Just Perfection

by Heather Guimond

  “You look like hell,” I began as I walked into the room.

  “Gee, thanks, Peaches. Must be the sixteen hours I slept last night.”

  “It was your idea, mister,” I laughed.

  “It was,” Justin sighed, dragging a heavy palm over his eyes, “and I’m glad you took advantage of the offer. You look worlds better than you did yesterday.”

  “I feel better which is why I’m going to send you off to bed. You need to catch a few hours yourself.”

  “I’m not going to object,” he replied as he stood and carried his mug into the kitchen. Following him, I watched him pour out the last of his coffee into the sink before putting the mug in the dishwasher. He came to me and wrapped me up in a tight hug. “I see now why you were so fucking tired. From now on, Peaches, we do this in shifts, okay?”

  Curled against his chest and smelling the warm scent of his skin, I nodded. “It’s worth a try, so neither of us burns out again.”

  I felt him rest his chin atop my head. “Did you get your calls made?” he asked quietly.

  “I did. You have nothing to worry about. Theresa, my sponsor, is now number one on my speed dial, and my therapist is number two. I’m going to the next NA meeting if we can work it out. It’s all going to be fine.”

  “I still trust you, Peaches.” He pulled back from me and looked me in the eyes. “I do. I don’t want you to start thinking you’ve gone and fucked everything up. It was a hiccup, but we got through it. Everything is fine.”

  “You’re right,” I nodded stiffly, ready to avoid thinking about it. “Now go get some sleep. I’ll wake you for lunch,” I said as I turned him around and slapped his tight butt to get him moving.

  “If I had the energy, I’d totally take you over my knee for that one,” he teased, “but I’m too old and worn out for that kind of business.”

  I pushed him out of the kitchen, through the house, and to his bedroom door. “I’ll remind you of that when you finally have a date.”

  “I am not going to have any dates for the next eighteen years,” Justin groaned, “I know it.”

  I shut the door on his pitiful moan and giggled as I walked through the house to begin a new day with Sammy.

  Though we were often grouchy from lack of sleep, Sammy made us feel like our lives had been lived on black and white film before. His arrival made everything explode in living color. Especially for me. I’d been struggling for so long, trying to find a new purpose for my life after losing Vance. Sammy became that purpose.

  One morning, when Sammy was about three months old, I was feeling especially fulfilled. He had slept a solid six hours the night before which meant I had, too. He was content after his bottle, and we were cuddling together on the sofa when the doorbell rang. Hesitant to get up and perhaps spoil his serene mood, I stayed seated. I figured if it was important, the person would return, it wasn’t like we were expecting company. After about a minute, it rang again, three times in succession. I looked at Sammy, who remained as docile as before, so I thought maybe he’d remain content if I put him in his bassinet while I went to greet whoever it was.

  Just as I laid him down, the caller started banging his fist on the door and shouting something I couldn’t quite make out. I hurried to the door to keep the person from disturbing Sammy, to no avail. Just as I placed my hand on the doorknob, Sammy let out a sharp wail. Sighing in resignation, I opened the door. On the step was a tall, handsome Latino man. He looked to be somewhere in his thirties, with thick, black, wavy hair and coal-black eyes. He wore a tight, black t-shirt which showed off his many muscles, and dark ink peeked below the sleeves on his biceps. He had thick eyebrows and a strong nose. His lips were full and framed an even set of white teeth. I would have been happy to make his acquaintance were it not for the angry look on his face and his next words.

  “You must be that puta, Mimi,” he spat at me.

  My eyes rounded, and my mouth dropped open in surprise. I looked back over my shoulder, hoping to see Justin coming out of his office to see what the commotion was, but the hallway was empty. Turning back to the man, I quickly decided to ignore his insult and be as non-confrontational as possible. Who knew what he wanted or what he was capable of? This was clearly not a pleasant social visit, and he towered over me, outweighing me by at least fifty pounds. Sammy was foremost in my thoughts. If this man became aggressive, how would I be able to protect him?

  “Yes, I’m Mimi. I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are,” I replied gently.

