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My parents never called.
We combined all our savings and the money that her mom had secretly given her to buy clothes and diapers and everything else the Internet told us we’d need. We went to all the doctor’s appointments together, and when she started truly showing, she stopped hiding it from the kids at school and everyone else. I was proud of her. I was proud of us. And on the day that Thomas Joshua Christian was born, I was the proudest damn man in the entire world.
She said she didn’t want to give him my last name. She wanted to wait until we were married and then she’d change it… something about not wanting to be looked down on when she gave people their different last names. I thought she was being stupid, but she had gotten ridiculously moody toward the end of the pregnancy so I chose my battles, and I let her win every single one.
I really wish I knew what happened between the months leading up to the birth, until the few weeks after. All I could think of is that we actually had the baby. Natalie—she complained a lot about everything: breastfeeding, exhaustion, having to do it all on her own, me not helping. I didn’t know how much more I could do. I changed every diaper, every outfit. Even when she was awake for feedings, I’d wake up with her so she didn’t have to feel alone. She was exhausted, and I understood that, which is why I helped out as much as I could.
So, gone were the days of playing house, of never arguing, of everything being perfect.
All of it gone.
And then, on Tommy’s one-month birthday, so was she.
I woke up to him crying in the middle of the night. I searched the house for her but I couldn’t find her anywhere. I even knocked on her parent’s bedroom door and asked them where she was. They said they had no idea and went back to sleep. All the while my baby cried, hungry, in my arms.
I tried to call her.
She didn’t answer.
I looked for her car.
It wasn’t there.
Then I saw it: the note on the nightstand next to the framed picture of my family.
I’m sorry, Josh. I just couldn’t do it.
â??â??â??
It’d only been two weeks since Natalie took off when her parents asked to talk to me. I was still living in their basement, eating their food, using their water and electricity. I’d never asked for more of them. In fact, they barely even looked at their grandchild. “I know this is hard, Josh,” Gloria, Natalie’s mom, started. “But we didn’t agree to this living arrangement.”
I stared down at my son, not even two months old, sleeping peacefully in my arms. He had it tough for a few days after Natalie left. I had to buy special formula to wean him off the breast milk. He didn’t take too well to it. I had gone through three different brands before I found one that he could actually keep down. I’d stopped going to school. Hunter—he came around to bring my homework, even though he knew I wouldn’t do it. Honestly, I think he came just to see Tommy. He was kind of obsessed with the kid.
“Josh?” Gloria said, pulling me from my thoughts. “I hope you understand.”
I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
I couldn’t understand how anyone could turn their backs on their family… and yet here I was—facing nothing but backs.
I nodded and pushed back the tears threatening to fall. Never looking up from my son, I asked, “Have you heard from her?”
William, Natalie’s dad, cleared his throat. “Yes,” he said. “She asked for money.”
Silence descended on the table, my mind reeling, my rage building. Then I finally spoke. “Did she ask about us?”
Gloria answered, “No, Joshua. She didn’t.”
William stood up, bringing my attention to him. He pulled out his wallet and dumped two hundred-dollar bills in front of me.
“Thank you,” I said, standing up and grabbing the cash.
I called Hunter once I was in my room packing everything I thought we’d need.
“Where to?” he asked after I’d installed Tommy’s car seat in his car and sat in the back with him.
“Home, I guess.”
My dad slammed the door in my face. My mom cried.
When I got back in the car, Hunter looked pissed. “I’ll be back,” he said, and marched up to my parent’s front door. He pushed it open and walked past my dad, slamming the door behind him.
I don’t know what they spoke about, but it was loud. Mom cried harder. Dad yelled louder, but Hunter—he yelled the loudest.
We went to a hotel. Hunter paid for a week in advance on his mom’s credit card. “She’s too tanked to even know it’s missing,” he told me.
I didn’t argue.
After we unloaded his car and he helped us settle into the room, he sat on the edge of the bed, his shoulders slumped and head bent.
I asked, “What’s wrong?”
He looked up at me and I could see the sympathy behind his glazed eyes. “I hate that this is happening to you.”
I sighed. “Tell you what…” I removed Tommy from his car seat and handed him to Hunter. Hunter looked down at him, smiling as soon as my son was in his arms. “Look at him, Hunter. Look at him from my eyes and tell me any of this isn’t worth it.”
Hunter let me borrow his car, opting to skate anywhere he needed.
Thank God for Hunter.
I spent the week looking for jobs. Turns out no one wanted to hire a seventeen-year-old high school dropout who brought their baby to interviews.
Even though two hundred dollars seems like a lot—it’s not, especially when you have a baby.
