I am not doing this again.
That’s the only thing I can think as I drive to Libby’s house, hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly, my knuckles are turning white. The anger is coursing through me and it’s taking everything in me to get my breathing under control.
All of this is a game to her, and that infuriates me. My life is not a game. Our child’s life is not a game. And I’m tired of her making us the unwitting players just so she can feel like she has some sort of power. She isn’t going to uproot my life again. Fuck that. It’s not good for me, it’s not good for Elena, and it damn well isn’t good for my three-year-old daughter.
Screeching to a halt in front of her house, I slam the car door and stalk my way to the door. Before I reach the door, I stop, close my eyes, and take a few deep breaths.
Libby wants me to fly off the handle. She gets some sort of pleasure out of making me crazy with emotion. But if I’m going to get through to her, if I’m going to make a very strong point, I need to calm down.
She will not control all our lives anymore.
Pounding on the door, I wait for her to answer, running through all her different excuses in my head while I stand there. She’s going to surprise me, no matter what I do, but at least it makes me feel somewhat prepared.
The door finally flies open and Libby stands there, clearly annoyed that I’ve come over. Her lips are pursed, her hand is on her hip, and her head is cocked like she has better things to do than discuss uprooting our daughter again. So much beauty on the outside. So much ugly on the inside.
“What do you want, Greg?” As she stands in the doorway, I know she’s trying to block me from going in, but this conversation isn’t happening through the door. Pushing my way past her, she shrieks, “Hey! I didn’t invite you in.”
“And I didn’t ask,” I spout off. “Where’s Peyton?”
Crossing her arms, she throws me for the first loop. “She’s at daycare.”
What? “Since when does she go to daycare?”
She rolls her eyes like this is common knowledge and I’m an idiot for not keeping up. “Since always.”
“Bullshit. I’ve been watching her in the mornings when your mother goes to work and she can’t find you because you haven’t gotten home from partying yet. Where. Is. My. Daughter?”
She drops her arms and walks through the open-concept room to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water. At least it’s not a beer. I’ll at least give her credit for not normally being a day-drinker.
Taking a swig, her eyes never leave mine. She’s drawing this out, not ready to give in to me yet. It’s a battle of wills, but I’m not going anywhere until we hash this out. I’ve got nowhere to be. Except work in a little while, but they can start without me. This is too important.
Finally, she caves. “I told you. She’s at daycare. They have a drop-in program, but it doesn’t always have availability and I don’t always have the money to take her.” Her hands go back on her hips. “If you would give me more in child support, I might be able to actually take her regularly so she could get on a routine.”
“And if you dropped her off with me in the mornings, since you know full well I don’t work until the afternoons, you could save yourself a whole bunch of money.”
Daggers shoot out of her eyes. She was expecting me to be emotional and possibly irrational, not lob rational ideas back at her today. And the last thing she wants is for me to spend more time with Peyton. My daughter is my weakness. Keep me from my child, and I’m crippled. Libby knows that and loves to exploit it.
It’s all more games. How did I not see all this crap before now?
There is nothing I won’t do for Peyton. But I won’t follow along behind Libby blindly anymore. Peyton needs to see what a strong man is like. What putting your child’s needs above your own means. What loving your child more than you love yourself is all about.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I brace for the showdown that’s about to begin. “Now, what in the hell is this crap about you moving to Austin.”
“I got a job.”
“Where,” I demand. I’m through with asking her things. From now on, we shoot straight or not at all.
“At Dell.”
“Doing what.”
She slams the water bottle down on the counter. “It’s not your fucking business, asshole.”
“It is my fucking business,” I yell, taking one step toward her. “You don’t have a degree in anything that has to do with computers so my guess is you got an entry level job in the call center. Yet here we are, in a town ripe with call centers that don’t require you to take my daughter away from me!” I roar, and she actually takes a step back.
Briefly, very briefly, I think we might be making some headway, but she pulls herself together quickly.
“I don’t have to justify anything to you, Pencil Dick.” And here we go. She’s lowered herself to the name calling, so I know this is about to get nasty. “The mileage limitations in our divorce decree became null-and-void the minute we all moved to San Antonio. And I have physical custody of Peyton so you can’t stop me.”
She thinks she’s got me, but I’ve been anticipating this move and planning for it for over a year now.
“You gave me a week’s notice that you were moving to San Antonio, so you could live with a man you met online.”
She rolls her eyes again. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Whenever I would pick Pey up or drop her off, Aputi would do the hand-off with me because you were too busy playing on your phone, and he can verify this.”
She huffs and begins to speak, but I keep going before she can get a word in edgewise.
“Less than a year later, you up and moved back home because things got too ‘hard’.” I throw up the air quotes, to add insult to injury.
She blanches as I continue pointing out her flaws.
“You were falling-down drunk at Peyton’s birthday party.”
Another step towards her. This time, she steps back.
“Your mother drops the child off with me most mornings on her way to work because you aren’t home yet from a job you supposedly have, but no one can verify. A job that causes you to work overnights which severely limits your career choices and makes a lot of people have a lot of questions about what kind of business you’re actually in.”
“What are you implying?” she whispers.
“What I’m telling you is that you. Are. Not. Moving.” A strange sense of calm comes over me, knowing I’ve got her right where I want her.
“I have a job there, Greg.”
“Decline the offer. I guarantee you haven’t even begun the search for employment in this area. But let me make this clear.”
She swallows hard, waiting for me to drop the ax.
“I’m not playing this game with you anymore. You’re not going to uproot Peyton on a whim and mess with all of our lives.”
“It’s my life, too.”
“No!” I bellow. “If you even pack one box, I will file for full physical custody so fast your head will spin.”
She gapes at me, but I’m not done.
“I’ve been documenting for two years, and I will sue under the grounds that your home is an unstable environment for a child. Don’t. Push. Me.”
“No judge would remove a child from her mother!” she screams at me. But I call bullshit.
“No judge would hesitate with the amount of evidence I have against you and all the character witnesses I can call. And I will call them.”
It’s clear she knows I’m serious. So she switches tactics. Tears begin to flow down her cheeks. “You would take a child way from her mother? How could you do something like that to her?”
“I will do anything to make sure she is healthy, happy, and has both parents in her life. Even if it means forcing your hand. And let me remind you of something,” one more step forward, strictly for emphasis purposes, “if I win custody, when I win custody, not only will your child support cut off, but you’ll have to pay me.”
The truth of my words runs across her face momentarily making her pale, but in true Libby fashion, she recovers quickly. Steeling her spine, she pulls up to her full height and glares at me.
“Get out of my house.”
With a menacing smirk, I step back. “I’m glad we understand each other. See you tomorrow for the hand-off.”
I turn and stalk out the door, closing it gently behind me.
I got her. She knows it. I know it. And it’s done. The ball is in her court, but if she pushes me there will be a fight. And it feels good.
Smiling, I climb in my car, turning the ignition and put it into drive.
Now to head back to Elena and begin my future.