8. Cecilia
Chapter eight
Cecilia
I t’s been two weeks and every night he comes in and sits at the bar. He orders the same thing each time. A basket of wings and one beer. The weight of his gaze slides down my back as I serve the other customers. I’ve tried to figure out why he comes here just to watch me work. He said something about wanting me, but I’m not sure I should believe him. And if he does want me, it’s probably in the same way that all men want me. Only to possess me. They don’t want to know or love me.
I want to believe that he could be different and want to dive into his embrace, allowing him to consume me. My lips tingle as they remember what it felt like when we kissed two weeks ago. I shake my head because I know I can’t indulge. I have too much baggage and too many secrets. If Mateo knew about them, he wouldn’t want me. Besides, my son has to be my top priority.
I push all thoughts of Mateo out as I put the groceries away. It’s not much because even though I work pretty much every night at the bar, I’m still scraping to get by. It doesn’t help that I had to call in tonight and right on cue, I hear Oliver in the other room. “Mama, Mama,” he cries.
The poor guy hasn’t been feeling well for the last few days. I rush to his room to find him red-faced and crying, snot dripping down his nose. I quickly pick him up and pull him into my chest. Rubbing my hands up and down his back, I kiss his forehead. Shit, he’s burning up.
“It’s okay, Mama’s here,” I whisper into his ear. With the sound of my voice, I’m able to get his crying to settle down though he’s still restless in my arms.
Oliver looks up at me with the face of a poor sick child. “I no feel good.”
“I know, baby. Let’s get you some medicine.” Pulling him into my chest, I cuddle him closer and bring him to the front of the apartment. “I’m going to put you down on the couch while you watch Daniel Tiger. I’ll be right back.”
Placing him down, I quickly put on his show and hope that it will keep him calm for the few minutes it’ll take me to grab the pain relievers. I let out a huge breath as mom guilt hits me right in the stomach. It churns knowing that I need to be doing better for my son. Logic dictates that he’s had a fever for a few days and I need to have him seen, but then my brain argues with itself because I don’t have the money to pay for a visit to the pediatrician. I grab a glass of water and gulp it down, trying to lower the fire in my belly.
“Mama,” a soft, tiny voice calls from the other room.
“I’ll be there soon, baby boy,” I call back as I hurry to measure up his medicine and head back to the couch.
“Here you go. This will make you feel better.”
He takes a small sip before his mouth drops into a frown and he pushes the medicine away. “It’s yucky.”
“I know, but it will help.”
Oliver shakes his head no, refusing to take his medicine. It’s humbling how a sick two-year-old can make you feel so helpless. After a few tries, I’m thankfully able to get enough medicine in him, praying that this fever will be gone in the morning. He climbs into my lap and lays his head down on my chest. “I sleepy.”
“It’s okay, baby. Go to sleep,” I softly murmur, patting his back and humming Silent Night while we both keep our eyes on Daniel Tiger. After a few minutes, Oliver’s breathing starts to even out, helping me to relax. I keep my focus on the T.V., not wanting to move a muscle in fear that he will wake up. Soon my eyes feel heavy and they droop as sleep takes me under.
I peel my eyes open as I hear a faint knocking from somewhere in the apartment. I look down at the perfect sleeping boy in my arms and realize I must’ve fallen asleep. When I hear another knock, I sit up straighter. “Who could that be? Maybe Mrs. Scottensburg needs something?” I mutter the words quietly, only really talking to myself, not wanting to wake Oliver.
I slowly move Oliver from my chest to the couch. Standing up, I stretch, trying to loosen my muscles from sleeping in a sitting position. The knock comes again, but a little harder this time. I don’t say anything, just in case it’s someone I don’t want at my door. A small bit of fear grasps me, hoping that Michael hasn’t found me. Tiptoeing to the door, I hold my breath as I look out the peep hole. A gasp escapes when I see who is standing at my door.
Swinging the door open with more strength than needed, my guard immediately goes up as I try to block the entrance. “What are you doing here?” I ask in disbelief.
Mateo just shrugs his shoulders. “You weren’t at work.”
I bristle a little at his tone. “Why do you care?”
He raises one of his eyebrows and his mouth lifts in an upward position, as if to say you know why. We keep standing there in a silent battle when a small voice comes from behind me.
“Mama?”
“You have a kid?” He asks in an accusing manner. A tone I don’t quite understand since we don’t really know each other.
I move to block Oliver from his view as I bring my hands to my hips. “Yes, I have a kid. Why are you here, Mateo?”
Mateo steps into me, crowding my space. I instinctively take a step back as my whole body goes rigid. Every time Michael would come into my space, it meant nothing good. Mateo must see the fear creeping up in my eyes because he stops right where he’s at and tries to soften his body as much as possible.
I recognize that he’s attempting to diffuse the situation, but I’ve seen this before and I need to make sure I protect my son. I shoot daggers at him.
He clears his throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. It was just surprised. You’re so young.” He shakes his head. “I just didn’t expect it.”
My hands clench at my sides as I roll out my neck. I remind myself that not everyone is an abusive asshole.
“Thank you for apologizing.” The words come out mumbled as they’re hard to say.
I don’t give him anymore though. He still hasn’t answered my question. “Why are you here?”
“I was worried. Are you sick? Is he sick?”
A pang of sadness hits me right in my heart. No one has ever asked about me or Oliver. Not the one who calls himself his father or even my parents. I try to think back to when I was a kid. I can’t recall a time anyone asked me how I was feeling. The only one whoever cared was my brother Bennett.
“He’s sick,” I whisper and my shoulders sag as I look down at the only man who has ever truly captured my heart. I pick him up as a tear escapes.
Oliver looks at me and then kisses my cheek. “It’s otay, Mama. No sad.”