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With a hand resting on the middle of my back as we walk out to his car, he says, “So, would you like to go see a baseball game today?”
“Yeah, that sounds fun.”
“Good, because I’ve already bought tickets.”
I laugh and smile as he opens the car door for me. Justin seems to have this easy, laid-back way about him that causes my anxieties about the date to slither away.
“Do you believe in soulmates?” I ask him.
Justin glances over at me, not surprised or taken aback. It’s as if I’ve simply asked about his day. It pleases me even more that he squints his eyes a little as he drives like he’s truly thinking about it. “You know,” he finally says, “I think I do. Society probably thinks so as well. We’re supposed to have monogamous relationships. We’re supposed to marry someone and when we do, it’s with the intention that it’s for life. That that one person is more suited f
or us than anyone else we’ve met in this world. And who knows how the world works to put two people together. So, yeah, I think I believe in soulmates.”
And that answer is how Justin will eventually become my boyfriend.
Lila is five weeks along, so the good news is the last time I let her convince me not to wear a condom is not when I knocked her up. It was the time before that. The bad news is now all I can think about is how much alcohol she has consumed in that time period and whether or not that’s going to affect my baby. Just because I don’t want the baby doesn’t mean I want something to happen to it.
Although, I won’t lie. Miscarriage and an abortion keep crossing my mind about once a day, which makes me feel like an absolute shit human being for wishing that on my own child. But is it so terrible when I know exactly what its mother will be like? When I’m struggling with my own bad habits? Look at how Lila has turned out to be. Look at how she treats me. How will she treat a child that only exists because she wanted to ensure I was tied to her?
And if I don’t have the strength to walk away from her because I have too much pride, shame, and embarrassment, then what kind of father will I be? Not only that, but I smoke and I drink. Babies aren’t supposed to be around cigarette smoke or have alcoholics for fathers. That poor kid has no hope with both Lila and me for parents. None whatsoever. Its life is already starting out like shit because I don’t want it and Lila’s excitement doesn’t seem genuine. The only thing I know for sure is I’m going to hell and I’ll probably take my baby with me.
As if today can’t get any worse, I come home to find a package for me. Lila knows not to open my mail. She did it once and I berated her long enough that she let me win and never did it again. If she has, I don’t know about it. The package is from my mother.
With a sigh, I sit at the table and rip the envelope as Lila peers over my shoulder. My heart breaks as I pull out a onesie that says I love my daddy. Lila says something about how cute it is and she even takes the envelope, peering inside as if expecting something similar for her, but my mom didn’t send anything else.
My thumb rubs over the soft fabric. My heart pounds as I picture a squirming little baby filling this onesie out and reaching for me. I can imagine a crying baby, wanting love and comfort and finding me as the only sorry source because I can’t ever see Lila even holding a baby, much less loving one. All my horrible thoughts seem to disappear as I realize I’ll have to be this baby’s saving grace. As I realize that maybe, just maybe, I can be my baby’s saving grace.
Fisting the onesie, I stand. “Hey, I need to go see my mom.”
“Now?” Lila asks with a frown.
“Yeah. I’ll spend the night and come back in the morning. Will you be okay here by yourself?”
“Why do you need to see your mom?” There’s suspicion in her eyes, but she can follow me all the way there if she wants.
“I want to apologize in person about the post you made and tell her how far along you are. I just need to see her.” Maybe I sound desperate because Lila doesn’t put up a fight. She nods and agrees to let me go. “Thanks, babe.” I lean forward to kiss her and then go to our room to pack a few things.
Once I’m in the car, I tell my mom I’m on the way to talk to her and Dad. Unless something does happen, this baby is coming. That baby will feel real soon and I need to start putting my baby ahead of myself and my weaknesses. That innocent baby will be helpless and will need someone he or she can depend on. That won’t be Lila. It will have to be me. The pity party is over.
“FC, what’s wrong?” my mom says the moment she opens the door, concern written all over her face.
“We need to talk.”
She leads me into the living room where my father sits in his favorite seat. “What’s going on?” she asks.
“Thanks for this.” I hold up the onesie. I haven’t been able to put it down yet. “She’s five weeks along.”
“Okay,” Mom says slowly, glancing at Dad. “You had to drive all this way to tell us that? Not that it isn’t great to see you.”
A deep breath fills my lungs, then quickly deflates them. How do I say what I need to say? What will they think of me? I look down at the onesie. This is for my baby. I have to step up for my baby.
“Is something wrong with the baby already?” Mom asks.
“No, I don’t think so,” I reply. “This is mostly about me.”
“Spit it out, son. Whatever it is, it’ll be all right.” Dad nods in affirmation, believing in his words.
“Okay, well, um, things with Lila aren’t great. They haven’t been practically since I moved there.” Mom and Dad exchange a look. “She, uh, well…” I glance down at the onesie again. I have to do this. I have to do it for my baby. My baby who needs at least one strong parent, which will obviously have to be me. “She hits me,” I say quietly. “Short, violent temper. She drinks. I drink. I’ve started smoking again, too. But our relationship is a lot of me working, taking care of her, her beating on me for whatever reason, and now she’s pregnant.”
