Never Been Loved

by Kars, C. M.

  I hate how I don’t even hate any of it at all.

  “Please. I need coffee,” she says, looking around for our waitress, but I signal her over first. She grins.

  “Between the two of you, I could probably sleep for the next forty-eight hours.” She yawns big and hard, not even bothering to cover her mouth. I think that’s cute, too.

  “Can I have coffee?” the kid asks. I glare at him, since he’s not asking me, but his new favourite person. Christ, how old am I?

  “No,” Sera and I both say at the same time. I start to smile, then remember that this has to be goodbye, that I’m not going to ask her to be with me and help me take care of Jules’ kid. Maybe when I get home, I should give Aly a call.

  “You sure you want pancakes, little man? I think you should eat some eggs first, then work your way up,” I suggest.

  “I want pancakes,” the kid tells me, arms crossed over his chest in defiance. It would be real bad form to start throwing plates and flipping tables right about now, but I still want to.

  I settle for rubbing my eyes, and wishing I never asked Sera for breakfast, wishing I was in my bed, sleeping through the whole day.

  “How about I order six pancakes. And you and Hunter can get eggs and bacon and all that good stuff. I’m super hungry, so I might just eat three of them. That means three left over for you and your dad, kid. How’s that sound?”

  I hold my breath, then, “Okay.”

  “But you need to eat all your eggs and bacon first. Pancakes are like dessert for breakfast,” she says, just like a mom would. I hate that, too.

  I remove my hands and watch Matty nod without a fuss. Sera’s magic, and I want it.

  We order, and then continue to stare at each other, both uncomfortable by the way she fidgets in her seat, and the way I can’t open my mouth and say thank you for saving my life.

  “Daddy, remember when we went swimming, and I got scared when you went underwater for so long? Then I turned around and you were there! It was funny.”

  Feeling that familiar tickle, like all the blood’s draining from my brain, I give the kid a weak smile and finish my glass of water. Shit, I’m thirsty. I didn’t know I was staring at Sera’s glass until she’s pushed it to my side, anticipating what I need. I hate that, too.

  I’m trying to find a nice way of saying ‘fuck off’ when she steals my coffee and takes a few sips. Maybe we can share something after all. I finish her water too, then move out of the booth, muttering excuses so I can go to the washroom and check my sugar.

  Staring in the dirty mirror, the smell of stagnant toilet water, and that awful pink soap, I watch five seconds count down until I get my number of fifteen. I forgot my insulin in the car, and I’m just too tired to go get it.

  I do a few mental calculations – my breakfast is going to be eighty percent protein. I’m going to have to find the will to resist eating one of Sera’s pancakes, let alone three. And I was really looking forward to them, too. I have the exact number of units of insulin I’ll need pinned in my brain as I make my way back to our booth, refusing to answer if she asks what my level’s at.

  “Daddy, are you tired?”

  I bump knees with Sera as I settle back into my seat, hating that I have to lie. I don’t want to seem weak, even though whatever my backbone I used to have is now made of something stupid and useless like daisies.

  “No, buddy. I’m good. How long was I gone? You’ve destroyed your plate.” My steak and eggs are still steaming in front of me.

  Sera gives the kid a pancake, as promised, (I hate that she keeps her promises) but I’m the one who pours the maple syrup over it. Poor kid doesn’t even know what he’s missing. I used to almost drink the stuff... before.

  I stuff my face with my food, glaring at Sera when she moves to give me one of her pancakes, too. I love that she glares right back.

  “Do you want it or not?” But she’s already plopped it on my plate. I stare at it, this useless thing full of refined sugar, and white flour, but fuck it tastes amazing and while it will screw with my diet, the sugar’ll make me sorry if I don’t do my insulin right away when I get home.

  “Resisting temptation only goes so far,” I say, eyeing her. We’re not playing Russian roulette; she’s loaded the chamber with all six rounds and there’s no way I can win this.

  “What? Fine, Hunter. Bloody crucify me for giving you a damn thing. Give me the fraking pancake, I’ll eat it.”

