If I Break

by Portia Moore

  I haven’t had any alcohol since before I found out I was pregnant with Caylen. Actually, the last time I drank was the night I most likely conceived her. That night, I packed my things with the wine’s help, determined to leave Cal. Tonight, I need it to aid me in packing up his things, trying to be content with the fact that he’s gone.

  I look at the last box I packed; the remainder of all things “Cal” that I could find. It's the first step of many that I’m taking to try to “cleanse” myself of him, even though the thought of it makes my heart sink, even though my own tears choke me up as I gather everything together. I keep trying to remind myself I have to do this, that this is for Caylen, but how do I shake the feeling that I’m mourning? I know it’s only been two weeks since all of this happened, but when do I feel “fixed?” When will I be able to get over all that has happened? When do I start to feel a little less numb than I did the day before? Because now, the same hole within me just seems to be getting deeper, and what Angela described as a way of taking my life back, in actuality, is like burying myself deeper and deeper. I squeeze my hands together and take deep breaths. I can’t stand this.

  After spending hours going through his things and packing them, cleansing myself, I’ve been searching unsuccessfully, looking at old pictures of us, trying to find some sign. Was there some secret hidden behind his eyes that I failed to unlock? I replay every conversation that we had, trying to think. Was there something I missed? Did he ever try to tell me? Was there anything I ignored which would have prevented me from being here? In the end, I realize I’m surrounded by the past, by lies, by a ghost of a person who never really existed.

  That thought sends chills through my body, and if I believed it, I wouldn’t be in mourning for a person who's still alive. At least his body is here. I try not to think where Cal really is. What happens to an alter when it's not here? Has he completely dissipated, or can he see from behind Chris’s eyes? At first sight, when I threw myself onto Chris and called his name, was Cal somewhere in there? Could he hear me call him? Could he see me?

  I know I have to stop thinking like this. It’s not going to do me any good. I can’t hold onto the belief that Cal exists on any level. I have to move on for Caylen, our little girl—to whom I heard him talking that night. At that time, Chris didn’t know who Caylen was, so it had to be Cal. Was he able to escape from whatever mental desert he was lost in, for that purpose only?

  Ugh! I told Chris that I could deal with this, but they were just words. I kick over a box I packed and throw my wine glass into the wall, watching the small amount drip down the grey wall, leaving a vivid stain. I have to get a hold of myself. I’m so glad that Angela took Caylen for the night while I do this. I guess she knew it wasn’t going to be as easy as she led me to believe.

  You’re being ridiculous, Lauren, I scold myself. I go to close up the box and remember there’s only one thing left that hasn’t been packed away. I walk over to my drawer, and underneath all of my blouses, a button up of his, studded with tiny black buttons and smelling faintly of cologne- Cal’s. When he first left, I couldn’t bear to get rid of his things. I always hoped he’d be back to reclaim them. After a few months, I avoided them, never once opening his closet.

  But this one thing, this one shirt, I couldn’t bear to put in the box I didn't hide from or avoid it, though I hid it from everyone else. The one I wore for sleeping on the nights when I missed him so much that even the fabric that last touched his skin gave me comfort. His scent, faintly clinging to it, calmed me, while a part of him rested inside me.

  Going through an entire pregnancy alone, without him, was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. I put on a brave face for those around me, especially Raven, Angela, and Hillary. They were there with me every day, making sure I was never alone--although I was still lonely when they were with me, because they weren’t him.

  He wasn’t there to rub my belly, to banter about whether it’d be a boy or a girl. To just hold me. I missed all of that. Going to childbirth classes with Angela, while all the husbands and boyfriends of the other pregnant women were with them, made me want to hide in a corner.

  So many times, I imagined him bursting into the room the moment Caylen made her appearance. I guess a thing like that only happens in the movies, because that day never came. But on those nights when I was home alone, I’d put on his shirt and pretend it was his arms around me. For a while, it held his scent, and when it faded away, I'm embarrassed to say I sprayed his cologne on it. Little moments like these, I’m sure if I told anyone, they’d think were insanity or an odd form of self-torture. But those rituals somehow kept me sane all those nights alone.

