Chapter Three
January
Ellis
Every morning when I wake up there is a second of peace. Where I am not in pain, where I don’t have to make decisions. There’s a split second where my only problem is getting out of my toasty bed when I know it is going to be cold. That’s when I remember everything else. The hundred things I have to do, for my business, for my son. The list is never-ending. Then I have to assess my pain: will I be able to go about my life with my baseline problems, or will I have to dose up on painkillers and hand over a bunch of responsibilities to my employee and friend Lyndsey?
This morning I am pleasantly surprised. My bones click as I stretch but there is no thundering pain in my joints or blinding burning in my muscles. Well, no more than usual. Still, just like every day for the past few weeks my full night’s sleep hasn’t been enough.
Pushing myself out of the bed, sliding my feet into the nearest pair of socks to warm them up, I trudge to the bathroom. Dodging kids’ toys and a selection of rubber ducks, I flip on the shower head. I have a little bit of time before I have to wake Jack up; my kid can sleep like the dead. It’s handy when there are things I want to get on with in the morning, but a nightmare when I need him to be up for kindergarten. I started setting my own alarm even earlier to accommodate his tossing and turning and refusal to wake up into my routine.
As the warm water falls over my skin, washing away the cold of the early morning, I feel my body unclench. My head drops down so my chin rests against my chest, stretching my muscles as the warm water makes them more pliable. It’s instant relief, but I know once the shower turns off the lack of pain won’t last for long. Every bit of my skin pinks under the steaming water and I tip my blonde hair into the stream, washing it hastily, knowing that if I stay here much longer I won’t want to leave the comfort. As soon as I am towelled off I wrap myself in a dressing gown to go for the first attempt at waking my son.
“Jack bub, it’s time to wake up.” My voice is sweet but it doesn’t rouse a flicker from him. He hums back at me in affirmation but I know him well enough to know he didn’t hear me. I walk into his room and push the curtains back to bring some of the morning light into the pale blue space, but apart from a small whine Jack doesn’t make any moves to wake up.
Leaving him for a few more minutes, I wander back into my bedroom, throwing on my clothes for the day. Being the owner of my own florist means I can wear pretty much anything. I’m never going to turn up in a mini dress and heels, but as long as I can stretch to high shelves and bend down to low ones without flashing my underwear, anything is acceptable. I settle on a pair of black leggings and a large jumper that gives me room to move but will keep me warm in the wintery Seattle weather. Lyndsey always looks so put together. Her ginger hair is always perfectly curled and her clothes look so classy even on a budget; even if she were wearing leggings and a jumper I am sure she would find a way to make it look elevated in a way I can’t.
When I first interviewed her, I thought we wouldn’t click. She looked so well-established, all while being four years younger than me. But she proved me wrong pretty quick. To be frank, behind the perfect clothes she is just as much of a mess as me, hence why we clicked. It brings some levity to a workday to share stories of her crazy dating life and my life being a single mum. She has never judged me on my limitations and I don’t think my life would run as smoothly as it does if I hadn’t found her.
“Jack! I’m making breakfast!” I shout in a singsong voice as I walk down the corridor back past his room and into the open kitchen living space of our flat. I am not exactly a master chef, but there are a few things I have perfected; waffles are one of them. I add eggs to the powder mix, as Jack yells after me, “Five more minutes!” his voice muffled where I know he is burying it into his pillow. He acts more like a teenager than a five-year-old most days. I don’t like thinking about how much he is growing, but it is glaringly obvious when I pack the lunch I made last night. My baby is in school and it almost kills me.
The smell of the waffles on the griddle rouses Jack finally as he comes trudging down the hallway with his little blue train blanket clutched in his hand. Maybe there is still some of my little boy there.
After clambering up onto one of the bar stools at the breakfast nook, Jack bundles the blanket up into a makeshift pillow and plonks his head on top. His lack of early bird traits reminds me of his dad, my ex-boyfriend, Michael. He too was a nightmare in the morning. God forbid you wanted to ask him something before his coffee. As long as Jack is where he needs to be on time, and he continues to be the kind kid I know he is, I will let him have his power naps.
