18. Before I Fall Apart
CHAPTER
BEFORE I FALL APART
ROSIE
“Rosie’s getting laid tonight.”
“No I’m not!”
“Correction: Rosie’s getting railed six-feet deep tonight.”
I glare at Marco. “Not helpful, and not what I meant when I said no.”
He waggles his dark brows. “You’re gonna be on bedrest tomorrow. Maybe all weekend.” He props his chin on his fist and gazes at Archie. “I’ve never seen Rosie dickmatized.”
“I don’t think she’s ever really been dickmatized.”
“Hmm. Right, Brandon didn’t deliver. Pregnancy without orgasm should be illegal.”
“Okay, first of all—” I hold a finger up, one hand propped on my hip “—yes it should. Second, I’ve been dickmatized!”
Archie grins as he spoons pancake batter into a frying pan. “When?”
Crossing my arms, I point my nose to the ceiling. “Just last week, when I attempted to deepthroat his dick. That’s the only way to explain how I even remotely
fit part
of that thing in my mouth.” I capture my lower lip between my teeth as my thoughts wander back to Adam’s balcony, all the control I happily let go of.
“Look at you,” Marco coos. “You adorable little slut. You’re getting that dick tonight.”
“I’m not sure. Sometimes he seems content to keep things as they are.”
“A guy who likes to take it slow? Sounds like a unicorn; men like that don’t really exist.” Marco drops a bag of chocolate chips at Archie’s elbow and pops a kiss on his cheek, a reminder that he only eats pancakes when they’re loaded with chocolate.
“Speaking of taking it slow, when are we gonna meet this mystery man of yours?”
“He’s not a mystery. His name is Adam.”
“He’s a mystery to us, and I’m sick of listening to Daddy Archie late at night, worrying about his sweet Rosie because he hasn’t done an ocular pat down of your boyfriend yet and cleared him to date you. Why are you keeping him from us?”
“I told you,” Archie growls, “stop calling me Daddy.”
“Okay, Daddy.”
I snicker, kissing Archie’s cheek. “I think it’s sweet when you worry, Daddy.”
Archie’s head drops back, and he sighs. “For fuck’s sake. And I’m not worried. You two have been seeing each other nearly two months now, and we haven’t met him. I just want to put a face to the name.” He flips a pancake and shrugs. “And make sure he’s good enough for my Rosie.”
“Have you met his friends?” Marco asks.
“Not yet, no.”
He frowns. “Is he keeping you in his own secret bubble or something?”
My heart patters. “Secret bubble? What do you mean?”
He shrugs. “You’ve never even been out in public.”
“You think…” My throat dries, and I scratch it.
It’s not as if I haven’t thought about it, wondered when he’d introduce me to his friends.
He’s with them all the time, and they seem like family to him.
I’ve been waiting, anxious for them to like me, but the invitation has never come. “He doesn’t want to be seen with me?”
Marco grabs my hand. “No, Rosie. No way. I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant. Really, it’s kind of sweet. Like he just wants you all to himself.”
“We really would love to meet him though,” Archie adds with a soft smile. “Why don’t you ask him to come for dinner Sunday? I’m sure meeting your friends will prompt him to introduce you to his too.”
I force the tension in my shoulders away. “Yeah, okay. You’re right. I’ll invite him for dinner.”
“ Maaamaaa!
”
I smile, starting toward my bedroom. “And there’s my cue.”
Connor grins as soon as he sees me, reaching his arms up high. “Hi, Mama,” he murmurs as I scoop him into my arms. “Dada?”
“You’ll see Dada later today, honey.”
“Bear? Dada, Bear?”
My heart does something funny, a flutter that drops to my belly, erupting like butterflies.
He’s asking for Adam, not Brandon.
Connor’s grown to love Adam so much, and I can’t blame him.
He gives Connor everything he needs, at the forefront of those needs being unconditional love, patience, connection, the things his own father struggles to give him.
I don’t want it to be a competition; I want my child to get the love he deserves from all the important people in his life.
“Uncle Arch made pancakes,” I tell Connor as I get him dressed for the day. “Chocolate chip.”
“Pa-cakes?” he whispers with wide eyes. “ Wow
.”
“ Rosie
!” Archie calls. “Your phone! Why is the dean calling you?”
“What? The dean?”
He appears in the doorway, phone in his hand. “How’d you already get yourself in trouble? The school year hasn’t even started yet.”
I tear my phone away. “I never get in trouble.”
“Aw-chee! Pa-cakes?”
Archie swings Connor up into his arms. “Come on, little man. I made yours heart shaped.”