  I sit down on the floor with the shirt in my hand, and hold it to my chest as tears escape from my eyes. If I’m saying goodbye, trying to escape him tomorrow, I can still make a fool out of myself tonight. I pull my shirt over my head, stand up, slip out of my jogging shorts, and put on his shirt, and for a moment I pretend this is all a bad dream.

  But this room feels suffocating. I glance through the glass in the doors that lead to the terrace. The sky is dark and raindrops start to paint it, like the clouds echo my pain. All the times I wished the weather matched my mood, this is not one of them. I step over the broken glass from earlier, make my way downstairs to the kitchen, and pour myself another glass of wine. After finishing it, I crawl onto my couch. I close my eyes and pretend I’m visiting an alternate reality where my husband is not my husband. Here, he doesn’t wear jeans that cost in the upper hundreds but ones that come from Old Navy. Here, he lives in a house on a farm, instead of on one of the top floors of a high-rise in the city. Here he slings manure instead of stealing away on jets around the world, and it’s not so devastating that he’s in love with a woman named Jenna, and not Lauren.

  But I know I’m not in an alternate reality, because in an alternate reality, the weight of his absence wouldn’t feel like a tomb on my chest, and any distraction wouldn’t only be for seconds. And in an alternate reality, as I’m lying on this couch, closing my eyes, I wouldn’t give anything for him to be next to me, to feel him kiss the back of my neck, his fingers to trace his name on my lower back. I wouldn’t still be so in love with a man who's a ghost, myth, a fairy tale, and tragedy all wrapped in one, and I wouldn’t trade half my soul just to hear him say, you’re all I ever wanted. I pull my throw over myself, hug my knees, and will myself to sleep, to start over with another day.

  The thunder crashing outside my window awakens me from my slumber. My head is still spinning. The banging on the door rouses me, my body feels as if it weighs a thousand pounds and there’s boxes are all over the living room floor I don’t remember bringing down. The door swings open and the adrenaline coursing through my body is replaced not by relief but by utter confusion. What is he doing here?

  “Chris?” I say hesitantly making my way to the door way. “You scared the hell out of me!” I say, one hand covering my pounding heart as I make my way toward him

  But as I get closer, I see his chest is heaving up and down. He’s sucking in as much air as he can, his clothing and hair wet from the storm and clinging to his body. My mind says to ask him if he's okay, what he’s doing here, but when I look at his eyes, which are set directly on me, he nods, and a grin appears on his face, and I know.

  “Close, but not quite right,” he says, seemingly winded but a familiar grin on his face. When we're face to face, I'm able to lift my tongue from the roof of my mouth.

  "Cal?" It’s barely a whisper, since my throat has closed up and I wonder if he heard me. But as I look at him, even though he hasn’t answered yet, as his breathing slows down, the grin slowly becomes a seductive smile, and I know.

  “So it’s that easy, huh?” His voice stops me cold. The moonlight from the window highlights his grey eyes. I try to move but I can’t.

  “So you’re giving up on me - on us. Just like that?”

  He walks toward me and I try to reach out to him but my limbs are fro
zen. He bends down looking at the box I packed earlier.

  “You’re going to pack me away and pretend I never existed?” he roars and kicks the box over. The sound is so loud it echoes through the entire house.

  “What about us Lauren? What about our family?” he growls. He’s so angry, that I see the veins in his head throbbing. I keep trying to talk or to move, but I can’t manage either.

  “Do you really think the Scott’s are going to accept you into their life? They want to pretend I never existed! Do you think they want a constant reminder of me walking around, spoiling their delusional little world? I’m the bastard child. Their prodigal son!” He laughs angrily, circling around my frozen body.

  “Caylen needs a real father that’s here,” I whisper, somehow breaking my catatonic state.

