by Alice Tribue
My choice of career is a whole other story. Why would a spoiled little rich girl go into something as philanthropic as social work? It’s simple, really. Mother wanted me to major in business, and I thought that coming home with a degree in social work would drive her completely insane. I was right, and it was fucking brilliant. See, even though she raised me to be like her, a part of me knew that wasn’t how I wanted to be. It took me going away to college and meeting all sorts of new, normal people to realize that. I began to understand what my father had been trying to teach me all those years.
After college, I worked at a behavioral health clinic, and though I enjoyed the work, I didn’t enjoy living at home. There are several reasons for this. The most obvious being that this put me under the same roof as my mother because she would not hear of me living on my own when I could live at home … under her thumb. Then there’s Garrett, my ex, who refuses to believe he’s my ex. He’s the man who my mother has been trying to push off on me for years. Garrett comes from money, a prestigious family, and that is all my mother sees when she looks at him. In her eyes, he’s the perfect match for me. I’ll admit I crushed on Garrett when I met him—not because of his money but because he’s beautiful. The man could grace the cover of GQ; he’s so hot, and I loved that about him. We dated on and off for a few years, but his goals and values in life align too closely with those of my mother. In other words, he’s a fucking pretentious snob. If it were up to her, we’d be married with children by now.
I needed an escape from that. From all of it—the constant pressure to be perfect to fit into this mold she’s created for me. So when a position came up for a social worker at an adult day care here in New Jersey, I jumped at the chance. Not just because I wanted to get away but also because I knew the job would be right up my alley. As you can imagine, this decision was met with a lot of resistance, on the part of my mother and Garrett. Her, because she had already lost control of my sister. I’m the only hope she has left for world domination. Garrett, because he thinks our current breakup is just a phase I’m going through, and my leaving Connecticut makes his believing that I’ll come back to him a lot less realistic. I hope he’ll finally get the point now.
I put my phone down and look around the one-bedroom apartment. There’s not much to it—a largish living room/dining room combo, an apartment-size kitchen, a small bathroom, and a not-so-small bedroom. The massive windows in the bedroom that overlook a beautiful park sealed the deal. I bought all new furniture for the place, including a bedroom set complete with a king-size sleigh bed. All of which was delivered two days ago, when I officially moved in. My father hired a moving company for me behind my mother’s back to bring the rest of my things a little while ago.
I’m currently staring at the boxes that have taken up the majority of available space in my living room. I stare at them completely overwhelmed and not having the slightest clue where to begin. Deciding to tackle the ones labeled "kitchen" first, I start moving boxes in there when my phone rings again.
“Hello,” I answer not bothering to look at the caller ID. Only a few people would call me and I’ve already heard from my mother so I know I’m safe.
“How’s it feel to be free from the warden?”
“Hi, Hannah.” I squeal with delight, excited to hear my sister’s voice. If it weren’t for her and my dad, I’d have probably lost my mind by now. I just wish she didn’t live an ocean away.
“Hi. How’s the new apartment?”
I sigh, looking around again, seriously considering leaving it all where it is. “I’m standing in the middle of a mountain of boxes wondering how in the hell I’m going to go through all of this stuff alone.”
“The alternative is to let Mom help you go through them.”
“I’ll take my chances on my own,” I return quickly. The thought of my mother helping me unpack is laughable at best. She’d supervise and delegate, and when we were done, the apartment would look like something out of a furniture store showroom.
“Good choice. When do you start the new job?”
“Tomorrow,” I tell her, fighting back those first-day-of-work nerves.
“I’m really proud of you, Em. I know how hard it is to go against anything Mom wants, but it’s about time you start doing the things that are going to make you happy.”
“I’m happy.” I try to assure her, but it comes out more like a question than a statement of fact.
“Why don’t you sound happy?”
I lean against the kitchen counter, placing my head in my hands and sighing. What do I tell her? Should I say I don’t know how to be happy because I’ve never been happy, at least not for any extended length of time? This is the closest I’ve ever come to being happy, and even now, I can’t quite grab hold of it. “I don’t know. I’m here, but I’m alone. What if I don’t meet any people, make any friends?”
“Emelia, you’re amazing. You’re going to make a lot of friends, I promise,” she says reassuringly. “Shit. I sound like a mom.”
“Not our mom,” I reply sarcastically, and we both burst into a fit of giggles.
“Do you have any neighbors that are your age?” she asks after regaining her composure.
“Everyone here seems older. I did see a young pregnant woman going into the apartment down the hall on Friday morning.”
“A young couple is good. Maybe you’ll get to know them.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I agree, thinking that it would be cool to make friends within the building. We talk for a few more minutes as I unpack a box full of dinnerware and cutlery before she has to go, explaining that she has a lunch date. I still have a hard time figuring out the time difference between us, but somehow, we manage to make it work. When we end the call, I open up my laptop and put on some music, needing the motivation to help me through unpacking. It helps to pass the time, and I find that when I get lost in the music, I get more accomplished.
