by Kim Holden
She’s still nodding. Still thinking.
When I reach the base of the stairs, I look at her door, and she’s still standing there watching me. I don’t want her to watch me walk these stairs, to bear witness to the struggle because it’s not going to be pretty, so I stop.
“Seamus?” she calls. Her voice sounds lighter. “Remember that gift I gave you that pissed you off?”
I nod because now I’m thinking.
“I’m not telling you what to do, but if you didn’t already chop it up and make toothpicks out of it, today would be a good day to take it for a test drive.”
The nod continues because relief is pouring in.
The next several hours are a blur.
I explain what’s going on to the kids in non-scary terms, even though I have no idea what’s going on. Reality in non-scary terms is how I’ve always approached my kids with my disease. Basically, I tell them I’m having trouble with my eye, and that Faith is taking me to the hospital so the doctor can make it better. I’m not sure if it’s true, but that’s what I tell them.
I use the cane.
I call in sick to work.
Faith drives us and we drop my kids off at school.
Faith drives me to the hospital.
We wait in the ER for hours.
I see a neurologist.
He confirms MS is the culprit behind the blindness.
There’s a good chance it’s temporary.
But it could be permanent.
He consults with my doctor and writes me a prescription.
Faith drives me to the pharmacy.
The pharmacist gives me steroids in exchange for a swipe of my credit card that’s almost maxed out.
Faith drives me to pick up my kids from school.
Faith drives us all home.
When she kills the engine, and the kids jump out and run up the stairs to our apartment, I’m not sure what to do next. I’ve spent all day with her and we haven’t spoken two words to each other. She’s done everything I needed without instruction or direction because I was lost in my body’s breakdown. The last thing I said to her this morning was the thank you that wasn’t thank you enough. And I want to say it again. But again, it’s insufficient. So, I look at her and say the words I feel bone deep, “So much more than thank you.”
Her confusion is evident when her eyebrows pull together, a crease forming between them. She has a very expressive face. I’ve watched it closely all day and seen a wide range of emotions. “So much more than thank you?” she questions.
“Thank you isn’t enough to express my appreciation,” I sincerely clarify.
Understanding lights in her eyes and the confusion crease disappears as a soft smile slowly spreads across her face. “So much more than you’re welcome.”
I can’t help but smile, and then I let out a long breath.
“I have a few frozen pizzas. Mind if I come up and we have a Friday night pizza party?”
“I can cook, Faith. You’ve already done enough.” I feel awful that I’ve killed her entire day.
“I know you can. This is me asking for a favor. Maybe I just don’t want to be alone.” She’s still smiling, but a hint of sadness touches her eyes.
The tables have turned. I get to help her. I can help her. I unbuckle my seatbelt and nod once in all-out agreement. “Friday night pizza party it is. Let’s do this.”
The rest of the evening is spent in apartment three—the five of us eating pizza, Kira even tried a piece when Faith offered it, which is groundbreaking considering it’s not one of her normal foods; singing karaoke, Kira’s rendition of “Hello” by Adele was over the top dramatic and made all of us smile; and watching a Disney movie we’ve all seen dozens of times but still love.
It was the best ending to one of the worst days I’ve ever had.
She’s kind of a bitch
present
The chorus from “Evil Woman” by Electric Light Orchestra is blaring at me, unkindly waking me from a deep, somewhat enjoyable sleep. It’s Miranda’s ringtone. I know it’s juvenile, I know, but it’s an inside joke that takes the edge off and allows me to answer the phone with an unfeeling, “Hello,” rather than an aggressive fuck you.
“Where in the hell are you?” she screeches.
I open my eyes and try to adjust to wakefulness, partial blindness, and verbal aggression all at the same moment. I have to admit I don’t like any of them and close my eyes again before I answer, “What?”
“Where in the hell are you?” she repeats louder this time. “I’ve been waiting for ten minutes.”
Shit.
Shit.
With everything that happened yesterday, I forgot about Miranda being in town this weekend for my kids. Think, Seamus, think. I can’t let her know I forgot, or she’ll use it against me, and I don’t feel safe driving yet until I adjust to my vision change. “I was just about to call you. The battery must be dead on my car. It won’t start. You’ll have to pick up the kids here at my place.”
She huffs. It’s a huff that’s so heavy with irritation at the inconvenience that I can practically feel it come through the phone and assault my cheek.
I rattle off apartment three’s address and hang up without another word.
I wake the kids immediately and begin packing their backpacks with a change of clothes for each of them while they get dressed. The pizza party ended late last night, and they’re all struggling to get moving, but the longer I watch them their actions aren’t slowed by sleepiness. I know my kids inside and out. This is a slow act of defiance, intentional or not; they don’t want to go. The smiles from last night are wiped clean, replaced by an air of reticent duty.
“What’s wrong, mate?” I ask Rory. He’s my most forthright child, I know he won’t hold back.
“I don’t want to go with Miranda.”
You would think with my low opinion of my ex-wife that his statement would make me happy. Ecstatic. But it doesn’t. It breaks my heart. “Why?” I ask gently.
