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If I’d known she’d trashed my old room, I might have thought differently. And when I say trashed, I mean it is uninhabitable. As it is, Bee refused to leave until we’d sprayed every surface in the living room with Clorox and I promised that if I had to pee, I would come to their trailer.
Mom is a mess. And it’s clear she’s using again. Apparently, Derek’s money did jack shit to help them with anything other than whatever this new habit is. It certainly never helped Kyle. Before he even got to his trial, he picked a fight with the wrong asshole and got clocked upside the head just hard enough and at exactly the wrong angle. He was dead by the time he hit the floor.
It’s all so fucked up, and I hate being here for any reason, but to be here to help her grieve the death of a guy who I should never have had to see again, it’s just a lot.
When I told Midge I was going, just so she’d know I didn’t need her place for a few days in case construction was still going, she said, “Oh, hell no,” and boarded the plane with me. Honestly, having her on the flight was a good distraction. For one, there’s no way I should have been allowed to board being as pregnant as I am. But she knew the right people and made the right moves, and got me into a first-class seat. Not a bad way to fly to the funeral of a man I’m not sorry is dead.
But now, lying here on this shitty love seat, in the deathly dark of the desert, my body is really feeling everything I’ve put it through today: the acute ache of waking up to another day of heartbreak, the stress of flying, the awkward plane seats, and then dealing with my mom.
I’m bone tired, and yet I can’t sleep. At least the baby is quiet. As if he knows his momma needs a little peace. I rub my stomach where I can feel his butt curled up. I wonder what it’s going to feel like to hold him in my arms instead of my tummy. If he’s going to snuggle into me the same way he does now. If he’s going to immediately know me, or if it’ll take a moment?
Across the room, my phone flashes light, indicating a message of some kind. It’s not like I’m falling asleep anytime soon. With a sigh, I push myself up and carefully cross the small room to pick it up.
It’s a text from Freddy.
FREDDY:Getting a little handsy(?)
I frown, not understanding. But then a photo comes through. And I gasp. And then laugh. And then cry.
In the photo, taken who knows where, Freddy is wearing a beach ball strapped to his stomach and he’s sitting on the floor between Derek’s legs. Freddy is grinning. Derek looks anxious and uncomfortable and one hundred percent invested in whatever it is they’re doing.
Before I can fully process what I’m seeing, another photo comes through. This time it’s Freddy on a yoga ball. Again, he’s grinning while Derek appears to be massaging his lower back. He looks troubled and focused, and completely anxious.
ME:Who the hell?
FREDDY:Just thought you’d wanna know what your bestie is up to while you’re gone
A third photo comes through and the first thing I notice is that they’re wearing different clothes. Derek is wearing some sort of papoose while changing a doll’s diaper. Again, he looks serious and focused, and frustrated. I notice a stack of balled-up diapers to his left.
I don’t need to see this. This is unfair. Freddy is playing sides, and it’s bullshit.
ME:Whose side are you on here?
FREDDY:Freddy Jr.’s
ME:You’re delusional
I put the phone down, feeling irritated. And flustered. And twitterpated. And angry.
FREDDY:I didn’t realize how hard this was for him
I don’t respond. It’s not fair of Freddy to text me about Derek when they’re off—doing what? Going to baby classes? I would have loved to do those things with him. He never once…
My eyes get teary as I realize I’ve let in the grief again. My heart is with him and I don’t know that I’ll ever get it back. Or if I can forgive what he’s done.
FREDDY:You were my friend first. You know that counts for everything, right? I’ll stop talking about it if you say so. But you should know he’s trying. He’s figuring it out. Maybe he doesn’t deserve another chance. But maybe he does.
I lie down, trying not to feel the ache, trying not to cry. Of course, I fail, but at least those tears tire me out. But not so much that I don’t send one last text.
ME:Thanks for the pics.
CHAPTER43
MEGAN
“What the fuck is this nonsense?”Mom is a mess. Literally. She’s covered in hair dye because she needed to “fix her roots” before people started arriving to pay their respects. Of course, she can barely function at the moment much less dye her fried yellow hair red.
Honestly, I’m not even sure what it is she’s referring to. Everything is a cluster at the moment, not least of all the sad conference room we’ve been able to rent at the Budget Motel on the edge of town.