  Sera tries to take it away from me with her fork, and we end up fighting over it so the thing is in slivers. I barely put some syrup on the pancake and shovel it in my mouth, saying, “There’s that word again.”

  She ruffles Matty’s hair, something even I don’t do all that often. “It’s a bad word in geek-speak.”

  “Like in Vulcan or something?” I swear, the way her face lights up, and her cheeks get pink and she sticks her tongue out to run it over her upper lip – I’m hard, just like that. What did I say? Remind me to say it again. And often.

  “Figures you know Spock. So logical and emotionless all the damn time.”

  My whole body tenses, every muscle strained. I hate how she doesn’t really understand what’s going on. I hate how she’s judging me only after one day.

  “Spare me your wrath, Dark Overlord,” she says, flashing her teeth at me, nose crinkling in a snarl. “I made a comment. You don’t have to bloody combust and get your curlies in a twist.”

  I’m at a loss for words. Did she really just talk about my pubes?

  “Calm yourself, man. What is so bad here? You’ve got an awesome kid.” She points to Matty, then herself. “Awesome company. You’re the only one ruining the party.”

  I can’t look at her anymore. I was fucking crazy to suggest this, to pretend at something I’m not.

  You want her to want you, champ, but you don’t want her to tell you like it is. Yeah, that sack you got down there? I don’t think you deserve it.

  “You know, it’s not hard to figure out who the real four-year-old is here.”

  No. No way. “Did you just compare me to Matty?”

  Her chin juts out and even that’s adorable, and sexy. “Yes. I did.”

  I lean back against the back of our booth, watching her. This has to end here. “You think you’re brave, dealing with me and the kid for one night?”

  Her mouth drops and forms a perfect O. “Is that a joke?”

  I shrug. “I’m not the one who always has their nose in a book.”

  She’s got a pulverizing grip on her fork. “What? You’ve seen me, like three, four times? Yeah, I read a lot. Big deal. You’re just pissed I took care of you yesterday. Swallow down that excess testosterone, Hunter, and say thank you.”

  I can’t help it, I start to laugh. The kind where you throw your head back, shut your eyes, and really go for it. I haven’t laughed that hard in ten years. When I open them, it’s just me and Matty and a twenty dollar bill lying between our plates. Shit, what did I do now?

  I watch Sera walk towards our apartment complex through the window, and tell myself it’s better this way. It’s better if she stays away.

  I hate that I can’t lie to myself when it comes to her.

  Chapter 9

  Matty’s chewing me out. We must look pretty hilarious, the so-called dad sitting on one side of the booth, while the kid waves his hands around like the Tasmanian Devil, using some sort of little kid speak to get his point across.

  I don’t think I care.

  “When can I go to Sera’s house again!” Matty doesn’t ask, but demands.

  I feel my eyebrows jump high on my forehead. “Kid, what have I said about asking and telling?”

  Matty scrunches up his face, something Jules did all those years ago when we were young, and the future was something we never even thought about. “Asking is being polite. Telling is being rude.”

  I nod. “Right. Now what do you want to ask me?”

  The kid pulls in a breath for concentration. “When can I g
o to Sera’s house again?”

  I clear my throat, drink more water after our waitress came for the second time, staring at me like I’m the world’s biggest asshole for letting a girl like Sera pay and go. Yeah, well, I already know what I am.

  Life is pain, the kid better get used to it fast. “Not for a while.”

  “Like, tomorrow? Or Wednesday?” Fucking shit, that hopeful look on his mug is twisting my insides. I rub my eyes and drink some more water.

  Go ahead, MacLaine, break the kid’s heart.

  “No, Matty. Not for a long time.”

  His eyes go wide, and pinball, staring at every single part of my face. “But...but I was good! Sera said I was her favourite person!”

  Fuck, kid, how did you snag that honour so fast?

  “Look, Matty, sometimes people say things they don’t mean.”

  He throws his hands up in the air. “That’s not fair!”

  I want to smile, especially since I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even know what he just said, even if it’s in the right context.

  “Doesn’t matter. Right now, we’re gonna go home and get you ready for school. C’mon, wipe your hands and face and let’s get going, yeah?”

