MGM was the result of the careless night I’d spent with April. Or maybe it was one of the nights that followed. To be honest, junior year was a bit of a blur. Rabid Jackal had become the go-to Friday night out. At the time we were still performing in Johnny’s garage. We’d open the accordion door and teenagers would gather on the lawn, spilling out into the street… until some dumbass got hit by a car and ruined everything.
The point is, we were popular, and I had my pick of the litter. April had been part of the Kennel Club—get it? Rabid Jackal? It was the name given to our most enthusiastic fans. And she was… um… enthusiastic. Only sixteen at the time, she had a fixation on me that wouldn’t quit, and who was I to say no? We had sex once or twice, I think, and then I spent the last two months of school trying to dodge her… until she showed up at my door. Surprise! She was pregnant. And I was going to be a father… at seventeen.
“I realize he’s my son,” I replied. “I’m just curious why he’s in my arms. I don’t have him Saturdays.”
“You’re his father, Scott. Not the babysitter.”
There was no need for reminders. I was well aware of my obligations, and I refused to allow April to dump her shortcomingsas a parent on me. “Oh, I don’t think you want to start comparing resumes,” I said.
She shot me a hateful glare, pretty much summing up our current relationship. After dropping the baby bomb on me, April and I gave dating a second shot, but we didn’t make it past the gestational stage. And, now, well… here we were. The reason I was living on her family’s property had everything to do with April’s questionable choices, not mine.
I got it. This was her senior year—homecoming, ditch days, prom. None of her friends had a baby, and she didn’t want to be the only one stuck at home. At first, she’d balanced it with school during the day, occasional nights out, and enough time with MGM to let me work or catch a little sleep.
Then came the boyfriend, Ron. Unlike me, he didn’t have to work three jobs to scrape by. He sat in junior college classes on his parents’ dime. And he sure as hell didn’t want to play stepdad. Within weeks, April’s nights out turned into disappearing acts. Excuses piled up. Sometimes she didn’t come home.
That left her mom, Meg, holding it all together—working a swing shift and covering childcare during the day. Eventually, she pulled me aside. Told me the apartment over the garage was empty, and if I was serious about being a father, maybe it was time I stepped up. I didn’t hesitate. Not just because I’d been couch-surfing since my parents kicked me out, but because Mitch needed someone consistent. Someone who showed up. So that’s what I did.
Absently, I slid my fingers through his soft, damp curls, and it occurred to me to ask, “Why’s he all wet?”
“I don’t know, Scott. He’s a toddler. My gut says there’s a toilet involved.”
“Your gut says? You weren’t watching him?”
“Like every second?” she asked, as if the question itself were unreasonable.
“Yes, every second, April… or he’ll head to the bathroom and splash around in the shitter.”
“Like you have room to judge,” she snapped. “Last week, you rolled him in marshmallows.”
“I did not roll him. He was sticky from baby food, and the marshmallows just… found him.”
April let out a dramatic sigh, her eyes already searching for a way out. “Whatever. Are you done? Because I have somewhere to be.”
“I just got off work. It’s your day on the schedule.”
“Who cares about the schedule, Scott? He’s your fucking kid. Take him!”
I winced, for so many reasons. It wasn’t the swearing in front of him that concerned me—I did that too—but the resentment. And lately, it wasn’t only directed towards me, but to her son. Even more concerning was April’s increasing frustration with her life. I wasn’t sure what worried me more: that she might walk away and take Mitchell with her, or that she’d abandon him altogether, leaving me to co-parent with her mother.
April reacted to my silence with more anger. “Just admit it,” she said. “You hate that I’ve found someone. Admit it. You hate it.”
She was right. I did hate it, but not for the reason she wanted. I wasn’t jealous of her relationship with Ron. I was worried about the wedge it was creating between her and MGM. And now, I was concerned about his safety.
“I’ve got him,” I said, cradling MGM protectively against my chest.
Reacting to my defensive measure, she responded with tears. I didn’t know what was happening with her lately, but she was in no condition to be watching our son.
“Does your mom know I’ll be at the house when she comes home?” I asked.
All childcare duty was done in the main house. Not only because all of his stuff was there, but also because my apartment was barely acceptable for an opossum, much less a human baby.
“I’ll be home by eight, before she gets off work.”
I doubted that, but I nodded anyway. “Go.”
But April lingered there a moment, silent, some emotion flickering behind her eyes, one I couldn’t place before she blinked it away, swiped at her face, then turned and walked away.
Johnny, MGM, and I sat in the truck, not speaking until April had backed her car out of the driveway.
