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Elias reaches for his clothes, his brow furrowed as he thinks about it.
“More of the same I’m thinking,” he says. “We offer her our unwavering support until she either comes back to us or she’s able to stand on her own.”
“It’s not fair,” Finn grumbles. “We should be together.”
“But we’re not. It doesn’t mean we can’t be there for her. We can’t stop being ourselves just because she’s going through some kind of phase. We can’t punish her the way she is so determined to clearly punish herself.”
Be there for her.
Yes. It’s the only thing that makes sense. No matter how or where this ends, the reality stays the same. Amaya and I have a son together, and I’ll be damned if either of them will be without any want or need from now on. I’ll make sure they have a roof over their heads and food on their plates. I’ll protect them even from afar. They deserve it.
Maybe this pain will eventually go away.
Or maybe I’ll simply go numb and learn to live with it. Either way, I don’t like what’s coming, but Elias has a point. I can’t change who I am. I can’t force her to be with us. This life has something planned for us, though. I just wish we knew what, because what’s happening now, it fucking hurts.
24
Amaya
My baby bump is starting to show though it’s subtle. Four months in, and I can still get away with a larger tee over my yoga tights. I can’t tell my new boss about it yet. He might think I took the job solely for the maternity leave benefits.
There are moments when I am consumed with guilt over my decisions. Kace, Finn, and Elias kept their word. They emailed me a glowing letter of recommendation and even left their personal contact details for any prospective employer to reach out and confirm that I am, in fact, one of the best yoga instructors that they’ve ever had the pleasure of working with.
They confirmed that the commute was too difficult for me, given that Mikey is now in kindergarten. I will never be able to thank them enough.
On top of it all, they’re still wiring money into my account on a weekly basis, adding thoughtful references to each transfer. I’m able to cover Mikey’s babysitter and afterschool care while I continue building my career over at the Fig Studio, a swanky yoga center in downtown Sacramento.
My boss, Ethan, is really nice. His boyfriend bakes the greatest oatmeal cookies I’ve ever tasted—and that’s quite the statement given that I was never really a fan of oats to begin with. The work environment is remarkably pleasant and tranquil. It’s precisely what I need to help me process the recent terrible decisions I’ve made and the regrets tied to them.
“Mikey, did you brush your teeth?” I ask as I come out of the bathroom, ready to put my boots on.
It’s one of those rare, but gloomy rainy days washing over Sacramento. It causes my mood to become even more sour, but my boy has a way of adding sunshine to my existence, no matter what. Nikki is in the kitchen, taking care of breakfast for the little man. I smell pancakes and bacon. My mouth is watering, so I go in to snatch a piece from the main plate on the kitchen counter. To my surprise, she has already packed a generous serving for me too, in one of my meal prep containers.
“Nikki, you are a gift from the gods,” I say, smiling eagerly as I take the whole thing and carefully deposit it at the bottom of my tote bag.
“I brushed them!” Mikey calls out, then comes running to say goodbye. “Be good, Momma!”
“You, too, honey,” I giggle and plant a ton of kisses all over his pink, chubby face. “Listen to Nikki, okay?”
“He always does,” she replies.
“Seriously, you’re the best,” I tell her again.
Nikki nods and smiles gently. “I’m here, Amaya, for whatever you need. Us girls need to stick together.”
“I will pay you double when the baby comes. You know that, right?”
“Of course!” she shoots back and laughs when Mikey attaches himself to her leg like a needy Golden Retriever. “Hold your horses, mister!”
“Bacon! Bacon! Bacon!” Mikey playfully growls, pretending to nibble on her denim-clad leg.
Content that everything is alright at home, I wave both of them goodbye and head downstairs. Kace’s last money transfer helped cover my recent car repairs. My old lady damn near died for good outside a Walmart the other week. I thought she’d finally decided to call it quits, but the mechanic managed to give her a few more months’ worth of decent living with a couple of new parts.
Kace wants to come see us over the weekend. He’d like to spend some time with Mikey. It’s the least I can do, truth be told. It’s the honorable and decent thing to do, the right thing to do. I’m just horrified by how awkward it will feel. Seeing him and not being able to touch him.
“And whose fault is that?” I ask myself as I stop by the mailbox.
There’s a manila envelope wedged inside. I pull it out, curiously turning it over. It’s got my name and address on it. No return to sender details. I don’t recognize the handwriting, either. I wasn’t expecting anything in the mail and it strikes me as odd. I tear it open and find printed photographs inside.