“She bloody ignores us, Dad. She takes us to a hotel. We swim. She works—yapping on her phone and typing on her laptop the entire time. It’s bollocks. Why even bother?”
I look at Kai for confirmation. He nods.
“I’m sorry.” I am. So very sorry. I want to say more, offer them comfort, but there’s a knock at the door. I squeeze Rory’s shoulder so he knows I hear him and I understand, before I have to transition them into Miranda’s visit. “She’s here. Better grab your bags.”
When I open the door, prepared to face down hell, I’m offered a welcome reprieve. It’s Faith. “Good morning, neighbor.” She’s standing on the W…E mat smiling.
“Good morning, neighbor,” we all respond in unison. The cheerful greeting is executed with the uncheerful tone of a somber morning.
Faith frowns. “Maybe I should’ve just said morning and left out the good?”
We all step out of the doorway to offer her entry.
Kira perches on the arm of the couch with Pickles the cat hugged under her arm. “Mommy’s coming to get us.” Even my trusting, happy, little girl seems off this morning.
Faith sits down next to her and puts her hand on Kira’s back. I know what she’s doing, touching amplifies words. They’re louder and more easily understood in your mind when two people are touching, even casual touch. It’s a direct path for communication, fleshed out of one body and into another. “That’s great, Kira. I’m sure your mom misses you very much since she lives far away and doesn’t get to see you often.”
Kira shrugs. It’s not the shrug of a five-year-old. It’s a shrug with some age, with the misgivings that only time and experience extend. It’s deflating.
As if on cue, we all hear footsteps sounding on the stairs outside the open door. They’re the precise, staccato taps of high heels scratching against concrete. Holding my breath, I brace for her appearance and this unwanted interaction.
And then there she is. My ex. Standing on the W…E mat.
It’s the unwelcome mat again.
When no one moves and no one greets, Miranda clears her throat intentionally, to garner attention, even though every eye in the room is already on her. It’s a smug act to establish dominance. As she stares at me, her presence brings on a rush of anxiety because I’m reminded that her threats of a custody battle have been lying dormant for a few weeks. A sleeping bear that I don’t dare turn my back on. Or poke.
I turn to Kai standing next to me and pull him into a hug. “Be good, buddy. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“See you in the morning, Dad. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Rory and Kira are lined up when I release Kai and I repeat the hugs and words with them.
As they walk toward the door, Kira runs back to Faith and gives her a hug. The hug starts a chain reaction in Miranda’s eyes. It’s obvious she hadn’t noticed Faith on the couch until now. Shock is the first emotion that registers given away by the widening of her eyes, which is quickly downgraded to surprise as they narrow, leading to jealousy in the squaring off of her shoulders, and finally, the look she settles on I can only describe as blazing hellfire. She’s seething. “Who are you?” It’s demanding and cutting. She’s trying to intimidate.
Faith isn’t easily intimidated. When the hug has ended, because Kira and Faiths’ hugs are long and neither one of them cuts it short for Miranda’s benefit, Faith stands and walks to the door, a friendly smile in place, and extends her hand. “I’m Faith.”
“Faith is our friend and neighbor,” I explain. “She lives downstairs.” I feel the need to defend Faith and I don’t want her to go at Miranda alone because Miranda will eat her alive given the chance.
Miranda flicks her gaze at the offer of greeting but refuses the handshake. With a roll of her eyes, she looks to my kids instead. “Let’s go,” she commands.
The kids file out the door behind her and down the stairs.
When they’re all in the car and it drives down the street and out of sight Faith looks at me. “Seamus?”
“Yeah?” The air in the room feels corrupted, brought down by Miranda’s attitude.
Her mouth twists to the side as if she’s debating what she’s about to say. “She’s kind of a bitch,” she finally says, apologetically.
My mouth quirks up in a semi smile as I nod. “No kind of about it.”
An incoming text alert comes from my pocket. It’s a few notes from the Darth Vader theme song.
Faith raises her eyebrows in question.
“Miranda,” I answer.
She smiles and nods in agreement at my dark, evil choice of alert.
The text reads, Are you fucking her?
I laugh. Out loud. Longer and harder than I’ve laughed in a long time.
Faith is smiling at me.
“What?” I ask.
“You have a great laugh, Seamus. You should unleash it more often.”
I’m still smiling though the laughter has faded. “She’s delusional.” I turn the screen on my cell to face Faith, so she can read it and be included since she’s the subject matter of Miranda’s jealous accusation.
I shouldn’t have done that.
I shouldn’t have shared.
That much is glaringly obvious by the look of devastation and humiliation on Faith’s face.
Her eyes drop from the phone to the floor for a few seconds before they meet my eyes. She steps through the open door onto the W…E mat before she speaks. “Funny.” It sounds anything but funny. “I gotta go. See you later, Seamus.”
She’s down the stairs before I can catch up to ask what’s just happened. “Faith!” I yell.
It’s met with a door opening and closing below me.
