Heat stings behind my eyes. I scrub a hand over my face and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Mom…”
“You love that girl, Steven.” Her mouth lifts into the smallest smile, and her eyes shine. “Memory or not, I see it every time you say her name. So go home. Don’t wait until you feel ready, either. Just go get your wife.”
Chapter forty
Emma
Iusedtolookforward to the nights I had the bed to myself. A whole king-sized mattress. No tiny feet in my face, or baby on my chest, no husband snoring like a broken engine beside me. And last night would’ve been my chance. But the thought of climbing into my bed, without Steven next to me, left me feeling the loneliest I’ve felt in months.
I wanted to call him. I wanted to check on him, hear his voice, make sure he was okay.
I’ll miss you.
His words soothed parts of me I’ve been avoiding. Tender pieces I’ve been running from. Like an idiot. They replayed in my head the entire drive home. And when it came time to crawl into our bed, it felt like a betrayal to do it without him. So I didn’t. I slept on the floor of Josie’s room instead.
It was a good idea for the most part.
Until three minutes ago, when she opened her eyes, saw me on the floor, and started screaming.
I scramble upright, tangled in the blankets and stubbing my toe on the crib. She keeps screaming. Disoriented, I scoop her up and flip on the light. Her cries crescendo because I wasn’t quick enough. She wakes the boys, who shuffle in with hair sticking up like angry porcupines, glaring at both of us. How dare we disturb their slumber.
“Good morning,” I yawn, carrying Josie into their room, planning to multitask the morning routine. But before I even switch on their light,everything erupts. Suddenly, Sawyer is shouting, Easton is shoving him backward, Josie is wailing louder in my arms, and their alarm starts blaring.
“Get off!” Easton yells at the same time Sawyer shouts, “I hate you!”
“Boys, please,” I say, trying to wrangle Josie into a clean diaper.
They continue to argue around me, my pleas and flimsy threats of “no more Legos” floating right past them. Mornings seem to take the gravity out of consequence around here. Taking toys? Time outs? None of it carries any weight until later in the day. Even for me. Not brushing my hair? That’s a 10 a.m. issue. Which is why I have zero desire to battle them.
I nurse Josie quickly, drop her in her usual living room spot, and begin the morning shuffle with as much positivity as I can. Nothing improves. I step on abandoned toys, spill breast milk, misplace a shoe, all while the boys are still fighting. I keep glancing toward the front door, waiting forsomeoneto come save the day.
In the driveway, I type out an SOS message to Steven, delete it, rewrite it, delete it again. Eventually, I give up entirely. I can handle being a mom. I don’t need him swooping in to rescue me.
You can do this on your own.
My own words echo in my mind like a haunting, chanting,On your own. On your own. You’re on your own.
They follow me all the way through the school drop-off line. The boys stop arguing as we pull in, and I get ten seconds of peace before they jump out of the car, immediately shoving each other on their way inside.
Josie starts screaming in the backseat as I pull away, and that’s when my chest goes funny. A frantic fluttering spreads through me, crawling into my limbs and dragging across my bones. My heartbeat slams into my ears, making driving nearly impossible.
“Not right now,” I beg myself. “Please not now.”
I grip the steering wheel, forehead pressed to the grooves in the leather, and let out a tiny, pathetic sound.
Josie’s cries boom into something sharp enough to split me open. I pull off to the side of the lot, the school shrinking in my rearview, and any sense of control I might’ve had shrink with it.
Reality feels out of reach as everything starts to blur. Josie cries until I hand her a crinkle toy, and she calms just enough for me to gather a thought. The seatbelt feels like a fist on my chest, and a pulsing ache radiates there. My shirt is suddenly damp as milk leaks down my stomach.
I groan and reach for a napkin, smacking my head on the radio and switching the station to full-blown mariachi. Trumpets erupt, bouncing around the cab at the exact tempo of my racing heart.
The music and the pounding in my ears crush together, and the urge to scream becomes unbearable. I bury my face in my hands and let out a muffled scream, which causes Josie to start crying again. The panic is too strong to stop, racing up my spine as I finally realize why this is happening.
I reach for my purse and dump everything onto the floorboard, fumbling until my fingers close around the bottle. I take a breath, open it, and swallow one small white pill.
No water. No hesitation.
I stare down at the label on my anxiety medication, my name, my birthday, my dosage all screaming back up at me. I forgot to take them. Again. I shove my palms into my eyes, angry with myself for not paying attention.
