pointless amb + phillip bedtime fluff. (3.3k words)
It takes a while adjusting to Phillip’s schedule. Even before moving in with him, Ambrosia knew that his schedule was erratic and unsteady, but that he valued his occupation so she learned to value it as well. But now that they lived together she started to resent just how absent he was. The phone calls and occasional text messages – on the rare occasions that he could receive service – were insufficient and she found herself between a rock and a hard place.
Nights were the hardest; those quiet hours between eight and eleven when she debates sleep or another re-run of Friends, wanting to be near him, those hours when her work concludes and her books are put aside and she wants to talk to him, rest her head on his shoulder as they nestle together on the couch, card her hands through his blond hair.
Going to bed is a whole other matter. She locks every door, secures every window, and turns on the alarm system – she’s religious about turning it on before bed. It’s supposed to alert her in the event of forced entry, sending off alarms throughout the entire apartment building.
The house quiets and it frightens her. She puts on the television on low volume and crawls into bed. His side of the mattress is cold and vacant but his pillows hold a hint of his cologne and she curls into them, holding them to her chest.
She is imagining putting on Funny Girl as she brushes her teeth one night. Barbra Streisand before bed is always a good decision, after all. She spits into the sink and skips toward the en suite bedroom. Standing in the middle of the room, her slippers insulating her footfalls, she hears a creak in the floorboard coming from outside the bedroom. Did apartments settle? She paused, standing ramrod straight, waiting for another noise to crop up. She could hear only her tightened breath and the sound of her pulse leaping. After a few moments of hardly breathing, television remote in hand, she climbs into bed.
Did she turn on the security system? She did. She knows she did – she checked it twice.
She lays her head on the pillow and turns on the television. Low volume. She can barely hear it beneath the erratic drum of her heartbeat. The whizz of the fan.
She stuffs her head into the pillow and tries to maintain control of her breathing.
Stop being such a scaredy-cat.
She glanced down at Machiavelli’s bed of blankets in the corner of the room. He was sleeping soundly – too deep in his trance to purr or kick his little leg out.
She felt her eyes water with fear. Was someone in their flat?
This couldn’t be happening. Not now.
The bed dipped and, with her head stuffed into the pillow, she repressed the urge to shout out. Her hands clenched into the comforter. She nearly wheezed with fear. She could see her whole life flash before her eyes – a sad vignette of studying, limited experiences, and acute Daddy Issues. This couldn’t be happening – not now.
Ambrosia sharply lifted her head from the pillow and her hand involuntarily darted out, slapping the cheek of the shadow that was slowly nudging closer to her.
Phillip let out a hiss and Ambrosia gasped as she made out his features in the darkness. The scent of his cologne diffused through the room and she could tell it was her fiancé instantly, with only the television lending a dim source of light to his chiseled face. She whipped her head around and turned on the bedside lamp.
“Oh my word, Phillip!” The dams had been let loose and tears flowed down her cheek. She lunged toward him and propelled herself into his chest; curling up in his soft, downy sweater. “Phillip! You oaf. You could’ve told me you were coming home tonight.”
Phillip’s brows knitted. What just happened? Was his fiancée a madwoman? He didn’t have to ponder that long. His hand reached out and patted her back – instinctively. Roughly at first, but as he felt tears leak against his skin he comforted her with a tender touch and held her against his chest. “I wanted it to be a surprise. I thought you would be asleep by now. I didn’t anticipate the possibility of being assaulted for it.”
“I was so afraid,” She hiccupped. Her body heaved against his. “I thought…”
“What were you afraid of?” When she said nothing, he wrapped both arms around her and kissed the top of her head. His nose became lost in a cascade of red curls. Vanilla, chamomile, Ambrosia. She fit perfectly in the cocoon of his arms, small enough that there was breathing room to boot. “It’s all right. I’m here now. There’s no reason to be afraid.”
She laid her cheek flat against his chest as her hands made for his hair. “My knight in shining sweater.”
Phillip rolled over across the empty bed. She left little items, tiny reminders of Ambrosia in her wake. A bobby pin between the sheets, her slippers on the other side of the floor – she was everywhere, especially her strands of red hair and the occasional clipping from a Broadway magazine.
