Lila is five weeks along, so the good news is the last time I let her convince me not to wear a condom is not when I knocked her up. It was the time before that. The bad news is now all I can think about is how much alcohol she has consumed in that time period and whether or not that’s going to affect my baby. Just because I don’t want the baby doesn’t mean I want something to happen to it.
Although, I won’t lie. Miscarriage and an abortion keep crossing my mind about once a day, which makes me feel like an absolute shit human being for wishing that on my own child. But is it so terrible when I know exactly what its mother will be like? When I’m struggling with my own bad habits? Look at how Lila has turned out to be. Look at how she treats me. How will she treat a child that only exists because she wanted to ensure I was tied to her?
And if I don’t have the strength to walk away from her because I have too much pride, shame, and embarrassment, then what kind of father will I be? Not only that, but I smoke and I drink. Babies aren’t supposed to be around cigarette smoke or have alcoholics for fathers. That poor kid has no hope with both Lila and me for parents. None whatsoever. Its life is already starting out like shit because I don’t want it and Lila’s excitement doesn’t seem genuine. The only thing I know for sure is I’m going to hell and I’ll probably take my baby with me.
As if today can’t get any worse, I come home to find a package for me. Lila knows not to open my mail. She did it once and I berated her long enough that she let me win and never did it again. If she has, I don’t know about it. The package is from my mother.
With a sigh, I sit at the table and rip the envelope as Lila peers over my shoulder. My heart breaks as I pull out a onesie that says I love my daddy. Lila says something about how cute it is and she even takes the envelope, peering inside as if expecting something similar for her, but my mom didn’t send anything else.
My thumb rubs over the soft fabric. My heart pounds as I picture a squirming little baby filling this onesie out and reaching for me. I can imagine a crying baby, wanting love and comfort and finding me as the only sorry source because I can’t ever see Lila even holding a baby, much less loving one. All my horrible thoughts seem to disappear as I realize I’ll have to be this baby’s saving grace. As I realize that maybe, just maybe, I can be my baby’s saving grace.
Fisting the onesie, I stand. “Hey, I need to go see my mom.”
“Now?” Lila asks with a frown.
“Yeah. I’ll spend the night and come back in the morning. Will you be okay here by yourself?”
“Why do you need to see your mom?” There’s suspicion in her eyes, but she can follow me all the way there if she wants.
“I want to apologize in person about the post you made and tell her how far along you are. I just need to see her.” Maybe I sound desperate because Lila doesn’t put up a fight. She nods and agrees to let me go. “Thanks, babe.” I lean forward to kiss her and then go to our room to pack a few things.
Once I’m in the car, I tell my mom I’m on the way to talk to her and Dad. Unless something does happen, this baby is coming. That baby will feel real soon and I need to start putting my baby ahead of myself and my weaknesses. That innocent baby will be helpless and will need someone he or she can depend on. That won’t be Lila. It will have to be me. The pity party is over.
“FC, what’s wrong?” my mom says the moment she opens the door, concern written all over her face.
“We need to talk.”
She leads me into the living room where my father sits in his favorite seat. “What’s going on?” she asks.
“Thanks for this.” I hold up the onesie. I haven’t been able to put it down yet. “She’s five weeks along.”
“Okay,” Mom says slowly, glancing at Dad. “You had to drive all this way to tell us that? Not that it isn’t great to see you.”
A deep breath fills my lungs, then quickly deflates them. How do I say what I need to say? What will they think of me? I look down at the onesie. This is for my baby. I have to step up for my baby.
“Is something wrong with the baby already?” Mom asks.
“No, I don’t think so,” I reply. “This is mostly about me.”
“Spit it out, son. Whatever it is, it’ll be all right.” Dad nods in affirmation, believing in his words.
“Okay, well, um, things with Lila aren’t great. They haven’t been practically since I moved there.” Mom and Dad exchange a look. “She, uh, well…” I glance down at the onesie again. I have to do this. I have to do it for my baby. My baby who needs at least one strong parent, which will obviously have to be me. “She hits me,” I say quietly. “Short, violent temper. She drinks. I drink. I’ve started smoking again, too. But our relationship is a lot of me working, taking care of her, her beating on me for whatever reason, and now she’s pregnant.”
