And I cry for another hour, I think, before
falling back asleep thanks to some pills Aaron had
on hand.
I wake up at dawn, with my eyes that burn and
weigh a ton and my head is hammering. I turn my
head on the pillow and find my mother next to me.
“Honey,” she says, with that expression she had
the day my dad left us. “Aaron called me.”
I nod trying to hold back the tears.
I didn’t think I had any left. I underestimated
myself.
“Everything is going to work out,” she
continues, caressing my face. “I promise you.”
“You can’t make a promise that you can’t keep,
Mom.”
“She’ll come back, you’ll see. Give her a little
time. He is the child’s father. She is confused and
insecure.”
“You’re right, Mom,” I say, looking at the
ceiling. “That baby is his. It always was.”
“Oh, love…”
“Please Mom, let me be. I have to sleep some
more.”
She gives me a kiss on the forehead. “I’ll be
downstairs if you need me.” And she leaves.
Then I turn over and drown my face in my
pillow, hoping to deaden these sobs that are back
again to choke me.
I have avoided this kind of situation my whole
fucking life so as to avoid suffering and forgetting