But it was just Machiavelli and he, his faithless companion curled at the foot of the bed. Ambrosia was away visiting her mother for her birthday on Martha’s Vineyard. She wouldn’t be back until Sunday. His work precluded him from traveling with her, but they promised that they would keep in touch. They’d done a shit job at keeping that promise, although.
He laid flat on his back and threw his arm across his forehead. He counted sheep, counted the minutes. 9.30. 9.32. 9.45. Moments blurred together until they were no longer seconds but blurbs of time; waiting, breath caught between his teeth, the chime of Machiavelli’s collar as he scratched an itch behind his head, the sound of the refrigerator crushing ice.
Then his phone buzzed. He flipped onto his side and accepted the FaceTime call. Ambrosia’s face lit up on the screen, showing her laying in bed – her hair pulled back with a brightly colored headband, blobs of moisturizer on her cheeks, and wearing the brightest smile he’d seen in weeks. “Hi, baby!”
“Hey, sweetheart,” he slurred, his voice gravelly and full of the sleep that wouldn’t come to him without her near.
He could hear her mother’s familiar accent in the background. “Ambrosia! I’m trying to sleep.”
“Oh, sorry – shh! Goodnight. See you in the morning. Love you.” Lucija said something Phillip could not fully grasp before the door shut and Ambrosia’s eyes returned to the screen.
“Mom said to tell you hi. And to give you a big kiss.”
“Yes. I told her not to threaten you with a good time.” She paused and glanced around, “is Mac there?”
Phillip nodded. “He’s sleeping near my legs. I think he likes the warmth.”
“Tell him I miss him,” she frowned.
“Tell him yourself,” he said, positioning the camera so that she could tell Machiavelli goodnight.
Propped against the headboard, Phillip absent mindedly skimmed through a pamphlet of missing cases. New tasks, new faces, leads that had run dry or trailed to a hotbed of crime. Facades, peeled away to reveal a cartel; business transactions concealing a trade of weaponry, nukes, or women. Moguls, pimps, or politicians – none of them were exempt from the FBI and the CIA’s watchful surveillance.
Ambrosia was lying on her stomach next to him, a copy of Anna Karenina cracked open in her hands, as he mused his fingers through her hair – silken strands of scarlet falling through his fingertips. She purred contently, her lips pursed and eyes narrowed in concentration. It comforted him to have her near, though of course his work made him particularly anxious about keeping her safe.
When his eyes began to sting and he could no longer focus on the printed words held in his hand, he reached over and turned off the bedside lamp. Ambrosia lifted her face up from her novel and furrowed her brow. “What was that for?”
“I’m going to call it a night,” he said with a shrug.
She bookmarked her page and set the novel aside. Rising on her knees, she shifted closer to Phillip and held his chin between her thumb and forefinger. She pried off his glasses with her free hand and lent down to press a soft kiss to his mouth. He could lose himself in her, her soft caresses, and gentle ministrations – so different from his rough approach. He buried one hand in her hair and the other found perch on her slim waist.
Phillip drew away, and cupped her cheek. Their blue eyes met and traced every freckle, every crease, and every detail. She could draw his features by memory and she was sure he could do the same. He didn’t realize that as she peered at him that she was making sure he was okay. She’d caught a glimpse of his pamphlets and wanted to comfort him in a way that wouldn’t intrude.
But in the next instant Phillip used the hand on her waist to flip her over so that she was on her back and he was hovering above her. She cried out, “Oof!”
He turned off the lamp on her side of the bed and dipped closer to Ambrosia, kissing her – his movements charged with strength.
“I think I can spare a few minutes with my wife.”
“But I’m not actually tired at all.” Ambrosia’s hands mused with Phillip’s tie. She was trying to loosen it, or rip it off entirely, but her hands were fidgeting and her mind was addled by–well, she didn’t want to admit just how many shots she’d taken. She told Phillip one, but by the way she was stumbling he figured that number could be multiplied by five. “We don’t have to go to bed. We should do it. My god, everyone was staring at you when you walked in.”
“Mhm. Later. Promise,” He lied suavely. Getting Ambrosia into bed was his priority right now, but she was making it a little difficult with her drunken antics. “Let’s get you in your pajamas, sweetheart.”