  “Yeah,” the kid says, still giving me a dirty look over the way he rubs his mouth hard enough with the napkin to cause bruises.

  I pay for our portion of the meal, and wait for Matty to wiggle out of the booth while I crack my neck, stretching it from side to side. When the kid’s done with his hopping across the booth to make his exit, he grabs my pinky with his entire hand, and we make our way to the car.

  I strap him into his seat and drive home on autopilot to get my cooler, completely unaware of parking and riding the elevator up to our apartment. Jesus, I could’ve gotten into an accident! What a fucking moron.

  Aly was once my pain in the ass, now I got Sera. Fucking hell.

  Two weeks since I’ve seen Sera, and it feels like nothing has changed. I still wake up early to get the kid to daycare before I have to peel off and make my way to work. I’m still a mess, but my life’s gotten quieter now that Aly’s out of the picture.

  I just wish Sera were in the picture. I miss those shirts of hers. Hell, I haven’t even known her that long, and I miss all of her, too. Matty won’t let on, but the way he glanced at her apartment door this morning while we rode the elevator down is all that needs to be said.

  Matty waves goodbye to me when I drop him off at daycare later, and I make my way to work. I do some mental calculations and decide it would be best to eat an apple right before shift starts once I park to keep me stable throughout the morning.

  I keep to myself. I follow orders, I sweat and swear when I trip over a bit of rock and go sprawling on the ground. I get laughed at. I don’t really care since my fingers and toes have gone numb and I need to eat hours later.

  I stuff my face with food, destroy my apple juice box, and just sit in my car, waiting for the world to stop tilting on its axis with deep breaths. The food I just ate congeals in my stomach, just sits there like a block of lead, reminding me over and over, that yeah, I could upchuck any moment from the overload.

  Stop with the pity-party, you’re embarrassing yourself.

  I grab my pack from the glove compartment, inject myself with some insulin to take care of my meal, and get back to work.

  Exercise helps. It’s always helped. It’s one of the best ways to regulate my sugars. My blood’s syrup, waiting to be used by muscles once I inject myself, instead of just staying there and making me loopy and disoriented. That’s why I chose construction right after high school.

  My grades were too shit to get me into CEGEP, and summer school seemed like another level of hell after I was freshly diagnosed. I regret it more than anything now, only having my high school diploma at twenty-eight. I thought I would have time, I thought I would be able to control my sugars better, I thought Jules wouldn’t die and leave me with Matty.

  Fuck, I thought I’d have a chance to fix my life. But time has a way of slipping away from you, and no matter how hard you try to grab onto it, there’s nothing you can do about all of it that’s already been wasted.

  I get home an hour before I have to pick up the kid. Excellent. I figure I can get a power nap in right after I shower.

  My cell phone buzzes and the sky outside my bedroom window is that pinkish colour that means I’ve overslept. Fucking fuck.

  “Hello?”

  “Mr. MacLaine?” Fuck, it’s the daycare.

  “Yeah?”

  “Matty’s waiting for you. In how long can you be here?” Melissa asks. Her tone doesn’t leave much to the imagination. She thinks I’m a dick.

  “I’ll be there in twenty.”

  I disconnect and rush around to get some decent clothes on. Catching a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror once I exit my room.

  Looking good, buddy. Real good. If you were a corpse.

  I need to focus on what’s important. I need to do what’s best for Matty. And me. And that’s getting my shit together, really working hard to keep myself stable. Matty needs to see that diabetes can be pummelled into submission, if you just put in the effort required to keep it that way.

  When I get to his daycare, the kid is bawling in Miss Melissa’s arms, and nearly breaks her hold on him when he sees me. He’s never done that before, run to me out of some sort of desperation. My stomach’s twisted into knots, and my throat’s tight.

  “Daddy! Daddy! I thought you went to the hospital again!” He sobs into my shoulder when he collides with my chest and wraps his arms around my neck.

  Ah, fuck, I feel like a total heel. Stupid asshole, I had to have that nap.

  Good job, MacLaine.

