Chapter 18
PLASTIC PSYCHO
SHARI
Come on, come on, pick up.
The call rings out as I dump the breakfast dishes in the sink – I'll have to deal with them later – and wipe up the smashed banana on my daughter's face. And hands. And hair. And highchair.
“Hey, this is Brad, who even calls these days?” Beep.
“Brad, hey, shit, I was hoping to catch you. I've been asked to go to Cobham this morning, so I need to drop Lizzie off early. I hope that's ok? Shit, shit, shit. I really need to leave soon so...I hope you're home, because we'll be there in a bit!”
I text him basically the same message in the hopes that if he doesn't hear his voicemail, he'll see the text. It's not like him not to answer, so he might be asleep still.
At least Lizzie's bag is already packed since it's his night to have her, so I plonk my girl in her chair in front of the TV to keep her occupied for a minute and run upstairs to grab my laptop. Fifteen minutes later, we're pulling into Brad's driveway.
As I try to juggle Lizzie's nappy bag in one hand, and the squirming toddler herself in the other, I end up having to kick the bottom of the mahogany door in lieu of knocking.
He rented this place two months after I gave birth so he could be closer to Lizzie, because the daily drive back and forth between Exeter and Bristol was killing him. He couldn't bear not seeing her every day.
It's a cute, two bedroom, red brick house, with mahogany windows to match the front door, a driveway just big enough for two cars and the tiniest garden out the back. But it's all he needs for now, and the location is perfect. He's only a ten-minute drive from my house.
I can hear footsteps from inside, and soon the door is flung wide with a surprised and dishevelled looking Brad in the opening.
“Hey, you're early,” he says as his eyes shift nervously behind him, pulling the door closer so I can't see past his right shoulder. Weird.
“Yeah, sorry, I've been asked to visit that site in Cobham I told you about before I head to the office. You didn't answer your phone, so I took the chance that you'd be able take Lizzie a couple hours early. Is that ok?”
He shifts from foot to foot, and I can tell his focus is elsewhere because he hasn't even greeted his daughter yet.
“Uh, yeah, of course. That's cool, I just wish I'd seen your call before you came.” He glances over his shoulder again.
“I did text too. Why are you acting cagey? Oh shit, have you got company?” my tone is teasing but my insides start to riot.
As if on cue, a manicured hand with sharp, bloodred nails slides around Brad's shoulder, and possessively down his chest to rest over his heart. For some reason, that makes me feel queasy.
His shoulders drop and he reluctantly pulls the door open fully to reveal the stunning redhead draped over him.
She's all long legs and sharp smile, and I don't like the calculating look in her eyes as her gaze shifts between me and Lizzie. That weaponised grin grows and I brace myself for whatever hurtful comment is about to leave her stupidly pretty face.
“Braaad,” she whines – why do they always whine? – batting her fake fucking eyelashes, “is this your daughter? You literally didn't say her grandmother was coming to drop her off!” And there it is.
To Brad's credit, he immediately shrugs her arm off his shoulder and spins around as if to block us from her spite.
Lizzie takes the opportunity of his proximity to tug the back of his hair and shout, “Da dee! My Da!” Brad's hand comes up to squeeze her chubby fingers, even as he hisses, “Deana!
You know full well this is her mother, don't be such a disrespectful bitch.”
Deana's predatory smile falters. She clearly thought he was going to laugh along with her. Why? Does he badmouth me to his friends?
She tries to reach for him again, but he bats her hand away. “Brad, baby! It was literally just a joke, god! I mean, she is literally old enough to be either of our mums, but I was only kidding, I know she's literally just your baby mama.”
“Don't call me baby,” of course, my brain unhelpfully starts singing the song by Madison Avenue, “and Shari is not just the mother of my child. Bollocks, I knew I'd regret this.” He rubs the side of his face, eyes clenched shut.
“What are you saying? You regret what? Us?”
“There's no us, Deana. It was one night. I'm saying I regret drinking enough last night to affect my lapse in judgement. Otherwise, I never would have brought you home at all.”
“Are you literally fucking serious right now??” Deana screeches, and it startles poor Lizzie into a whimper.
I cradle her little head of baby curls against my neck to comfort her, but I can't bring myself to walk away from the front-row seat I have to The Downfall Of Deana.
Does that make me petty? Yep, but I don't care. Just pass the popcorn.
