Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
TALLY
"Get the fuck out of here!" I snarl, blinking against the assault.
Like I need this shit. Brinley's already got me on some twisted newborn schedule where five minutes of sleep feels like a luxury.
I just got her latched, fed, and back down after what felt like the hundredth time tonight.
For once, I'd actually drifted into real sleep—the kind where your brain fires up those weird-ass dreams. Nothing cool, though.
No wild sex or superhero flying. Just the classics: wandering naked through Target while everyone pretends not to notice, or showing up to a final exam for a class I'd forgotten existed.
Seriously, brain? With all the tattoo designs I've created, you can't cook up something better than me failing calculus again?
“I won’t get out of here!” Mom screams right back.
Oh, fuck. Is she drunk? If she's fallen off the wagon, I'm calling the psych ward to come get her.
I used to cut Mom all kinds of slack, but that was before Brinley.
Now I'm lucky to get three hours of sleep, which means I show up at Manic Muse ready to throat-punch anyone who breathes wrong.
My hands shake so bad I can barely hold the tattoo gun steady.
One slip-up and I'm screwed. No sleep means no steady hands.
No steady hands means no job. No job means no house.
And the thought of my baby girl homeless keeps me up at night—when I'm not already up with her.
So if Mom's popping pills again—or drinking, which she knows damn well she can't do even if booze wasn't her poison of choice—I'm gonna completely lose my shit.
I bolt upright at the sound of Brinley's wail.
Shit! I glare at Mom before dragging myself to the nursery.
When was the last time I slept more than forty consecutive minutes?
I scoop up my screaming bundle, collapse into the rocking chair, and guide her to my breast. As she latches on, I rock and wonder how our species survived this long.
Between the endless feeding, the diaper changes that require hazmat suits, the random crying jags, and getting puked on more times than I can count—who signs up for this willingly?
And some women do this multiple times? Christ. At least I dodged the Kensington twin curse.
Cameron's brothers came in matching sets—twice.
If I had two of these tiny sleep-terrorists instead of one? Just hand me the straitjacket now.
I narrow my eyes at Mom. "Any particular reason you decided to barge in my room and blind me at three in the morning?
Some of us have to drag our asses to work by seven.
" I blow out a breath, glancing down at the squirming bundle in my arms. "Though I guess the little gremlin here was about to wake the whole neighborhood anyway, so consider yourself pardoned. "
She rubs the back of her neck. "Look, I ran into Cam tonight. The way you're hiding this baby from him—it's not right. He should know he has a child."
Cam's back. I nod. Should be doing cartwheels or some shit, but my brain's running on fumes from zero sleep.
Then it hits me like a freight train—Cam's fucking back.
No more hiding Brinley. No taking back the truth once it's out there.
I'm gonna have to swallow whatever comes next.
If he goes all helicopter boyfriend, that's on me.
If he whips out some gaudy-ass diamond and drops to one knee, I'll have to crush his dreams right there.
He'll probably at least want to play house, and I'm about as girlfriend material as a cactus on a good day.
Now? With my hormones making me either homicidal or a human sprinkler system?
Forget it. Yesterday I lost it and started sobbing over a goddamn Pampers commercial.
A commercial! Some corporate asshole in a suit designed that shit specifically to manipulate people, and I fell for it.
And it wasn't even one of those sad-puppy ASPCA spots that normally turn me into a blubbery mess.
“Well, thanks for telling me. And you didn’t tell him, did you?”
Mom shakes my head. "No way. You'd have kicked me to the curb if I told him. That's the only reason I kept quiet. But damn, Tally, he looked wrecked when I saw him at Indigo last night."
"Wrecked? Please." I snort, bouncing the fussy baby against my shoulder.
"What's he got to be miserable about? I'm the one doing life without parole with this little demon.
Meanwhile, he's out there living his best bachelor life, playing his piano and singing for an appreciative crowd. Cry me a fucking river."
Jesus, I'm being a total witch today—worse than my usual charming self. Blame it on the toxic cocktail of my natural cynicism mixed with these hormone tsunamis.
I shake my head. "Didn't mean that. I'm just so exhausted I can't see straight and…
" The tears ambush me right there in the rocking chair while Brinley nurses, oblivious.
"What the fuck did I do here? I've gotta stand at the shop today for eight hours when all I want is to hibernate for a week.
Every shirt I own is decorated with baby puke.
These hormones are making me crazy and…. "
How do I even say this next part? That sometimes when I look at this tiny human, I fantasize about handing her to some random stranger on the street, then crawling into bed and pretending none of this ever happened.
God. She didn't ask to exist. And here I am, thinking about pawning her off—exactly what Mom did to me more times than I can count. ..
"Tally," Mom leans forward. "Tell me how you really feel about Brinley. Complete honesty. It matters."
I shake my head. The truth is too monstrous to voice.
I'm supposed to be a mother now. Aren't mothers programmed to fall hopelessly in love at first sight?
Isn't that maternal instinct supposed to make everything worth it—the sleepless nights, the cracked nipples, the body that feels like a stranger's, the hormonal rollercoaster, the complete demolition of the life I knew?
But when I look at her, I feel... nothing. She might as well be some creature from another planet. When I stare into those eyes, I don't see my daughter. I see a stranger who hijacked my body and my life.
I drag my hands down my face. "Oh, Mom, I'm drowning here.
Some days I think about adoption—just handing her over to someone who knows what the hell they're doing.
Yesterday I almost tattooed a butterfly on this guy who asked for a dragon.
A fucking butterfly! When the dude asked for a dragon!
My hands shake so bad from being up all night that I can barely hold the gun steady.
And clients have to repeat themselves because my brain's just..
. mush. One of these days I'm gonna nod off mid-session and burn someone, and there goes my business, ‘cause I’ll be sued.
" I swallow hard. "But I can't stop working with that $200,000 loan hanging over my head.
I'm trapped, Mom. All because of this... this tiny person I didn't ask for."
Mom gives a slow nod. "We need to find someone who can help with the baby."
"Who? I'm broke, Mom. This house is eating me alive. Should've stayed in my crappy apartment. Yeah, there wasn’t room for us all, but it was one helluva lot cheaper than this house and I didn’t have to take out a massive personal loan to live there.” I shake my head as I burp the little monster.
“We could’ve made it work. I could’ve crammed Brinley into my room.
Yeah, it couldn’t have worked long-term, because at some point, she needs her own room, but I guess I could’ve crossed that bridge when I came to it.
But now…” I shake my head. “It’s so close to everything going to shit.
I lose my business and that’s it. We’re all out on the fucking street. ”
"Tally." Mom's voice cuts through my spiral. "Take a breath. This isn't the end of the world. Every new mother has stood where you're standing, running on fumes and wondering how they'll make it through another day."
I might not be the first woman to go through this.
But it sure feels like I am.