The sound of something crashing against a wall breaks me out of my zone. It was loud, and for a minute, I think it came from in here, but I have nothing on my walls yet. I turn the music off and listen and I could almost swear I hear a man’s voice shouting, followed by more crashing sounds. I pick up my cell phone just in case I need to call for help and head in the direction of the front door. As I walk through my living room, the crashing gets louder, and I hear what I can only imagine is something being bashed.
What the fuck? I think to myself as I make my way to the front door. I look out of the peephole, but from my view, the hallway appears to be clear. I should probably mind my own business and stay inside my apartment where it’s safe, but I feel the need to make sure that no one is out there getting their ass kicked, raped, or murdered. I’d want someone to come and check on me if I was out there in a bad situation. Slowly, I unlock the door and open it up, careful not to make any noise. Invisibility is my friend right now. If there’s a lunatic out in these halls, the last thing I want to do is to alert them to my presence. I creep out into the hall looking both ways as I go at the same time noticing that the noises have stopped. I see no one in the hallway and turn back toward my apartment when a door flies open. Whirling around in that direction, I note it’s the same apartment I saw the pregnant woman entering a few days ago. A man storms out, and I immediately take notice of the fact he’s extremely handsome. Even with the seriousness set in his features, he’s his own brand of hot. His kind of hot makes Garrett look pathetic. He quickly slams the door shut and blows right past me narrowly missing me in his path of destruction. He catches me completely off guard, and I let out a yelp as he passes, but he never looks back. He disappears out of the building, and I’m left wondering what in the hell just happened.
Why was he so angry? Why was he in such a rush? Where’s the woman I saw the other day? Is she his wife? Then I think that maybe she had the baby. Then I wonder if something happened to the baby and maybe that’s why he was in such a rage. The thought actually worries me, and I hope that it isn’t the case. It would be
awful for them; I couldn’t imagine going through something as traumatic as losing a child. I shake my head, mentally chastising myself for jumping to such far-fetched conclusions. Whatever the case, it’s none of my business, so instead of speculating, I decide to head back into my apartment and continue unpacking. I spend the majority of my day doing nothing but that, stopping only to eat and take a call from my father. From time to time, my mind goes back to him … To the man from across the hall. All of the anger he exuded seemed to mask an air of sadness. I can relate to feeling sad; for me, the lack of control over my own life triggers it. How I wish my mother would accept me for me and not who she wants me to be. Poor, Emelia, I think, feeling sorry for myself because I’m too scared to stand up to mommy. Maybe it’s time for me to grow the fuck up and act like an adult.
Max~
I went home to take a shower and leave a spare key under the mat for Jack. He and Rachel promised to drop by later this morning and set up all the shit they bought for Xander before I bring him home this afternoon. When I told Marie I was leaving, she actually looked worried that I might leave and never come back. I can’t say I blame her for thinking it, but things are different now. I made a promise to Jack that I would try, and I know it’s what Keri would want. Besides, I can’t do that to the kid, not now. I wouldn’t just leave him there.
I brought Keri’s shit with me—her bag, her purse, and her clothes. I seriously contemplated throwing it all in the nearest dumpster, and then I thought about that fucking dream I had and what she’d said.
He’ll never know me if you don’t tell him.
That shit stuck with me. It got to me because I didn’t know my mother. The bitch left when I was two years old because she was addicted to drugs, and that’s about all I know. As I was growing up, I would have loved to have something of hers. I would have wanted some kind of connection to her. I figured I could go through Keri’s shit and save a few things for Xander. Even if I don’t end up keeping him, I can send it off with him to wherever he goes. I lost my shit when I started going through her things and came across the journal again, and as I picked it up, a letter fell out. It was folded up and Xander’s name was written across the back. I should have left it alone, put it away for him so that he could have it when he got older. That was my mistake. I sat on the couch, unfolded it, and read it.
Dear Xander,
I wanted to write you this letter so that you would know what it was like and how I felt prior to your arrival. From the minute that I found out you were coming, I knew I had to let you know how much I love you. I knew that I would spend the rest of my life showing you and telling you how much you mean to me. I’ve never been this happy in my entire life because I’ve always known something was missing. A part of me that wasn’t completely full until the minute I found out about you. I’m so excited for the day that I finally get to hold you in my arms.
My heart is filled with so much joy and anticipation for what the future will hold. Halloween costumes and pumpkin picking. Christmas tree decorating and letters to Santa. Easter egg hunts, birthdays, and lots of sports. I promise to do the best I can to give you all of those things and more. You and I will be a family. We’ll always be a family and nothing and no one can ever change that.
So no matter what happens in your life, no matter how many failures or how much success you achieve, I want you to always know how important you are. It doesn’t matter if we’re together or apart; my love for you will keep us connected forever. I never believed in miracles until I found out about you. Now, I believe.
