Like You Mean It Page 8

  The blood drains from my face.

  Have a little pity, Jess.

  Great. Exactly what I fucking want. Someone who feels obligated to be nice to me because I’m such an unfortunate mess of desperation and failure.

  I glance back out the window and see Cole sitting on his bike. And when his eyes track over to my house for a second, somehow they land on mine.

  I step quickly away and rush towards the back of the house.

  “Jones!” I call to him, and his smiling face pops out of his bedroom just before I get there. “You ready?”

  When he nods I give him a high five. Then I wait like a coward to hear Cole’s motorcycle rev up and head down the road before walking out to my car.

  I don’t want his pity, and if he realizes I overheard what he said, I definitely don’t want his remorse either.

  «««« »»»»

  “IloveitIloveitIloveit!!!!”

  Jones’ emphatic cry after we leave the daycare is enough to make the decision for me. I’ve never had to put Jones in daycare before, having always been able to stay at home with him. Next year he’ll be old enough for Kindergarten, but until then, I want him to start interacting regularly with other kids. And since I also need to pick up a real job that will likely keep me out of the house for portions of the day, daycare for the little man it is.

  And Sunrise Daycare, which is only two miles from our house, was fantastic. It’s open 7 days a week from 6am-8pm, which is a neat feature, since most are only open during the workweek with more limited hours. Since I don’t know what type of job I’ll be getting yet, that flexibility is so wonderful.

  I’ve only considered daycare one other time, back when we lived outside of Chicago, and I was incredibly put off by the director. She said they employ redirection when kids get into fights or throw fits, which is a fancy way of saying they distract them instead of disciplining them.

  Now, I don’t want my kid at a place where someone is going to hit them or scream at them, obviously. Only I get to do that. Insert evil laugh here.

  But I do want my child to be disciplined, and regularly, by everyone involved in his life. Even by strangers, if the moment calls for it. How is he supposed to learn that there are consequences to his actions? How is he supposed to realize that adults are an authority, and he isn’t allowed to say things like you’re not my mom, you can’t tell me what to do.

  Because those kids? They’re little assholes who grow up to be big assholes. And I refuse to raise one of those.

  I loved the responses the director I spoke with gave me to some of my more important questions. They definitely discipline the kids who have tantrums or fight or sass back, and their system is based on a tier method that handles each situation differently, but consistently. They also teach the kids simple Spanish words, which I think is so fantastic, especially in Southern California where the Hispanic population is so large.

  They have an indoor and outdoor play area, tons of puzzles and toys that help cognitive development, and a great child to staff ratio.

  To say I was sold is a bit of an understatement, for both me and Jonesie.

  “I’m gonna take you to Mimi’s today!” I say with excitement in my voice. Because we’ve lived so far from my mom, he doesn’t know her very well. But we’ve spent four or five great days with her since moving to town two weeks ago, and he has latched on to her without any problems.

  “Yay!” he shouts, right before I close the car door.

  As we get closer to my mom’s house, and Jones babbles away happily in the back, my trepidation grows. Once I drop him off, I’m heading to my new OB/GYN for my first prenatal appointment with a new doctor.

  I hate doctors. It’s completely illogical, and rooted only in emotional issues, but knowing that doesn’t make my unease any lighter. The last thing I want is to be poked and prodded, which is literally the only thing doctors want to do to you when you’re pregnant.

  I wave at my mom, who is sitting on her front steps having a cigarette, when we pull up outside her house. She waves back, and I see her put the butt out and chuck it in a bucket she keeps filled with sand.

  “Hey sweet boy!” my mom crows at Jones as soon as I get him out of his car seat and set him down on the grass. I can’t help but let out a huff at the tight pinch in my lower back. That’s new.

  “Mimimimimimimimi!” he cries, running towards her and launching himself into her arms. “I rode my bike today! Did mom tell you? I did so good! I’m gonna do it without trainers soon! I’m so close, right mom?”

  I nod and smile, waddling slowly towards my mom, my hand pressed against my back.

  “You okay, honey?” she asks, concern covering her face.

  “Oh, I’m fine,” I reply, waving her away with my other hand. “Just strained my back for a second. Nothing crazy.”

  She doesn’t look convinced, but she gives me a nod anyway and gestures for me to come inside.

  “I have something for you before you go.”

  Jones races into the house, and I follow them slowly. I feel much fatter during this pregnancy than I did with Jones. When I was pregnant with him, I was still running well into my eighth month. With this little chicka, I stopped running at four months because I felt so sore and swollen all the time.

  I walk into mom’s, and take a deep breath. She has air conditioning, and it is a thing of beauty that I can’t afford, so I always stop to soak it in when I visit her house.

  As we walk down the hallway to her bedroom, she says, “I wanted to give this to you when Jones was born, but… well, I didn’t get the chance.”

  I swallow the rock in my throat. She’s trying to hide the hurt in her voice, but I know her too well.

  When Jones was born, I was living in Winnetka. It was no secret that my mom wasn’t a fan of Andrew, and he wasn’t a fan of her. But I never thought anything of it other than so they won’t be best friends. Big deal.

