Joey was just about to drive away when I came to a stop in front of her car. She looked up and rolled her eyes. I couldn’t hear her but saw her mouth, “Shit.”
I held up my arms wide as my stance, like I was stopping a charging bull, the headlights blinding me.
She shut off the car, and I blinked in the now darkness.
She got out of the car and leaned against the driver’s door, for once not speaking.
“Joey. What are you doing?” My voice shook with fear and rage and desperation.
“I’m leaving,” she said the words I dreaded.
“When are you coming back? Did you tell Collette?”
She looked over her shoulder and sighed. Her silence told me everything. “You can’t do this,” I said.
“I can’t do this,” she agreed. “You’re right.”
“You have to stay,” I demanded.
She shook her head. “Today proved it. I’m just not built for this. It’s too much. It’s too loud and hard and messy, and I can barely keep myself alive, Frankie.”
My head shook back and forth, refusing to accept this. Tears I didn’t think I had left filled my eyes. “You cannot leave her again. She won’t understand.”
My eyes adjusted to the night, and she was visible from the light of the back door flood lamp. She looked to the side. “She’s young. She won’t even remember me.”
“That is not true. Youknowthat’s not true. She remembers everything now. She remembered the one time I burned a piece of toast, and literally every time I make her toast, she tells me not to burn it. She’s so smart. And talented and sweet and funny and precocious and she needs her mother.”
“I’m nobody’s mother, Frankie. You know that,” she spat the words in defense. As an excuse to give up.
“That’s not true. Please, don’t do this. Please.” My knees shook as I begged her.
“I’m not built for this. I couldn’t even handle a day. I lost George. I couldn’t take Collette after just a few hours. I felt like pulling my hair out. She was driving me crazy, and I know that’s shitty. I know I’m fucked up, but I can’t do this.” Her voice broke. She wasn’t stupid. I never thought she was. That made this all so much worse.
“If you go, she will always blame herself,” I said. We held each other’s gaze, knowing that truth more than anybody else.
“She’ll understand when she’s older. Things aren’t so simple,” she said.
“You know what this will do to her. Youknow. We both know all too well.”
“And you know that some people just shouldn’t be mothers.”
The words hung in the air. Pain lashed through my whole body.
“You don’t have that choice,” I yelled before quieting myself.
“Frankie,” she said my name gently. “You have to see that just because I’m her biological mother doesn’t mean I’m the best fit for her.”
“You just have to be here,” I whispered. Then louder, I added, “That’s all that matters. Just stay. Just try. It will take time, but I know you have it in you. You just have to give it more time. You will miss so much. You will regret it. I promise if you just try—that’s all that matters.” I babbled as fear made me incoherent.
We held each other’s gaze for so long. Shivers wracked my body, but I prayed I got through to her.
“Just stay a little longer, please,” I begged. “Don’t give up yet. Don’t run away. Be better than her.”
I regretted the last words the moment I said them. Her features hardened in defense.
“She did her best. She was fucked up, but she did her best,” she shouted.
She left, I thought, but if I said anything else, any hope of keeping her would be gone. “I know she did,” I said.