  “My name is Armando Ortega. I’m Delia’s brother. I’m here to see my nephew.”

  I felt like the world had dropped out from beneath me, and I was falling into a dark abyss. I had learned very little about Delia during our brief friendship, but I knew she had several brothers. It never occurred to me her family might want to be involved in Sammy’s life since, as far as I knew, they’d never contacted Justin before or since his birth. I had naively failed to consider them as even a factor in our future. Struck speechless, I simply stood there looking at him, floundering for something to say. I had no intention of letting anyone from the Ortega family near my baby, but that was hardly my decision to make. I didn’t think Justin would disagree, but were there legal ramifications to consider? I hardly knew, so I answered with the first thing that came to mind.

  “Justin didn’t tell me he was expecting anyone, and he’s not here right now. Does he have your telephone number? I can have him call you to arrange a visit at a time when he’s here.”

  “I’m not leaving here without seeing my nephew. Justin’s not telling us anything, and we have a right to know our own flesh and blood. My mother’s health is failing, and we need to make a connection with him before she passes.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, Mr. Ortega. Without Justin’s permission, I can’t let you see Sammy. Please leave me your number, and I’ll be happy to have him call you.”

  Of course, our entire conversation took place with Sammy’s crying as the backdrop. He hadn’t taken a pause since Armando began pounding on the front door. I was itching to get back to him to soothe and quiet him down, so I began to gradually inch the door closed.

  “As you can tell, this is not the best time. I need to get back to Sammy. Please leave your number in the mailbox, and I’ll have Justin get it when he returns.” I said, ready to push the door all the way closed.

  “Does he always cry like this?” Armando asked, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I have to wonder if you two are taking good enough care of him. I may have to make a call to Child Protective Services if I don’t hear back from Justin tonight.”

  I was seething at the suggestion I might not be taking good care of Sammy. Rather than bite at his obvious attempt to provoke me, I slammed the door the rest of the way shut and bolted it. After rushing over to pick Sammy up and quiet him down, I hurried to Justin’s office in the back of the house. I didn’t even bother to knock on the closed door, instead bursting in, Sammy still crying in my arms.

  I found him on the sofa in his office, snoring softly. Of course, Sammy’s wails sent him bolting up and into attack mode. He was on his feet, his legs bent into a fighting stance, his fists raised in front of him. After scanning the room for any threat and realizing it was only me and the baby, he relaxed. He came over and took Sammy from my arms and cradled him close to his chest.

  “God, Peaches. You two scared the life out of me. What’s going on? Won’t he quiet down?”

  I stood there, wringing my hands, not knowing how he would react to the news. I was distraught, but maybe Justin was aware the Ortegas were trying to get involved in Sammy’s life.

  “He will, I’m sure. We had a visitor and the knocking on the door riled him up, and… well because of who it was and what he said, I couldn’t go get Sammy to soothe him, and…” The words tumbled out of my mouth in a jumbled mess.

  “Calm down, Mimi.” Justin reached out and put a hand on my shoulder. “Take a deep breath and sit down. Once I’ve gotten Sammy settled, you ca
n tell me all about this visitor. When did you last feed Sammy? Should I go make him a bottle?”

  “It’s only been an hour, but that might help,” I said as I flopped down on the sofa Justin had vacated. It was still warm from his body. “Maybe half of one,” I suggested.

  “Okay, I’ll be right back. Take a few deep breaths and relax.”

  While Justin was gone, I tried hard not to let my thoughts spiral out of control, but it was difficult. For all I knew, Delia’s family were decent people, and she was an anomaly, but I couldn’t help imagining them all through the prism of my experience with her and her insanity. Besides, Armando didn’t exactly seem like the warm and friendly type. No, his whole demeanor suggested he was gearing up for a showdown.

  I stretched my neck, then fisted and flexed my fingers, trying to relax. I tried some of the deep breathing techniques I learned in rehab. Slowly, my heart calmed and began to beat normally. Just as I regained my composure, Justin returned with Sammy who was happily suckling on one of the small-sized bottles we had for him. Justin sat down at his desk and began to swivel side to side in his chair, in lieu of rocking, I supposed.

