by C C Monroe
I stay standing ten feet away from her. “Get what?”
“You will never learn when it’s too much,” she bites. As she shakes her head, I hear her sniffle.
“What’s too much? Damn it, Lana, talk to me. Tell me what you mean,” I press for more, moving to stand in front of her. I see the tears running down her face and the blackness taking over her eyes. She’s getting ready to shut me out, and I need her to not do that.
“You, Kingston. You’re too much with your ways. Can’t you understand I don’t want to be someone’s property, that I don’t want to be demeaned or owned again? Why can’t you seem to get that?” she huffs, throwing her hands around her shivering form. I reach beside us, grab the throw blanket from the couch, and swing it over her shoulders, holding it in my hands against her chest so it stays closed.
I hear her words, but I don’t understand them like I think she wants me to, and that puts us at odds.
“Lana, I’m not him. I know I can be a little...much, but I’m not demeaning you or owning you, fuck. I’m just trying to let you own me. Don’t you see that?” I ask, paranoia rising in me like bile when you’re sick. I don’t want to lose my queen, but with every fight, I’m finding it hard to stay, finding it more difficult to work shit out.
“No, Kingston, you aren’t making me feel that. You’re drowning me and I can’t breathe. I can’t handle this anymore. You’re too much. I need you to leave me alone!” She yells in my face, her hot breath against my skin, matching the burn of her words.
“What?” I ask on a dry swallow, my throat growing tight.
“I need you to not be so on me all the time. You’re consuming my life and I need to breathe.”
I debate arguing with her; the stubborn man in me wants to, but the father of her son in me makes me bite my tongue. What would I even say to that? I haven’t been anything with her. Not intimate in any way, no dating, barely any conversations or time spent together—which is why this hurts most.
I have been a complete stranger in my home, unknown to her in any way, and still she thinks I’m too much. She might as well ask me to fucking leave in order to get the space she needs. Her words can cut me deeper than a knife, open a flesh wound irreparable, and tonight, she slithered inside my chest like a serpent and poisoned me.
“Yeah, okay. Loud and clear.” Stepping back, I put my hands in front of us, showing her the physical space she needs.
Looking me over with a blank stare, she officially pushes me into damnation, where she is a woman I no longer know. With one look between both my eyes, she turns on me, completely burning the bridge she needs in order to get her distance. Back to four years ago, except now we can’t just walk away because of our son.
Tonight, I slept on Princeton’s floor, my only happy place.
Princeton’s cry wakes me from my slumber. Sitting up, I look to the spot next to me and see the bed’s empty. When I check the clock, I see it’s just after 6:00 a.m. Kingston is most likely already gone to the gym then straight to work.
Last night was a disaster. I became a completely unhinged mess and said some terrible things. I wish I could use Joel as the main source of my issues, but at this point, I don’t know what is anymore. I don’t feel like myself; I feel like I’m a lifeless soul inside my body. Trapped with no way out, and it’s daunting. I shouldn’t feel this way just after the birth of my son.
Walking into Prince’s room, I approach his crib and feel with each step my anxiety settle. He’s close; my baby is almost in my arms, I think to myself repeatedly. Leaning down, I pick him up and cradle his warm body into my chest. It warms me from the inside out.
“Hey, how did you sleep, monkey?” I coo, bouncing him with little effort in my arms. Making my way down the hall, his cries turn into little whimpers, like he knows we’re getting close to eating. Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, I pull my nightie down and hope he will latch. Please just latch. I close my eyes and bring him up to my exposed chest. He starts to latch, and I open my eyes excitedly, but it’s short-lived. After only two suckles, he drops me from his mouth and starts to cry again, making my heart rate speed up and a hot shiver run up my body.
“Monkey, what am I doing wrong? Please tell Mommy.” I start to cry, talking to Prince like he can answer me. I feel that lonely pit begin in my belly again. Wiping away my tears, I move to the kitchen, get him a bottle of pumped milk, and begin to prepare it for him.
My tears still come out and my breathing is labored, making me shudder with dry breaths.
