My worry triples the moment I hear my baby’s heartbeat. Lila is now four months along and we’re here to learn the sex of my baby. For the past few weeks, I worried that maybe I should think of him or her as our baby instead, but Lila never does. She even refers to it as my baby. She never says, “I can’t wait to meet our baby.” Or, “I’m sure my baby will be so cute.” It’s always “Your baby” this and that, usually her complaining about something.
She’s told me I get to pick the name, which I find odd. What first-time expectant mother doesn’t want to help name her baby? Apparently, Lila doesn’t.
I close my eyes, listening to that soft heartbeat as if I’ve never heard anything else like it before. I guess I haven’t, not really. And then, we’re told we’re having a boy. A sweet baby boy. A baby who doesn’t deserve a mother like Lila. This past week has been peaceful, but that just means the shit will hit the fan soon. I leave work a little early to write down whatever happened the day before and then mail that to my mother for safekeeping. There’s nowhere here for me to keep anything private, where Lila wouldn’t eventually find it, so that was the safest way to go.
She turns to me as we’re leaving and says, “I’m giving you a boy. Happy?”
“Yeah, I am.” Would’ve been just as happy with a girl, too. “Are you?”
She scoffs. “You’ll probably turn him against me. Make him hate me. At least I could’ve bonded with a girl.”
What the fuck? “Lila, I ain’t going to turn my baby against you or make him hate you. And you can bond with him just as well as you could a girl.”
She swivels to face me as we’ve reached the driver’s side of the car. “Why should I believe you? Don’t think I haven’t noticed you’ve pulled away. We don’t kiss or hold hands like we used to. You won’t have sex with me anymore.” Her hands rest on her stomach. “I give you a baby and you give me nothing in return!”
“We’re supposed to be working on our issues, remember? I seem to remember you saying you wanted to be better, but I’ll be damned if I’ve seen you try.”
She doesn’t even try to slap me. She punches me in the jaw. Right there in public in full view of the couple getting into their car two spaces over. My fists clench and unclench as she lets the hysteria take over. “How dare you say I haven’t I tried! I stay at home and take care of the house.”
“Because that’s the decision you made without me,” I remind her.
“We don’t drink anymore,” she continues. She still tries once a week to get me to relapse. “I’m letting you choose this baby’s name!” All of a sudden she talks as if she’s crying, but there’s not one fucking tear on her face. “I’m doing all I can to make you happy, but you don’t care! You don’t even close the shower curtain after your shower!” She shoves me away, turns and gets into the car.
By the time I walk around to the other side, she has it cranked and she begins to back out. I slam my hand on the roof. “What the fuck are you doing?” I shout.
She cracks the window. “Find your own way home, FC!” Then she punches it. She barely stops in time to prevent hitting a car in the row behind her and burns rubber as she peels out of the parking lot.
I call my mom as I walk over to sit on the curb. All I want right now is something with tequila in it. I can’t do this anymore. Surely, four months of documentation of her abuse toward me is enough to prove she shouldn’t have custody of my baby once he’s born. But I don’t trust her not to start any bad habits if I leave. I think the only reason she hasn’t been drinking, that I know of, is because I try to watch her like a hawk when I can.
“FC? Is everything okay?”
“I can’t do this, Mom.” My eyes squeeze closed when I hear my voice crack. “I’m at the end of my rope. I want to come home.” It’s too hard to keep doing this by myself. I don’t even want to go home. I want to see Idaline.
“Oh, FC. What happened?”
I recount the stupid argument, or whatever the fuck that was, with Lila and how I’m currently stuck outside the doctor’s office. “I’m tired, Mom. I’m fucking tired and I want a drink.” I run a hand down my face. “A bar sounds better than home, anyway. Anywhere does, really.”
Mom’s voice is soft and reassuring as she speaks. “I know this is so unbelievably hard on you, FC, but you can’t leave yet. We know how she treats you, but we don’t know how she’d treat the baby.”
“Mom,” I interrupt, “she doesn’t want him. Her excitement has completely disappeared and all she does is bitch. She says it’s my baby, all the time. Not hers or ours, mine. He’s already an inconvenience to her and he’s not even here yet.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, FC. Except you absolutely don’t need to go to a bar or anywhere else to get alcohol. You’ve been sober three months now; don’t mess that up. Maybe get a ride back to the apartment, get your car, and spend the night at a hotel since you keep a spare bag in your trunk.”
“I’ve already had to spend two nights in a hotel room this week, Mom. I’m tired of paying for it.” I thought she kicked me out a lot before? Ha. I’ve been kicked out far more frequently since she’s been pregnant. And let me say, frequent stays in a hotel room is a definite hit to the bank account. I’ve spent two hundred fifty dollars just this week. How can I best save for a lawyer when I’m constantly blowing my money on a hotel room?