  “So, what has you two so worked up?” he asked.

  I inhaled deeply, then blew the breath out in one big gust. “Armando Ortega was here. He was demanding to see Sammy.”

  “What did you say?” Justin shook his head as if to clear it.

  “Delia’s brother. He was here. He said their family has a right to be a part of Sammy’s life; their mom is in poor health and wants to see her grandson. Hasn’t he contacted you before now?”

  “No, none of them have ever tried to reach out to me, at all.” Justin propped Sammy’s bottle against his chest, then rubbed his stubbled jaw with his now-free hand. “I figured they didn’t care, and I sure as hell wasn’t about to try to get hold of them. Any information they get will go straight back to Delia, and I don’t want her to know anything about Sammy.”

  “Is he correct? Do they have rights we have to honor since they’re blood relatives?”

  “Honestly? I don’t know. I don’t think so, but I’ll have to check with my lawyer. If they do, we’ll have to figure something out. I don’t like this idea any more than you do, Peaches. I’m already having visions of becoming a fugitive and escaping to some remote part of the world with him,” he said the last part with a soft chuckle I found reassuring because those were exactly the kind of thoughts I was having.

  “It’s Saturday. Do you have your attorney’s home or cell number, so you don’t have to wait for him to get back into the office on Monday?” I asked, eager to get all the information we could as quickly as possible. I was never very good waiting in suspense.

  “Fortunately, I do. Once Sammy goes down for his next nap, I’ll give him a call. We’ll find out what we need to know and make our plans from there. I’ll tell you this, I’m not agreeing to give them any access to my son without a court order.”

  I tried to go on with my day, tidying the house, taking care of and playing with Sammy, but thoughts of Armando Ortega and all the “what-ifs” that came with the Ortega family hovered over me constantly. I tried to tell myself I was overreacting. The Ortegas may be perfectly nice people although based on Armando’s greeting when I opened the door that probably wasn’t true. Of all the ways he could have approached the situation, he chose to be aggressive and insulting. While he may not share Delia’s mental illness, his social skills didn’t seem to be too different.

  Just as Sammy was waking from his late-afternoon nap and I was putting the finishing touches on dinner—ketchup on the frozen fries I baked to go with the burgers I’d made—Justin walked into the kitchen, his cell phone in hand.

  “I just got off the phone with Alan,” he began. “The good news is the extended family, including grandparents, have no automatic legal rights. To obtain them, they’d have to file a petition with the court to request visitation rights, and that’s the only thing they can file for unless they are trying to win custody.”

  My heart leapt into my throat. “Could they do that?” I whispered.

  “They could try, but there are no grounds for a judge to order that. We have nothing to worry about there. What concerns me is why this is coming up now. Sammy is three months old. It’s not like they’ve been begging to see him all this time. They didn’t try to make any arrangements before he was born which, honestly, would have been a prime opportunity to gain a visitation order. No, I suspect something else is in play here, some scheme conjured up by Delia.”

  “What could she possibly hope to achieve? She’s not getting out of prison anytime soon.”

  “I don’t know. Does she even need a reason? I’m sure she’d plot something for no other reason than to make us miserable. She doesn’t want us to forget she exists.”

  “As if we ever could, no matter how much we want to. I have the scar to remind me daily.” I replied.

  Justin walked over to the now squalling Sammy and picked him up, rocking him back and forth to settle him down. “Let’s try to put this aside for the rest of the night and enjoy these tasty-looking burgers. I’ll get this little guy changed, then maybe we can settle in to watch a movie after we eat.”

  “I’m already on it, Daddy,” I said teasingly as I filled a pan with water to warm up a bottle for Sammy. “You can pick whatever you want to watch when you get back. I’ll even go for a testosterone-laden action flick. I need something to take my mind off this day.”

  Justin’s face split into a wide grin as he leaned in and kissed the top of my head, then turned and walked out of the room, whistling happily. I had a feeling I’d regret giving him carte blanche on the movie selection.

