To have cake and eat it too
There had been no doubts about it. Your husband was acting weird. For the next few days since coming home, you kept an eye on him, studying his every move. Like how he had forgotten you were in charge of cooking and picking up Gabrielle every other day. However, that could be easily explained since Miguel took over those duties and had grown accustomed to them while you were gone as he had explained to you when you confronted him about it. But that excuse fell flat when it came to forgetting how to make your morning coffee the way you liked it and avoiding physical intimacy with you almost entirely. There was a kiss routine that your husband almost very strictly followed every day, a forehead kiss to wake you up in the morning, a goodbye kiss when you left for work, and a goodnight kiss before wishing good night to each other. Instead, you’ve been given awkward hugs and guilty glances after you mentioned you missed his kissing routine. It was starting to reach a point of frustration for you, especially after spending a month away from your husband only to come back to him rather cold and aloof. At one point, you wondered if he had cheated on you—a train of thought you never want to pursue, you trusted Miguel and your almost ten years of marriage that he would never commit such an affair. Still, you were sure there was something different about your husband, a feeling that he wasn’t the same person you had always known. During dinner one night, you watched him like a hawk trained on their prey. It wasn’t until Miguel was clearing the table that you confronted him.
“Are you mad at me?”
“What? No, I’m not… mad,” Miguel nervously laughed, not looking up from his task of transferring leftovers from the plate to food containers for storage in the fridge.
“Why would I be mad?”
“Because you’ve been acting weird ever since I got home?” You told him with a raised eyebrow and an amused look on your face. Gabrielle giggled as she wiped the dining table clean and pointed to a vase of crestfallen flowers on a countertop next to you. “And you didn’t bring home any flowers today Daddy! You promised to always bring home fresh new flowers on Wednesdays.”
You watched Miguel falter in his motions for a second before he recollected himself.
“Right. Sorry, I forgot to get them today but we can go choose some tomorrow after school,” he promised Gabrielle before glancing at you as if asking for your permission. You gave him a small smile and nodded your head. A twisting knot formed in your stomach as you watched a petal from one of the wilting flowers fall and drift onto the marble surface of the counter. Your thoughts drift back to when you were dating Miguel and gave you a bouquet of flowers for the first time to celebrate your third date together. He said he couldn’t even remember when was the last time he bought flowers for someone. To him, they seemed like useless decor, fragile and time-limited, that flowers only existed for a while before they withered away, shriveling into a lifeless dulled-colored corpse, shedding away their once beauty. Miguel didn’t mind plants but flowers were perhaps his least favorite by just how weak they seemed, they were so visible in showing their death. He gifted a bouquet to you because it was a common gift to give a significant other. You had laughed upon hearing that, thanked him for the bouquet, and told him you’ll do your best to keep them alive for as long as possible and after that, you could turn them into pressed bookmarks to keep as souvenirs because they were extra special since they were given to you by your favorite person. Miguel smiled at the thought of it and went into deep thought when you added that he didn’t have to get you flowers if he disliked them. But he continued to gift you a bouquet every week after that. When you asked him what had changed his mind about flowers, he told you the thought of you taking great care of his gift warmed his heart and that flowers highlighted your smile when he saw you hold them close and thank him for them for the first time. He wanted to see you with all kinds of flowers framing your beauty from then on. Miguel would move on from gifting bouquets to filling vases when the two of you moved in together. Missing one week wasn’t too surprising, it happened sometimes when the both of you were busy but this time felt different, as if something fundamental had changed. You continued watching Miguel put away the leftovers in the fridge, a disappointed and frustrated expression on his face possibly because he hadn’t changed the flowers this week but there was something in his sorrowful look that told you it went deeper than just the flowers.
“Don’t forget Gabrielle’s semi-final game this weekend,” you told Miguel the next day. He was watching you cutting the ends of the flowers he bought. You had given him a look when he handed over the bouquet but smiled at Gabrielle as she explained what the bouquet meant, reciting each flower’s definition in the lengthy ways the store clerk told her. Overall, the bouquet was an apology from Miguel for forgetting his weekly routine (and something more than that, you suspected.) But you didn’t say anything further about it and he didn’t either.
“Right, are we doing anything after?” He asked, inquiring more about the sport Gabrielle does on the weekends and her big game coming up.
“Just the picnic afterward, remember to bake the cupcakes alright?” You smiled at him while putting the flowers in a vase, taking note of Miguel’s stunned silence and his lack of refusal to bake considering how he almost burnt down the place the last time he tried.