  Christ, what would happen if I had to go to the hospital and Matty was at daycare? What would happen then? Mom’s the emergency contact, but depending on how deep she’s into her daily alcohol, well, she might not be the best choice. Aly? Fuck, no, she’d leave Matty behind and disregard the phone call from the hospital.

  “No, kid, I’m right here. Sorry I’m late.”

  Matty leans back from me, hands on my shoulders. “Really? Are you tired?” he asks.

  I swallow past the lump in my throat.

  “Yeah, Matty. I’m tired.” I look over his shoulder to see Miss Melissa giving me the bitch glare. She’d set me on fire if she could. I give her a useless nod and move to get back to my car.

  “You want some McDonald’s or something?” he asks, while I strap him in the car seat. I hate how he knows to ask me that question. I fucking hate it.

  “You want a Happy Meal, kid?”

  “I really want one, Daddy. Pleeeeeeeeeeeease!” he adds as an afterthought.

  “Yeah, all right. I’ll get you one. Or are you hungry enough to eat two?”

  The kid looks at me like I’ve grown a tumour on my neck and it’s started speaking in Swahili. Jesus, I don’t know how to make a joke with a little kid.

  “I could... I could eat a whole cow!” he says while throwing his arms wide.

  “All right. I’ll buy you two.”

  Little hands seize the collar of my shirt when I pull back to close his door. His blue eyes are bright and his mouth is open in shock or surprise. “But what if I can’t eat them both? What if I get too full?”

  I tilt my head at him. “Then we’ll put it in the fridge. You can have it tomorrow if you want.”

  That calms him some, and he lets me go. Weird.

  I drive us back home and check Matty’s sugar. He’s a bit high, so I end up shooting him with some insulin, figuring he’s going to be bouncing off the walls before he gets to bed. The kid doesn’t disappoint.

  I can’t stomach food. Maybe my sandwiches at lunch went bad or something. Even thinking about ingesting something has my mouth pooling with saliva in a pre-vomit ritual. Stop it, stop thinking about food.

  I settle on the couch, lying down until I get my head on the sweet-spot of the armrest and cover my eyes with my arm.
Matty’s yelling at the TV at my feet, watching Dora or some shit cartoon that I never bothered to remember.

  I’m relaxed and if my head feels fuzzy it’s just because I’m so tired. Yeah, I just need to sleep. And if my toes have gone numb and my muscles don’t feel like they belong to me anymore, well, it’s because I’m so goddamned tired – of everything.

  Except Matty’s fucking voice is pummelling me every fucking time he yells. I don’t bother to open my eyes to yell at him to stay quiet. I let my body settle deeper into the couch, ignoring everything, even the way my body feels weightless, like I’m in water, floating away, away, away...

  Sound comes rushing back in a wave of pain and a sick dread. My sugar’s dropped, and badly.

  “Actually, buddy, we need to get him something to eat. You have any honey?”

  Shuffling? A chair scraping across the kitchen floor? What the fuck just happened?

  “Hunter?” Shit, Sera’s here. She’s seeing me like this. Fucking hell, I can’t move – I don’t even know if I can speak. Did she just tackle me? “Hunter, can you hear me?”

  C’mon, man. Open your eyes. Open ‘em. You know you wanna look at her.

  Fuck, but I do, even like this, in my weakness. The warmth of her palm against my cheek as she looks at me with worry makes me angry. I don’t want her to look at me like that. I’m fine – I’ll be fine.

  “I need to give you food,” she says, and my stomach lurches. Yeah, not going to happen anytime soon. I really, really just want to go to sleep. Why does everyone insist on waking me up.

  “If I eat, I’ll vomit.” I say, opening and closing my eyes. Movement in my peripherals brings Matty into my field of vision, holding the plastic teddy bear of honey out to Sera.

  Smart. She’s strong, and beautiful, and smart, too. I’m a goner. Plus, she’s not running away screaming from the both of us, sick dogs that we are.

  Except she’s not getting that I’m going to upchuck on her shirt if she gives me anything to eat. “I told you, I’m going to throw up if I eat anything.” I try to inject more authority into my voice. I sound about as threatening as a boy band. Jesus, what the hell is going through my head?