  Chapter Two

  A few weeks went by with no word from Armando or any other member of the Ortega family. It lulled us into a sense of security. Justin and I assumed they’d looked into their options and abandoned the idea of involving themselves in our lives. Soon, life went back to the usual norm—getting through each day of work and caring for Sammy. For me, the simplicity of it all was heaven. I had greater focus and purpose than I ever had before and something very close to a family of my own. I’d always had my mom, but now I had someone I considered my partner of sorts and a child to love. Under the circumstances of my past, I didn’t think there was much more I could hope for.

  Sammy was close to outgrowing his bassinet, we wondered what to do. With my spare bedroom being used by Justin for work, and the bedroom he was using not being large enough to accommodate real baby furniture, we’d run out of space. Justin’s house was even smaller than mine. He only had two bedrooms, and one was his own home office. Ultimately, Justin decided to put his house up for sale and purchased a four-bedroom home. When I asked why he needed so much space, he asked me to move with them, so I could continue to help for a while longer. He assured me once he felt we could both stand on two feet and I returned home, he’d turn the spare room into a playroom. I enjoyed taking care of him and Sammy. Other than that one near-slip, they both kept me distracted from thoughts of my former life, so I jumped at the chance. I experienced some bittersweet emotions leaving the house I’d shared with Vance, but I knew my life had taken a new direction, and it was appropriate to say that last farewell. Besides, it wasn’t as if I were selling the house, I would only be gone for an extended period.

  Justin’s mom, Audrey, was also an active part of Sammy’s life. His father, Samuel, adored him as well, but Audrey came over at least once a week to help. She was totally in love with her grandson and was always laden with toys and whatever baby item she read was necessary for a baby. Of course, that was pretty much anything she read about.

  Even my mom was gaga over the kid. She told me she had been waiting long enough for me to have a baby, and since I was nearly thirty-one, she wasn’t waiting any longer. So, little Sammy had two grandmothers to spoil him rotten. Between us all, I wondered if any baby in the history of babies had ever been so kissed and coddled.

  Sammy started
crawling at five months. The pediatrician informed us this was a bit earlier than the average age, and of course, we all applauded the fact our baby was more advanced than others.

  In those months, we didn’t hear a peep from Armando Ortega, which only pushed his threats further from our minds. Justin and I almost never discussed it, and when we did, we both agreed it was a feeble attempt from Delia to reach beyond the bars of her prison cell to interfere with our lives.

  My relationship with Justin had kind of entered a state of limbo. In some ways, we were right back to being the best friends we were before he confessed his love for me. We remained as affectionate as ever, hugging, cuddling on the couch while watching movies, the odd kiss on the cheek or forehead. However, I was painfully aware of the growing physical attraction I had to him, especially during the times I’d run into him in the morning when he was half-dressed. There were even a few times I walked in on him wearing only a pair of shorts which made my heart race and other parts of me clench tightly.

  Abe, Theresa, and Eleanor had cautioned me about pursuing any kind of intimate relationship while trying to gain a foothold in my recovery. By all accounts, the rule of thumb for avoiding intimacy was at least one year. We were only a few months in and though I still struggled with cravings and weaknesses from time to time, I used my support system every time and hadn’t had any other close calls.

  I started entertaining little fantasies of becoming a real family with Justin and Sammy, but they were only daydreams. Even if I had been ready, I knew Justin probably no longer felt the same about a relationship with me after all I’d put him through. Still, a part of me started to take notice of every little touch between us, every hug, every look which may have lasted a little longer than normal.

  One day, shortly after Sammy reached six months, I was getting him into his stroller for our afternoon walk around the neighborhood. Justin decided to take a break from work and join us. We were busy debating whether to take the diaper bag—I was staunchly in favor of being prepared for any potential occurrence, while Justin assured me it was okay to leave the house for half an hour without any supplies other than a snack for Sammy—when the doorbell rang. I opened the door to find a man, probably no more than eighteen-years-old, standing on the porch with a brown manila envelope in his hands.