At half past midnight the night before Gabrielle’s game, you awake to Miguel quietly crawling out of bed. You had expected it and only decided to doze off when you felt his eyes watching for your breathing pattern. After he had left the bedroom door ajar and slipped into the kitchen to bake those said cupcakes, you followed him out. Miguel muttered under his breath as he paced around the kitchen, looking for the tools and ingredients he needed to bake a proper batch of cupcakes. You had to hold back a laugh when he cursed at himself for burning his second attempted batch, the top of the cupcake burnt black as he tapped the cupcake on the side of the counter and it responded like a solid brick, crumbles of the roasted batter falling onto the kitchen floor.
“Need some help?” You asked, deciding to finally give him a break from his misery. He nearly jumped at the sound of your voice as you slicked out of the shadows and leaned against the counter, clearly failing to hold back your laughter at the mess that occupied almost every surface. He internally groaned and nodded meekly.
“I would like that,” Miguel grumbled, his face turned away, embarrassed at being caught with a frilly apron on—he probably couldn’t find the regular ones that you know were hidden in the back of the cabinet—and covered head to toe in flour and sugar. You chuckled and opened a drawer, reaching deep inside and pulled out two clean new aprons which he graciously took. The two of you fell into a comfortable rhythm, mostly with you guiding him step by step. A familiar guilty expression crossed his face when you wiped away batter that had splashed onto his cheek. The two of you continued baking in silence after that, resulting in half a dozen light golden-brown cupcakes ready to be decorated. It was when the first rays of sunlight peeked out of the horizon when the cupcakes were finally coated with frosting and left in the fridge to chill. You were wiping down the countertops when Miguel cleared up the once-crowded sink and finally decided to thank you for the help. You gave him a sympathetic smile and patted his arm in comfort. Every time you did so, which you had done a lot over the past week, the guilty expression from earlier crossed his face. You were starting to have your own theories about the strangeness of your husband. But you didn’t say anything and he didn’t either.
On the day of the big game Miguel remained politely quiet during the drive to the sports field at the park, saved for moments where he pep-talked Gabrielle and motivated her that however it turned out, he would be proud. Gabrielle shook her head, confidently stating her team would win. Both you and Miguel smiled at her confidence and agreed with her prediction. Your daughter’s confidence seemed to brighten Miguel’s recent sulking attitude which is why it was strange he remained quiet among the roaring crowd of parents cheering on the kids running back and forth in the field. You joined in with the fellow cheering parents, shouting Gabrielle’s name when she came out on the field. From time to time, you glanced at Miguel and saw him open and close his mouth, but no sound came out, he acted like a fish fresh out of the water. It reminded you of the first game Gabrielle played out on the field, the two of you watched as she weaved and woven her way through the bundle of opposing team’s players. You cheered as she dodged another player with the ball never straying too far from her feet. Miguel watched in silence, more scared of Gabrielle getting hurt than excited to watch his daughter play on the field. His expression matched the one he had back then. His earlier excitement died down to worry as he focused on Gabrielle’s well-being more than the game. You shook your head at his lack of enthusiasm, your daughter had proven time and time again that she was more than capable of avoiding injuries, and even the few times when players collided, she got back up stronger. There was only half a minute left on the clock when the excitement surrounding you both peaked causing you to latch onto Miguel’s arm out of habit.
“Gabrielle has the ball!” You shouted with a big grin on your face, pointing out what he was already paying very close attention to. Ten seconds left, a rival player caught up to Gabrielle, threatening to steal the ball. You and Miguel along with the rest of the crowd shot up from your seats. Cheers grew in volume, yours floating especially higher above the rest.
“Keep going Gabrielle!”
Five seconds
“You got this!”
Four
“Go! Go! Go!”
Three
“Go Gabrielle!” Miguel shouted, the first cheer he yelled out but the loudest cheer of the game.
Two
Gabrielle feinted, causing the other player to almost trip, and shot the ball straight into the right corner of the goal. The goalie was already too late to react, the hand several inches away from the ball as it soared past. All cheers died down and silence took the breath of everyone for the last second.
One
The net swished back as it caught the ball in its white tangled embrace. And as the ball dropped to the grass below with a thud, the buzzer signaling the end of the game sounded. Crowds roared, breaking the silence with celebration. Gabrielle’s team rushed over to her, patting her back and enveloping her in a team huddle. Miguel let out a deep breath. A wave of relief and pride washed over his face as he watched his daughter get lifted into the air by her teams. A proud grin formed on his face, one you recognized him wearing every time he watched Gabrielle play. The nearby parents congratulated both of you, talking to you and Miguel about the game with praises on Gabrielle’s performance and how the team was going to play in the championship finals. At the corner of your eye, you watched as Miguel pushed back the hint of guilt as he smiled at the praises everyone had for his daughter.