I watch him watch me, him looking deep in my eyes as I warm his bottle. Reaching up, his pudgy little fingers touch my face and he begins to settle, no longer crying. He must be reading my mind, seeing into my soul, because he has to know it’s killing me for us to not have bonded.
“Mama loves you, I do, so much,” I purr, and he smiles up at me, helping my tears turn into stains and my sobs to sniffles. Feeding him his bottle, I wait till it’s all finished before I get us ready for the day. I come out of my morning bout of anxiety and focus my attention on moving forward. Tom called me and wants to see little man, so I’m meeting him and Kathy for lunch.
I put on a tiny stitch of makeup to keep me looking like somewhat of a functioning human and style my shorter hair in loose waves. I got tired of long hair with a grabby baby—therefore I chopped it to just under my chin. I dress in dark skinny jeans with ripped knees and a loose emerald green tank and bomber jacket. Dressing Prince up is my favorite thing, putting him in handsome little clothes, jeans that hug his diaper bum, little shoes that make his feet look way bigger, and a baseball tee that says Grandpa’s little shooting partner. I style his dark hair by brushing it to the side, the ends curling up in a swoosh, just like his daddy. I smile when he’s all ready.
I lightly blow little raspberries on his cheeks before I head out the door around 10:00 a.m. We’re suppose to meet in the city for an early brunch. As we make our way onto the highway, I begin to think about Kingston and all the things I said last night, better yet the lack of things I have said in the past four or so months.
I know him, and I have no shortage of problems, but doesn’t that make it worse that we aren’t communicating? Hell, I pushed him away and told him to give me space last night, knowing it’s not what we need. I’m too stubborn, though. I can’t help but feel like pushing him away would be better for him. And that must mean I have screws loose in the head. But knowing and telling myself I need help is one thing; however, doing it is another. Where would I even start?
Pulling up to the restaurant, I park and take a quick second to send Kingston a text.
Me: Hey, your dad and Kathy wanted to see Prince, so I’m meeting them for an early lunch in the city. Just thought you should know.
I wait a brief moment, before my phone chimes in my hand.
Kingston: K. Have fun.
He’s being vague, just like I knew he would. He took what I said seriously last night, and selfishly, I’m starting to rethink why I said it in the first place.
Me: Will do.
I wait for the dancing dots but they never come. Just the word Read shows. Man, this is shitty. Let’s just hope my game face can fool Kathy and Tom.
When I walk into the ‘50s themed diner, little man is looking around everywhere, his eyes taking in the sights while other patrons coo and “aww” as I pass. Princeton’s the sweetest, most handsome boy, so these reactions happen everywhere, causing me great pride.
Approaching the table, I see Kathy but not Tom.
“Lana, you look so beautiful! How are you?” she greets, standing to give me a hug after I place my monkey’s car seat in the booth.
“Good. Tired, but good. Where’s Tom?” I ask, taking my place at the table.
“Oh, Kingston called him. He dismissed himself.” My stomach flips at the mention of Kingston. I was just texting him. Why would he call his dad? God, I hope he didn’t tell his dad all our shit in hopes he will talk me off the ledge. If I wanted to fight with Ki
ngston, I would have just stayed home, and this is our business.
“He looks so healthy. My goodness, he’s getting big.”
I smirk. “I know. He’s my little chunky monkey.” I contort my voice, sounding comical as I lean in and kiss his button nose. He chuckles, and I swear a fairy is born.
“That little laugh sounds like my little grandson,” Tom’s familiar voice announces as he comes to stand next to me. As I glance up at his wide grin, he stares down at Prince, and like putty in his hands, he melts when the baby kicks a little, reaches his hands up, and squeals. We all laugh, and Tom reaches for him. I feel my anxiety hitting its peak, but I remain as calm and reserved as I can. He undoes him from the seat and lifts him into his giant arms. I watch with intensity, keeping my eyes on his every move. When he takes a seat and cradles him deeper, I relax enough to order myself a small salad and water. I don’t have much of an appetite lately, especially after last night.
