by Stasia Black
So I did. And yeah, occasionally I had violent feelings toward some of my fellow peers in the parenting class. There were some in the class who seemed like they genuinely wanted to reform and were desperate to do anything it took to be better people in order to get their kids back.
But some of the others, God, they didn’t deserve kids. At all. In fact, I thought the class should be pass or fail. If you failed, then you not only didn’t get your kids back, but you also got neutered at the end. Not PC to say, but fuck that. Case in point: there was one guy who was a disgusting lowlife, watching porn on his phone instead of paying attention to a lesson on current behavioral theory and effective ways to discipline one’s children that weren’t verbally or physically abusive. We’d all gone around and told why we were there at the start of class. Lowlife had lost custody of his kids for abusing them and his wife. Or as he put it, “ya know, I’d kinda get pissed sometimes. I’d come home after a long day of work and my wife was being a bitch and my kids wouldn’t stop whinin’ and it would all just get out of control, ya know?”
Yeah. I wanted to take his phone, break the screen, and stab him in the eyeball with it. Toward the end of class, he came in grinning and told us that his wife had taken him back. He was moving in with her and the kids again. He never came back after that and I still feel sick thinking about those kids.
The fact that I was lumped in with the same category of parent as him in the court’s eyes… I can’t even.
The double beeps of the train announcing the arrival at a station break me out of my thoughts. I look up and see that it’s my stop. Shit. Today’s not the kind of day to space out and miss my stop by accident. Thankfully, I’m close to the doors.
When they open, I move with the crowd and am expelled out onto the platform with all the other commuters, half of whom are staring at their phones. I don’t even bother to check the time. I’m sure it’s already past eight o’clock. I jog off the platform, only now remembering my breakfast bar. I unwrap it and shove half of it in my mouth, chewing as I go.
It’s at least another ten minutes before I hurry into the building that houses the CubeThink offices. I swallow down the last bit of the bar and now my mouth feels like the Mohave Desert. Must. Drink. Water.
No time though. I make a beeline for the elevator once I’m inside. My heart rate speeds up as I cross the threshold into the small boxed-in space and I look around. It’s fairly packed and I quickly scan each face. It’s only as the doors close and I’ve finished looking everyone over that I let out a breath.
No Jackson.
Then I shut my eyes, kicking myself for even letting his name cross through my head. I’m usually so good about it. I don’t let myself think about him. His face. His touch. What might have been…
God, here I am doing it again.
I force my eyes back open. There’s a reason I take the stairs every day. I don’t need to fight through these mental acrobatics each morning, worrying about running into him in the one space we might accidently encounter each other.
That day I told him I’d accept a job with his company and his lawyer’s help with Charlie’s custody hearing but not a relationship with him was the last that I saw him. I started working here at CubeThink the following Monday, but it’s been the unspoken agreement between us that he stays on his executive floor and I never leave my workspace three floors below.
My foot taps impatiently as the elevator rises. I want to scream each time the elevator stops to let people out at what feels like every floor on the way to the CubeThink offices. Which naturally take up the top five stories of the high-rise. I check my phone when the elevator finally slides the last bit up to my floor.
8:14. Fuck. My whole body winces right as the doors open and I step out.
“Glad someone felt like showing up today.” Marcy’s sharp voice is the first thing that greets me. She’s walking by the lobby, her assistant at her heels holding a tablet and a folder stuffed with printouts.
“I apologize for being late,” I say, my voice coming out slightly croaky through my dry-as-fuck throat. I try to compensate by standing up as straight as I can.
“What? No excuses about traffic? Or let me guess, your cat chewed through the cord of your alarm clock?”
“No ma’am. I do apologize, though.” I feel my cheeks redden. Marcy might be a hard-ass, but she’s a woman I respect the hell out of. I hate being in this position. “It won’t happen again.” I’ll set three alarm clocks if I have to from now on.
She snorts, turns away, and continues walking. “It better not,” she says. Then when she’s almost to the door, she looks over her shoulder, irritation on her face. “Well what are you doing now?” She seems absolutely exasperated by me. “Follow.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I scurry and hurry after her. I only glance longingly to the water cooler in the corner before following her through the door.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I whisper under my breath as I race into the psychologist’s office. It was 5:01 when I last checked my phone in the Uber as we fought traffic to get from San Jose, across town, then to the office in Menlo Park. Fucking Menlo Park. Only David’s stick-up-her-ass wife would be able to afford actually living in this area and demand the custodian for the supervised visits be at a place like this. Yeah, I got to put forth some names as options too, but David and the Shrew were always going to fight anyone I recommended. In the end my lawyer independently checked out this psychologist and agreed she’s one of the best, unlikely to be biased one way or the other. I just have to eat the outrageous costs, which I can halfway manage because of my new job.
Not that a fifty-dollar Uber ride to get here on time is helping my finances. Usually I take public transit, but there was a team meeting at the end of the day today. After being late to the office, there was no way I was asking to be excused early. But every minute that ticked by after four o’clock, I felt like my guts were being twisted.
