As I’m cleaning the bumps, black and blue bruises, grazes along both of my cheeks, I bite my lip from the pain shooting through me. I don’t look so good when I look into the mirror, but it was all worth it for Melody to disappear alone rather than with him. I kept her from drinking a spiked drink, even if I endured such shiners, she’s safe and that’s what matters. Sure, I would’ve loved if she’d stayed to help me out, but she did give me CPR and made sure I was alive. That’s more than I expected. I knew punching the drink out of her hand would have repercussions. But I didn’t care. I was more concerned about her safety. On the plus side, Douchebag was kicked out of the bar and told to never return. I wasn’t the only one that saw what he had done; I was just the only one quick enough to react.
Packing my bag to spend the weekend with my mom. She’s invited Melody and I to dinner, but with us splitting, I’m not sure if I’ll see her there. My mom and her father are actually still dating. They’re very fond of each other and mom speaks highly of Grant, every phone call she talks about him, they act like teenagers in love for the first time. It’s endearing, but annoying now that Melody and I are no longer together. This break up is harder than any other break up though; we will have to see each other for family gatherings and so on if our parents stay together. It’s not going to be easy on me since I’m still so much in love with her.
“It’s been forever,” my mother hugs me so tight I might just lose blood flow.
“Mom!” I try to pull back a little, “you’re squeezing a little too hard.”
“Shit! What happened to your face?” her eyes get real big.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” I try give her less to worry about.
“Doesn’t look like it, here come in, let’s put some lotion on it,” she holds the door open for me.
“I’m good, I took care of it before I came down,” I throw my bag in the foyer of the house surprised to see Melody’s father in the kitchen.
“Hey kid,” he smiles and greets me with a hug. A hug I’m not sure how to feel about.
“Hey Grant,” I politely smile.
“I’m going to head home, call me later, but I’m sure you two have lots to catch up on, love you,” he kisses my mom, “see you later, son,” he pats me on the shoulder as he walks away.
I expected a lot seeing him. I expected a look of hatred. I expected him to be upset and would never want to see me again, which makes me question if Melody bothered telling her dad we broke up, why we broke up, or if she took the blame for something she shouldn’t have. So many questions run through my mind I might never get the answers to.
“Hey mom, can we talk?” I ask her to join me in the living room.
“What’s up?” she joins me on the couch.
“Has Grant mentioned anything about Melody and I breaking up?”
“What? No! I had no idea. When did this happen?”
“A couple of weeks ago.”
“Is that why your face is bruised?”
“No, that’s a long story.”
“Short version?”
“I saw her at the bar with a guy, he spiked her drink, I took it from her before she could drink, he wasn’t happy about it, and you know, typical bar fight broke out,” there’s nothing really more to tell about the story. I leave the part out she kissed me and then ran.
“So, why’d you two break up?”
This is the moment of truth.
“Promise you won’t rip my head off?” My mom is pretty cool, but some things get to even her. She doesn’t lose her shit like most people might or start to be downright mean, but she can get upset.
“Now you’re scaring me, Elliot.” Hell. I’m scaring myself.
“Supposedly. Big supposedly Samantha might be having my baby. I still don’t believe it,” I get interrupted by her.
“What do you mean supposedly? How is someone supposedly pregnant.”
“Oh no, she’s pregnant alright, but I still don’t believe the kid is mine.”
“You haven’t done a paternity test? Son. You should get that done,” she grabs a hold of my hand for comfort.
“I have, but I’m waiting on results,” it’s the truth.
“Do you have a number? You should call for your results if you haven’t heard from them,” she lectures me for a few more minutes how irresponsible it is for me to just sit and wait for the results.
“It shouldn’t take more than 72 hours for the results.”
“How would you know that?” I’m curious.
“I’ve helped a friend at the restaurant get his results once,” everyday this woman surprises me about something she’s either gone through or helped friends with.
“Uh, okay,” I shake my head, “well help me figure it out. I want to know, but I don’t,” I lean back on the couch and stare up at the ceiling.
“That’s why you two broke up? She can’t handle you being a dad?”
“She doesn’t know all the details. She broke up with me before I got the chance to tell her, I guess she found out, and I looked like a fool trying to explain something she accuses me of lying about. She refuses to talk to me,” I pour my heart and soul out to my mom, “I love this girl so much, Ma, but I don’t think I know how to fix this,” I sigh.
“Want me to talk to her?” I do. But I don’t.
“I’d rather you not, she will think I put you up to it. This isn’t for you to fix, I will figure something out,” I close my eyes and all I see is images of her.