  Which is why I also didn’t think anything of it when I asked him to call my mom to let her know I was going into labor. I didn’t find out until, shit, it was at least a week later, when my mom still hadn’t reached out to me about when she was going to come meet Jones, what really happened.

  Andrew waited until after the baby was born to call her, and then told her I was under a lot of pressure, and that I thought it would be easier on me if she waited a while before she came to visit.

  I was mortified at what he said to her, as well as so incredibly angry I felt like I could spit nails. It was the biggest fight we’d ever had, and also when I started to realize that things between us weren’t… typical. His reaction to my outrage was incredibly painful for me to deal with, and I think it played a roll in my post-partum depression.

  Looks like becoming more maternal and loving isn’t something that happens just because you have a kid.

  If I’d known becoming a bitch was a side-effect of giving birth, I would have pushed for an abortion.

  I called my mom when I found out he’d put her off and bawled my eyes out. She was on a flight and at my house the same day, because that’s the type of mom she is. I’ve always dealt with how Andrew treated me like it was a secret I needed to hide. And I think I learned that from my mama, because she deals with her hurt the same way.

  “Now, I know you’ve been pretty vocal with me about not wanting a baby shower this time around,” she says as I follow her into her bedroom, “so don’t think I’ve gone out and bought you a gift or anything.”

  She opens the hope chest that belonged to my grandmother, one of the only nice things my mother has ever had and held on to over the years.

  “But I figured, this would be something nice for the baby to have.”

  The minute she pulls it out, my eyes well up. Because I know what she has in her hands. It’s tiny, and a lot more worn and faded than I remember it being when I was a kid. The yellow color has dulled a bit and you can see a few outlines of stains that were never fully eradicated. But there, in my mother’s hand
s, is my baby blanket. And in the corner is an embroidered A.M.M.

  Annie May McAllister.

  I take it from her and hold it open so I can look at it closely.

  “Thank you mama,” I whisper, tucking it close to my chest, and smiling even though a few tears have fallen from my eyes. “Baby girl is gonna love it.”

  We just smile at each other for a few seconds, but we don’t hug. No matter how loving and caring my mother is, or how hard she worked or how much she fought for a good life for me, she has never been very physically affectionate. It’s one of those things I’ve had to remind myself growing up – that just because she doesn’t hug me, doesn’t mean she doesn’t love me.

  She expresses her love for me in unique ways, even if those aren’t the ways I’d prefer. But that doesn’t make her love any less special or real, or take away from how much she means it when she tells me with her words.

  A little bit later, I smooch Jones on the head and give him a big hug, which he returns, and head off to my doctor’s appointment.

  And the sweet little gift from my mom is tucked safely in the trunk.

  CHAPTER SIX

  COLE

  I hit ignore for the third time and focus back on my computer, where I’m trying to sort out some financials on this absolutely mind-numbing spreadsheet.

  No one tells you about all of the administrative bullshit you have to deal with when you own your own business. You think it’s gonna be cool and make you a ton of money. You’ll get to call the shots and make the decisions and hire fun people and have a great time doing what you love.

  But then you have to figure out things like Quickbooks so you can track finances and pay employees, study business legal stuff so you don’t do something unethical, learn about HR practices so you can fire underperformers, deal with loss of inventory from theft or damages, and a million other things that I’d never even heard of when I was just a mechanic working for Hector.

  And the last thing I feel like doing in this moment, when I’m trying to decide whether or not the business can financially handle another employee – because we desperately need at least one more mechanic – is deal with the shit show from this morning.

  Jess has called me several times and sent multiple texts. I also have two unheard voicemails, which I might not listen to at all.

  This is one of the things that frustrates me about Jess. She allows her insecurities – about her body or her job or her relationship with me – to determine how she treats other people. Now, I know everyone has ways that they deal with insecurities, because it’s impossible to have insecurities that don’t affect you. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be insecurities.

  But Jess has this way of lashing out and trying to regain control that is incredibly off-putting.

  Don’t get me wrong. I am all for female empowerment. I can acknowledge that women in power are seen as bitches when men are seen as powerful. And I know men often undercut women who are strong and opinionated in ways that diminish their value. I’m not a man who tries to put a woman in her place.

  But that doesn’t mean I have to accept her bitchy moods and sour, underhanded comments to my neighbor, who hasn’t done anything wrong. And it doesn’t mean I have to talk to her right this second just because she is starting to feel regret for how she handled the conversation with Annie this morning.

  There is a difference between being strong and being rude. She was definitely the latter. And everyone has to deal with the consequences of how they treat people. In her case, that consequence is my need for some space so I can figure out how I feel about what she did this morning.

  I flip my phone face down on the desk and try to put my focus back on the computer in front of me. Because as much as I’d love to sit and ponder my relationship with Jess and how her attitude affects me emotionally – please note the heavy sarcasm – I really do have actual fucking work to do.

  But then I start thinking about the other thing. The thing that’s been sitting like a weight on my soul.

  The fact that Annie overheard me talking to Jess shouldn’t have been a big deal. If anything, I was defending Annie. Right? But that doesn’t change the fact that, after thinking back to what I said, I know she thinks I’m some prick who sees her as a burden.