  “I’m her father!” he shouts angrily in my face. He grabs my arm roughly and ushers me to the couch and pins me down on it. His weight feels like a house on top of me and I can’t breathe.

  “Was it Chris that made love to you here? Was it his name you called out?” he whispers vehemently in my ear, he then rips my shirt in two.

  His lips touch mine firmly and I turn my face. I’m so angry at him. I keep trying to speak but my voice is mute. He grabs my face and turns it back towards him.

  “There’s a lot you want to say to me, huh Lauren?” he laughs in my face.

  “YES!” I scream.

  March 24, 2013…I wake up from a dream so real, I can still feel Cal’s hands on me. I’m on the floor in a cold sweat. I don’t remember falling asleep but I must have drifted off after I put Caylen down for her nap. I try to catch my breath and slow my heart down at the same time. It’s the third dream I’ve had this week about Cal.

  Each one was slightly different but I notice a few things stay consistent. He’s always dressed entirely in black, his eyes are gray, and I can barely speak. He’s also furious with me for not fighting for us. Whatever that means? I fought for us for over five years - two of which he was completely absent from. I don’t know what more he wants me to do other than knock Chris on the head until he comes out?

  If Cal was dead I’d swear he was haunting me in my dreams. But it’s not really Cal, of course. I’ve held on so tightly up until now and there’s a part of me having trouble letting go. I can only describe it like an addict detoxing. I guess it’s the right time for this to happen. I don’t want Chris to think the mother of his child is a complete lunatic.

  Yet, wouldn’t it be ironic for him to think that, considering the circumstances? At least I’d like to find my bearings, especially since I’m back in Madison, staying at the lovely Ritter Inn. More importantly, I’ve agreed to take Caylen to see Chris and the Scott’s later on today and I’ve been having so much anxiety about it.

  What if Chris freaks out and can’t deal with all of this? What if Caylen doesn’t like him? What if she likes him too much? Aside from all of the obvious weirdness of the situation, how am I going to adjust to sharing my daughter with a person I don’t know? I’ve been a single parent so long I don’t know how co-parenting really works. I grew up with Raven raising me pretty much on her own. I wonder how people do this - make long-distance parenting work? I guess I’m jumping too far ahead of myself. In three hours we’ll all find out.

  The last time I met him at this house, I had a complete nervous breakdown. He offered to come to Chicago, but I thought that would be weird for both of us. I’m trying to be optimistic about getting away from there. It’s become increasingly difficult staying after everything that has happened. I really think I’m going to sell the penthouse and start over.

  I pick up Caylen’s gray sweater and pink leggings with her khaki Ugg boots. It took me twenty outfits before I decided what she should wear.

  It’s a surreal feeling getting her dressed to meet Chris. Especially after all the days when I wondered what it would be like for Cal to hold her in his arms. To see how he’d be with a tiny version of himself. Well that’s not going to happen now, I remind myself. Even if she wasn’t going anywhere special, I always dress her like my own little doll.

  These days I spend more time planning what she wears than I do. It’s actually been a while since I’ve worn more than a t-shirt and jeans. I haven’t had anyone to dress up for in a long time. But today I’ve tried to plan the appropriate thing. I don’t want to look like I didn’t put any thought into what I’m wearing but I also don’t want to look like I spent too much. I mean ... there’s no reason for me to worry anyway. It’s not like I haven’t already made a first impression with mascara dripping down my face and my hair tangled about my head.

  I decide on being Caylen’s twin with a long gray sweater and leggings. But instead of bubble gum pink I decide on black, of course. I’m hoping to redeem myself from the image of the hysterical, yelling, crazy woman they met before. Not that they didn’t deserve it after everything that’s happened. I shake away the thoughts of the last meeting at the Scott’s and the last time Chris was here in this same room. I think about how he seemed just as nervous as I was, almost more so. Still, other than the nervous energy, there was something about him that was almost calming. Do I dare to say ... comfortable?

