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“Twenty-two, Marcos. But—”
“Holy shit! You have a baby wife!” I interrupting, not being able to believe it.How did I let this slide?
“What?”
“How does that work, João? Ten years of difference, doesn’t that bothers you?” I ignore his question, wanting to take away from him all the answers to mine.
“When you look at Eliza, do you imagine she’s a baby?” I raise my eyebrows, wondering if that’s a trick question, but after almost a full minute of silence on the line, I conclude no.
“With all due respect?” I make sure to point out “not really!”
“Exactly. And if you ever really sit down to talk to her, you’ll realize she doesn’t think, act, or talk like one either.Ten is just a number, Marcos, and when she’s thirty and I’m forty, it’ll mean even less than it does today…” His words make a lot of sense and I nod, agreeing, even if he can’t see. “But why, all of a sudden, did this become so important?”
“I wasn’t buying tickets to the North Pole, but I was about to cancel everything when word of the child’s fall arrived. Antonella is twenty-one, João. Twenty fucking one...”
“And how many months is her daughter?” he asks curiously and I want to laugh, except that this is not funny. Nothing about it is even remotely funny.
“Three years, almost four...”
“Fucking hell…” he almost screams and I can imagine him throwing his body on the back of his chair.
“Yea, fucking hell!”
“She gave birth at seventeen?”
“That’s what the math says...” I sound dry, involuntarily.But this is a fucking shitty scenario.
“Damn, Marcos. I could be quiet, but I really like doing it, and I told you to investigate the fucking woman!”
“Fuck you, João!” He laughs.
“What about the child’s father? Is he there?”
“No, just Antonella...”
“She didn’t tell you anything about that?”
“I don’t think we’ve had time. Fuck, João, that’s fucked up. I don’t know what to do...” I admit, rubbing my hand on the back of my head and starting to walk back and forth along the corridor.
“You didn’t? I thought you told me you were canceling everything...” sounds cautious.
“And I was, I don’t need a fucking baby wife, João Pedro!If I’m going to have someone to deal with all the shit my life has turned into, I need it to be someone very grown up!” I explain the first thought I had when I found out her age this morning. “That’s what I was telling Antonella when her phone rang.She left so desperately, I felt compelled to come with her, to understand what was going on.I imagined many situations, João, but a child screaming mommy was definitely not one of them.” I sigh.
“I wouldn’t too...”
“I was convinced about what I would do after I was sure everything was fine, but seeing the way she ran for her daughter, how she handled everything…That woman is anything but immature.I just think the roles have been reversed...” I have to acknowledge. “Honestly, I think I’m the one who’s immature.I’m not a fucking father, João Pedro!” I give voice to the thoughts that populate my mind from the moment Isabella’s crying ceased and I could hear again what was going on inside my head.
“But you don’t even know if the child has a present father, Marcos...” he argues, and I’d love to believe he’s right, but I really can’t.
Not with Antonella’s accusations still ringing loudly in my mind, not seeing the condition of the place the girl is in or thinking about what kind of day-care this is that Antonella leaves her daughter.A place that leaves the child unsupervised long enough for an accident like this to happen is certainly not the most reputable.
Not that I blame Antonella. I don’t blame her. She is a twenty-one-year-old mother, apparently alone, who works all day.Just by looking at her and the attachment her daughter has makes me realize that she does her best, that she loves that child.I recognize motherly love when I see it, because I have received it my whole life, I still receive it.
So, no, I don’t really think Isabella has any paternal reference and shit!I definitely can’t be that reference!I can barely take care of myself, and the reason for all this fake marriage situation is precisely my total inability to take care of someone, like a wife, for example...
“You wouldn’t say that if you saw the hospital where they brought the child. Shit doesn’t even begin to describe it, João.If Antonella had help, she would probably be able to afford something better…” Needing support, I let my forehead touch the wall in front of me and I spread my free hand on the icy concrete. “She accused me of giving her hopes of a life change and now taking it back.At the time, I didn’t understand.But, fuck!The woman has a three-year-old daughter, was a mother at seventeen, as far as I know, without the support of her parents.What kind of shit would I be if, after actually promising her a substantial life change, I just walked away?” My friend is silent for some time, probably reflecting on the thousands of pieces of information I threw at him.
I wouldn’t want to be having this conversation over the phone, but if I don’t talk to someone about it right now, I’m going to explode!