“Jesus, I'm too hungover for this,” he grumbles, rubbing his temples with both hands now. “Let me say this slowly, so you understand. I. Am. Not. Interested. Please leave.”
She blinks at him in shock as her face reddens.
It's reminiscent of a cartoon character about to explode.
Damn, this is entertaining. I'm really struggling to contain my smile as she storms off with a scoff, but of course she has to have the last word because she spins back around with her finger pointed at me and seethes, “I don't know what you're so smug about, you're literally just a glorified incubator, you old slag!”
What a bitch!
“I’d literally rather be an incubator than a reject, you plastic psycho!” Ehhh, so maturity isn't my strong suit.
She lets out a frustrated scream, clenching her fists and stamping her foot – more like a toddler than the one in my arms – and turns to stomp away again.
Brad finally turns back to me, and I'm struggling to figure out the look in his eyes. Remorse? Embarrassment? Irritation? Just plain old hangover pains?
His lips are pressed into a thin line, and yet they're trembling as he finally takes Lizzie off me to greet her properly. After peppering her face and neck with kisses, he eventually returns his attention to me and can no longer hold himself together. “Plastic psycho?” he howls with laughter.
Ohhh, so that look was amusement. Got it.
“Literally,” I reply with a laugh of my own.
“Oh my god, Shari. The things that come out of your mouth sometimes.”
You're the only good thing that's ever come in it.
“What?”
My eyes widen. “What?” Shit,I’ve gotta stop mumbling my thoughts out loud!
I bark the most fake laugh that has ever been laughed and decide to just launch into my schedule.
“So, like I said, I'm going to Cobham before the office, but I should still be home at my normal time.
Am I good to just come over to say goodnight on my way through, as usual?
I don't want to interrupt any other...shenanigans.” I say pointedly.
Brad groans as he places Elizabeth down to toddle between us, still firmly holding one of his fingers.
She's been walking for a while, but she just doesn't have the confidence to completely let go yet.
“No. No shenanigans. That one shouldn't have happened and you really should never have even seen her.” He eyes me as he pauses, “Do you want to talk about it?”
“What's there to talk about? I've been telling you to sow your wild oats since the beginning, so I'm...glad,” that word tastes a whole lot like a sour lie, “that you're finally listening to me.”
“Blaze—”
“I’m serious. Good for you! Just maybe, raise the bar a little higher next time, yeah? You should have learned that Barbies are bad by now.”
I can tell he doesn't believe me, but he does crack a smile at my dig.
“My bar for a girlfriend is in the stratosphere, I promise. And only one woman could ever reach it.”
Is he staring into my soul right now? It sure fucking feels like it with how intently he's looking at me.
“Brad—” I start, but I have no idea where to go with it.
We've had this conversation too many times over the last two years, and I don't want him to feel obligated to try and give Lizzie a cookie cutter family.
He should be with someone he loves just because he can't possibly stop himself.
Not just someone who grew his accidental baby.
His shoulders deflate as he reads my expression and picks Lizzie back up.
“Let me know when you get to Cobham. And then when you get to the office. Lizzie say bye to mama.”
“Bye babygirl,” I coo as I inhale her baby powder scent and kiss the top of her head repeatedly. “I’ll see you for nightnights ok? I love you.”
A high pitched “Ma, Ma, Ma! Voo,” is all I get in return but that's ok. She's only seventeen months old. I can hardly expect a sonnet.
I get in my white SUV and wind down the window to say a last goodbye, and drive off with my entire world in the rearview mirror and a sick feeling in my stomach.
17th July 2025
Work has been a whirlwind these last six weeks, but even with the busyness, I couldn't stop myself from picturing Brad with Deana every damn day.
I know it was just a one-night stand. And I really have been encouraging him to live his life.
And I witnessed just how much Deana won't be invited back for seconds.
And yet...it's not even about Deana specifically.
I'm woman enough to admit that I'm jealous.
I can't have him, but I don't really want to see him with someone else either.
I know it's coming, though. One day he'll meet someone wonderful and I'll have to swallow my pride.
For Lizzie. But the thought of that day makes me feel truly sick.
I leave the office to pick Lizzie up from daycare.
Brad will be over soon, so we can put Lizzie to bed together.
It's something we try to do every night regardless of who has her.
And if we can't do bedtime, we try to do breakfast. Our girl is so loved, neither of us wants to miss seeing her for even a day.