I love you,
Mom
I finished reading the letter and very carefully folded it back exactly the way she had done it and put it back inside the journal. Clasping my hands behind my head as I rocked back and forth, I tried to keep my emotions in check. It wasn’t working. So instead, I got up, leaving the journal on the couch. I picked up the lamp on the side table and hurled it across the room. I watched it crash against the wall and shatter into pieces all the while thinking I wasn’t the only broken thing in the room. Something in me absolutely fucking broke when I read that letter, and whatever pieces of me were left after Keri’s death were obliterated right along with that lamp. That very thin string holding me together has snapped in half, and the pain that I’d been trying to keep at bay came flooding in. I thought about how it felt to grow up without my mother. How I would have given anything, anything at all, to have someone take care of me the way Keri wanted to take care of this kid. It made me hurt for me, for her, for our boy. I’d never felt pain like that, never thought that sorrow could cause a physical ache like what I was feeling at that moment. The fight I was putting up against that onslaught of pain was the only thing keeping me from going off the rails. Physically, I couldn’t cry; I couldn’t let the tears go, so instead, I screamed as loud as I possibly could. It was violent and guttural, and I felt it as it tore through me. There was pure fury in me; it was intense and it was bigger than I was. A growing anger replaced my grief and sadness. An anger with a greatness that I’d never felt before and all rational thoughts went out of my head. That was when I went on a fucking rampage. I think I may have even blacked out as I threw everything within reach. I flipped over anything that was too heavy to throw, and for the grand finale, I put my hand through a wall in the living room. It wasn’t enough to make me feel better, but it was something. It was enough to calm the beast trying to fight its way out of me. It was enough to make me feel alive, and I needed to feel alive. I needed to distance myself from death because death was all I could see. I was hyperventilating by the time I’d finished redecorating my place. Looking around, I was satisfied with my work and got the fuck out of there. The last thing I did was to throw open the door, slam it shut behind me, and blow out of the building. I vaguely recall a girl standing in the hallway looking completely horrified as I brushed past her. Oh fucking well.
I drove around for a good half an hour before finally pulling into the parking lot of the hospital. I get out and go around to the other side of the car, open the rear door, and pull out the black and gray car seat that Keri made me buy last month. After I bought it, she wouldn’t stop nagging me about installing the thing in my car, ultimately using her mouth on me as a way to bribe me into doing it. Yeah, I’m a fucking asshole. I make my way into the hospital thinking that most dads make this walk with a smile on their face. I probably look like a criminal about to walk into a police station to turn themselves in for murder.
When I make it to the maternity ward, I go directly to the room I’ve been staying in to tackle the paperwork that the nurses wanted me to read through and fill out before I left this morning. Amongst them sits the birth certificate form and I just stare at it. What would happen if I didn’t fill it out? What would happen if I didn’t put my name down on that paper? If I didn’t claim my own son? What kind of man would that make me?
Keep him safe, keep him with you
Fuck you, Keri, I think as I grab the pen and begin to fill out the form.
“We’re just waiting for the doctor to come in and sign off on Xander’s discharge papers.”
I look up and Nurse Marie is leaning in the open doorway with her legs and arms crossed. Her eyes on me, she’s staring at me thoughtfully.
“Thanks,” I tell her before bringing my attention back to the form. There’s silence in the room for a while. Long enough that I almost thought she’d gone away. Then I hear her say, “You’re going to be fine.”
“Am I?” I ask, never looking up from my paper.
“Yes.”
I sign my name on the form, toss the pen on top, and look up at her. “It’s good one of us is sure.”
She’s been here since the beginning, silently pressuring me to step up to the plate, to step up for Xander. She should know that I’m not sure. She should know that she’s put her faith on an unknown bet.
“You know how to pick him up. You know how to cradle him. You know how to make his bottles and feed him. You know
how to burp him and change him. You know how to care for the circumcision site. We went over how to bathe him last night, but you also know not to give him a real bath until the umbilical cord falls off. What else do you need to know?”
How to love him, I think. Not because I don’t want to love him, but because I literally don’t know how. I don’t know how to feel what I’m feeling for him, how to embrace that shit because no one ever gave it to me.
“You know how to keep him happy and healthy, Max. That’s what is most important. You should mentally prepare yourself for sleep deprivation. That’s going to be hard. He’ll be up every two to three hours to feed. He’s going to want to sleep all day and keep you up all night, but you can’t let him do that. Wake him up often during the day,” she says, giving me a pep talk as if she’s an excited coach in the middle of halftime and our team is close to victory. She’s fucking nuts.
“I made up his bag for you with plenty of diapers, wipes, and formula to last you for a few days.” She points at the black bag that Keri had brought to the hospital with her. “There’s a thermometer in there. The one you put on his forehead. It’s easy to use. There’s a couple of pacifiers, some burp cloths, and the few changes of clothes your girlfriend brought for him.”
“Thanks.”
“Try to keep track of how much he eats and how often. How many times he wets or messes his diaper. The pediatrician will want to know that when you take him to her in a couple of weeks. You’re going home with an immunization record. Keep it in a safe place and bring it with you to the doctor. We’ll file the birth certificate from here, and you should be able to pick it up at the municipal building in about two weeks. You’re going to need that.”