The proud grin on Miguel’s face stayed as the two of you met up with Gabrielle. She excitedly rambled as Miguel knelt down and patted her head with affectionate pride. Gabrielle grinned at his action and ran into Miguel’s arms as he readily opened his arms to let Gabrielle in a warm embrace. Gabrielle didn’t stop there and climbed onto Miguel’s shoulders which he complied with, holding onto her ankles to secure her safely as she claimed her throne. You couldn’t help but to pull out your phone to record the precious moment. His grin grew as you presented her with a cupcake the two of you painstakingly spent all morning baking and she took it like a winner’s trophy, Gabrielle cheered and waved it around as if illustrating her winning shot, causing the frosting to smear on Miguel’s cheek and the side of his nose. He was still smiling as he hoisted Gabrielle off and back onto the ground, praising her predicted win. He looked towards you and finally realized you’d been filming the whole scene with a phone held up. Your smile widened as you pointed to your cheek indicating the frosting on his face. Miguel reflexively reached his hand up to his face to wipe it off. The soft cream he brushed off his face reminded you of the moment you wiped off the batter that splashed on his cheek. It must have reminded him too because it caused Miguel to laugh. You put down the phone to grab a towel for him. For that moment, he was the same husband you knew and loved. With a gentle hand and a soft smile on your face, you wiped the rest of the frosting off his face. He smiled in return and it didn’t fade for the rest of the day.
Miguel started to smile a lot more. His mood seemed to have improved tremendously after that day. And you started to wonder if your husband had returned to normal. Miguel spent the usual quiet mornings having breakfast with Gabrielle and you but with the added effort of starting conversations and adding his own plans for the day. He often brought Gabrielle with him to choose what flowers to buy that week. Cooking and baking together, board game nights on Friday, and letting the Saturday mornings slip away by staying in bed past ten to go shopping for groceries at the farmer’s market on Sundays. Even when you constantly had to overtime and stay behind for work, you always returned to a warm home with a fresh meal and two smiles waiting for you.
It was a Saturday when Miguel slipped out of your movie night snuggle to pick up a call. Gabrielle was at a sleepover, celebrating a friend’s birthday. The two of you came home from a dinner date and decided to spend the rest of the night watching movies and staying up in case Gabrielle needed to be picked up. About halfway through the movie, Miguel received a call on his phone. You didn’t recognize the number when you caught a glimpse of his phone as he pulled it out and excused himself to answer it in the bedroom, making a quick excuse that he didn’t want to disturb you or the movie. You thought nothing of it at first but the twist in your stomach that you hadn't felt in a while returned. You couldn’t help but to try and eavesdrop on his important phone call.
“What is it, Lyla?”
You frowned, not recognizing the name as you heard an unfamiliar, almost robotic voice answer him. Their conversation was difficult to understand as they talked in rapid succession about the state of the arachnohumanoid polymultiverse and how more anomalies were spotted. But it was the last topic Lyla that caused your heart to drop. Lyla had reported Miguel’s other self, or rather this universe’s Miguel O’Hara’s, corpse had disappeared from cryo-freeze. Nothing was out of place, nothing captured on the cameras, the body just simply vanished, glitched out of reality. You heard Miguel cursing harshly and loudly under his breath.
“What do you mean he’s gone?”
“It means exactly that. His body just disappeared. Vanished without a trace.”
You heard Miguel groan and the familiar sound of him pacing around the room. You heard Lyla suggesting he should get ready to come back. But Miguel stated he wasn’t ready yet. He needed more time. Something in his tone of voice told you he didn’t want to go back, back to his other life. You couldn’t sit still any longer.
“I’m sorry Miguel, but we need you back here. It’s time to deal with the fact that he is gone.”
“Who’s gone?” You asked as you threw open the door. Miguel whipped his head around to face you. You weren’t sure what kind of expression you were wearing on your face but the one Miguel had was familiar. It was the same guilty expression he had worn multiple times before. The same one Miguel put on when he was stunned into silence when you jokingly asked for a kiss the first night you arrived back home. The same one he wore when you noticed that he didn’t come home with flowers on Wednesday or that night when you two baked cupcakes. The same one that seemed like he had something to say but you never asked, so he never answered until now. The both of you stared each other down as you caught him red-handed in his suspicious behavior. The balance between you and him that was as fragile as a glass cup tittering on the edge of a table finally pushed over and everything broke apart into tiny irreparable pieces. You asked so he had to answer. Finally.