I decide to call my mom to vent.
“Hey, Mom,” I say when she picks up.
“Hello, Dylan,” she responds, a bit unenthusiastically for my taste.
She’s been kind of weird lately. She probably misses Junior.
“I’m at the store, getting some stuff for DJ. He’s coming to stay with me this weekend, and I was gonna bring him by on Sunday.”
“I know, Marissa told me.”
“What the hell is she talking to you for?” I ask.
My face is itchy.
“If you must know, I call her whenever I want to know how my grandbaby is doing. Is that a problem for you?” She asks sternly, and I feel like an ass.
I should probably call her more often and be the one to update her on DJ.
“Fine, okay. I… Marissa’s been getting on my nerves lately, especially about this visit. It’s like she doesn’t want me to have him,” I say, needing my mom to be on my side.
“That doesn’t sound like Marissa,” Mom says carefully.
“Oh, you don’t know what she’s been like since the breakup. She started throwing things she’d done during our relationship in my face, and I told her, Did I ever ask you to cook for me or act like a maid? Fuck, no!”
I know how it sounds, but I plow on, because if I don’t, I might remember the other things Marissa threw in my face that day, and the shame I’ve been successfully repressing would return.
“What the fuck are you getting the court involved for? Are you trying to say I don’t take care of my kid?”
I can’t believe she’s gonna file for child support. I feel like someone’s choking me. Marissa, on the other hand, looks eerily calm. She’s sitting on the couch as I pace the room, and her hands are neatly folded in her lap.
“I’ve burned through my savings now that I’m out of work. And due to the kidnapping and everything that happened, I had to stop breastfeeding, so there’s the added expense of formula. The 150 dollars you gave me a month ago isn’t enough to help with all that.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” I snap. “I’ve always told you, anything Junior needs, you tell me!”
It is then that I see something inside her snap as well. “I’d be calling you every hour of the day! Don’t you understand how much a child costs? Who do you think has been buying his diapers and clothes and paying for his daycare since the day he was born? You bought him a crib, a stroller, and a car seat, and gave me a few hundred dollars here and there. Don’t try to tell me you didn’t know that wasn’t enough!”
“You wouldn’t have had to pay for daycare if you weren’t leaving him there to go to work,” I say, desperate to give back some of the debilitating shame she just handed to me, and it works.
Marissa looks like I stabbed her. I want to take it back. I really do.
“Get out. Get out!” She shouts through the tears, and I tell myself that she wouldn’t be crying if what I said wasn’t true. Right?!
But it doesn’t make me feel any better.
Later that day, when I return to the clubhouse, Rebel is sitting on one of the armchairs in the corner, with Prez and Angie cuddled up on the couch next to her.
I give her a brief kiss and motion for her to get up and sit on my lap.
“How did it go?” She asks quietly, aware that there’s always some fight or other waiting at the house for me whenever I go to see my son.
“Bitch is filing for child support,” I say, relishing the taste of the righteous anger that cuts through the shame.
“What the fuck?” Prez growls. “That ain’t right. Is she going for full custody, too?”
“I have no idea, man, I got out of there when she told me, otherwise who knows what might have happened,” I say as I shake my head. “She’s already taking my son to Phoenix, and now this. All because I didn’t want her anymore.”
Rebel nuzzles into my neck, and I feel so much better.