I walk out and sit down on the top stair contemplating my next move.
Miranda is jealous because she thinks I’m sleeping with Faith.
I found Miranda’s jealousy funny. Not because of the subject matter, but the idea of her being jealous is asinine because she has no right.
Faith thinks I found the idea of her and I having sex funny and downright crazy.
Jesus Christ. Now I’m staring at the text again feeling like an asshole for the miscommunication and mix-up. And I’m also zeroing in on the words you fucking her and thinking quite literally what exactly that means. I’ve never let myself go down this road…fantasizing about Faith. Because Faith is my friend. And because I don’t know how old Faith is, but I know she’s too young for me. And because Faith is beautiful. And because Faith is healthy and energetic. And because Faith deserves more than I could give her.
But now, sitting on these stairs, I close my eyes and let myself go there. Her naked. Me naked. In my bed. God, she’s gorgeous lying beneath me. Her breasts are full and heavy with the weight of desire, cupped in my hands. Her skin so soft to the touch. Our kisses’ intensity and passion matched by the pace we’re keeping. I’m buried inside her, she’s tight, and her hips are meeting each thrust of mine. It’s the rhythm of two partners pleasing each other and themselves at the same time. Sex like I’ve never known it. My name escapes on a sexy moan between kisses. Fuck. It’s coming…coming…coming.
Shit.
I’m about to come.
In my fucking shorts.
On the steps in front of my apartment.
And I didn’t even touch myself.
Shit.
It’s been too damn long since I’ve been with a woman if a vivid, mental fantasy can bring me this close to the finish.
I was going to walk down and try to talk to Faith, but maybe this is a sign that I just need to go inside and give us some space. An embarrassing sign.
The unwelcome invader invites new obsessions
past
I dive even deeper into work with Seamus’s diagnosis. He makes no changes to his routine and accepts whatever his body dishes out. He struggles, trying to act like nothing’s different. He cares for the boys. He works. I let him.
Honestly, I try to ignore it. Deny it away.
But I can’t.
It’s there in our home like an unwelcome invader. It’s warped our image, warped the façade.
In turn, I throw myself at Loren. Making up any excuse to get away to Seattle and spend time with him.
“Mr. Buckingham will see you now,” Loren’s busty assistant says as she rises from her chair and moves to escort me to his office.
“I know the way,” I say, efficiently stopping her advancement and putting her in her place as subordinate.
Loren’s on the phone when I enter his office and lock the door behind me. He smiles appreciatively, carnal excitement sparking in his eyes, as he watches me undress before him. His conversation, all business related, continues though he picks up the receiver, eliminating the speaker phone as an auditory witness to our explicit activities.
He mutes the conference call, to say hello and give me a peck on the cheek while I unzip his pants. Our sexual encounters have taken a bold turn. Seduction has become my new obsession and I’ve mastered it. I can entice him into a quickie anywhere these days.
“Carry on,” I say with a sexy smirk as I return him to his call, releasing the mute button.
He stiffens in his chair when I wrap my lips around him, but it’s only minutes before the phone is on mute again and he has me bent over his desk. Quick and dirty, just the way he likes it. And without a condom, just the way I like it.
I’ve stopped taking my pills. I have a new plan. I’m determined to have his child, determined to make him love me. Getting pregnant nabbed me a husband once. I’d bet money it works again.
I don’t want the façade, it’s broken and no longer appealing. I want Loren and his empire; it’s my destiny.
And I always get what I want.
Flypaper
present
“Seamus, would you mind coming to the office?” It’s Janet, the school secretary. She’s called my desk phone, and she sounds nervous.
“Sure. I’ll be
right down.”
I walk as fast as my legs and cane allow, and when I step through the door of the school office, I’m met with a consolatory smile from Janet and a loud voice, which matches the stranger’s, who’s standing at her desk, demeanor. “Seamus McIntyre?”
I’m confused.
But I’m not.
Flashbacks of being served divorce papers, standing in this exact spot, not so long ago spring to my mind. I feel hot and sticky, like flypaper attracting bad news.
“Sign for this, please.” It’s too loud. Why can’t he speak quietly? Everyone in the office is staring at me now. Janet looks like she wants to put up a shield around us and deflect the attention.
I sign, and the first thing I notice is the return address on the manila envelope. I recognize it as Miranda’s lawyer.
The other shoe just dropped.
And it felt like an atomic blast.
She’s done it.
She’s pursuing full custody.
That bitch.
I’m the punchline
past
I’m pregnant!
Hallelujah!
It’s Loren’s.
I have obligatory sex with Seamus once a month, but never when I’m ovulating. Hell yes, I keep track of that shit. That’s when I visit Loren and make sure he fills me to capacity with baby-making potential.
I deliver the pregnancy news to Loren delicately.
He doesn’t receive it delicately. He rages at me. It’s a fury I’m sure will ignite the air around us and burn us both alive. “How did you fucking get pregnant?! You’re on the fucking pill!” He rarely curses, he’s beyond angry.