“How’s mommyhood, baby?” Tom asks, gaining my attention.
I lie, “Great, things are great.”
“Kingston talks about Prince all the time. I love seeing him grow up and be a dad. It’s a sight.” He winks at me, and I return it with a nod.
“Shayla and you both make such good mommies,” Kathy joins in. I just nod. Really, I’m far from a great mother. Even more so, I’m a terrible lover to my true soul mate.
“She’s a saint. I don’t know how she does twins,” I remark, giggling.
“She and Trey are a great team. They’re super supportive of each other.” I drop my head, taking the dig, even though I know she has no clue. I guess one could call it guilt.
I want to be a strong team with Kingston, but even I can’t psych myself out of all my mental head-trips. I envy Trey and Shayla. Where they’re the type to always have each other’s back and face hell hand-in-hand, Kingston and I are the type to put each other through hell.
“Yeah, they are. How’s being a grandma?” I address Kathy, and her smile transforms, broadening bigger than before, and Tom sits in awe over Prince.
“I love it. I feel overwhelmingly happy when I see Mason and Charlotte.” I think of little Mase and Char and grin. I love those two little buggers as much as I love my own—they’re perfect.
“What about you, Grandpa? Three babies, that’s a lot!” I tease. His eyes slowly gaze up at me and he winks. “I would take fifteen more. I love this.” He kisses Princeton’s head and I smile, knowing all the love my little man has. Between my parents, friends, and then all of Kingston’s family, our boy is spoiled.
We make small talk for a couple hours. I’m excited when Prince starts fussing and he takes my nipple, latching for the first time in days. Rocking him to sleep at the table under his feeding blanket before we leave, I settle him back in his car seat. With a sweet, genuine goodbye and a few shared hugs, I get us home.
Princeton’s asleep still, drunk in a milk coma when we get home, giving me some time to give Kingston a call. I storm my brain with each ring for a lame excuse to talk to him.
“Hey,” Kingston answers, his voice monotone, and my belly grows erratic with butterflies.
“Hi, I was gonna cook some dinner, so I was calling to see what you were craving,” I tell him, moving around the kitchen, nervously watching my feet as I do.
“I don’t care. Whatever you want, Lana.” The way he says my name sounds like it has a double meaning, a small word with every single ounce of resentment.
“Okay, I was thinking some steak and potatoes. Sound good?”
“Yup. See you at six.”
“See ya.”
We both hang up without saying I love you or goodbye. That space is seeming pretty empty right now, and I only have myself to blame.
The garage sounds and I look up at the clock. It’s just five after 6:00 p.m. when his car engine rumbles before shutting off. Peering over at Monkey’s playpen next to the kitchen island, I watch as he looks up at me and smirks when Kingston walks into view.
I keep my eyes on the potatoes as he puts his keys on the counter top. Walking around me, he doesn’t make any contact, just goes straight to Prince. “Hey, Lana.” He gives me a formal greeting, digging my own knife deeper.
“Hey. Dinner is almost done. You can shower if you want. You still have time.”
“No, I just want to hang out with Little Man. Can I take him to the couch?” he asks.
I nod. “Sure.”
“Thanks.”
I really hate all this tension. Even though I was the one who told him I needed space, I didn’t mean for him to be a total dick to me.
I hear Kingston baby-talking to Prince, then the faint sound of Princeton’s little giggles. Leaning back, I look into the living room and see Kings with his arms extended in the air and Prince in his hands. He lies on his back, his muscles straining, and it makes my insides go all wonky. Every time Kings brings him back down, he kisses his little lips. My heart warms at the sight.
“Kingston, dinner is ready.”
“Yeah.” Getting up, they come in the room.
We’re silent for most of dinner. I feed Prince while Kings digs into his steak. As he takes a swig of his beer, I feel his eyes on me. Looking up, I give him a small smirk.
He’s first to break our standoff. “How was it today with my dad and Kathy?”
