It’s probably one of the longest and most fucked-up days of my entire life, and I did two tours in Afghanistan, for God’s sake. 

I have to go to the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner in Brooklyn, which was roughly where our last apartment was located before I gave up the lease. There was no damn way I was going to be able to afford the rent and childcare for Minnie without at least some help from Angie, and she was gone. Now she’s really gone, and I have to sit in some random office that could be any office in the entire city. It looks nothing like I thought it would look. I’d imagined some kind of, I don’t know, medical facility. Instead, it’s just an office building from the seventies.

Another thing that surprises me is the wait. I have to wait two hours in a little queue of people because apparently today is a busy day for dead bodies. It sounded urgent on the phone, so the fact that I have to sit in a little office chair outside some guy named Edward’s door for two hours of my life is jarring, to say the least, and fucking ridiculous, to say the most.

It gives me lots of time to wonder if I’ve done the right thing by leaving Minnie with Valentine.

I’m pretty certain that I’ve done the wrong thing the more I think about it. Valentine didn’t sign up for a too-hot-summer-spicy-fling to end up babysitting my daughter while I identify my ex-girlfriend’s body. I can’t even think that thought without a shiver running down my spine. It’s a thought that has no business in anyone’s head.

But the main thing is Valentine. 

She didn’t seem to have any hesitations about staying with Minnie. I just left the both of them and drove away to the city.

I try to berate myself for it while I’m sitting there outside the office, but I can’t bring myself to do it. If Valentine’s not trustworthy, I don’t know who is. Plus, Minnie seems to be into her. A day out of daycare won’t do her any harm. 

I sit and stew, hands folded in my lap, and try to keep my heartrate under control. It’s been at least a few months since I’ve seen Angie—maybe even six, it’s hard to say now—and part of me is afraid of what might have happened to her. I don’t want to have to tell Minnie some horrendous story one day about the state of her mother the last time anyone bothered to say her name. Lying doesn’t seem like the best option either, for future Minnie.

God, I’m so fucking pissed at Angie. She has—had—a beautiful daughter. Minnie’s like nothing the world has ever seen. Why wasn’t that ever enough for her? Why was she such a violent, self-centered person? 

I work myself up into an angry tizzy, sitting in the office building’s hallway. It seems fucking weird that this is where they keep the bodies, with the people ahead of me finally getting called back one by one into the office.

In what has to be the world’s biggest anticlimax, there’s no body.

It’s just me and Edward. He slides a photograph of Angie’s face across the desk toward me. “Do you recognize this person as Angela Molter?”

I look down at the photo. It’s definitely Angie all right, stringy brown hair and all. She looks like she’s fucking sleeping, which is what she did whenever she had a spare minute. There was almost never time to play with Minnie or take her to the playground or anything else, but she did have time to get high and sleep. 

The sight of her unleashes a torrent of feelings that threatens to sweep me away. I’m angry. I’m devastated for Minnie. I’m at a loss for words. I’m unbelievably sad that I’ll have to explain this to my daughter one day. There’s no way I’m ever going to be able to take away the pain once she knows.

Not one of the emotions is love.

All of that is stored up, waiting for Valentine, who offered to spend more time with Minnie today than Angie did in the last year she was alive. I’d bet that’s true. It’s fucked up, but it’s true.

I swallow the lump in my throat. My hands clenched themselves into fists without me realizing it, and I have to work to release them.

“It’s her,” I say, and Edward nods, scribbling something on the form. 

He starts to ask me questions about arrangements for Angie’s body, but I can’t take in much beyond a dull hum. My back aches from sitting in that uncomfortable-as-fuck chair all morning. The rest of me is dying to get back to Valentine and Minnie. So instead of answering I scribble down a number that I’m almost sure is Angie’s uncle’s and walk out. 

They can deal with this. I’m finished. I’ve wiped my hands of all of it.

I’m ready to move on.

* * *

My shoulders don’t relax until I’m back in Lakewood, which is a surprise because I hate this place.

Only I don’t think I hate it as much as I first thought.

There’s no car in Valentine’s driveway, and in the kitchen, I find a note. 

Went to the playground—she wanted another round! -V

It brings a smile to my face. Minnie loves the hell out of the playground at the beach, and that’s all that matters. That she’s happy. That both of them are happy.

I turn around and walk straight back out to the car. The day doesn’t seem quite so damn oppressive anymore. At the beach, I want to sit with my arm around Valentine, watch Minnie splash in the water, and tell her that we should make this something real. Something more. I don’t know how I’ll find the words, but she’ll understand. That, at least, is a given.

At least, I think it’s a given, right up until I pull into the parking lot and get out of the car.

Minnie’s in a swing, laughing her head off, and Valentine stands behind her, giving her a push every time she comes backward.

None of that is the problem.

The problem is the guy that’s standing just to the side of Valentine, smiling at my daughter, laughing in the sun. He’s way too close. He’s way too familiar with her.

No fucking way.