Whit #2
Every choice I’ve made since the day two lines appeared on a pregnancy test in a gas station bathroom has been with my kid’s best interests in mind. And somehow, I’m still failing.
A wracked sob escapes when I think about how close we were to expulsion today. And I swipe the back of my hand under my sopping nose while silently cursing Jonas for not giving a shit.
“How can he not care?” I mutter to the stupid little frog figurine with a sign that reads Don’t Worry, Be Hoppy sitting on the windowsill opposite me.
A Mother’s Day gift Jonas gave me when he was seven, because I mentioned loving the frogs we saw during a lake day.
Jonas has—or at least had—the ability to be a thoughtful, loving little boy.
Now it’s phone calls and meetings and interventions. It’s convincing the teachers and principal and school district officials that he’s not a lost cause. Apologizing for his behavior.
Then it’s sitting beside my noisy, wobbly dryer until my tears have slowed to a trickle and my head’s pounding. Tucking in my sleeping, sweet baby before crawling into my own bed.
Which is when the countdown until his next incident starts.
· · ·
The ringing phone on my bedside table wakes me up with a jolt, and I silence it before there’s any risk of bothering Jonas down the hall. Rubbing my eyelids to combat the burning sensation from the bright light, I answer with a ragged voice.
“Hey, babe,” my ex-boyfriend, Alex, coos through the speaker.
“It’s the middle of the”—I yawn—“night. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, babe. Totally fine. What are you up to?”
“I was sleeping. It’s like one o’clock in the morning.” I reach behind my head with my free hand to fluff up my pillow, then pull the duvet to my chin. “What do you need?”
“Just missed hearing your voice…seeing your face.”
Try as hard as I might, I can’t prevent the fluttering in my chest. But I swallow hard and blurt out a stern, “Oh yeah?”
“I’m parked outside, if you want to let me in?”
Sure enough, when I’m quiet for a moment, I can hear the rumbling of his obnoxiously loud car.
He does this because he knows I won’t say no, even though everything is worse after he spends the night in my bed.
If I make him leave before Jonas wakes up, I feel awful for not letting them spend time together.
But when I let him stay, it fucks with Jonas’s head and puts him in a bad mood.
I sigh, dragging myself from the comfort of my bed and padding down the dark hallway. “Fine, but you have to leave before Jonas wakes up.”
His engine cuts in the otherwise still night, and warm June air hits my face when the door swings open in time to see him lumbering up my front steps.
Stepping inside, he gives me a smirk and a wink. Damn it. I shouldn’t roll over so easily for a man with a simple smirk and a wink in the middle of the night.
His eyes glimmer in the dim light, and he rakes a callused hand through my loose, dark hair before palming the back of my neck. “I missed you.”
Instinct and habit take over, and I melt into his touch.
I fucking hate it.
“I need to get back to bed.” I tilt my head toward the narrow hallway. “It was a long day, and I have a ton of work to catch up on tomorrow.”
Kicking off his sneakers—haphazardly, exactly like his son—he holds a tight grip around my waist for the sneaky stroll to my bedroom.
Normally, I’d be flirty and accommodating.
Despite how much I insist I’m done with him, I can’t help the feelings he evokes in me.
We dated off and on in high school, got pregnant right after graduation, and I tried so fucking hard to make things work for Jonas.
They didn’t, obviously, and I’m left with whatever this is… .
Calls when he’s feeling single and lonely, or when he’s had too many drinks, or when he gets a rare guilty conscience and wants to do something nice for his son.
And I’m a doormat every time.
Not tonight. Tonight I’m too tired to give a shit about what he wants or why he showed up. He can sleep in my bed, but that’s the only thing I’ll roll over and take. I climb into my still-warm spot and pull the covers to my chin, wiggling slightly to get comfortable.
Alex wraps an arm around my waist, tugging me into a little-spoon position, and within seconds his fingers slip beneath the hem of my T-shirt.
“Not tonight. I’m exhausted,” I whisper.
“Not even a quick one?”
I grab his wandering hand, removing it from my stomach. “Jonas almost got expelled today.”
“Expelled?” His head pops up from the pillow, suddenly appearing in my periphery. “How do you get expelled during summer break?”
“He still has two more weeks of school left. I texted you about the year-end assembly, remember?”
“Oh…yeah.” He doesn’t remember. “What did he do this time?”
“Turned in his English test with a massive dick drawn across it.”
Alex chuckles. “They were seriously going to expel him for that? He’s a ten-year-old boy. Dicks are hilarious at that age.”
At ten, and apparently also at twenty-nine, based on how hard Alex’s silent laughter is making the mattress vibrate.
“Well, the school doesn’t find it hilarious. Especially since this is far from his first offense. I had to go there today and ask the principal to give him another chance.” I sigh. “Thank God school’s almost out…. I’m not sure he has any more sympathy left to give us.”
“Let me go next time.”
“Let you go?” I roll to meet his gaze, wide-eyed and searching for an explanation. Alex has never offered to attend any type of school meeting. Even when I’ve cried and pleaded for a little backup, he comes up with an excuse.
“Yeah, let me talk some sense into the fucking moron running that place.”
He massages my shoulder, then kisses it as his touch trails the length of my arm. Conveniently, he’s right back to the bottom of my shirt, toying with it. That’s all the explanation I need. He’s trying to placate me.
A finger flirts with the waistband of my pajama pants. “Now, where were we?”
“I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you about our son.”
Alex groans, and even in the dark, I know he’s rolling his eyes the same way Jonas did earlier. “Jesus Christ, Whit. I said I’ll go to the school next time—what more is there to talk about?”
“Can you talk to Jonas? Like…man to man. He never wants to listen to anything I say.” I worry my bottom lip. “Maybe take him fishing? He hasn’t had the chance to go with my dad since Mom’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis.”
“Yeah, fine.”
“Wow, don’t sound so fucking thrilled about bonding with your son.”
“I’m super busy with work right now, Whit. And I didn’t come here to be nagged about this shit.” He removes his touch away from my body entirely, creating at least half a foot of space between us in bed. Looks like he’s given up on the thing he did come here for, which is honestly fine by me.
“Sorry,” I murmur, rolling to my side, facing away.
He blows a huff from his nostrils, and the mattress dips and shifts as he gets comfortable. Thanks to the sobfest in my laundry room, I’m left with only a few straggler tears to fall. Just enough to soak the pillowcase and send me into a deep slumber.
And when I wake up, Alex is gone.