It felt good to wake up to no alarm clock or child jumping on the bed, wanting to get Sunday morning started nice and early. The house was empty. Super quiet. The kind of Sunday morning I dreamed of. But it lasted all of ten seconds before I missed the noise and the chaos that had become my life as a single mother.

I missed Sam. He’d be home soon enough though. I’d have to hear all the stories about spending the weekend with his father, my heart in my throat, hoping that nothing had happened that would need me to make an uncomfortable call, starting yet another fight in our relationship.

Even though we’d split up, we were tied together for the rest of our lives thanks to Sam. And never once could I let Sam think for a second that it was a bad thing. He was lucky he had two parents that loved him. Even if I had to carry a lot more of the slack than his father did, I was just happy that Keith didn’t break and make a run for it for good. He kept to his word of taking Sam every other weekend. Now whether that really made Keith a good father or not, I didn’t know.

Of course these were the thoughts racing through my mind on a Sunday morning. When I had the chance to sleep in some more. When I had the chance to slowly walk downstairs for coffee. Or maybe take a long, hot shower. Even just walk around the house naked, without a worry.

My only plan for the morning was to meet up with my friend Norah for breakfast. There was this great little place right around the corner that was open for breakfast on the weekends and three nights during the week for themed nights. All-you-can-eat pasta night. Taco night. And a surprise menu night.

I couldn’t wait to get the most perfect sunny side up eggs of my life, the kind with a gooey, yellow center and amazingly crisp edges that had just enough pepper on them. Add to that a glass of orange juice thick with pulp, and a hot cup of coffee; it was the best breakfast in the world. Plus, meeting up with Norah was always fun. She was still living the single life and had plenty of stories to share. To her, I was suddenly an old woman, some homemaker that never saw the light of day and only watched the news, soap operas, and gameshows, all the while washing laundry, ironing clothes, and cooking dinner.

There was more to my life than that.

Not much. But some.

The world of going out and dating, while mixing in working to survive and raising Sam, mostly on my own, didn’t seem to exist.

I stayed right there in my bed, staring at the white ceiling, just taking deep breaths. I loved this house and hoped to buy it someday. Everything was so symmetrical that it tamed my sometimes-quiet OCD when it came to certain things. My bed fit right between the windows at the back of the bedroom. I had thick, off-white curtains that blocked some of the sun, but not all of it. I liked waking up to a bright room.

My wish to buy the house was a distant dream because the guy who owned it - Jack - would sometimes hint at selling, but never truly had an interest in doing it. His sister had bought the house, then when she became too ill to live there, he bought it from her and wanted to keep it in the family. Even though they have no family.

Plus, I couldn’t buy the house if I wanted to. Half the time I’d hand Jack the rent check with a nervous smile, calculating my bank balance and how fast he and I could get to the bank to make sure I had enough in there for the check to clear. But my track record was perfect so far. No missed payments. No bounced checks.

Go me.

It wasn’t the easiest process to go from a small family to suddenly looking for a place to live. Giving up my own business I had worked hard to build from nothing, even if it didn’t fully provide. And needing to take care of a five-year-old who had no idea what was happening. For all Sam knew, Keith wanted to live in a new house by himself. And I let him believe that. Whether it was right or wrong, I didn’t know, but it worked for now.

After a few peaceful minutes and the wicked urge to pee, I threw the covers off and walked to the bathroom. I sat there, yawning, imagining those crispy edges of the eggs and the smell of the open kitchen.

I skipped brushing my teeth because I hated the way anything tasted for hours afterward.

As I walked back into my bedroom, my phone screen was lit up.

If it was Norah, then this would be a world record. I was usually the one calling her to wake her up. Knowing her, she probably went to bed a few hours ago and was possibly going to have to find her clothes to sneak out of some guy’s apartment and make a run for it.

That kind of life made me shake my head.

Then again, who was I to even think about judging someone? Getting tied up with my high school sweetheart and that whole forever is ours thing. Seeing the cracks in the foundation a long time ago but never doing anything about it because everyone thought it was oh so cute that we met in high school and stuck it out throughout the years. Ending up pregnant and having Sam. And now, struggling to pay the bills, keep food on the table and make sure Sam was happy because things finally broke apart for me and Keith.

Well, it wasn’t Norah calling.

It was Keith.

With a text.

Out front. Trying to call you. WTF Jordyn?

I leaned toward the window and peeled opened the blinds.

There was Keith’s car, parked right in the middle of the street with his four-way lights flashing. I could see Sam sitting in the back seat, looking out the window. It broke my heart because I never really knew if he was happy or not with everything.

I stepped back and texted Keith back.

