Chapter 21 #2
I glance at my wife, as if to say, “Should we go for it?” but her dejected face sobers me.
Damn it.
I can’t do that to her. Not yet.
“Good thing you don’t have to worry about Marissa cooking for you anymore.” Mom’s sour tone pulls me back to the present.
I should have known she wasn’t going to be on my side.
“However, I do need to worry,” Mom continues, “because she used to do my grocery shopping for me. I’ve been making do with hiring that lovely girl who babysat Junior to run my errands, but since you’re at the store, could you pick up a few things for me as well?”
What the fuck am I supposed to say to that? No, mom. Pay the stranger to do it?
I had no idea Marissa used to do that stuff for her.
No wonder she’s on her side. I nod to myself, vindicated.
I can take care of my own mother, I think an hour later as I load absurd, industrial quantities of food into the car. Marissa’s car, a voice whispers, but I ignore it.
What I actually want is to call Marissa and ask her where she used to buy that yoghurt that I like, but I doubt she’d tell me. That’s how much of a grudge-holder she is.
Yeah, maybe Rebel coming back when Junior was only four months old had made me somewhat… distracted. But it’s not like I’m some deadbeat whose desire to be a father was purely recreational.
I want to raise my boy, participate in his life, and this weekend will be a start. He’s still very young; I didn’t miss anything.
And when Rebel and I have kids together, I’ll be there from day 1.
I can’t wait.
*
It’s beyond shitty that my entire club gets to drink and enjoy themselves while I have to stay sober and leave early. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to have my son with me after all this time; the timing sucks, that’s all.
After the busty redhead wins the bikini contest, the partying starts for real. Rebel and Maya get up on one of the tables and start seductively dancing with each other. My wife’s wearing only a bra and her property cut, and walking away from her is painful. Literally.
“You sure you don’t wanna come with me?” I ask in a last-ditch attempt to convince her to join me.
“No, babe, Sly wants me here, I told you already. I’m sorry. I’ll see you at home, okay?”
To make matters worse, that bald fucker, Mr. Clean, is waiting next to Marissa in the parking lot. I play it cool. I don’t wanna give them material to screw me over in court, but I can’t resist running a hand through my thick hair. Suck on that!
When I first take Junior in my arms, he smells so familiar, a mixture of the laundry detergent Marissa always uses for his clothes and him, my child. It’s like my body knows he’s part of me.
He fills his car seat almost entirely. He’s gotten so big. My son is a real boy now. I can’t stop looking at him in the rearview mirror.
Everything takes twice as long with a child. The simple act of getting him from the car to the front door has me perspiring from annoyance and effort.
But I’m determined to have a great sleepover. Just a dad and his boy getting in trouble, since his step-mom’s not here. I don’t really mind it, because I need time to get used to this dad gig again. I haven’t been alone with him since Marissa was kidnapped, what, like four months ago?
Shit. How has it been that long?
Unlike those stressful days in January, this time, Junior crawls around the house, communicates with me through sounds, gestures, and faces, and we end up having the best time.
When he poops right after dinner, though? It’s unbelievably vile. I didn’t even know a kid that small could produce such an abominable stench. I don’t know if it’s the regular food that he’s eating now or what, but I almost vomit.
“What the fuck, man? Are you trying to kill me?” I ask, but the little jerk keeps smiling and babbling like he did this great thing.
I immediately go to change him on the couch, but notice that it’s stained from the last time I fucked Rebel on it. And I’m not talking about the coffee.
Pride surges through me when I see the evidence of our lovemaking, but it is dampened by the fact that I can’t exchange a conspiratorial glance with my wife.
“I’m not changing you here. I’ll just give you your bath now.”
My shirt is soaked by the time Junior's clean again.
“Giving you a bath is like wrangling a small, energetic animal that’s also extremely fragile,” I tell him as I put a clean diaper on him.
I take a deep sniff of his PJs before dressing him. No idea why. Maybe I needed the nice smell after what he’s put me through with his shit.
“I borrowed your cousin Ryder’s old crib from Angie. Your stepmom insisted we put it in the guest room, since you’re big enough now. I guess she’s right. I had to go back and get a baby monitor from Angie as well, so that I’ll be able to hear you.”
As I watch him take in his surroundings with his mother’s big, uncertain eyes, I’m tempted to take him into our bed, only until he drifts off to sleep. He doesn’t know this room.
Then I remember our bedroom smells like cigarettes, and the sheets are crusty and disgusting. I’m trying to make a point to Rebel by refusing to change them, but she still isn’t getting it. This is our home, and she has to learn to take care of certain things.
“Sorry, buddy,” I tell Junior, and he smiles at me.
I sit on the floor next to the crib until he falls asleep. I stroke his little forehead for a long time afterwards, remembering how much smaller it used to be against my hand.