Love, Michael: A second chance romance

by Gina A. Jones

  "Okay."

  Through most of the process, we laugh, and it's maybe the release I need. I wonder if he's thinking back to the last time we tried this. How he made everything I wanted to do seem a hassle like waste of time. My delusional, romantic thoughts he would call them.

  It takes some effort, but eventually, we have a small tent up. Michael holds up his palm for a high-five. "Great job, kid." Kid. He hasn't called me that since high school.

  "So, are we sleeping on the tent floor…or do you have some more surprises stashed away?" He smiles—diabolically. "What's that smile for?"

  "I do. One sleeping bag."

  "Okay, that will do. What are you sleeping on?"

  "You."

  I can't help but match his smile before running down the beach. He chases after me and, the harder I run, the more the sand slows me down. As we run, our laughter fills the night sky. I feel young and silly. I've needed this. I've needed this for a long time.

  He's close, and I kick up more sand, racing down the dark beach. "I'll never let you get away again, Jill Danforth," he yells and grabs my arm as we both fall to the sand, laughing. He's on top of me, and through the dimly lit light of the moon, I see love in his eyes. "Oh, Jill. Why didn't I do these things with you before? I love you. Thank you for loving me once." His eyes admire my face, and then he kisses me. It's full of regret, remorse, sorrow, gratitude, and…love.

  Then

  Michael had kept his promise, and we bought a house after bringing our baby girl home. Things were getting better for us and Michael worked hard at Whirlpool and was promoted to project manager at his plant. I was now in school, and between my mom and the daycare at Michael's work, Monica was at the employee daycare all day. It was hard leaving her, and she was growing so fast. She walked at ten months and said her first word at four months—Mama.

  She would be turning a year old, and I couldn't wait to have her first birthday party. Our house was a modest ranch in a small subdivision in town. I was surprised Michael didn't want to change jobs and move away. But my parents began to tolerant Michael, and we all had to work at becoming a family. My parents loved their granddaughter, but at times, I still felt their reserve toward Michael. Now that we had a baby, there would be Christmases and birthday parties where we all would be together. I hated being the only one in the room who loved everyone. I loved my parents and my baby and Michael. My parents loved Monica and me. And Michael showed he loved us, yet he had still to say the words.

  When we looked at the house, the realtor showed us the backyard. It was fenced in and had one large tree. Michael commented that he would build Monica a tree house someday. Often, I would mention it, but he would say he didn't remember saying it. I hoped his newly found interest in us was genuine. And that Monica and I had found a place in his heart.

  He didn't play with her as much as I wished he would, but my mother said that was normal for men. At times, I felt Michael's involvement with his daughter was kept at a minimum. I was surprised he mentioned the daycare at Whirlpool. Because on those days, he had to take her with him to work and he couldn't stay late—since the daycare closed at five. Eventually, he said it would interfere with his promotions. If he weren't willing to stay late, he wouldn't get another promotion. I wanted to disagree, and say it was more important to have the time with his daughter—even if it was only in the car there and back. He also couldn't take the Corvette on those days and had to drive my car. I would drive his Corvette to the community college and got to experience life as a real college student. Even though I couldn't imagine life without my baby girl, to be babyless, if only a few hours, gave me some breathing room. Between school, Monica, and Michael, I was busier than ever. And there would be no promotions with all my efforts. Just a job after graduation.

  Tammy and I had scheduled all our classes together and were still joined at the hip. She and Ryan were engaged now and were planning their wedding that summer. She tried not to make a big deal out of it, and I felt it was due to my lack of a wedding. But nonetheless, I showed and gave great enthusiasm for her and Ryan.

  Ryan was now working for his father's construction company, and the two of them hoped to build a house someday and move out of the little crack jack house they rented. In such a short time, we were adults dealing with all the pressures that came with the role—bills, work, and family. Life started early for me, and I was going to prove that we would make it. Some days seemed harder than others, and I would be pulled in every direction. No matter what I did or where I went, I was on a leash. Whether Monica was with my mom or Michael, I was expected to drop everything and apologize for getting out of class late, filling the car up, or stopping to pick up needed items at the store. Michael had yet to change a diaper. However, no one worried about coming home and helping me. My life was unimportant, and there was never a need to rest or just take a break and soak in the tub. And if I complained about it to my mom or Michael, I was reminded of the choice I made. What others saw as a choice; I saw as a sacrifice. And it would have been nice to have a little appreciation for it. But whenever I saw that smile on her chubby little cheeks and Mama come out of her mouth; my choice was golden. Though she took so much of my time, she alone made me feel special and gave me the validation I needed and lacked.

  The house was decorated with balloons and baby's first birthday decorations. Of which turned into a big fight the day I stopped to buy after class. It was Michael's day with Monica. I walked in, and he gave me that exasperated look.

  "Where the hell have you've been?"

  "Michael, I told you yesterday. I was stopping to get her birthday party stuff. Remember?"

  "No, I don't fucking remember. All I know is she smells like shit. I'm hungry, and all you've been doing is running around in my car shopping."

  "Why didn't you change her?" I was angry, and for once, I was going to show it. "Don't talk like that around her. My God, Michael, are you helpless? I don't ever see you rushing home to help me. It would be nice to come home to some flowers and dinner made. Do you ever get the ache in the pit of your gut when you're not home on time? No, you are so self-absorbed that you only care about yourself." I went and picked up Monica to change her diaper. She was crying from all the shouting.

