Bad Mommy

What do you want from me?

You’d think I was shooting off drunken texts, and I guess Ryan sort of made me feel drunk, but enough was enough already.

That’s a really inappropriate question.

I laughed. I did. Leave it to Ryan to make me laugh at a time like this. I tucked my phone away and stepped outside into the cold.

Darius was waiting for me curbside. He popped the trunk and I loaded my suitcase, then walked around to the passenger side.

“Hey.” He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek even though I offered my mouth. He was distracted, dark … wouldn’t look at me. I wondered if he was angry because I went to Phoenix and he had to cancel his appointments to be with Mercy.

“What’s wrong?” I asked once we were on the highway.

“Nothing, just tired.” He gave me a half smile and turned back to the road. I ground my teeth. I didn’t want a fight. I was emotionally exhausted. I just needed someone to be soft with me, maybe ask me how I was and care.

“Mercy with your mom?” I asked.

“Yup.”

I pulled out my phone.

Okay, tough girl who doesn’t have feelings and doesn’t want anyone to check on her. I know you’re hurting, and I’m here. And I care. Talk soon.

Fuck, Ryan.

“My dad was eating when I left,” I said. “Just some soup, but still,” I glanced over at him to check his reaction.

“Good, that’s good,” he said.

Okay

“When did you take Mercy to your mom’s?” I asked, looking out the window. The sky was my favorite, a deep grey. When it was like this, the rain came down in a mist, the type of thing you felt when standing at the bottom of a powerful waterfall.

“After you left,” he said.

I wanted to say something. I was annoyed. Why would he send her away when he had the chance to spend one-on-one time with her? I’d been imagining them on the couch watching movies together, or playing tea party in her room.

“Then why were you asking for her toothpaste?”

“To send it in her overnight bag.”

“What have you been doing?” I tried to keep my voice casual, tried not to look at him, but there were alarms going off in my head.

“Working, Jolene. What do you think?”

Liar. He was a liar.

The next week I was about to settle down in my office to work on my manuscript when a notification popped up on my phone that Fig had posted a new photo to Instagram. I tapped the icon and a screenshot of a song popped up. That was a good sign, right? People who listened to music were in good moods. I was about to close it out when I noticed the tiny train emoji underneath the photo. I listened to the song. It was mournful, sad. I’d have maybe thought she just liked the sound of it rather than relating to the lyrics, but for that damn train emoji. I texted her right away with all caps: WHAT’S WRONG?

I just have more than enough shit going on. Daily. It’s a struggle to wake up. To function. To work.

Well, what’s going on? Tell me.

I glanced at my manuscript. This was going to take a while.

I’ll be fine. Just chugging along. Trying to be a good human.

You posted a train emoji. Can you stop fucking around the bush and tell me what happened.

I think he’s having an affair. I found things. On his computer.

I went straight to the hall closet and put my sweater on. I could see my breath when I stepped outside and pulled the door closed behind me. Four days, I thought. Four days until my manuscript was due. How was I going to finish it? My editor was going to have a shit fit if I didn’t turn it in on time. I’d never knocked on Fig’s front door before. For one reason or another, she’d always come around to our house. I should make more of an effort to be a good neighbor. I pounded until she opened the door, just a crack. She’d been crying. Her eyes were swollen and red, and her mascara was running.

“Let’s go,” I said.

She rubbed her nose and it left a trail of wet snot on the back of her hand. “Where?”

“To my house. Come on. I’ll make you a drink.”

She shrugged then nodded. “Okay, just let me put pants on. I’ll be right over.”

I mentally rescheduled my week as I walked home. I’d have to catch up on my edits another day. Maybe if I cried they’d give me an extra week. Fig needed me. People were more important than books, or writing, or anything else. As I walked in my own front door, I felt resolve. I’d work around what happened. Darius’s mother could help with Mercy. Or mine. I hated that, but oh well. It would just be for a week. I stood at the bar and mixed two drinks, rum and Coke. She came in without knocking ten minutes later. I heard the door open and close. She’d brushed her hair and put on lip gloss. I eyed her sweats as I handed her the drink.

“Tell me,” I said.

She laughed. “You have, like, no social cushioning.”

“I have it, I just don’t want to waste time on it.”

She sipped her drink, flinching at the taste. I’d made them strong. “Damn, did you pour the whole bottle in here?”

“Yes. You’re like a vault unless you’ve had some drinks.” I tossed my drink back and started to make another.

“It’s been a long time coming. He’s always mad at me. Always screaming. He doesn’t like me to be over here.”

My head jerked back. “What? Why?”

She shrugged.

“Bastard. Men are such pigs,” I said. I flexed my hand, wanting to send it straight into his face. I expected more of him. I’d always had the impression that he was really taken with her. Not that I’d been around him much, but the times I had. He made an effort.