Thought you were bringing him home later…

It was an unusual text to send. I was picking a fight with him. I regretted sending the message, but I was pissed off. He was going to drop Sam off and then be free until his next Friday when he’d pick him up for his weekend again. Nothing during the week though. Because Keith lived forty minutes away and worked twelve-hour shifts, four days on, three days off.

I juggled working as the office rhymes with witch for a real estate company, and taking catering jobs when I had the time and a babysitter for Sam.

My phone buzzed with a return message from Keith.

I’m out front. If you want to do this the hard way, Sam could walk to the front porch. I know you’re home.

“Dick,” I whispered.

I held back my response, knowing that the only person who would truly get hurt here was Sam.

I walked down the stairs as I sent Norah a good morning wake-up text to let her know that it was indeed morning and that I wasn’t going to make our breakfast date. She’d still go to breakfast though, and why not? I couldn’t fault her for it.

I opened the front door to the house and felt a cold nip in the air. Another sign that summer was officially on its way out and fall was on its way in.

I stepped out onto the old porch and gave a wave to Sam.

The second he saw me, his eyes lit up and he smiled big.

He opened the back door to Keith’s car in a hurry, throwing his bag over his back and hugging his body pillow as he ran toward me. His left shoe was untied. He was in the same pants he left in on Friday. His hair was a mess, reminding me to schedule a haircut.

“Mom!” he cried out as he tore up the porch.

I crouched and shut my eyes, waiting for the hug.

There was nothing like it.

I took a deep breath, and everything felt right.

Sam was the only good thing in my life.

* * *

Some weeks went by really slowly. Where the days themselves felt like weeks. Managing a two-person schedule shouldn’t have been as hard as it was, but in reality, it wasn’t just managing myself and Sam. It was managing our lives and the lives of those I counted on to help out. Which meant having a backup plan to the backup plan or else Sam would end up at work with me. And depending on which boss was there that day, it was either okay to have him there, or a sliver of hell would be waiting for me the next day.

Then there were other weeks when it went by so fast, that once that second Friday hit, and Sam started to pack up his bag with clothes and toys, I’d stand in the doorway to his bedroom and feel my heart aching for him.

He was mature for his age, thanks to his innocence already being chipped away. That was my fault. Keith’s too, but I refused to speak for him or defend him. All I could do was blame myself.

I watched Sam zip up the bag then give it a pat.

“You good?” I asked.

He looked back and nodded.

“You got your pillow?”

“Yeah,” he said and pointed to it.

“Mind if I come in and talk?”

“Sure,” he said.

I stepped into the small bedroom. I hated myself for calling the bedroom small. To me, Sam deserved the biggest bedroom a kid could ever have. With all the toys he ever wanted. His own TV. Those glow in the dark stars and planets that you’d stick to the ceiling. A giant telescope in the corner so he could look out to the stars at night instead of sleeping.

That was just the guilty Mom deep inside me talking.

I sat on the edge of the bed. “What are you and Dad going to do this weekend?”

“I dunno,” he said.

I taught myself a long time ago to not refer to Keith as your father around Sam. I didn’t want him to think that Keith and I were enemies. Even if Keith hadn’t seen Sam since he dropped him off early a couple of Sundays ago.

“I hope you have a good time,” I said.

“I will.”

“If you need anything, you know my phone number, right?”

“Yes,” Sam said. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll miss you, Sammy.”

“Don’t call me that,” he said, curling his eyebrows down. “I don’t like that.”

“Why not? I always call you Sammy.”

“Sammy is a girl’s name.”

I laughed. “Who told you that?”

“Dad,” Sam said. “He said Sammy is for Samantha. My name is Samuel.”

I sucked in a breath and counted to four. “Okay. Well, there are plenty of names that can be for both boys and girls. Look at my name. Jordyn. That could be a boy's name.”

“Did you get picked on for it?”

Great. So now my son feels picked on by his father.

“Sam, listen to me,” I said. “Sometimes there is nothing that someone won’t pick on you for. Does that make sense?”

“No,” he said.

I opened my mouth but stopped. I didn’t want to put any other ideas in his head of what he could be picked on for.

“Don’t worry about it. Your name is Samuel. We’ve always called you Sam. I call you Sammy because you’re my baby.”

“Mom…”

“But,” I said, lifting a hand, “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll only call you Sammy when it’s just you and me. It’ll be our secret.”

“Okay,” Sam said. He slowly smiled. “Thank you.”

I reached for his small hand and squeezed it. “But, hey. Don’t ever let anyone change your mind because of what they think.”

“Even Dad?” he asked.

I swallowed hard. What I felt like calling Keith was on the tip of my tongue.

“Let me carry your stuff downstairs,” I said.

