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“If you wanna salvage whatever you’re having with her, you need to sober up first.”
“I need to call her three times.” I whimpered, earning a mumbled, “For God’s sake” from her.
When she realized I was going nowhere, she tentatively climbed down off me, and with her eyes still on me, she called Hank. “I’m taking him home. Put it all on his tab, please. Make sure you have a nice tip.” She glanced at him. “And thank you. For calling me.”
Mia grabbed me by the hand to pull me out of there, and I stumbled after her petulantly. We crossed the parking lot to her car, and she opened the door for me. “Get in the car, please.”
“Three times.”
She rolled her eyes but placated me. “Get, get, get in the car, car, car. I’m gonna kill Jimmy. After I kill you.”
I fell inside her vehicle more than got in. She closed the door on me and rounded the hood before jumping into the driver’s door. “Seat belt.” I struggled to deal with it.Maybe there was a secret to it. She leaned over, pulling the belt and clicking it safe on me, then drove us to my place.
The whole drive was made in silence. Far away inside my head, I knew I should be ashamed of my behavior. I should be ashamed for a lot of reasons. From my outburst at Isabella’s to the shitshow at Hank’s. But I was too buzzed to analyze it deeply, too overwhelmed by profound sadness.
I knew I wasn’t cut out to be a father, so why did the thought of walking away from them slice me so deeply?
We arrived at my place and entered, both of us under a heavy silence. I watched Mia, as best as I could under my blurry vision, and felt intense gratitude for having her in my life. Even if I scared Isabella away, I knew Mia was a constant.
She snatched a bottle of water from my fridge and handed it to me. “Wanna talk about it?”
I knew I could count on her to help me clean up this mess, or maybe just make me feel better about it all. I just wanted to stop feeling that lacerating pain wrecking inside of me.
“Make me forget.”
I cried myself to sleep that night. I sobbed, hugging my stomach, and curled up in bed until I had no more tears left.
I knew having a kid caused a huge change in life, and neither of us was expecting to have a baby, especially so early in our relationship—what I thought was a relationship. Ben’s behavior was beyond anything I expected from him. Shock and fear were understandable. But the scene he made was so far from the Benjamin I got to know those past few months.
I was having a hard time fitting what happened into the man I knew. I didn’t wanna make excuses for him, yet I had the feeling there was more to his reaction than not wanting to be a father.
With puffed eyes, I fell asleep, only waking up when my need to throw up became stronger than my exhaustion. After cleaning myself and giving up on sleeping again, I just went back to bed to contemplate what to do.
As I climbed in, I saw my phone hidden between the folds of my blanket and noticed quite a few missed calls and voice messages. The first call was from my mother. That could wait.
I dropped to my back in bed and couldn’t ignore the irony. I was the result of an unplanned pregnancy, and I carried the weight of being the mistake my mother gave birth to, always being reminded that she’d be a lot better if she’d just aborted.
I truly considered that option. I thought it was healthy and reasonable to ponder that route of action responsibly. I knew it was as hard a decision to make as deciding to raise the kid.
Although maybe because I always felt like something was missing in my life, or even because I needed to love a child as I’ve never been loved, break the cycle, I wanted to have that baby. I just wasn’t sure that was a good reason to have a kid.
But how could wanting a baby to love and cherish not be a good reason?
I ignored her call, not even entertaining the idea of calling her back. I had more urgent matters to attend to, and coming up with more money to give her was not one of them.
I checked the next calls, and I was sure the baby somersaulted inside of me. I didn’t care it was supposed to be just a little thing yet, I knew what I felt. Okay, maybe it was butterflies. Seeing Benjamin’s name on so many missed calls ignited new tears.
Too afraid to listen to them just yet, I got out of bed again, in search of something to eat. Nothing seemed to please me; however, I was already responsible for another life, so I needed to be mindful of that.
After taking the time needed to prepare something to eat, clean things up, take a shower, clean up my room, fold my laundry, and reorganize my fridge, I opened his voicemail messages.
Between several missed calls, his messages were confusing. Just a little bit endearing. And he was certainly drunk.
Heeey, Forest. For-Est. I like your name...wait...that’s not your name. It’s Isabella...right, Isabella Forest.
I opened another one.
It hurts so much. I can’t be a father...unintelligible mumble...you don’t want me to be one. I’d ruin everything. Why it hurts so much?