When you have kids, you have to pick your battles. Recently, I have been too exhausted to fight any that I won’t win. Having fibromyalgia comes with chronic fatigue and I’m just too drained to argue with him when it isn’t causing any harm. Lately, my fatigue has reached a peak, my mind has been under so much stress that it is punishing me in a physical way. Giving Jack his plate of two waffles with pre-chopped fruit and some apple juice, I think back to when this stress started.
I don’t have to think for long. December. Ever since that night, my mind has moved a mile a minute running through everything. He tried calling me for a few days, but I never picked up. Just because I gave in to giving him my number doesn’t mean I was ever willing to reply. I think it was just the fact that I slipped out hurt his ego. He isn’t used to hearing no. A small part of my brain wanted to answer. That bit of me that still believes in fairy-tales wanted to run into his arms and believe that we are meant to be together, that seeing him that night was fate. I don’t believe in fairy-tales any more.
I’m a mum. I can’t go around throwing myself at men hoping for a relationship, I have too much to think about. Jack has to be my priority, not getting my rocks off. That night was amazing but it was just that: one night. Though the stress relief of a few good strong orgasms was amazing. I was all but walking on clouds for days afterwards. Lyndsey pushed and pushed wanting every detail, but I just told her half-truths. I told her I met a hockey player and he brought me to his place. I just left out our history. I wouldn’t be able to deal with the judgment in her eyes, sleeping with an ex is never a good idea. He is an ex for a reason and I don’t need her to remind me of that.
Liam and I are different people in different places in our lives. He is at the top of his game, women screaming his name, throwing their panties at him in the street. That just isn’t something I could expose Jack to. That is, if Liam would even want to see me again. It was one great night, he has probably had a bunch of one-night stands in his life. Hell, he’s probably had some since ours. Not that I blame him, he doesn’t owe me anything, but that is just the truth. He doesn’t want to be shackled to a single mum. I let him go ten years ago because I didn’t want to hold him back and that still stands.
I just have to get my heart to remember that. I knew I was fooling myself when I said one night would be enough. A little bit of Liam would never be enough, the chemistry between us is wild. I thought there would be a learning curve when we got into bed but it all clicked into place. Even with all the years apart, with all the other people we have had in our lives, we still just worked. The minute he had his hands on me, my body was flashed back to ten years ago. As though there hadn’t been any time away, our bodies recognised each other. It was fireworks. But just like fireworks, they are good for a bright beautiful display but they fizzle out. They aren’t meant to last.
Jack scrapes his chair backwards and wanders off to get dressed, leaving me in the kitchen, my own breakfast untouched. I shovel some waffle into my mouth as I clean up the mess.
As I grab his bag, I swing by the calendar on the side of the fridge to check if he has everything he needs for today. Last time I forgot to check, he was the only kid without a show-and-tell. Mum guilt was strong that day, seeing his sad little face come out of the gates wrecked me. I won’t make that mistake again, so I check down the list. But it’s something else that catches my eye.
My period is three days late.
My period is like clockwork.
Fuck.
My mind reels thinking about when my last period ended. I never forget to take my pill, I know I haven’t missed a day. I take it at the same time as my last round of painkillers every day and I sure as hell never forget them.
Then it comes back in flashes. Me laying on the bathroom floor heaving into the toilet. Jack had picked up a bug in school and I caught it. The burden of comforting your sick kid is that the germs are in your face too. I wasn’t sick for as long as him, maybe a day and a half but that’s enough isn’t it? I pull out my phone to google. Maybe vomiting only affects the effectiveness of your contraceptive if you’re ill for a week? God, let me be wrong. I can’t be pregnant. But Google proves my fears, vomiting can make your pill ineffective, and that damn illness ended days before my one-night stand.
I was on the pill. The pill just wasn’t on me.
“Mum, we have to gooooooo.” Jack tugs on the hem of my jumper and my eyes snap to him. I have to take my kid to school and open Bloom and Blossom, I don’t have time to think about the high possibility that I’m with child. That will have to be a nightmare for later.
But as I throw my jacket on, I have a gut feeling. I’m going to be a mum to two and I’m going to have to use Liam’s number after all.