Chapter 4
4
IRENE
“Noooo,” Irene begged softly before putting her face in her hands, unable to ignore this any longer. That stupid mistake two months ago had been the stuff of nightmares – and she had fallen for all the classic lines.
Eric had shown up at her apartment with roses and a check for child support, which he was six months behind on, claiming that he wanted to make things right with her. He’d come in, apologized to her, asked how she was doing and looking back – she had been such a gullible fool.
Her ex-husband was the same troll, and she fell for all the same stuff, believing naively that he wanted to work things out. That he was truly sorry and loved them, wanting to make a family together.
Nope.
The jerk wanted a booty call.
She’d fallen for the oldest trick in the book – and now was pregnant. Eric had literally slapped her on the butt, jerked on his pants, and left without so much as an ‘I love you’ or anything. He’d used her – and she felt like some wadded-up tissue tossed to the side.
Oh, and that child support check?
Worthless – just like him.
He made her feel like she was nothing, completely trash to him – which is why she needed the job because this was never happening again. He’d signed away his visitation to Stephen two months ago, claiming it was too much work to try to talk to him. In fact, it should have sent off alarms in her head when he showed up after Stephen had gone to sleep… but noooo. The optimistic fool inside of her idiotically thought, ‘ Well, maybe he’s changed this time?’.
“I’m never going to learn,” she whispered, staring at the positive pregnancy test in horror. She could barely afford to live on her own, much less raise a baby again. Her apartment would not house a crib as well. Stephen already used a day bed for his own bed – that doubled as her couch for the apartment.
There would be diapers, clothing, doctors’ visits, not to mention her clothing because she had sold all her maternity clothes at a yard sale years ago.
And heard a knock at the bathroom door, knowing it was Stephen. Wiping her face quickly, she took a deep breath and threw away the evidence, before opening the door. Sure enough, her son was standing there, wiggling, holding his jeans in obvious distress.
Move!
Moving, she gestured back, chuckling as she darted out of the bathroom, giving him some privacy. He was seven and, in a few years, would be more in-tune with the differences between them and to throw a baby in the mix?
“Dang it…” she groaned aloud, hating herself right now and the decisions she’d made – and heard her phone go off. Wincing, she looked at the screen, already keenly aware the only text messages she got anymore were from her new boss, Barrett.
I like the purple towels. Great choice - thanks!
Rolling her eyes, she sighed. Maybe money was the bane of her existence. If she were well-off, maybe she wouldn’t be under all this stress. The money that Barrett was paying her was nice, and certainly made things much easier, but there was this sucking sensation in the back of her mind already ticking up the totals of what a baby would do to the teensy nest egg she’d built in the last three weeks that she worked for him.
I’m glad you liked them.
Candle smells awesome, too.
“Oh my gosh,” she muttered, not sure how to take him. “If he tells me I picked amazing toilet paper, I’m gonna have to say something. What kind of weird dude has his maid go pick out stuff for his house – and on top of it all – why would he live like that to start with?” And hesitated as she caught Stephen’s furrowed gaze looking at her.
He was trying to read her lips.
Sorry. I’m just griping, she gestured quickly.
Are you okay?
Yup. Annoying adult stuff. Are you ready for school?
Do I have to go?
Yes.
The kids make fun of me.
They suck, she signed emphatically, feeling her temper rise . Is it that little monster, Devin, again? I’ll talk to the teacher and your interpreter. He should not be bothering you.
No. Mommy, they wiggle their fingers at me, and then laugh about it. They aren’t talking to me. They are teasing me. My interpreter says to ignore him, but it hurts.
She swallowed back the lump in her throat, blaming it on hormones and wishing she could protect him from all the cruelty of the world. Her sweet soft boy did not deserve to deal with the hassles of public school.
They are jealous that you have a beautiful gift, and we can talk like this.
It’s not a gift, Mommy. They call it a disability, he signed, rolling his eyes and looking so much like her in that moment. Kneeling, she touched his face and met his gaze, smiling tenderly.
It is a gift – because YOU are the gift, she messaged him, feeling tears sting her eyes. You may not be able to hear, but you see, feel, and understand more than any of those kids. They are jealous because you are cool enough to talk with your hands. It’s like a secret language that you have to be in our special club to be a part of. Don’t let them bother you.
It’s hard. They are mean.
I know it is, but if they see you get upset, they will tease you more.
Can Barrett be in our club?
He can sign, right? She answered, trying not to think of how much it made her feel to watch the two of them talking. Barrett never ignored her son or pretended he wasn’t there. He was always unfailingly polite and outgoing toward the boy. It was her that he usually avoided unless it was an awkward text message.
Stephen’s knowing smile was enough to settle the conversation. That was fine. If he needed to feel like someone else was ‘in the club,’ then so be it. She would call the school and speak with the teacher to make sure that things weren’t getting out of hand.
Her phone beeped again, causing her to sigh.
What’s wrong? Stephen immediately asked.
Mommy is late for work, and Barrett is texting.
Can we send him a picture?
How about you color him one today at school instead? I don’t have any makeup on and don’t want to take a photo. I feel gross.