I felt more toys than clothes in the bag, which was expected for Sam. He could entertain himself for days, which I appreciated. I knew that Keith really had nothing for him to do at his place, so a bag full of toys with a few clothes was always how the bag was packed.

Downstairs, I left his bag and pillow at the door.

We still had about ten minutes together.

“Want some ice cream?” I asked, almost feeling desperate to have every second with him.

Funny how the day Keith dropped him off early I was a little annoyed because I wanted to go out with Norah, and now I was all but holding myself together as though I wouldn’t see him for weeks.

“Ice cream?” Sam asked.

“A little treat before you leave.”

“No thanks,” he said. “Dad gets me ice cream on Friday night. After we get pizza.”

“Wow. Pizza and ice cream. I’m jealous of your night.”

“You can come with us,” he said. “I don’t mind.”

I smiled. “Ah, that’s sweet of you to say. But Dad likes his time alone with you.”

“Not really. Marcy will be there.”

“Who’s Marcy?”

“His girlfriend.”

“Excuse me?” I asked. “When did you meet Marcy?”

“I dunno,” Sam said.

More questions attacked my mind, but again I held back.

I sat with Sam on the couch and watched some mindless cartoon, waiting to hear Keith pull up and beep the horn.

When he did, I jumped up first. “Sam, stay here for a minute.”

Sam was glued to the cartoon.

I left the house and saw Keith getting out of his car. It was some dark blue, muscle car. Or something like it since it had four doors. I didn’t know a thing about cars. What I did know was that the car was too loud and went too fast. But I had to trust that he didn’t do anything stupid in the car with my - our - son in it.

Keith walked around to the back passenger door and opened it.

“Got his seat all ready to go,” he said.

“Who’s Marcy?”

The way I said it, I sounded like a petty and jealous girlfriend.

Keith sighed. “Jesus…”

“Just curious. I thought you were spending your weekends with our son.”

“I am,” he said. “And I ran into a friend.”

“Girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend,” he said. “It’s my business.”

“Our business when it involves our son.”

“Jordyn, I would never do anything to harm our son.”

“I’ve heard that before,” I said, knowing I was letting the bitch attitude cut deep.

Keith curled his lip. The wickedly good-looking bad boy, who used to smoke in school, was now a struggling-to-stay-sober man who played the role of father every other weekend.

“I’m not talking about it,” he said.

“Fair enough then,” I said. “I got his hair cut this week, finally.”

“That’s good,” he said. “He was getting a little bit of a mop up there.”

“Yeah.”

Keith crossed his arms and leaned against his car. “What?”

“What?” I asked.

“You came out here alone to attack me about Marcy. I didn’t mean for Sam to meet her. It’s not really a new thing, so it’s not a big deal to me.”

“Must be nice to have that kind of free time, huh?”

“There it is,” Keith said. “This is about the every-other-weekend thing, right?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “You’re busy though. I get it.”

“I’m here right now. This is what we agreed upon, Jordyn. Remember that? When we went to court? I remember it. I signed what you wanted me to sign. I pay what I’m supposed to pay. I show up and pick the kid up. I drop him off. I stay sober. That’s my end of the deal. What I do besides that… that’s none of your fucking business.”

I almost forgot how vile Keith could sound. To go from looking like a jerk to spitting venom in my face.

“We’re supposed to do this together,” I said.

“We are.”

“You were having problems when this all started, Keith,” I said. “That’s why things happened…”

He stepped toward me. “Don’t remind me of my past, Jordyn. Don’t make me bring up your past.”

“My past? What did I do that was so wrong?”

Oh, Jordyn, why are you doing this?

Keith chuckled. “You’re the same as always. Forever a victim. You think I’m going to apologize for anything anymore? You’re out of your damn mind. Now go get my son or else I’ll go get him myself.”

“Don’t you dare take a step toward my house,” I said.

“You don’t own that. You don’t own anything, Jordyn. If it wasn’t for me sending you a check each month, you’d have nothing.”

“Fuck you,” I spat.

“Nah. That ride’s over, baby. You couldn’t handle it anyway.”

I felt my hand twitching, begging to slap him across the face.

This was just proof of why Keith and I weren’t together.

Even still, standing next to his car on my street and fighting with him over stupid stuff did nothing good for anyone. I saw the look in his eyes and knew I was pushing him toward his breaking point. He always blamed me for his drinking and other actions. So not being near me was the catalyst to get sober. Whether it was true or not, it was another piece of guilt to rest on my shoulders.

“I’ll go get Sam,” I said as I turned away.

I touched the corners of my eyes, knowing that I couldn’t cry.

I would save that for when Sam was gone.