Before I can brave a look at my mother, she takes a seat next to me and wraps her arms around me, holding my head against her chest. “I knew something was wrong. I’ve been telling your dad that for months.”
“You’re brave for staying and for telling us,” Dad says, causing me to look up at him with confusion. “I’m assuming you haven’t hit her back?” I shake my head. “Brave,” he repeats. “Strong.”
“Why did you decide to tell us now? What are you going to do?” Mom asks.
“Because there’s a baby. A baby I don’t even want,” I admit in a whisper. “She trapped me.”
Mom’s eyes widen. “FC, I love you, but you can’t go around saying that about a woman.”
“I’m not lying,” I say, a tad harshly. “What else do you call it when she stops taking her birth control without telling you, when she says she is still taking it, and then tells you you either have sex without a condom or you get hit and have to spend the night in a hotel?” That has to be one of the worst things I’ve ever said to my parents, but I don’t need them to question me about Lila.
Mom’s jaw drops and Dad looks pissed.
“You sent me this,” I rub the fabric of the onesie, “and it hit me. It got a little more real. I need a plan to get away from Lila and take my baby with me. That’s why I decided to tell you.”
“You need to quit the drinking,” Dad orders. “Anything she could use against you, stop right now.”
I nod and Mom says, “Start documenting everything she does that will hurt her and help you. Every time she hits you, write it down. They’ll want documentation.”
We talk for hours about a plan and Mom pesters me with questions about what my life has been like, becoming more and more upset as the night wears on. It feels good to get it off my chest, for someone else to know the secret I’ve been keeping. They give me hope that I’ll be able to get out of this situation and take my baby with me.
But when I get home the next evening, Lila not only has dinner ready, but there’s a shot of tequila waiting patiently by my plate. My mouth waters as I stare at it. My heart beats faster. I want it even more, knowing I can’t have it.
“What’s the matter?” Lila asks.
“Nothing.” I lift my eyes to look at her. “I’ve been thinking, though, and you’re right.” My hand trembles as I lift the shot. Each step I take seems to echo drink, drink, drink, drink into my mind. Somehow, I manage to pour it down the sink and then grab the bottle. “If you can’t drink, neither should I.” Just as I slowly tilt it over, my body and mind want to rebel and pour the delicious liquid down my throat instead. Lila grabs my hand, stopping me. I sigh quietly with relief as I look over at her.
“No, FC. You don’t have to do that. It’s fine. I don’t mind if you drink.”
What? She was insistent before I left for my parents’. I shake my head. “I should quit now. We won’t be able to drink when the baby comes either. Our baby needs better parents than that, so I should quit now.” Once again, I tilt the bottle even though her fingers dig into mine. My eyes drink up every drop for my mouth. After another second, I think about how this is wrong and I should save some of it. Just in case.
I didn’t realize it would be this difficult.
I take a deep breath as the last drop disappears down the drain. “There. First step to becoming better.”
“Proud of you, babe,” Lila says, but it lacks sincerity. “Let’s eat dinner.”
“What do your parents think about the baby?” I ask.
Lila shrugs. “They aren’t happy. Mom said we should’ve been more careful. Dad thinks they’ll end up having to pay and take care of the baby.”
Well, it’s nice to know they think I’ll leave Lila with my baby. As if talking about her conjured the woman, there’s a knock on the door and I open it to find Lila’s mother standing on the other side.
“Oh, good. You’re both here. We all need to talk.” Karen walks past me and finds a chair to sit in.
I close the door and sit next to Lila on the couch. Karen folds her hands together on top of her lap. It’s never good when we see Lila’s mom and I dislike her almost as much as Lila for the simple fact that one day she came over, saw me with a black eye, and didn’t look surprised. She didn’t ask me what happened or how I got it. She didn’t acknowledge it at all and that’s when it hit me. She knows exactly how her daughter is and what she does. I’m not the first person she’s hit.
I was so pissed when I made that realization, I got drunk off my ass as soon as she left.
“What are you here for?” Lila asks.
“Since you’re pregnant, your dad and I have talked a few things over.” She glances between the two of us. “We’ve decided it’s time that both of you start being more responsible.”
“What the hell did you just say?” I interrupt. Drinking aside, I’m responsible. I’ve never missed a day of work and I pay my bills. How am I irresponsible?
Karen ignores me. “We want rent and Lila, you’re taking over your car payment, phone bill, and car insurance.”
