought of how my profession always demands a lot of my time usually takes a toll in my previous relationships. I also remember the last time we made love was when she was three months pregnant because we have to stop after she suffered from spotting. The doctor informed me that we have to refrain from sexual contact to save the babies and she was ordered to stay in the hospital bed until she gave birth. Now that we already have the babies, it seems that her mood swings stayed because we argue almost everyday. I wish there was some way to rekindle our staling relationship.
Six months passed. Mary decided to go back to work although I just wished she just stay at home and take care of Jamie and Eli. We reached a compromise that she'll only work on part time basis so she'll have time to spend with the twins. Mary's decision to work again and shoulder half of the bills was something new to me because in my previous relationships, I would always pay for everything, from the rent to shopping money. I'm starting to think that perhaps it was her sense of independence that earned my admiration and respect.
That afternoon and I have another case. It's about a 41 year old Irishman, a permanent resident in England, whose wife had filed for divorce. The wife cited the supposed "abandonment" of her husband as the main reason for the petition.
"Mr. Harold Fitzpatrick?" I asked looking at his information handed to me by the clerk.
"Yes, yes, that's me," he was in his mid-forties, shabbily dressed, and had a tousled, faded red hair graying on the temples, heavily wrinkled face and his teeth were stained yellow with nicotine. Earlier, the clerk warned me that he had a "gift of the gab". I would find out later that he had the tendency to abuse that gift.
"Mr. Fitzpatrick," I resumed, "it says here that your wife has filed for the dissolution of your marriage apparently because of your two year abandonment of her and your seven children."
"Sad to say but it's true, yes, I left them for a long time—but abandonment? No, Sir! Never!" Fitzpatrick replied quickly, "I mean, what can I do? I'm holding three low paying blasted jobs to support them. If my job had been high paying, I would have time for them."
"I understand, Mr. Fitzpatrick—"
"I mean, I left them back home 200 miles away while I work 20 bloody hours a day, 7 days a week in this bloody city and I have not even had a time to go to church on Sunday!"
"Mr. Fitzpatrick—" I tried to interrupt him.
"Look at you!" he pointed at me, "You seemed to be happily married. I bet I'm right! Am I?"
"Actually, I am not married." my tongue slipped. Of all the things that I hate, it is divulging bits of my private life with my clients.
"Oh, no! Yes, you are! Yes, you are!" he continued in his irritating manner, " I know a bachelor when I see one! You're dressed sharply, your office and things are in order and I can see your wife and your children's picture over there. They certainly look lovely, don't you think?" he pointed at something behind me and I turned to see a small framed photo of Mary and the twins the day after they were discharged from the hospital. The bastard was frighteningly observant after all.
"I can tell you always have time with them, unlike me!" Fitzpatrick continued, "If I was a solicitor, I can bet my fortune, that my wife will never divorce me!—"
"Mr. Fitzpatrick!" I was starting to get really angry, "If we're going to spend the whole afternoon talking about my private life, I suggest that we postpone the meeting today and just file the counter charges."
That shut him up. The stupid git. I got up and escorted him out of the door. As he was about to leave, he had the nerve to get back at me.
"But I do feel sir that if I was a Solicitor like you, my wife and children would lived a comfortable life since I would have time with them."
"Thank you, Mr. Fitzpatrick!" I said in my sardonic manner and slammed the door behind me. But I could still hear him continue talking. When I made my way back to my chair, I looked up and saw the picture of my young family. The thought of Mr. Fitzpatrick's fate happen on me sent a slight cold shiver down my spine. An idea dawned on me that I picked up the intercom and dialed some numbers.
"Cyn, hand over some cases to Childers," I told our clerk, "I'll be leaving early today."
"Yes sir," she replied, "but what if the Chief asks me why?"