I swear internally again as I yank open the office door. Then I get into the actual psychologist’s office, I note the wall clock behind the secretary’s desk. 5:04. Shit. That’s four precious minutes that I lost with my son. At least David and the Shrew aren’t in the lobby to see and take satisfaction. They usually drop Charlie off for a half-hour appointment with the psychologist at four-thirty, then I come for the two-hour supervised visit. Me being late will also go in the recorded notes the court gets. Double fuck.
“I’m here for the visit with my son,” I say quickly to the secretary. She’s new, not one I’ve seen before. “Calliope Cruise.” The words that just came out of my mouth feel ridiculous. I have to ask this woman to see my son. He’s behind walls and doors and I have to make an appointment to get access to him. It makes me furious if I think about it for too long. Later. I can be pissed later.
The woman looks up at me with a slightly bored expression. “What did you say your last name is again?”
“Cruise. I’m here for my five o’clock appointment with Dr. Rodriguez and my son, Charlie Cruise.”
She clicks her mouth several times. “Then she frowns. I have a supervised child visitation for a Charles Kinnock. But no Cruise.”
That motherfucking bitch-faced bastard—
I squeeze my eyes shut so hard it almost gives me a headache before I breathe very slowly in and out a couple of times. “That’s my son,” I say, jaw tight. “But his name is Charlie Cruise. My ex’s last name is Kinnock, but that’s not on Charlie’s birth certificate. David made the appointment with the wrong name just to get to me.”
The secretary frowns. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you. I have an appointment for a Charlie Kinnock. There seems to be an error here and you should call during regular business hours to talk to a nurse to reschedule—”
“Just let me go see my son,” I lose my cool and get right up in her face. “I’ve been waiting all week to come here and see my son. Just push whatever button you have to so I can go and see my son.”
I realize my mistake a
s she backs away from the desk and grabs the phone, looking for all the world like she’s about to call security on me.
Fuck! I wasn’t shouting but my voice was definitely elevated.
I raise my hands and immediately quiet my voice so that I’m abjectly conciliatory. “I’m sorry. I apologize for raising my voice. Maybe you could just call Dr. Rodriguez and let her know that Miss Cruise is here.” I make my voice absolute sugar and honey. “Would that be possible?” I smile my gentlest smile at the incompetent idiot and take a step back.
She eyes me like she’s waiting for me to go all super-freak on her but I stand patiently like Molly Mc-DoGooder and after a moment, her posture relaxes and she gives me a smile in return.
“Yes, all right,” she finally says. She pushes a few numbers on the phone and repeats what I said. She gives several nods as something is said on the receiver and then looks back at me.
“I’ll buzz you through. You can go directly back. It’s the last door on the left at the end of the hallway.” She’s still eyeing me like she can’t quite trust me, so I make sure to walk at a perfectly steady pace even though I want to flip her off and run down the hall to see my son.
I give one last glance at the clock before she buzzes the door to the office. 5:12. Damn lady just wasted another six minutes of Charlie-time hassling me.
Then twenty seconds later, none of it matters because I open the door and there he is. My baby. My Charlie. I open the door and he runs straight into my legs.
“Mama!”
I drop to my knees and pull him close. His pudgy little arms close around my neck and I breathe him in.
“You’re so big,” I say, choking up. The tears come almost immediately like they always do, even though I swore to myself I wouldn’t cry this time. Charlie doesn’t understand why Mama is always crying when she sees him. I tell him they’re happy tears but sometimes it makes him sad and he told me once that he cries a lot too.
He doesn’t understand why all the sudden he can’t see me every day. I’ve talked with the psychologist and it’s the only way I know the little I do about what’s going on with him. Charlie’s started having behavior problems. He was always such a happy boy. And now he’s acting out and also having trouble sleeping when he never had problems before.
She assured me that there are no signs of abuse, though. As much as I might hate David’s wife, Regina, since she was the one who was the catalyst behind all of this, Charlie’s incorporated her into his little world. He makes stick figure drawings that include her, David, and me as if we’re all one big happy family.
I squeeze him to my chest a little tighter. If only I could protect him from the real world and how horrible adults actually are to one another. If only he never has to know.
“Play, Mama.” He wiggles to get out of my embrace. It makes me want to hold him even longer. It’s so like my little man. Never satisfied with being still for long. He keeps squirming and I laugh and let him go. But not without tickling him.
He squeals with laughter and the sound fills up my empty soul. God, I should have gotten out my phone to record the sound. Maybe it could get me through the week between visits. A shot of Charlie’s laugh to help me ride out the rough patches.
I don’t have even a moment to get melancholy, though, because Charlie’s little hand is holding onto mine and pulling me toward the corner play area where the trains are. He grabs the wooden tracks and even manages to fit some of the links together correctly. I’m amazed as I help him make a simple circle and then some more difficult designs.
He’s developed so much even in the four months since he last lived with me. Grown so much bigger. I swallow hard. How much am I missing in the week between these ridiculously short visits? How many little daily moments when Charlie learns new words, new skills? When he has new revelations about his world and I’m not there to see his face as he takes it all in?
“Mama?”
