I have no idea if I’ll go, but I guess I should. I’ll never hear the end of it if I don’t. Sometimes it’s easier to placate my mother than to argue. She’s a bully like that, tormenting you over and over until you get exasperated and give in.
“Good, then. Look, honey, I’m sorry for snapping. It’s been a rough day. We’ll start over. Just call me sometime, okay? Are you coming for Christmas?”
She makes my head fucking spin. I swear to fucking god, I have whiplash.
I haven’t visited her once over the holidays since I moved. “Can’t. I’ll fly you over for Christmas.”
“Good. I love you.”
She doesn’t. I’m not sure she’s even capable.
“Love you, too.”
As bad as it sounds, I know deep down in my soul that when she dies, I won’t care. I hate that about myself. But my life has been surrounded by her verbal abuse. Between that, she fills my life with words of love and care when she feels I’m slipping away, or when she’s appeased because she’s gotten what she wants. It’s all a manipulation. I know that. Still, the whiplash keeps me tethered to her, craving every goddamn morsel of love she strategically spoon feeds me.
I should see a therapist, but I don’t because I know exactly what they’ll tell me. They’ll explain that I seek sex to have a moment when someone focuses their attention on me, which is pleasurable. It’s not thesex as much as it’s the attention. They find me worthy and attractive enough to accept me into their bed. Then deep down into my amygdala, I fear rejection. Rejection from her, from those I sleep with, and rejection from potential relationships. Iwasrejected, but when you’re already running on a steady flow of insecurities, it’s enough to do you in. Sleeping around fills that void and temporarily silences her negativity.
It’s also why I no longer do relationships. I sought them out to get that much-needed love, and once I got it, I ended up leaving them… untilhim. Until Grant. He cheated several times, which I cannot forgive. It’s mentally easier not to get involved with anyone. I’m just a fucking failure at them. The only thing I’m good at is architecture.
With a sigh, I run my hands through my hair. Any good mood I had is now gone. I swear, it’s like my mother tries to ruin my weekend on purpose. She sucks the energy out of my fucking soul.
If I were smart with a sense of self-preservation, I’d have no contact with her, but I always cave. Every single time.
“Screw it,” I snap out loud.
I put away the food I pulled out and make myself a quick sandwich instead. I gulp it down, then I hop into the shower. I need a distraction. Sex is always a good distraction. It’s time to go out and find my next lay.
Chapter 4
Seth
Itrynottothink about my sexy and annoying-as-hell neighbor, Calvin, as I take my kids to the drop-off daycare for the evening. Why does he always push my buttons? I want to poke back, but my kids are always around. I have to set an example for them. What’s worse is that he’s starting to live rent-free in my head. I blame it on not getting laid for three years. If he wasn’t hot, my brain probably wouldn’t be festering like this.
Malcolm and I called our daycare drop-off business ‘Penny’s Playhouse,’ named after my mom. What started as one facility quickly grew into four across New Orleans and the surrounding suburbs.
Honestly, I’m making a killing on them. Sure, I have loans and overhead, but they’re incredibly popular. Parents can simply drop off their kids on other days when daycares are closed or if they only need us once. Need to go to an appointment and can’t bring the kids? Drop them off at Penny’s. Going on a date night? Drop off your kids at Penny’s. You can leave them for an hour or ten, though ten is a bit excessive and unusual.
My business is technically a glorified babysitter. Instead of hiring babysitters you don’t know very well, who are hard to come by, or are unreliable, I have staff trained in childcare and education.
Every night is movie night. The place is one giant playscape, filled with activities and bright colors. In the back, outside, is a playground. Our services include meals and snacks.
I never expected the place to grow so fast that I needed to expand rapidly. It made all that pain and grief worth it. When Malcolm left, I was shattered. It was work and my kids that kept me going forward and distracted.
Even better? I get to drop off my kids on poker nights. They’re in good hands, and I get a much-needed break from children. I love them with every fiber of my being, but sometimes I need a moment to breathe.
“Can’t I go with you, Seth?” Harrison asks. “I’m older now. This place is for little kids.”
I smile and slide open the back door of my van. “But I need you, Hare. You’re great at keeping your brother and sister in line. You also know that there aren’t any kids on poker night.” That’s not quite true. Sometimes, if they’re older, they might come. Usually, we try to play without them.
I unbuckle a zonked Emily from her car seat. When she wakes up, she’s going to be a grumpy banshee. Once she sees her friends from Penny’s, she’ll forget about being mad.
Sawyer is easy. He loves Penny’s and especially watching movies while eating pizza.
After I get my kids all checked in, I head back to my car and drive to my friends’ place. I’m eager to hang out with adults for a change.
My friends Ruben Edwards and Travis McClure have an old home in the Garden District that they’ve beautifully renovated. They have three kids between them: two in college and one who’s a flight attendant.
Reuben has one son from a previous marriage, and Travis has two. Both had been married and divorced to women in a past life. They found each other about eleven years ago and have been in love since.
