I pick up my phone to check the texts that came through while I was driving home. All three from Porter. I want so badly to reply. To tell him I love him too. To tell him not to worry because this is going to be okay. But I just can’t bring myself to do it. Because the truth is that I’m not sure everything is going to be okay.
I’m angry. I’m hurt. I’m jealous.
I love Porter, so how could I not be?
I go to my bedroom and fall into my bed, curling into a ball. I want to shut it all off.
The pain. The sadness. The envy.
The disappointment. The remorse. The regret.
We were so happy last night. Making love. Talking about marriage. A baby. Our baby. The one he wanted to give me as soon as I’d let him. The one with the wild Beckman hair.
Not one he’s having with another woman.
I lie on my side with my legs curled into my chest most of the day, tossing from one side to the other. I occasionally doze off for brief periods, and it’s the only bit of escape my heart gets from drowning in misery.
The sun streaming through my window has moved lower. Everyone will be home soon. And the questions will begin.
What’s wrong? Why are you in bed? Why have you been crying?
I don’t want to answer everybody’s questions. I just want to be left alone.
The first knock on my bedroom door comes and it’s my mom. “Hey, what’s going on?”
“I’m lying down because I don’t feel well. I was thinking I might take a nap.”
She comes into my bedroom and sits on the bed beside me. “You sound congested. Do you have a headache?”
“Yes.”
“Let me bring you some medicine to help with that. It’ll help you sleep.”
I won’t turn down something that will help me forget about this mess. “That would be great.”
My mom returns with a glass of water and two large gelcaps and flips on my bedroom light. “Well, Frankee. I think you’re getting sick. Your eyes are red and swollen.” She touches the top of her hand to my forehead. “But you don’t have fever.”
“Probably just cold and sinus stuff.”
“You’ve been working a lot lately. Your body probably needs some rest. This will knock you out for at least eight hours.”
“Thanks.”
“Can I get you anything else?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Okay. I’ll poke my head in later to check on you.”
I’m waiting for sleep to claim me when my phone vibrates.
Porter: You never responded to my texts.
Porter: I’m worried.
Porter: Are you ok?
Frankee: No. I’m not ok.
Porter: I’m coming over.
Frankee: Don’t.
Porter: I don’t want to be apart when you’re not ok.
Frankee: I need you to stay away. That’s what I need right now.
Porter: We should be together.
Porter: Figuring this out.
Frankee: No.
Frankee: I don’t want to think about it anymore.
Frankee: I’m going to sleep.
Porter: Ok. I’ll leave you alone.
Porter: For now.
Porter: I love you, baby.
Porter: So much.
I love him with every piece of my shattered heart, but I still can’t bring myself to tell him right now. It feels too much like saying that this is going to be okay.
I don’t know if it was the medication or state of mind, but my night was nothing more than restless cycles of sleep, nightmares, and waking. Same pattern over and over all night long. Exhausting.
I wake to texts from Porter.
Porter: Checking on you.
Porter: Please text back so I know you’re ok.
Porter: Frankee?
Porter: Please answer me.
He’s sent four texts over the last two hours. I was so dead to the world that I didn’t hear my phone once.
Frankee: I’m fine.
Frankee: As fine as I can be.
Porter: Thank you for texting back.
Porter: I’m going to back off and give you the time you want.
Porter: But please let me know if you need anything.
Porter: Anything at all. Ask and it’s yours.
Porter: I love you.
I withheld my love from Porter yesterday and last night because I was angry and in pain. I used it as a way to punish him. But he’s hurting and in pain too. He hates this as much as me. Probably more.
This situation is far from being okay, but my love for Porter hasn’t changed. And I don’t want him thinking it has.
Frankee: I love you too.
Porter: You don’t know how badly I needed you to say that.
There’s a soft tap at my door before my mom opens it. “Hey. Feeling better?”
“Yes.” No. I feel just as shitty today as I did last night.
“Do you need anything? I can make you some breakfast if you’re hungry.”
“I don’t think I can eat.”
“Are you staying home from work?”
Mom and Dad don’t know I got the full-time graphic and marketing position at Lovibond. And I’m keeping it that way until I figure out this situation. “Porter has given me the rest of the week off.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. I finished my jobs ahead of time, so he told me to take off.” I hate lying to my mom but I’m not ready to tell her what’s going on.
“Toni is having some trouble with her babysitter. She’s already lost two days’ work this week because of it. She called your dad this morning, and she’s going to be out today too. It might be nice if you offered to keep Willow and Keeley for her since you’re free.”
Toni works with my dad in the warehouse. We’re about the same age but our lives couldn’t be more different. She’s raising two little girls on her own because her husband is in jail.
“I can keep the girls the rest of the week.” All I’m going to do is sit here and wallow in misery anyway. I might as well do something to take my mind off this shitty situation.
“I know Toni will be happy to hear that. And your dad too.”
“She probably needs me to pick them up so she isn’t late.”
“You could offer to get them at the brewery instead of driving out to her house. That would be faster for both of you.”
“I can do that.”
“Your dad will call her. What time do you want to tell her you’ll be there?”
“Ten ‘til.”
I get to the brewery a few minutes early. I park facing the entrance so I don’t miss seeing Toni when she arrives. Which means I also don’t miss seeing Porter either.
Damn. He looks good in those jeans and that T-shirt, getting out of that big black truck.
I’m not in my usual parking place so he doesn’t spot me. I get to take full advantage of watching him from afar.
