Lifetime Risk

by MEGAN MATTHEWS

  “You should be fixed now. Just try not flush any non-organic material down the pipes,” the lumbering maintenance man comments and then walks through my living room, his wet boots leaving prints across the dry carpet. What’s a little more water, I suppose?

  I wave his direction in a silent thank you and Nate walks him to the door, discussing wax rings and side bolts. I’m too tired to fake interest.

  The couch fluffs up when Nate sits down at the other end. His movements jostle my leg and I grit my teeth trying hard not to cry out.

  “Sorry.”

  I breathe deep. “It’s fine.”

  It’s one of those situations where if one part of my feeble attempt at building a wall of strength breaks, the whole thing will come down around me. I’ve held it together this long today, and I just need to get to bed so I can try again tomorrow.

  “Do you want to watch TV?” Nate asks.

  My head turns slowly in his direction contemplating what answer he expects me to give. “No, I want you to go home.”

  The words are meaner than I intend them to sound, but I’m tired and I need a few minutes alone.

  Nate shakes his head. “Come on now, Josie. We’ve had a long day. Let’s watch TV and relax.”

  My teeth gnash together. I’m so tired of men not listening to me. “No, Nate, I want you to leave.”

  3

  “You don’t want me here?” he asks, as if the sheer idea I would want to spend time without him hovering over me is unimaginable.

  I shake my head so he can see. “I want to be alone and go to bed.”

  His face hardens and his lips pinch together in agitation. I don’t get what he’s upset about. I’m the one with an ex-husband trying to steal her daughter and an overflowing toilet. He gets to leave here tonight acting like he did a good thing helping me out today and enjoy his nice normal life leaving me and this mess as a distant memory.

  “Fine,” he says the word breathily. “Be that way, Josie. I’m here trying to help, but I’m done. You’ve made it known you don’t want me around, so fine. Stay here by yourself.”

  He stands from the couch, the back of his polo shirt coming untucked from his jeans, and without a second glance back he storms out of my apartment and life as fast as he barreled into it.

  I don’t watch him leave, preferring to be alone with my sadness, but the heavy sound of the door rattles me a little too much. It’s enough to cause a small crack that topples the wall I worried about moments earlier. If I was more dramatic, I’d lie on the couch and have a meltdown in all my glory, but my ankle hurts too much to move it so I’m left to cry into my own two hands in the quiet of the living room.

  In my younger years I never imagined how pathetic I’d be at this age. I thought I’d have my shit together at this point. Great big tears roll down my face as bitterness steals more of my day. I’m not sure where I went wrong in life. I had so many plans. So many things I would accomplish by this age. But instead of my happy little family of growing children who I would dress to look alike for family pictures and take on weekend picnics, I’m here alone with soggy hallway carpeting and a child, while precious, I can’t wait until her first day of school. More than once over the last few months I considered starting a countdown to the very happy day. I’m sure good mothers don’t experience these kinds of thoughts. A good mother would relish every moment she has with her child and definitely wouldn’t let her flush shit down the toilet while she argues with her own mother on the phone in the living room.

  I’m right in the middle of a good misery cry, one of those kinds where once you finish crying your body will be lighter and less chaotic, when the front door opens and slams shut again.

  I should probably be concerned about robbers, but I don’t possess more energy in me tonight. If someone is here to take my second-hand furniture, then so be it.

  “No!” At first I think Nate’s outspoken word is in response to me being robbed, but then I remember he stormed out a few moments ago and all the robbery comments were my head.

  I do my best to glance at him by the door without turning my body and causing more pain.

  “What the hell, Josie?” Nate questions, sprinting to my side by the couch. “Did you hurt yourself?”

  He presses his hand on my boot, moving the crutches out of his way. “No. Can’t you just leave me here to cry in peace?” In my mind the words are hard and full of strength, but in reality, they come out choked between each sob like a sad woman who wants to break in the privacy of her own home without an audience. Is that so much to ask?