I nod my head, keeping my eyes engaged with his stormy green ones. We both look exhausted. “It went well. He was happy to see Little Man.” Running my finger up the length of Princeton’s nose, I memorize it as his little eyes wonder back and forth from me to Kingston. The button of his nose is warm and still has a little hint of red, same with his cheeks. He looks like porcelain, and I want to treat him as such.
“That’s good.”
“Yeah.”
We fall silent again, his attempt at talking failed on both our parts. When he finishes his beer, I see he still has some steak left.
“Want another beer?”
He hesitates, gauging me, watching me as I stand to move to the fridge. He doesn’t let his eyes waver, looking to me with heaviness, eyes hooded, like I’m both a dream and a scary reality.
“Yeah. Thanks.” Today, we have spoken maybe a handful of words, and it only makes that distance I practically forced on him stronger. Emotionally, physically, and now even verbally, we’re who we were the day we moved to Seattle.
Just a few months ago, we were happy. We were pregnant, he bought us a home, I said yes to even marrying him, and now I can’t find the willpower to make things work with him like I promised. The darkness within me is swallowing me whole, changing me from the inside out. I want so badly to admit everything to Kingston, confess at his feet how afraid I am, but that’s accepting defeat and weakness, and I don’t want to be weak.
“Here.” I hand it to him, and when our fingers touch, electric bolts flood through me, making my words come out, desperate to be on his good side again. “You want to go to a movie together tomorrow? Me and you?”
His eyes sparkle, lighting with hope, and my stomach unravels its knots.
“No, I have to work late. Maybe another time.” Faster than that light of hope sparked, rejection fires deep inside me.
“Oh, okay.”
“Lana.” He clutches his utensils in his fists, his eyes on his plate and his head low like his voice. “You asked for space, and this is me giving it to you.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat and will the tears to stay hidden. I distract myself by picking up Prince to get him ready for bed.
“Sure.” Walking away, my feet leaving dust in their wake, I walk up the stairs on shaky legs, my eyes watering. I don’t blame him for his cold exterior; I asked for this. Entering the bathroom, I let the tears fall and my sniffles go unrestrained, not bothering to hold them back. Grabbing Princeton’s baby bather, I start the water, checking the temperature before getting him ready for his bath. When he’s seated, I grab some tissues and wipe away all the water running down my face.
Being at odds with the one I love, all because of me, is destroying me more than what I already was. I dig the sword deeper, all while I have the power to pull it out and never put it in, in the first place. I’m torn between two choices in which I hold all the power—all the power—yet I don’t know which side to choose.
It’s hard to not want Lana, to not fucking reach for her in the night or even the fucking daytime. She looked so damn good when I got home tonight, but last night, she made it clear I was too much. Those words still echo in my mind; they did all day. I’m hurting. Really bad.
Tonight, she tried to pull me back in and ask me to spend time with her not even twenty-four hours after she, in not so many words, told me to fuck off. Lana is falling out of love with me. I know this, because some scary part within me knows I might be falling out of love with her.
Never in any world, universe, or time did I think I would fall out of love with Lana James. I have to see our therapist tomorrow, and I know that with this new revelation comes my admission. I will have to say out loud that I’m starting to fall out of love with Lana. Not because I don’t still want her or need her, it’s because I still want and need her. I depend too much on her, depend too much on who we are in order to be happy. I can’t be with her when those desires, wants, and needs cannot be met. Because I would be fighting forever in a losing battle.
I also know this isn’t the life I want my son to grow up in. I would rather him see us apart than together, miserable, and drawing each other closer to the edge of darkness. He’s only four months, and the hostility is already fucking there. We should be growing closer together, celebrating not only each other, but the life of our son—like my sister and Trey. Trey’s the happiest I have ever seen him and they’re a united front, a solid team, while Lana and I seem more like enemies.
I let the hot water roll over my swollen muscles, the evidence from my gym session tugging on them. Lana bathed Prince and I helped her put him to bed. After my shower, I plan to sneak in there and fall asleep next to his crib again, listening to the sound of his breathing to make me feel whole.