“Tell me where you’re staying and your father and I will pay for tonight.”
“No, Mom, it’s fine. I’ll figure something out. Worse comes to worst, I’ll sleep in my car.” She makes a disapproving sound, but I say, “I need to find my way back to my car. I’ll text you later.”
She relents and we hang up. I am not staying at the apartment tonight and I’m not staying at a hotel either. It’s Idaline’s or my car. It’ll be good to see her. I haven’t seen her since we went to the fair, though we talk as regularly as we can. Her grandfather’s disapproval always lingers in the back of my mind when I think about escaping there instead of to a hotel room. Plus, she’s almost constantly with Justin or having a hard day with her mental health. Not to mention, the chemistry between us is hard to deal with and I stay away for that, too.
There’s plenty of reasons for me to not text Idaline about coming to crash at her place, but there’s only one reason of why I want that matters and makes me text her regardless.
I miss her and I could use some of her sunshine to get me through yet another rough patch.
Me: Please tell me you don’t have plans with Justin tonight.
I still don’t like him. Idaline doesn’t ever seem all that excited about him either. I mean, he’s in her life and she seems happy, but I don’t know if that’s good enough.
Idaline: Does Faris Caddock miss me and want to crash at my place again?
I bust out laughing. My name definitely isn’t Faris Caddock. See? One text from her and I already feel a little lighter. Only a teeny tiny itsy bitsy bit, but that still feels like a hell of a lot when things are normally a constant hell.
Me: Does that mean I can?
While I wait for her response, I open an app and request a ride.
Idaline: I’m starting to think your relationship with Lila isn’t all that great for you to be able to crash at my place, what, three times now? Am I right, Farrid Clabert?
Me: It’s complicated. Can I come or not?
That’s all I’m willing to acknowledge and share with Idaline. The thought of telling her the gritty details about my relationship with Lila makes me sick to my stomach. Idaline probably doesn’t see me as the type of man who would find himself in a relationship with a woman who abuses him. As if there is a type. She probably doesn’t see me as a man who wouldn’t leave either. Or one who has too much pride, shame, and embarrassment. The last thing I want to do is change the way she views me.
My ride shows up and gives me a lift to the apartment complex. Since it’s habit to carry my keys with me, I don’t have to go up to the apartment for anything. Idaline texted that I could come, thankfully. I have the rest of the day off, something Lila insisted on because she wanted us to go out on a date tonight, but that’s obviously not happening.
Before I can unlock my car doors, I hear the worst voice in history. “Where do you think you’re going?”
I sigh. “Somewhere away from you. We could both use a break.” I turn to face Lila and watch as she advances on me.
“You’re not going anywhere, FC.” She lifts her hand, and thinking she’s about to hit me, I grab her wrist. I’m sick and fucking tired of being hit. Her eyes narrow. “I wasn’t going to lay a finger on you.” She yanks her wrist out of my hold and points a finger at my face. “If you leave, we’re done.”
My laugh happens before I can stop it. “That’s supposed to be a threat?”
She huffs. “Where do you think you’re going anyway?”
“Same place I’ve been going, Lila. To a hotel! If you’re done badgering me, I’d like to leave now so I can have some peace for a change.”
Again, she slaps me in full view of a neighbor walking by. Again, no one asks if everything is okay or interferes in any way. I can guarantee if the situation was reversed, the cops would be on their way right now.
“You’re fucking worthless, FC. After all I do for you, you treat me like shit.”
“Then why the fuck are you still with me?” I shout.
“Because I love you!” She’s fucking crazy! “And because I’m having your baby. But you can’t do one fucking thing right because you aren’t worth two shits.” And then, she actually spits in my face before stalking back to the building.
I lift my shirt to wipe the saliva away and then get into my car. North Carolina is the last place I need to be. I drive on to South Carolina, not wanting to be tempted by knowing the liquor store isn’t too far away or the fact that I know where all the bars are. The anger over what just happened is fueling my thirst. The bitch seriously spit in my face. And people are seeing her do this shit to me, but heaven forbid anyone get involved because it’s not a man beating his girlfriend.
Unfortunately, Idaline is working and won’t get off for a few more hours. To keep from tempting myself by exploring Greenville further, I park in the complex, roll down the windows, lean my seat back, and take a nap. Sleep is still a hard thing to come by. Lila either wakes me up complaining, wanting something to eat, or I simply can’t fall asleep because my thoughts run rampant and leave me restless.
I wake up with about an hour to go before Idaline shows up. Since I now know the sex of my baby, I better start looking into names. Passing down my name isn’t something I particularly care to do. Yes, my name is old family names, but I don’t really like them. Hence, going by FC. I don’t want to pass down any family name and put pressure on the kid to live up to any expectations either.
I once felt like that. People in my family would talk about my namesakes and how different I am than them, as if by just having their names means I should have inherited their traits and characteristics as well. It messed with my young mind for a bit before my parents set me straight and told me it didn’t matter where my names came from; I’m supposed to be my own person.