  Nate rests on his knees at the base of the couch looking at me with sad eyes. “Oh, Josie.”

  His pity makes me cry harder. I’ve never been a cute crier, which is why I prefer not to do it in front of people. I don’t have a mirror, but I don’t need one to know my face is red and my nose swells so I resemble Rudolph having an allergy attack.

  Even though I want nothing more than for him to turn around a walk out of the apartment acting like he never saw me break down, Nate does the exact opposite. Which I’ve found he normally does. He slides up on the couch beside me and one of his big thick arms wraps around my shoulders pulling me close and allowing me to cry my tears into his armpit. It’s a good smelling armpit. A soft pine tree.

  “Tell me what’s wrong,” he pries.

  I shake my head no but then began talking. “Is so hard, Nate. I’ve been strong for so long but I don’t think I can do it anymore.” My second sentence gets choked off by a sob but there’s so much more I want to say. How can I raise Emma if I’m emotionally unstable?

  “You don’t need to do it alone anymore, Josie. You have help. I will be here to take care of you until you are one hundred percent better.”

  And then what will I do? I live in a town where I know no one. There’s no help and even though I haven’t admitted it to myself, my job barely pays the bills. Between working, taking care of Emma, and trying to sleep at least six hours a night, my life is ridiculous. Is this the way it will be until she turns eighteen? I’ll never make it.

  When the tears slow, I pull back from his embrace. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I suck so much.”

  “You don’t suck,” he says, managing a smile.

  I nod my head. “Nate, I don’t know what happened.” Years ago — what feels like forever but wasn’t too far away — I had been cool. Popular in high school even. I had moves and a fashionable wardrobe, but those days are gone now.

  “I hit you with my truck. If it’s anyone fault, it’s mine.” The carefree smile he sported moments ago falls. “There’s no way I can say sorry enough or do enough to make you feel better. The least I can do is stay here and take care of you and try my best to make it right.”

  I slap his shoulder. “Things went wrong a lot further back than when you hit me.”

  Like way back in high school, the day I met Barry. Yet, as soon as I visualize it, I force away the thought. Without that jackass in my life, I would’ve never given birth, and life would be wouldn’t be worth it without her here. Even if she does tempt me to insanity every day.

  “Well, I’m going to do my best to make sure life is perfect from here on out,” he says, squeezing me tightly. “I promise.”

  I laugh, a small desperate chuckle. “Then you need a lot of Oreos.” Oreos are god’s gift to America. Cheap, but full of delicious flavor. There are even special holiday editions. An Oreo can fix a bad day whether relished in front of the TV or shoved in your mouth in the kitchen during the few seconds your child isn’t looking. Oreos can make any problem better… except this one.

  The bedroom curtain is pulled back and I’m washed with heavy morning sunlight. Not the good kind that wakes you up from a peaceful slumber with ease so you can greet the day with a smile. No, it’s the bad kind. The kind that rips you from a happy dream and tells you to get the hell out of bed and face another day of your life.

  It’s possible I may not be over my slight depressive mood from yester
day.

  “Rise and shine.” Nate’s voice is way too cheery for this early in the morning. He’s obviously guzzling coffee before he gets here, or worse, he’s a morning person.

  With the covers pulled over my head, I try to pretend I’m still sleeping, but with a single hand he pulls them down exposing my face to the sun. On my lap he places a tiny tray that Emma uses for her tea parties. On top of the blue flower-pattern tray is a plate with eggs and two pieces of bacon, a fork, and a paper napkin. At the bedside table Nate places a tall glass of orange juice.

  He fluffs the end of the bed covers and smiles at me like he’s proud of what he’s accomplished. Frankly it all reminds me of a scene from Cinderella, but that could be because it’s Emma’s current favorite movie, which means we watch it at least three times a day. I’ve got Cinderella on the brain.

  “Thank you,” I spit out before Nate leaves me alone in the bedroom with more food than I’ve had for breakfast in the last two years. The scene is different from the one yesterday.