Her head swayed against his shoulder. “Thank you for picking me up. I forgot how to hail a cab.” She hiccupped. “And I couldn’t find the–the Uber app on my phone. Uber.” She laughed at the name. “I uber love you, Phillip. You’re an uberbabe.” She added ruefully, “I have no idea why you’re with me.”
She wiped the back of her hand against her eyes tiredly. In doing this she dragged a streak of mascara and jet-black eyeliner down her cheeks. The dark color against her porcelain skin caused Phillip to chuckle at his fiancée. He dipped his head down and kissed the apples of her cheeks. “I love you, too.”
He pulled out a drawer. Underwear. Lingerie. God. He sighed an oath and held Ambrosia against his chest, pinching the bridge of his nose. She was stumbling everywhere and he couldn’t trust that she wouldn’t bang her little head against the cupboard.
Second drawer – pajamas. Thank God. “Here, sweetheart. Put these on.”
Phillip groaned, “please? For me?”
“And we will. But you have to put these on first, and I’ll get the Advil you will – inevitably – need tomorrow. And then we will. Okay?”
“Okay.” She laughed, her nose wrinkling in a way that would have been adorable were he not slightly irritated, “You’re hot when you’re demanding.”
Phillip padded across the apartment and filled a glass of water and rummaged through the cupboards for two Aspirins. Items in hand, he walked back to the bedroom and found Ambrosia resting against the headboard, thankfully dressed in her pajamas. “You’re all right?”
She nodded, slowly turning her face toward him. “I think I drank because I was upset.”
“Upset?” He sat on the edge of the bed. Ambrosia remained in the center of the bed, with an unusual berth of space between them.
“They always say stuff–stupid shit. I don’t know. About you. Us. That you’re so good looking and I– I don’t know. I think I’m drunk.”
Phillip leaned toward her, crawling up in the bed so that his body hovered over hers. He could smell the liquor on her tongue, despite having brushed her teeth. Drunk or not, seeing Ambrosia upset was never a pleasant sight for him. He kissed her cheek and brushed his nose against hers. “I love you. And you’re incredibly gorgeous. And you looked so pretty tonight.”
Ambrosia pushed his face away and groaned. He kissed her again, this time slower. “Still upset?”
Her fingers curled into the velvety, cool sheets.
Phillip’s head dipped into the crook of his neck and his tongue darted out to flick against a freckle. She shivered. “And now?”
He drew her skin beneath his teeth; a mark that would leave a bruise, a sign of ownership.
Ambrosia brushed her hand along her husband’s tanned skin. His skin was smooth under her touch, the muscles of his biceps rippling as she tickled him softly. She kissed the small, rounded scar on his shoulder, and pulled the white linen sheets up his body ever so slightly so that he wouldn’t be cold. His nose twitched slightly and she had to suppress a chuckle.
He had the body of Adonis, something Michelangelo would marvel at, but with his hair sticking up in every direction and his mouth partly open, Ambrosia could only think about how lucky she was to love a man that loved her. She bit her bottom lip as he began to stir, every movement heralded by the farmhouse’s bed that squeaked under his weight.
“Would you quit staring at me?” He blinked awake. He threw his arm across the bed and yawned, “I’m trying to sleep.”
“How long have you been up?”
“Long enough.” He pried one eye open and glanced at her, “are you cold?”
She shook her head, but her body shivered involuntarily and he pulled her closer, nestled against his bare chest. He was warm and his arm wrapped around her protectively. Her head rested in the crook of his neck as she ran her nails down his arm soothingly. “I wasn’t staring, for the record.”
“I didn’t know that you slept with your eyes open.”
“I was making sure you weren’t cold. Remind me not to bother next time.”
He drew her face up and kissed her roughly, “don’t tell me you were unimpressed with Aunt Lily’s baby-blanket.”
Ambrosia instinctively glanced at the foot of the bed, where Phillip’s aunt’s “baby blanket” was thrown haphazardly. It was supposedly intended to aid in…
Ambrosia shivered. There was no way they would ever sleep with that near them! It was idiotic! Besides, they didn’t even want children. Ambrosia learned quickly that, like Rosie and Barbara, the Cunningham’s were meddlers by default.
