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I looked at him and his eyes were full of unabashed, earnest, hope. He is only six, but he knows when something is wrong. He was old enough to notice when his father and I weren’t happy. I had barely thought of him as I lay in bed replaying the last ten years of my life in painstaking detail.
So, I looked back at him and said the only thing I could. “Of course, I’ll be there.”
I kissed him on his sweet forehead and sent him off to play while I showered, washed and dried my hair, and put on clean clothes.
I made Anthony my reason for getting up and every day, I tried to add one more thing to it.
Taking Kevin’s departure one day at a time has made the last month tolerable. In that time, my pain has turned to rage. I kept waiting for him to serve me with divorce papers and when nothing came, I thought maybe he had changed his mind. Until my mother cheerfully informed me that in Maryland you can’t get divorced until you’ve lived apart for at least a year, if you want a no-contest divorce. Meaning both sides agreed that the marriage should end.
I’m not sure I agree, but I also feel such loathing for Kevin I don’t know if I could share the same air as him, much less the same house, again.
I haven’t seen him once. After two weeks of radio silence, he emailed me to inform me that he would like to work out a “schedule” to see Anthony. I agreed because my son loves his father and was missing him.
So, every other Saturday, he picks up Anthony from my house and takes him somewhere. I’ve tried, very hard, not to make Anthony feel like he's in the middle of this mess, but I want to know what they do on their visits.
So, when he gets back I ask, as casually as possible, for details. I don’t think he has met her yet. It seems they only go to the movies, get something to eat, and then come back home. Anthony loves his time with his father, and I’m glad he’s getting it.
Today, when I make my weekly wake up call, it only rings once before Kevin answers. It’s like he was waiting for it. Oops.
“Who is this?” he demands. His voice is clear and not at all like someone who was roused from sleep.
I am so startled that the phone slips from my fingers. It falls to the ground and as I pick it up with trembling hands, I can hear him shouting, “Milly if this is you, I’m going to fucking find out and I’m going to embarrass your pathetic ass by filing a restraining order.”I hang up, open the phone and pull the SIM card out.
How could he know it was me? He sounds so angry.
I'm pacing my bedroom, thinking how he could possibly prove it was me, when the house phone starts to ring. I dash to pick it up before Anthony or my mother wake up.
“Hello?” I try to make my voice sound like I just woke up.
“Milly!” Kevin’s rough, angry voice barks at me from the other end.
“What?” I ask doing my best to sound affronted, when my heart is galloping in my chest.
“If you want me to keep letting Anthony live in that house with you full-time, you better stop these games you’ve been playing.”
I almost retch at his threat. I'm too struck to speak.
“Did you hear me?” His voice isn't as loud, but his tone is sinister.
“Stop sending Rachael dead flowers. Stop leaving those stupid notes on my car, just stop.”
I feel like I’ve stepped into the twilight zone. Yes, I’ve been prank calling them, but I haven’t done any of those other things.
“Kevin, I don’t know what you are talking about. I—”
He cuts me off before I can finish. “Yeah, sure you don’t know.” He mocks, his voice full of venom. “But, I know.
Stop it. Or I'm going to take him away from you. Do. You. Fucking. Understand. Me?”
Then he hangs up. I sit there, staring at my phone, shaking, my confusion blooming into full on panic as I replay the conversation I just had with him.
A knot of fear and anxiety settles in my stomach as I replay that absurd conversation. He must be making it up. Nothing else makes sense.
I haven’t sent her flowers; I haven’t left notes on his car. What in the world is going on? I put on my jeans and run down to Anthony’s room. I feel a wild sense of relief that he’s still lying in bed. He has twenty more minutes before he needs to get up for school.
I'm downstairs making breakfast for Anthony when I hear my mother come down the stairs. For the last month, she’s come down while I stayed in bed. So, when she walks into my kitchen, she's startled to see me standing at the center island, drinking a cup of coffee while making Anthony pancakes.
“Milly! What are you doing here?” Her question would be absurd, but I’ve been acting like a hermit for a whole month.