  He smiles back at me. “Take your time eating. I have everything under control.”

  Yesterday, I saw what he considered under control, but I haven’t eaten breakfast, let alone breakfast alone, in months.

  I wash down my morning pain pill with the glass of orange juice and eat the eggs in under five bites before I remind myself to calm down and chew slower. There are no devious little giggles coming from the living room and besides a steady clatter of pots and pans, nothing sounds as if it’s breaking.

  It’s a pleasant morning.

  A different scene than the one I went to bed with last night. After I let out two years of tears and relayed my entire life history and the ugly divorce while Nate cradled me on the couch, he put me to bed. Tucked me in and everything. Before he left, he said he’d see me in the morning, but I thought I’d scared him away for good. I was only 25 percent certain it wasn’t all a dream.

  Once the eggs are finished, he hasn’t come back to collect the tray. There’s no way I can carry it while using my crutches, so I abandon the dirty dishes to the bed top. With more grace than I had with the crutches yesterday I meander my way out to the hallway.

  The carpet still squishes and squashes when my crutches make contact, the large fan the maintenance workers set up yesterday blowing a steady stream of air down the walkway. Hopefully the carpet will be dry soon so we can stop living in a wind tunnel.

  I brace for impact when I hit the living room, my eyes squeezed so tightly I only open one at a time. When they’re both open and surveying the space, panic builds and a small wall closes in around my heart with every breath. The living room is way too clean. What if last night was a dream and now I’ve woken up in the twilight zone? I died and rather than heaven I’ve gone to hell where Emma will be two forever.

  There are no toys on the floor or eggs on the ceiling. My daughter who runs around room like an early morning tornado sits on the couch. Her eyes are engrossed in the morning episode of her favorite Disney Jr. show. I try not to let her watch too much TV, but if I had known peace like this existed, I’d have turned it on more often. She’s even dressed, which sometimes doesn’t happen until after she gets to daycare. Don’t judge me. I’m not the only mom who’s dressing a screaming child in the lobby at 7:30 a.m. Her hair is even done. Well, done enough for me. He’s gone with pigtails today although the right side one is placed at least four inches lower than the left side. It makes it seem as if she is tilting her head in question. But it’s not in her mouth, so a win for Nate.

  “Nate?” I call into the otherwise empty room.

  He pops his head out from the kitchen, a soapy pan in his hands. “Yup.”

  “Is everything okay?” Have the lot of them been abducted by aliens?

  With caution, he takes a full step out of the kitchen and I pinch my lips not to laugh at his outfit. The big muscular former SEAL has on his typical clothes. They’re the same he’s worn the last two days, a pair of nice fitting jeans that make his butt look amazing and the company Pelican Bay Security polo shirt in black. However, what he has over it almost has me losing my fight with self-control. A bright pink — with frills on the side — apron covers his shirt down to mid-thigh. He’s like my very own version of Mr. Mom, but cute.

  The pan drips a few splats of water on the carpet. “I borrowed it from a friend,” he says, shrugging when I can’t take my eyes off his apron.

  The hilarity of the situation is lost as I wonder what friend loaned him a pink apron. Oh, shut up, Josie. It’s not like I have any right to him. It’s probably from his gorgeous and skinny girlfriend.

  Still, as Nate ducks back into the kitchen to finish what I presume are dishes, I take a seat next to Emma on the couch, propping my foot up on the coffee table and allowing my mind to wander. Have I ever been served breakfast in bed? Has anyone besides me loaded the dishwasher in my house? I know he’s only here because he caught me feeling bad yesterday, but a girl could get used to this treatment.

  “You forgot your post-breakfast snack,” Nate says, leaning between Emma and me over the back of the couch. In his outstretched hands he holds an Oreo out for each of us. From the amount of white stuffing in the middle they’re double stuffed — my favorite.