How does a parent pick a name for their child anyway? This is a name that we give them now, but they’ll have for a lifetime. I mean, sure, that’s obvious, but how do you pick a name that you hope withstands the passage of time? Maybe people don’t care what it sounds like down the road. Obviously my parents didn’t, but then again, they let me go by FC instead.
After about thirty minutes, I’m frustrated. So many names, yet none stand out to me enough to want to give my baby that name. Maybe I should ask my mom for help. Even Nana might want to toss some names into the hat. I do take a few minutes to call my parents and let them know that my baby is a boy.
The longer I wait for Idaline, the more I want something to drink. This name thing is stressing me out. I might have accomplished being sober for these past three months, but that doesn’t mean it’s been easy. Every time I’m stressed, I want a drink. And I’m stressed a hell of a lot more than not.
Finally, she pulls into her parking space and I see her beautiful face. She’s still fucking cute in scrubs. I get out of my car and grab my bag. At the sound of my trunk slamming shut, she whirls around. The smile she’s already wearing goes from curious to downright thrilled. She jogs and meets me halfway, throwing her arms around me. Does she greet Justin like that?
“It’s so good to see you, FC! You haven’t been waiting long, have you?” She pulls back, letting her arms fall.
“No,” I lie. “Not long at all.” With a hand on her lower back, I lead her to her door. “Have a good day at work?”
“Yes. I’m really glad you needed a place to crash. I could use my best friend right now.” She unlocks her door and we step inside.
“What’s going on?” I ask as she takes her shoes off, drops her purse, and I find a place to put my bag.
“Well, you know I haven’t been doing well.” She points to her head and I follow after her to the kitchen. “And Justin’s been great, he has, but I don’t know. I think I need my best friend.” She grabs the pitcher of sweet tea and pours us both a glass. “But enough about me and we’ll put you on pause. What would you like for dinner?” She hands me a glass and takes a sip from her own.
“Whatever you want is fine.”
“I was thinking of making tacos.” When I nod in agreement, she goes about making dinner. “Now, is there anything you need to talk about? Are you still sober? I’m really proud of you, by the way.” She sets down her ingredients and walks over to hug me again. “You deserve another hug and a pat on the back for that.” I chuckle as she pats me on the back as well.
“You didn’t give me a chance to confirm,” I point out as she gets back to cooking.
“I can tell by looking at you and how you’re talking. Not to say you aren’t still wound tight, but you have a different look about you.”
“Talk to me about you.” I’m over talking about me already.
Idaline sighs. “We finally switched out my medications about a month ago and that’s been an adjustment. I was having a hard time sleeping before, right? Well, now, I’m overly tired, but not so much so that I’m willing to change the meds yet. And when my anxiety hits, I might not have a full-blown panic attack, but it exhausts me. I worry Justin will break up with me soon, even though he seems to understand, but if I have a panic attack right before we meet up or while I’m with him, I end up needing a nap because I’m emotionally and mentally exhausted.”
“That doesn’t really sound like your medications are working, Idaline.”
“They are, though,” she insists. “I think I just need a little more time to adjust.”
“When do you go back to your psychiatrist?” The only reason I know anything about this shit is because of her. I’ve learned through her and sometimes, I look stuff up.
“In three weeks.”
“If it doesn’t sort itself out by then, you might need another change.”
“I know,” she replies quietly. Idaline takes a deep breath. “I feel a little better after talking with you, even just that bit.”
I tilt my head as I watch her cook the meat. “Why exactly?”
“Because Justin doesn’t really ask questions or respond to anything I say about it. It’s infuriating, sometimes. He either stays quiet and nods his head while I talk or he says something about it being my mind and I know it better than him, so he shouldn’t have any influence. Sure, he might have a point, but it wouldn’t hurt for him to have a conversation with me. If you can do it, I don’t understand why he can’t. I don’t even bring it up to him anymore if I don’t absolutely have to because it’s pointless.”
“Things are still going well between the two of you, aren’t they?”
She nods. “It’s been almost four months and this is the biggest bump in the road we’ve had. Not one argument yet.”
That seems unnatural. I might not be in the best relationship, but not even one argument? That doesn’t make sense to me. How is it possible? A soul-crushing thought hits me. Maybe that means Justin is her soulmate. That thought makes me want to puke and drink an entire bottle of tequila.
“Do you think y’all will be together for a long time?”
This question? Idaline doesn’t answer right away. She’s quiet for so long that I’m about to repeat my question, thinking she didn’t hear me, when she answers, “I don’t know.” It almost seems as if she wants to add more to her statement, but she doesn’t. “Let’s eat, Farlain Cadmus.”
I laugh, enjoying that she’s straying from common names. But she still won’t guess mine.