  I mean, fuck. First, I implied she wasn’t attractive by telling Jess I wanted them to meet so she’d see she had nothing to worry about. Then I basically said she was a loser who needed pity from me.

  I rest my face in my hands. I can’t imagine how that made her feel. Because the fact is, she is pregnant and alone. And I’m sure hearing what I said made her feel even more so.

  Unfortunately, after another hour, I feel like I’ve barely accomplished anything and I rub my hands against my face, trying to alleviate how my eyes keep blurring out the screen.

  When I take a look at the clock and see that it’s nearly 3 in the afternoon, I let out a sigh and decide to give it a rest for the day.

  “Hey Alex,” I call into the office next to mine.

  “Yep.”

  “I’m taking off early. Jess is in town.”

  “Sounds good. We still doing that job tomorrow morning?”

  I smile as I grab my jacket and shove my wallet and keys in my pockets. Annie’s car. Hopefully doing that will help to alleviate the growing knot in my chest.

  “Yeah. I’ll see you here early?”

  All I get is a grunt in response. With that, I knock twice on the wall between us and head out.

  But instead of heading home, I walk to the shop a little ways down and across the street for a coffee. A jolt of caffeine is what I need before heading home and talking with Jess. Who knows? Maybe it will help me figure out how to approach the thing with Annie too. Because that was quite the cockup that I don’t know how to handle.

  “Hi!” The overly smiley employee, a girl who has worked here for quite some time, greets me when I walk in the door. “Medium black coffee?”

  I guess I’m a creature of habit, because I give her a small nod, like I usually do, and pull a few bucks out of my pocket. Two for the coffee and two for the tip jar. Lord knows with how empty this plays always seems to be, they need it.

  She pushes the coffee across the counter after slipping on the collar and snapping on the lid, a huge smile still on her face. I brought Jess in here once and she swore this girl has a crush on me. I think she’s just one of those people who smiles all of the time to the point of obnoxiousness. But, hey, who knows?

  I give her a smile and a nod, and then head out of the shop and cross the street to get back to my motorcycle, enjoying the sips of piping hot coffee on the way.

  I try not to think about the fact that I’m avoiding going home, focusing instead on the Kings, who just started their season last week. Maybe I’ll get tickets to one of the games this year. It’s been a while since I’ve gone to one, opting to watch from home, where I can get a better view of the action than I would in the nosebleed seats, and where I also get to avoid crazy assholes who stand in front of you and block your view.

  The fact I’d rather sit on a bench outside of The Garage and sip a hot coffee on a warm day than go home and deal with my girlfriend isn’t entirely promising. Just the reality that I refer to it as having to deal with my girlfriend, as if she’s an obligation, is not ideal either.

  I let out a sigh and take another sip, leaning forward to brace my elbows on my knees.

  I really care about Jess. Definitely more than any relationship I’ve been in before. Which I can admit isn’t a lot. But it’s still something.

  I just don’t understand the attitude she takes when it comes to certain situations. And I don’t know how to explain it to her, either. How do you tell someone you think they need to fucking cool it? That their natural instincts are severely stunted?

  Because Jess can actually be really nice. It’s just that little bit, when she defaults to possessive and aggressive that I’m just… ugh.

  But, I guess that’s what makes relat
ionships like ships, right? You go into them knowing the positives, and then slowly take on the negatives like water, until you get to a point where the bad weighs so much more than the good, you have to either sink or bail.

  I take another sip of my coffee before deciding to chuck it and head home. No use putting it off any longer.

  The ride home is blissful, as usual. I only live a few miles from The Garage, which is convenient when I’m exhausted and need to get to work quickly, but unfortunate for motorcycle rides. So instead of taking the most direct route, I take the long one, looping around the shopping centers two streets over, rounding by the high school, and passing the park before finally heading up my street and into my driveway.

  Jess steps out almost immediately, watching me put the bike away, a familiar look of repentance on her face.

  “Hey,” she says, her voice soft. “I called you.”

  I give her a nod. “I saw. But I was busy at work.”

  She wraps her arms around her stomach in what looks like a defensive gesture, but I know her well enough to see she’s just giving her tits a little boost to catch my attention. I grit my teeth in irritation, frustrated that she’s trying to angle her body in just the right way as if that will hide how she treated Annie earlier today.

  I walk towards the house but stop when she rests her hip against the door like she’s settling in for a few.

  “What did you do today?” I ask, knowing she wants something before she’ll let me pass.

  She shrugs. “Laundry. Refilled a prescription.” She pauses. “I went over and had a chat with Annie about an hour ago, too.”

  My eyes widen and then narrow.

  She rolls her eyes just a little bit. “Calm your tits. It was friendly.”

  I glance over at Annie’s door, looking for signs of a catfight. Maybe nail scratches in the post or a chunk of hair lying on the grass, but nothing seems out of place. I want to hear about her conversation but not on the lawn. The last thing I need is for her to overhear anything again. So I walk up the steps and try to get in the house, but Jess continues to block my path.