  Emma is quick to grab hers and shove it in her mouth, eating at least half the cooking in one bite. She’s never been one to turn down sugar. It takes me a few seconds longer. While I hesitate, he moves the Oreo back and forth enticing me to take it.

  When I reach out and pluck it from his grasp, he smiles and pats me on the shoulder like I’m a good girl. It’s a little demeaning, but I got an Oreo out of the deal so fuck it.

  Emma eyes my cookie and snuggles a few inches closer on the couch so I plop it in my mouth fast. You can’t hesitate with chocolate.

  Nate brought me Oreos.

  There’s a knock on the door and Nate jumps up from the couch where we spent the last hour and a half with the fictional doctor as she worked to heal all the broken toys in her neighborhood. I’m pretty sure at one point he hummed the theme song, but I decided not to call him out on it. The tune is catchy.

  “Good, today’s plan can begin.” He walks to my door like he lives here.

  I perk up. “Today has a plan?”

  I’ve been under the impression the plan was survival until my boot comes off in a few weeks. Possibly for the next sixteen years until Emma moves out.

  Nate smiles back before opening the door. “There’s always a plan.”

  I agree, there’s always a plan, but the problem arises when I don’t know the plan. The last few surprises I received were nothing but horrible. I’m okay if I go my entire life without another one.

  “Winnie, we don’t want the baby to eat those,” Nate says, and then the apartment door closes with him blocking my view of my neighbor.

  She snorts. “Don’t keep the woman away from cookies.”

  A few seconds later the bubbly blonde is in my living room hovering over the boot. “No one has signed it yet.”

  “No, they haven’t.” Probably because I’m not in high school and it’s a black boot, not a cast.

  “We can fix that later, Winnie,” the friend my neighbor brought with her says standing beside her.

  It doesn’t take much contemplating to figure out which friend Nate borrowed the pink apron from. It’s not Winnie because no woman in her right mind would dump the guy she’s had in her apartment the last few weeks. He even came complete with a cowboy hat. I haven’t been out and about to see if he’s still coming around, but I imagine he is. It must have been the new girl with Winnie. Her long dark hair falls down past her shoulders and I smile back when she looks at me because it’s the right thing to do. I try not to feel guilty for spending time imagining her boyfriend being in love with me, as though Nate wasn’t here because I hurt my ankle but because he wanted to be here. This would be our normal lives, but with me up and moving. What does she possess that I don’t? How come the cute ones always end up wi
th hot guys and people like me get cheating Barry?

  “Josie, this is Tabitha. She’s dating Nate’s boss, Ridge. Did you two meet?”

  The vision of Tabitha being hit by a car is washed away in guilt. How could I even have such horrible thoughts about the wonderful person not dating Nate? Because I’m a bad person, that’s why. It’s the pain medication. I’m a woman in desperate times and all that.

  “No, I don’t think I have.” I’ve met tons of people the last few weeks, so I can’t be expected to keep all of them straight. Moving to a new town is tiring — especially a small one like Pelican Bay where you’re expected to know everyone.

  “Well, if you ladies are okay, I’ll step out then?” Nate asks, his black baseball cap already stationed on top of his head. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

  “You’re leaving?” The shock written across my face must be enough to show my displeasure because Winnie grimaces.

  “We came to keep you and Emma company. Tabitha even brought cookies from the bakery.”

  The bakery serves the best cookies I’ve ever tasted. Definitely by anyone on the East Coast. I hate to see Nate leave, especially when he looks so excited to get out of my apartment, but if I can replace him with cookies, I suppose not all hope is lost.

  “Go, do your thing,” Winnie says shooing him out the door. “Don’t forget to stop at the police station before you come back,” she yells as the door closes.

  My eyes widen in question. “The station?”

  Winnie and Tabitha grab quick glances at one another. “She doesn’t know. Does she?”

  Winnie shakes her head no.

  “Have you had Anessa’s macaroons?” Tabitha asks, passing over the large container of assorted colorful cookies.