Nate shakes his head. “Come on now, Josie. We’ve had a long day. Let’s watch TV and relax.”
My teeth gnash together. I’m so tired of men not listening to me. “No, Nate, I want you to leave.”
3
“You don’t want me here?” he asks, as if the sheer idea I would want to spend time without him hovering over me is unimaginable.
I shake my head so he can see. “I want to be alone and go to bed.”
His face hardens and his lips pinch together in agitation. I don’t get what he’s upset about. I’m the one with an ex-husband trying to steal her daughter and an overflowing toilet. He gets to leave here tonight acting like he did a good thing helping me out today and enjoy his nice normal life leaving me and this mess as a distant memory.
“Fine,” he says the word breathily. “Be that way, Josie. I’m here trying to help, but I’m done. You’ve made it known you don’t want me around, so fine. Stay here by yourself.”
He stands from the couch, the back of his polo shirt coming untucked from his jeans, and without a second glance back he storms out of my apartment and life as fast as he barreled into it.
I don’t watch him leave, preferring to be alone with my sadness, but the heavy sound of the door rattles me a little too much. It’s enough to cause a small crack that topples the wall I worried about moments earlier. If I was more dramatic, I’d lie on the couch and have a meltdown in all my glory, but my ankle hurts too much to move it so I’m left to cry into my own two hands in the quiet of the living room.
In my younger years I never imagined how pathetic I’d be at this age. I thought I’d have my shit together at this point. Great big tears roll down my face as bitterness steals more of my day. I’m not sure where I went wrong in life. I had so many plans. So many things I would accomplish by this age. But instead of my happy little family of growing children who I would dress to look alike for family pictures and take on weekend picnics, I’m here alone with soggy hallway carpeting and a child, while precious, I can’t wait until her first day of school. More than once over the last few months I considered starting a countdown to the very happy day. I’m sure good mothers don’t experience these kinds of thoughts. A good mother would relish every moment she has with her child and definitely wouldn’t let her flush shit down the toilet while she argues with her own mother on the phone in the living room.
I’m right in the middle of a good misery cry, one of those kinds where once you finish crying your body will be lighter and less chaotic, when the front door opens and slams shut again.
I should probably be concerned about robbers, but I don’t possess more energy in me tonight. If someone is here to take my second-hand furniture, then so be it.
“No!” At first I think Nate’s outspoken word is in response to me being robbed, but then I remember he stormed out a few moments ago and all the robbery comments were in my head.
I do my best to glance at him by the door without turning my body and causing more pain.
“What the hell, Josie?” Nate questions, sprinting to my side by the couch. “Did you hurt yourself?”
He presses his hand on my boot, moving the crutches out of his way. “No. Can’t you just leave me here to cry in peace?” In my mind the words are hard and full of strength, but in reality, they come out choked between each sob like a sad woman who wants to break in the privacy of her own home without an audience. Is that so much to ask?
Nate rests on his knees at the base of the couch looking at me with sad eyes. “Oh, Josie.”
His pity makes me cry harder. I’ve never been a cute crier, which is why I prefer not to do it in front of people. I don’t have a mirror, but I don’t need one to know my face is red and my nose swells so I resemble Rudolph having an allergy attack.
Even though I want nothing more than for him to turn around a walk out of the apartment acting like he never saw me break down, Nate does the exact opposite. Which I’ve found he normally does. He slides up on the couch beside me and one of his big thick arms wraps around my shoulders pulling me close and allowing me to cry my tears into his armpit. It’s a good smelling armpit. A soft pine tree.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” he pries.
I shake my head no but then began talking. “Is so hard, Nate. I’ve been strong for so long but I don’t think I can do it anymore.” My second sentence gets choked off by a sob but there’s so much more I want to say. How can I raise Emma if I’m emotionally unstable?
“You don’t need to do it alone anymore, Josie. You have help. I will be here to take care of you until you are one hundred percent better.”
And then what will I do? I live in a town where I know no one. There’s no help and even though I haven’t admitted it to myself, my job barely pays the bills. Between working, taking care of Emma, and trying to sleep at least six hours a night, my life is ridiculous. Is this the way it will be until she turns eighteen? I’ll never make it.
When the tears slow, I pull back from his embrace. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I suck so much.”
“You don’t suck,” he says, managing a smile.
I nod my head. “Nate, I don’t know what happened.” Years ago — what feels like forever but wasn’t too far away — I had been cool. Popular in high school even. I had moves and a fashionable wardrobe, but those days are gone now.
“I hit you with my truck. If it’s anyone fault, it’s mine.” The carefree smile he sported moments ago falls. “There’s no way I can say sorry enough or do enough to make you feel better. The least I can do is stay here and take care of you and try my best to make it right.”
I slap his shoulder. “Things went wrong a lot further back than when you hit me.”
Like way back in high school, the day I met Barry. Yet, as soon as I visualize it, I force away the thought. Without that jackass in my life, I would’ve never given birth, and life wouldn’t be worth it without her here. Even if she does tempt me to insanity every day.
“Well, I’m going to do my best to make sure life is perfect from here on out,” he says, squeezing me tightly. “I promise.”