Charlie crawls into my lap and puts his hand up to my cheek where I only now realize a tear has fallen.
“Mama sad?”
I shake my head and paste on a big smile, swiping at the errant tear quickly. “Sorry, sweetie.” I don’t want to lie to him and say I wasn’t crying. “No more crying.”
“Why Mama cry?” His low eyebrows are furrowed deeply.
I kiss his hand that touched my cheek. “Mama was just thinking about how much you’re growing. I’m sad I miss getting to see you grow every single day, that’s all. But I’m so happy that I’m with you now. Let’s focus on that. You want to make the train go around the track?”
But Charlie keeps frowning. “I want you to see me grow. Why can’t you live in the house with us?”
Talk about breaking my fucking heart.
“It doesn’t work like that, baby. Mama and Daddy live in separate houses. You stay with Daddy sometimes and eventually you’ll be able to stay with Mama again sometimes.”
He crosses his arms. “No. I want us to live in one house. Now.”
“Well, babe,” I tell him prosaically, “there’s what we want, and then there’s what’s gonna happen.”
“I want to live in one house.” He even stomps his foot.
I can see where this is going. He hasn’t changed that much. A tantrum is a tantrum, though from what the psychologist says, he’s having them more often and to further extremes.
I cut it off at the pass. I stand up and grab him underneath his chest and legs, then swing him up into the air. “Look who’s flying!”
Whoa, either he’s heavier or my arm muscles have gotten way wimpier.
He tries to stay stubborn, but after a few swirls in a circle, he gives in and giggles his head off. Good thing too, my arms are about to give out. I swing him around a couple more turns and know I’m still going to feel it tomorrow.
I lower him so that he’s propped on my hip and drop my forehead to his before sticking my tongue out at him and making a funny face. He giggles more and I feel confident that I’ve distracted him from the previous subject. At least for now.
I don’t glance to the corner where I can feel the psychologist watching us. I’m not sure if distraction is a Psychology 101 approved method for dealing with tough subjects, but any mom knows that any and all tricks to avoid tantrums are one hundred percent super bueno.
“Want to read a book now?”
Charlie nods and we head over to an area that has a plush carpet and pillows set up. I pick up a stack of board books and Charlie settles onto my lap, his sweet head nestled on my chest. I close my eyes for one quick moment, trying to memorize the feel of him against me.
Then I start to read, exaggerating my voice to be all the characters. Anything to hear my baby boy’s laugh again.
My hands are on my phone as soon as I’m back in my Uber on the way home.
I text my new friend Lydia who I’ve gotten really close with over the past few months after meeting her in my self-defense class.
ME TO LYDIA: I need to get PISS ASS drunk tonight. Wanna make a girls’ night out of it?
I hit send and then slump my head back against the seat with my eyes closed. It’s Friday and it’s been a long as hell week. But my sister and also roommate, Shannon, is gone to a week-long conference and I know if I go home to that empty apartment, I’ll just drive myself fucking insane.
David and the Shrew were in the lobby when I came out. I avoided eye contact, but still. If only I had made David sign away his parental rights when I first told him I was pregnant and his response was an envelope with two hundred bucks and staunch instructions to “Get rid of it.”
I kick the seat in front of me. The driver looks back at me with a glare.
“Sorry,” I mutter. A girls’ night will make everything better. After last night, I don’t exactly trust myself to try going solo again. Plus, I just wanna get drunk. I might feel that same itch, the one that wants to… go on the hunt like that. But shit, after last night I can see how fucked up it is.
I’ll just be norm
al tonight.
Normal. I can do that… Right?
My phone pings and I look down. I have two texts. A response from Lydia but also one that I missed since I had my phone turned off while I was in with Charlie. I check Lydia’s first.
LYDIA: Sure. Where you feel like going?
Then I check the one I missed. It’s from Bonnie, a chick I work with and part of the happy hour group I join sometimes.
BONNIE: Wanna go out tonight? I got VIP passes to Chandelier. I’m thinking like @10?
I perk up. Chandelier is a total hot spot.
ME TO BONNIE: Do you have an extra pass? Love to hit Chandelier with you but just made plans with BFF.
ME TO LYDIA: Checking on something, back to ya in a sec.
Only another minute passes before I get a ping and it’s Bonnie.
BONNIE: Totally! Bring her along, Jamaal scored a bunch of VIP passes through this guy he knows who’s friends with the owner.
Jamaal is Bonnie’s live-in boyfriend who she’s been going out with since high school. He started working at CubeThink because she did, though in a different department, sales or marketing or something. She keeps waiting for him to pop the question so they can, in her words, “settle down and start having a ton of babies.” Jamaal on the other hand, keeps talking about all the trips they can take traveling around the world once he saves up to buy a catamaran.
Yeah. The rest of us at work can’t decide if we should have an intervention to introduce Bonnie to the real world or if it’s better to let her keep living in fantasyland. Otherwise, she and Jamaal are totally, completely happy and compatible.
ME TO LYDIA: I just got the hook up to VIP passes for Chandelier!!! You gotta come!!!
It’s only a few seconds before I get a response.