He laughed and his breath fanned against her shoulders. She propped herself up on her elbow and began to flutter kisses along his neck. His skin was scorching beneath her mouth, tanned and smooth, his incipient scruff tickling her nose. As she moved down his chest, the door swung open, and Barbara, Rosie, and Aunt Lily stepped in all wearing gleaming grins. “We brought coffee!”
Using all the strength she could muster, Ambrosia pulled Phillip on his side so that his back was shielding her. She poked her head up above his shoulder and smiled warily at Barbara. Barbara had just recently allowed them to sleep in the same room together (luckily, since they were married…) and she wasn’t about to risk that by putting their early-morning affection on display.
Phillip groaned and she could feel the sound rumble through his chest.
“Hi Barb, hi Rosie,” Ambrosia said cheerily, “Did something happen to your knuckles that you weren’t able to knock?”
“We were trying to surprise you!” Rosie cried, “I’m starting to regret that now!”
Ambrosia strapped the baby carrier to her chest, doing what she could in the dark and with Diane kicking and babbling at her. Taxis were speeding by, one after the other, and flashes of yellow Medallions passing her by. Diane was just enraptured with all this excitement and movement. Her mother less so.
“One moment, Di, just let mommy fasten this,” she pleaded, but her eight-month old baby was having none of it and her pleas fell on deaf ears. Diane tugged at Ambrosia’s red hair and nearly brought a clump of it to her mouth before Ambrosia tied the carrier in record time and Diane’s head nestled against her mother’s chest. Her little hands curled into Amb’s blouse.
“There we go.” She glanced down at her daughter, “are you excited to see Daddy?”
Diane babbled some more. Ambrosia assumed that she was.
She hauled their luggage behind her and hailed a cab. Sliding into the backseat, she felt – after a three hour-long flight – that she could finally relax. She breathed a sigh of relief and made sure Diane had everything she needed before throwing her head back.
She was finally home from a girl’s weekend at her mother’s home on the Cape. It was a lovely trip, don’t get her wrong, and she jumped at the chance of a weekend getaway, but she was dog-tired. No one truly knew how exhausting it was to travel with a baby by one’s self. But her baby was a hit among her aunts and cousins and Ambrosia couldn’t be prouder of the little girl in her arms. She was her pride and joy and everyone knew it.
She wrapped both arms around her daughter and watched as D.C. whizzed behind her. Diane pointed out the lights and tall buildings before she succumbed to sleep in Ambrosia’s arms. They were home within the hour, and she hung her keys up on the door, folded Diane’s coat, and made her way through the darkened house with Diane hanging from her chest.
Fast asleep and completely adorable.
Phillip left a few lights on, but she turned them off as she made her way upstairs and into their bedroom. Her husband was still up, brushing his teeth in front of the sink, and she sat at the foot of the bed as she waited.
He stepped out in plaid sweats and his face lit up when he saw her and his daughter. Diane was in the land of Nod but Ambrosia immediately rose and padded toward him. “Ambrosia? I wasn’t supposed to pick you up until tomorrow.”
“I couldn’t wait.” She rose on her heels and gave him a quick peck. “I wanted to see you and get Diane home.”
“How was the flight? And how’s my little one?” Phillip cooed, his hand brushing against Diane’s fuzzy head.
“Exhausted, probably. The flight was terrible and I can’t wait to hit the hay.”
Phillip frowned and carefully picked Diane up from her carrier. He kissed her cheek and re-buttoned her baby-pink onesie, holding her with all the delicacy in the world. Ambrosia’s heart swelled, feeling impossibly full. Phillip was the most perfect father in the world and Diane instantly latched on to him, murmuring into his collarbone – as if knowing the bond they shared even whilst asleep.
“She’s already eaten and been changed so you can put her to bed if you like,” Amb noted, wriggling free of the carrier at long last.
He positioned Diane on his shoulder and bent down to press a kiss to Ambrosia’s forehead. “I’m glad you two are home.”
“Okay,” She whispered. Her eyes flashed with adoration. “Hurry. I’ve missed you.”
“Wait for me then. I’ll be back in a second.”
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