Toni is running a little late. I suspect that’s nothing unusual with two little ones. “I’m so sorry I’m late. I hope you haven’t been waiting on me for long.”
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
It’s only a few minutes until she needs to clock in, so I get out and help her transfer the kids into my car. I lift Keeley out of her car seat. “Oooh, when did you get so big, Kiki?”
Willow gets out of her booster seat and runs over to squeeze my leg. “I’ve missed you, Frankee.”
“I know. I haven’t seen you in a long time. I’m so happy you’re going to stay with me the next few days.”
“You don’t know what a lifesaver you are.”
“Happy to help. Now go on and clock in before you’re late. I know how to buckle the girls.”
“Thank you so much.” Toni quickly kisses her daughters. “I’ll see you after work. Be good for Frankee.”
* * *
Keeping Willow and Keeley the last three days has been a nice distraction from my fixation about Porter and… baby mama. Damn. I don’t even know that woman’s name.
But I lie in the bed every night thinking of him. And how much I miss him. How much I miss his touch. How much I miss making love.
I don’t feel whole without him.
I’ve thought of every scenario. Reflected about it. Considered the aftermath. And every outcome is the same.
Watching this woman grow with his child will be painful. Having her in our lives forever will be a struggle. Being a stepmother to this child will be hard.
Going through this with Porter will be one of the hardest things I’ve ever endured. But living without him will be harder. I don’t want to live without him.
If this baby is part of his life, then this baby is part of my life.
And that’s all.
Frankee: I’m ready to talk.
Porter: Meet at my place?
Frankee: Ok. What time?
Porter: I have a few things to finish before I can leave. 7:00 ok?
Frankee: I’ll be there.
Frankee: I can come early and cook dinner if you want.
Porter: I would love that.
Frankee: See you then.
Porter: I love you.
Frankee: Love you too.
I feel good about this decision. It feels right.
* * *
I’m dipping a chicken tender into an egg wash when the doorbell rings. “Hang on a minute,” I call out.
I do a quick handwashing and go to the door, drying my hands on a towel. My heart jumps into my throat when I see it’s her. Baby mama.
A woman has many looks. She can be casual. She can be stylish. She can be somewhere middle of the road. But she can also show intention with the way she’s dressed. And this woman is here with one intention in mind: to fuck.
Everything from the way her hair is styled down to her fuck-me pumps says so.
I say nothing, forcing her to speak first. “Is Porter here?”
“Nope. Just me.”
“Do you know when he’ll be home?”
If she were any other woman, I’d tell her to fuck off. But that isn’t going to be an option with her. Ever. “Maybe an hour.”
“Can I come in?”
I don’t want to let her in. I need to speak with Porter about this situation before I have any kind of communication with this woman. “I know we need to—and it’s coming—but I’m not ready for us to have a conversation yet.”
“I see he told you about our baby.”
Our baby. Hearing her say that makes me ill. “He did.”
“What are your thoughts about that?”
Dumbest fucking question ever. “What do you think my thoughts are?”
“I would imagine you’re not very happy about it.”
I look at her, saying nothing. What does she want from me? Denial? Confirmation?
“I’d like to come in and talk to you before Porter gets home. Woman-to-woman.”
This woman doesn’t know me, but we have one common denominator. “Okay.”
I return to the kitchen; I’m not taking her into the living room where she can get comfortable. I don’t want her here one minute longer than necessary “You caught me in the middle of cooking dinner.”
She looks at the chicken on the counter and turns her head. “Raw meat has been making me sick with this pregnancy.”
Good. Maybe that will speed up this conversation she’s insisting we have. “You wanted to talk. I’m listening.”
“I already love this baby, and I want the best for it.”
“You are its mother. I would expect no less.”
“A child needs a mother and father one hundred percent of the time. Not a little parenting here and a little there. Would you agree?”
“I strongly believe a child needs both parents.”
“I’m glad you see things that way, so you’ll understand why having you around isn’t what’s best for my baby.”
What the actual fuck? “Excuse me?”
“My baby deserves both of its parents. And Porter isn’t going to be the father he needs to be as long as you’re in his life.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is true. He’s going to put you first. You’ll come before his child every time. And that’s not fair to our baby.”
“You’re wrong.”
“I need Porter’s support. He should be going to my doctor appointments with me. He should be by my side when they do the ultrasounds, seeing his child grow inside me. He should be bonding with our baby during my pregnancy. Touching my belly. Talking to the baby. But he isn’t going to do that for fear of upsetting you.”
That has to be some of the most unrealistic expectations I’ve ever heard. “Those are the things that happen when a pregnant woman is in a relationship with the father of her baby. This pregnancy is the result of a one-night stand. You don’t have a relationship with Porter.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. We share a child. That puts us in a relationship, a very special one.”
“But not by choice.”
“Maybe not. But those feelings can change. He can become happy about this baby. He can be by my side when it comes into this world. He can look at our little miracle and fall in love with his child the first time he sees him or her. But he isn’t going to act happy or show affection because he’ll be afraid of upsetting you. Can’t you see? My baby will never have the full love of its father because of you. Can you in good conscience rob an innocent child of the love of its parent? Are you really that selfish?”
“I’d like you to leave. Now.”
I manage to stay strong until the door shuts, but I’m a tearful mess crumpled on the kitchen floor the minute she’s gone.
I lean against the cabinet, sobbing. Because I know there’s at least a little truth to what she said.
They share a child. They share a special relationship.
And I don’t have that with him.