He was drinking again, and it was almost noon. I had to work in an hour and he knew it. A careless attempt to remind him didn't make any difference.
"Don't forget I have leave for work soon, it's just you and the kiddo for a while."
My attempt at nonchalance fails. He shoots a glare to where I am standing with a smirk on his face.
"Ya I know. I can have a couple drinks and still watch my own kid without your help."
It really didn't make me feel better, it just reminded me how ridiculous this all was, almost like rubbing my face in the fact that I hadn't done something before. At least it was a short shift today.
**
The supervisor told me that I had a phone call. Immediate worry popped into my head, what had happened? was the baby sick? I head to the phone and pick it up, my hand was slick with sweat.
"I'm going out. You need to come home and watch him."
"What? I'm working, you know I can't just leave. I'll be home in a couple hours. You can't leave a 2 year old home alone by himself."
"Ya, well, I'm leaving here in 15 minutes whether you are here or not."
**
Racing through traffic I wonder if he was lying or not. It does occur to me how sad it was that I totally believed him. Followed closely, again, with how stupid I must be to begin with to be with him still.
I pull in the driveway and his friend's truck is idling in the yard, he wasnt' kidding I guess - or he just knew me all too well.
I found him in the little kitchen, giving our son a PB&J - he didn't even cut it in half for him
"Two minutes to spare. Cutting it kinda close weren't you?"
So many responses fly thorugh my brain, but I say nothing. I pick up the sandwich, cut it in half, and put it on a plate. I felt the tears well up at the hopelessness of it all, but he hated it when I cried, and it made it worse. I turned to the sink to get a glass of water, turning my back on him.
"One of these times you are going to push me too far, you know. I don't know how long I can keep doing this with you." I can hear him heading to the front door behind me.
"Ya, I doubt it"
The door slammed, and I never looked back.
I held you in my arms, and the tears rolled down my cheeks.
You never said you loved me, but I did.
You said it was great to be together, and it was.
But then you said, in your journal lying next to your bed, that our relationship was "inconvient" and it broke my fragile heart.
I asked you about it, but you weren't even mad I had read it.
You just said you were sorry.
It didn't make the hurt go away, it made it deeper, more permanent.
You said it wasn't my fault, but I knew it was, somehow.
You drove me home and asked if you could have a hug, and I knew that it was goodbye.
I held you in my arms, for one last time, with tears rolling down my cheeks.
I met the most amazing person last week. He came through the doorway and I caught sight of him as he entered the room. He was a young guy, tall and handsome, with freckles sprinkled across his cheeks, broad shoulders and a narrow waist. He walked like someone that was comfortable in his own skin, just being who he was, you can tell. He wasn't wearing the baggy pants or noxious screen print shirts you see so often on people old enough to know better. He was whistling as he went, but it wasn't a tune I could place. Who whisltes now-a-days? Everyone has iPod's or some other gadget to fill their brain with noise. This was a guy who thought his own thoughts, one who made his own way in the world, followed his own path - definately the kind of guy you could take home to meet your parents. He met my eye and I smiled at him, with a hint of invitation in my own eye. "Come talk to me" it said. He cocked his head and returned the smile. As he walked toward me, I could smell his cologne, it was a warm kind of smell that made me think of chocolate.
"Hey, mom. Whatcha doin?"