Rent, I’m totally okay with. So far, we’ve only paid utilities, but that’s her fault. That’s all she’s ever made Lila pay, which is something Lila made me take over soon after I moved in. But the rest? Hell no. I stand.
“Hold on just a fucking minute. You know she quit her job, right? I’m not about to take over all of her bills because you’re tired of paying them, especially when she could be working right now.” I turn to Lila. If I’m going to get bitched at tonight, might as well go whole hog. “Speaking of that shit you pulled, you didn’t talk to me about it first. If you want to stay at home with the baby, fine. We should talk about that, but there is no reason why you can’t still be working.” Lila opens her mouth, but I cut her off. “Yeah, you’re pregnant, I know. But your ass ain’t helpless and you aren’t bedridden. You can still stand for eight hours a day at a convenience store for three days a week.”
“Well, it’s not like I can go back now,” she says with a bit of a whine that grates my eardrums.
“Then you better find a way to talk this out with your mom because I ain’t paying that shit.” I face Karen. “Rent is reasonable, but the rest you can deal with her.” Since I’ve said my piece and I’m done with this conversation, I walk out and into our bedroom to leave them to it.
I need to save every bit of what money I can for a lawyer to get custody of my baby. I don’t want to start paying Lila’s bills because her parents are tired of it. They shouldn’t have taken care of her bills instead of making her responsible for them. They’ll be paying them again when I eventually leave anyway.
A little while later, I hear the door close. It takes all of ten seconds for Lila to come into the bedroom.
“Babe, I could use a drink.”
I laugh, totally not expecting her to be calm right now. “We’re both out of luck with that.” I pat the space next to me. “Come tell me what she said to you.”
Maybe she really is trying. Maybe I won’t need to get a lawyer and ask for full custody of my kid.
Small hopes about Lila are always destroyed and I don’t know why I can’t remember that. I don’t know why I can give her little pieces of hope and forgiveness time after time when she proves herself to be a dirty, manipulative, up to no good woman every fucking time. I’ve lived in this hell for so long and yet, I give her chances like it’s Halloween candy. Why?
Why when for a week, with every meal we have together, she puts a shot of tequila on the table? She knows I want to be sober, yet she wants to tempt me every chance she gets. When I sit down to watch TV, she wordlessly brings me a shot and I have to tell her no. She stands there, like she is now, as if I didn’t even speak. Normally, I take it and set it on the end table, just to make her sit.
But I’m not doing that today. She knows I won’t drink it and I don’t want it. She needs to stop trying to fuck up my sobriety. And tonight, I feel particularly vulnerable. I haven’t heard from Idaline in about a week, since I left her house after her grandfather showed up. I texted her earlier tonight and still no word, which is making me worry. What if that jerk came back and has hurt her again?
Not only is that bothering me, but I really want that shot. Work was long and stressful. My nicotine patch makes it so I don’t want to smoke, but I don’t have anything stopping me from knocking this shot back except the knowledge that I’m not supposed to do it. That there is a little growing baby counting on me to stay sober.
But what’s one shot?
My hand trembles as I hold the little glass and realize I haven’t immediately set it on the end table like I normally do.
“You’re worthless, FC,” Lila spits with distaste, but her words don’t distract me enough to look away from the shot. She started talking a second ago, but her rising voice has finally gotten my attention. “All I wanted tonight was to go out and spend some time with you, but you couldn’t even do that for me. I’m tired of staying home all the time. I’m here all day and you’re too sorry to take me out when you get home. It’s pathetic how you treat me, FC. I’m the mother of your unborn child! You should treat me better than this!”
Her rant goes on and on as she begins to pace in front of the coffee table.
“You can’t even support me! My parents have to pay my bills because you won’t be a man and do what’s right. You’re worthless. Absolutely worthless, FC.”
My hand seems to lift to my mouth in slow motion.
The liquid burns down my throat so easily. Muscles I didn’t realize were tense relax. It’s as if I take my first breath of fresh air in ten years; it’s that good. Before I can set the glass down, Lila takes it, continuing on her rampage. Good. I’m only supposed to drink one. But then there’s another in my hand and I don’t hesitate this time. Now that I’ve started, my willpower has diminished. All I want and can think about is more.
Tequila is all that matters tonight.