“Hi,” she says and goes towards the kitchen.
My stomach growls at the delicious smell still lingering in the air.
“Have you guys eaten lunch?”
“Here,” Marissa says as she hands me my son, ignoring my question completely. “Have fun, I’m gonna take a nap.”
“A nap?” I ask as I glance at the clock. “What are you, 60?”
She makes an irritated face, which makes me want to annoy her even more.
“It’s your time with your son, no need to worry about what I’m doing.”
“Silly me, you already live like you’re 60. No fun whatsoever.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She takes the bait.
“Life with you was always the same boring shit. Every fucking day. Work, eat, sleep, repeat.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. What did you think a life with a baby was going to be like? A 24/7 party?” She asks me in a tone that one uses for children and the mentally disabled.
“Don’t use him as an excuse! Other people have children, too, and they manage to live their lives and have fun every once in a while. Look at how Angie is with Ryder.”
Marissa closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “Okay, then. Sorry for being a responsible parent instead of an immature asshole. Tell you what, when you and Rebel have a baby, you can drag him around the clubhouse as much as you want, give no fucks about his routine, make sure to damage his hearing with the loud music, and his lungs with all the smoke. Maybe then you’ll be happy and faithful.”
Even though she doesn’t know about it, the thought of what life might have been like with my unborn child wounds me. And her sanctimonious tone rubs me the wrong way.
“You’re such a bitch,” I spit.
“Eat shit, Dylan,” she retorts, so I shove DJ back into her arms and get the fuck out of there.
“How did it go with Carlos?” Rebel asks me when I arrive at work.
“He’s a sleazy motherfucker.”
“Told ya,” she says as she works on a guy’s shoulder. “Master manipulator.”
I look at my schedule for the day, and the date catches my eye. Rebel’s birthday is a little over a month away. I should do something special.
Back when we were together the first time, I didn’t have the money I have now. I’m sure her tastes have changed, too, I realize as I remember the Hawaii comment.
A weekend in Vegas, I think as I stencil another generic butterfly on another generic blonde. Yep, that’s it. I’ll splurge and get us a suite. Fuck that guy and his 100K.
*
Five weeks later, we return from Vegas, hungover and married.
And in my case, around eight thousand dollars shorter.
It was worth every cent, I think every time Rebel’s ring catches the light.
I still cannot believe it. She’s finally, legally mine.
My wife, Mrs. Barnes, I repeat to myself as Rebel tattoos my ring finger.
She looks up at me and gives me the biggest, happiest smile. I didn’t even know my heart was capable of this much love.
We’re now a family in every sense of the word. I imagine us spending time with Junior and his siblings down the road, but that thought sobers me. I still have to talk to Marissa, and I’m dreading it.