  I glance at the clock. I have less than an hour before Caylen’s usual wake up time. I grab my things and head to the bathroom for a quick shower, hoping to relax at least at the beginning of what’s sure to be a nerve racking day.

  ***

  “Okay Lauren, you can do this,” I say to myself then I look in the rear-view mirror and see Caylen smiling up at me.

  “You must think mommy’s crazy, huh?”

  I can’t help but smile at her and a few of my nerves dissipate. She’s so innocent. I’m glad that she’s young so none of the awkward weirdness of all this is affecting her. I start to wonder if I should call or just go up to the Scott’s door, that didn’t turn out so great the last time. At least I know I won’t go into emotional overload today. I can’t. Not while she’s here. I drum my hands on the steering wheel to calm my nerves. I mean, the worst is behind me. The only thing that would make this worse than last time is if Chris comes to the door in drag. I giggle to myself about that image.

  I tried to kill time by having breakfast with Caylen at a little diner named “Goldman’s” on the way here. I haven’t had a good, hot bowl of grits since I’ve moved from Saginaw. Caylen enjoyed playing in her apple sauce and hash browns more than she enjoyed actually eating them. I look at my watch and notice its 9:15 am. I told him I’d be here at 9:30 am. Is it rude to show up early? I glance back at the house and see someone holding the curtains open at the front window. Oh no, they see me! Well, someone does. If I sit out here now I’ll look like a stalker or weirdo. Okay, it’s now or never.

  I get out of the car and take a deep breath. I pull Caylen out of her car seat and close the door. I guess this is it. I never really prayed before, but I quietly ask God to give me strength to deal with this and not make a complete fool out of myself.

  The door to the house opens and I watch as the six foot figure walks through it. I feel myself getting nervous and I take another deep breath. I squeeze Caylen’s little hand as we walk towards the towering front porch. Her tiny steps are making this the longest walk ever. I look up at him and I’m caught by his eyes – they’re bright green with glimmers of grey now. As he walks closer, his smile widens. I glance down at Caylen whose little steps start to quicken.

  “Hi,” I say, my voice light and unfamiliar.

  “Hey,” he replies, his voice warm but shaky. His smile widens even more as his big hands squeeze the little stuffed animal he’s holding. I can feel my heart starting to speed up. I let go of Caylen’s hand once we’re on the side walk. She quickly makes her way over to him.

  She reaches up for the penguin he’s holding and he chuckles, staring at her in what I can only describe as amazement.

  “Umm, my friend’s daughter loves The Penguins in the Madagascar movie. I thought she’d like it,” he explains ne
rvously.

  “She watches that movie all the time, “I reply and notice the wonderment on his face. I watch him as he squats down to her eye level.

  “I thought you might like this,” he says, holding out the little Penguin.

  “Pepe!”she says excitedly, taking the penguin from his hands and putting it in her mouth. He looks up at me in wonder.

  “She looks so much like my baby pictures,” he says aloud, but I think he didn’t mean it to be heard. Watching him take in the sight of her gives me a feeling I’ve never had before. The emotions evident on his face as he watches her play with the stuffed little penguin are indescribable.

  “I’m Chris, Caylen,” he says, his voice slightly cracking.

  His eyes glisten, I think I see tears in them. I walk closer towards them and squat down as well. I apprehensively touch his shoulder gently. Caylen takes one of her hands and touches his face and giggles.

  In this moment I know for sure the man beside me is not the one I knew. I take a deep breath and prepare myself to say something I didn’t plan on saying. I didn’t know how or when I would say it to her. If there would ever be the right time to say it. But now I know without a doubt.

  “Caylen, this is your daddy.”

  I promised myself I wouldn’t do this. But it’s impossible not to. I never thought this moment would turn out this way after all the anger, worry and fear. The anxiety and stress in the pit of my stomach being replaced with something I haven’t felt in so long. Peace. I lift my hand to wipe away my own tears starting to fall and he stops me, holding my hand gently in his.