I wait for them to leave before answering the call. “Professor McKee? Hi.”
“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Eva, Rosie? You know I don’t like last names and titles.”
“I’m sorry. I panicked.”
Eva laughs, and I sigh, the panic melting.
Kinda. Sorta. Not really. Eva’s the kind of professor you hope to have.
Approachable, kind. She makes it her mission to make everyone feel comfortable in her presence.
But still, it’s August, she’s the dean, and she’s calling me.
If that isn’t reason to panic, I don’t know what is.
“Any chance you can pop by my office today?”
“Oh.” I might vomit.
“Yeah. Totally. I have my son today. He doesn’t go to his dad’s until later. Is that okay?”
Eva pauses, and the panic in my stomach knots, pulling taut. “It would be for the best if it were just you and I.”
Definitely going to vomit
. “Am I…am I in trouble?”
“Of course you’re not in trouble, Rosie. What kind of trouble have you ever gotten yourself into?”
None, but that doesn’t mean bad things haven’t happened to me.
“We need to talk, that’s all. It would be best if you were able to give the conversation your full attention, and I know how challenging that can be when you’ve got a little one to keep your eye on.”
My eyes burn, and I swallow the urge to cry as I start mentally cataloging all the worst-case scenarios. “I’ll drop Connor at his dad’s and come by.”
“Great. I’m here until three. And Rosie, try not to worry.”
The thing about anxiety is that you have no control over it at all.
Your brain senses a threat, and every alarm in your head starts sounding.
The nerves in your body jump, and you’re left trying to fight the urge to get up and run while every worst-case scenario plays out in your head.
Sometimes, what’s hardest to wrap my head around about anxiety is that it’s so damn easy
for people without it to just let the thoughts roll off their back, all while I look like I’m losing my damn mind over something so pointless. Because it is pointless, isn’t it, to worry about something out of your control? I just wish my brain got the memo.
My nails bite into my palms to stop the slight tremor in my hands before I call Brandon. It goes to voice mail, and when I call a second time, he answers with a groan.
“I’m trying to sleep.”
“Sorry to wake you. Something’s come up. Can I drop Connor off a bit earlier today?”
“What? When?”
“One, maybe?”
Another groan. “He’s not supposed to come over ’til four thirty. The guys are coming over to watch the baseball game.”
I try to rub the headache from my eyes. “I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.”
“Why don’t you ask your boyfriend to watch him?” His tone is sour, and I have no patience for it.
“Because you’re his fucking dad, Brandon, and frankly, I’m sick of you acting like you have better things to do than spend time with your son. Now can I drop him off early, or do I need to find someone else who cares about him?”
“Jesus, Ro, who shit in your coffee this morning?” He sighs, long and low, like he has to think about it. “Yeah, whatever. Drop him off, I guess. I’m not canceling my plans though.”
“Thank you, Brandon.”
“You owe me. You’re dropping him off three-and-a-half hours early, so you owe me those hours back.”
I hang up without a word, because I’m incredibly close to reaching my limit. I think I’m a pretty patient person, but Brandon has a way of testing every last one of my nerves when it comes to our son.
Connor wasn’t planned, I get it, but it’s been seventeen months and Brandon still acts like it’s a chore to father his child.
It’s just another stressor today, and when I’m knocking on his condo door several hours later, I can’t help but want to wrap Connor in my arms and take him with me so I know he’s getting all the love he deserves.
Brandon opens the door, a beer in one hand, nacho chips in the other. “Hey,” he tosses out, his back already to us as he heads back to his living room where his friends are spread out on the furniture.
“No,” Connor whispers, staring up at me with wide eyes as I start taking his shoes off. “Mama, no.”
“You’re gonna hang out with Dada.” My smile is so fake it hurts. “Mama will see you tomorrow.”
“No.” He shakes his head, yanking at the hem of my dress. “ No. Nooo
!”
“Fuck,” Brandon mutters, scrubbing a hand over his mouth. “Here we go. Starting already.”
My chest tightens, and when Connor stares up at me with tear-filled eyes, my eyes fill too. I take his sweet face in my hands, swiping at the silent tears as they fall. “I wish I could stay with you every single day, honey. That would make my mama heart so, so
happy. You’re going to stay with Dada tonight, and Mama will be thinking about you. When I pick you up tomorrow, I’m going to give you the biggest hug ever
so you can feel how much I missed you.”
Brandon leans against the wall, watching me with disinterest. “You think you’re gonna stop smothering him anytime soon? He doesn’t need you to explain every single thing to him like he’s a baby; he needs you to leave. He’ll forget about you as soon as you walk out the door.”