You look pretty.
You look like you are going to be late for school if we don’t get moving, buster!
Rising to her feet, she grabbed her purse and glanced at her phone. Barrett had sent her a photo. Clicking on it, she laughed.
What’s that?
A trivet.
You put hot stuff on it to keep from ruining the counter.
Oh – awesome! Thanks!
Irene chuckled as she walked out the door of the apartment, shutting it firmly behind her as Stephen ran along to the car. She was almost at the car when her blasted phone dinged again, showing that Barrett sent another message – with yet another picture.
Getting into the car, she jabbed her keys in the ignition and distractedly started it, while clicking on the screen… and burst out laughing wildly again, feeling Stephen tap on her shoulder. She didn’t hesitate, turning the phone to her son and seeing him look at her quizzically.
Barrett is being goofy.
I see.
Buckle up, please.
The photo Barrett sent her was a picture of him, sitting on the counter, with the trivet under one buttcheek – sticking out deliberately so you could see it. His expression was the same bland one except for a single eyebrow lifted in a mock challenge.
She texted him back.
Items you COOK that get hot.
Oh.
But thank you for the laugh – I needed it.
Are you okay?
Driving.
She sent the simple, terse text message to blow him off because they weren’t friends, and it was a huge mistake to feel an attraction to your boss. Hello? – she didn’t need to feel attracted to anyone right now. The last time she was attracted to a person, it was her ex-husband – and he’d left her with a child.
Twice.
She cursed loudly because she could, needing to get it out of her system in an attempt to make her feel better. It didn’t work. Nope, she felt pretty pathetic right now. Used, thrown away, not worthy of love – but then again, was Eric even capable? – all of that, and she was beyond frustrated that her son was being picked on.
Yeah, all in all, it was a pretty craptacular start to the morning.
T en minutes later, her morning was obviously starting off with a bang that could only go up from here. Dropping off Stephen, she had pulled out of the parking lot, only to have her phone ring.
Barrett – again .
“What do you need, Barrett?”
“Bad time?”
“So far this morning, it’s gone from bad to worse – to worser – to the absolute worstest – and yes, those are made-up words, and I suggest if you want me to keep showing your house with pretty things and cooking meals, that you not comment on it. Now, what particular item of choice are we texting about now? Is the plunger pretty? The trash can pedal a work of art? If you flip the switch next to the sink, that whirring noise is the garbage disposal…” and her voice trailed off as she realized that she was currently unloading all of her frustration and venom on her boss – and she was going to need that money. “I’m sorry, Barrett.”
“Bad morning?”
“Terrible if you want to know the truth.”
“Do you need to talk?”
“I need chocolate, caffeine, and to clobber a child…”
“WHAT?”
“I’m kidding,” she muttered, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I have a sick sense of humor and would never do it. Stephen is a gem, a saint; it’s the other little turds at his school that pick on Stephen for being deaf that I would like to put in a corner while I talk to their parents about their lack of sensitivity to children with special needs.”
“What school does he go to?” and there was a protective growl to Barrett’s voice that made something quiver within her stomach.
No! Bad girly-parts! Bad! Bad! No quivering! No playing nice with the boss man! She thought wretchedly about that pregnancy test, flashing before her eyes once more.
“Don’t worry about it,” she quickly interjected, changing the subject. “I’m just mad about a few things, and you shouldn’t have to listen to it. Now, about the new trash can? Did you see it?”
“The trash can pedal is a work of art,” Barrett chuckled and she felt something break inside of her as she sniffed back tears. “Hey, look, I know we have a weird work-thing going right now, but I would still like to consider you a friend – and Stephen. You get to see the other side of me and haven’t run yet. Now, I have to pay you to stick around…”
“The pay is pretty nice,” She laughed tearfully, needing something to perk her up.
“I’ll make the coffee before I head out to practice,” he offered gently. “Try to relax, maybe try some retail therapy, and I’ll order in dinner.”
“I had a roast thawed out and…”
“I’ll order in so you can take it easy, Irene.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. I’ll make sure and be gone so you can have some privacy…”
“I’m ordering for all of us,” Barrett interrupted. “There’s no reason you can’t unwind, and both of you join me for dinner.”
“Except it would be weird.”
“Only if you make it that way.”
“This is not romantic in any way, shape, or form – right?”
“You are killing my ego – but no. It’s not. This is one friend extending a hand to another.”
“And a paycheck,” she reminded him. “It’s Friday.”
“Already waiting on the counter, Miss Bossy,” he chuckled softly. “See you later – and try to have a good day.”
“You too – and thanks.”
“Yup… welp, noooo , because my agent is calling now. Gotta go!” And he ended the call, hanging up quickly before she could say ‘bye.’
Mashing on the brakes, Irene looked at the mass of traffic on the highway before her and groaned. Not only was she going to be late – it was going to be extremely late before she got there.
Yeah, today was one of those days where you wished there was a ‘do-over’ button. Sighing, she called the school to talk about Stephen since she was obviously going to be sitting in the traffic jam for quite a while.