  "Jill, don't you bitch to me about having a kid. That was your choice."

  I stopped but didn't turn around. Monica was in my arms and wanted to throw something at him. But it would wait until after I changed her diaper.

  I heard him throwing pans around in the kitchen as I changed her diaper. Placing her favorite toys around her, I kissed her head, told her I loved her and went back to face Michael.

  "Don't you ever say it was my choice to have a baby. We had sex. We conceived a baby that we are both responsible for. I just happened to be the one doing all the work."

  "Fuck you," he yelled. I felt the tears stinging the back of my eyes. I didn't want to cry. I didn't want to show weakness as I tried to argue my point.

  "You've been home, what…twenty minutes? Are you such a pussy that you can't handle a little girl in that short of time? Be a father, Michael. Change her diaper, start dinner—it's called parenting. What the hell!"

  He walked abruptly to me and glared at me inches away. "Don't ever tell me what to be. This," he swirled his finger in the air, "is not what I wanted out of life."

  My chest was caving in. I didn't know if I could hold back the tears. So many times he referred to us as…this. And each time, my heart broke a little more. I knew I walked around with a fractured heart and maybe someday it would heal. I just knew it wouldn't be Michael who would cure it. "You are the most ungrateful bitch I have ever known. I work my ass off to buy you this house, pay for your school, buy things for a baby who shits and pisses her pants. I would rather be driving a Porsche up the west coast, getting drunk at some club and laid by as many women as I want. But no! I'm here raising you and your daughter—here in this shitty house in hillbilly heaven."

  "Stop it," I cried out.
r />   "Trust me, Jill. I would love to stop…this." He rolled his finger around again.

  "Then why don't you leave?"

  "Really? Why don't I leave?"

  "Why do you stay…if you can't take…this anymore," I said and exaggerated my finger. "And by the way, Michael, I and your daughter are not this. We are your family."

  "Don't tempt me, Jill. I'm ready to walk out that door."

  "Then do it. Leave!"

  "Then what the hell will you do?" he mocked. "How will you finish school?"

  "Student loans. Tammy's getting loans. I'll just do the same."

  "And how will you live?"

  "I'll work part-time or go to school part-time."

  He glared at me with as his eyes, showed no remorse and laughed. "You're as trapped in this hell as I am."

  "Why do must you see it that way? Why can't you be happy with us? You're only miserable because you make it that way. I'm willing to be happy, but you fight me all the way."

  "Happy! You're happy?" He screamed his response and everything inside me was shaking. “How can I be happy when this is something I never wanted?" He stormed over to the wall, where a family picture of the three of us hung. Pulling it off the wall, he stormed back to me. "You want to see how sick I am of this family?" The picture went flying through the room and glass shattered everywhere. I was crying and begging him to stop. It was the only picture I had of us. A coupon I had a from Olan Mills after Monica was born. I had always wanted a family portrait because, growing up, we never had one.

  "Stop it, Michael. Why do you have to be so cruel? You know I loved that picture of us."

  He didn't stop there and took the picture from my birthday—the one of us together when I was pregnant and threw it across the room, breaking it as well. Next, he ran to Monica's baby picture, and I ran to stop him. He pushed me back, and I fell to the floor.

  "No, please don't. Not her picture, Michael." Please," I begged.

  His eyes got a crazed, satisfied look in them as he broke the frame across his knee. I heard Monica crying in the doorway, terrified from Michael's outrage and I went to grab her. She was shaking, and I was afraid of what Michael would do next. I held her tightly, trying to comfort her. But I was crying and trembling as well.

  "Please, Michael. Just go away."

  "Are you kicking me out?"

  "You don't want to be with us anyway. Go!"

  "If I leave, don't expect me back," he said, walking over the broken glass.

  "I don't expect anything from you, Michael. That's the problem," I said quietly. But he heard me and had to throw in more insults.

  "Oh, don't worry, Jill. I've wanted to leave for a long time. Have fun paying for all of this. I know I will be—fucking anyone I want."

  "Like you haven't been along," I said, turning to leave.

  "That's right, Jill. It's nice to look at something other than someone lounging around in scrubs all day. I have to do something to keep me from going insane."

  "I have to wear them for clinicals. You know that. Oh, poor Michael. Life is so rough for him." I heard him coming to the bedroom and froze when he grabbed my hair.

  "What did you say?" Monica's cries were becoming panicking, and I begged him to stop.

  "Nothing. I'm sorry. Just go away. Go be with whoever you want." He let go of my hair and left the room. I heard him slam our bedroom door and I hoped he was packing. A few minutes later, he returned and was holding his suitcase.

  "Kiss the daycare at work goodbye. You'll have to quit school or have your mom here every day. See what life gets you when you're such a bitch," he said and left.

  I calmed Monica down and put her in her in her bed with a bottle as I went to clean up all the glass. The pictures were unsalvageable with tears through them. I sat on the living room floor and silently cried. All her baby pictures were ruined, and I would never have that time back. I hated Michael. I hated that I loved a man who could do that.

  I took the pictures and placed them in a drawer. I still couldn't throw them away. The sack from the store containing Monica's birthday decorations was still on the counter. I took them out and cried some more. It hurt that these simple precious things meant so much to me yet were hated by Michael. Nothing about us was special to him, and I had to get away. He would never change because we were something he never wanted. He never wanted…this.

  Friday was Mom's day to have Monica, and I never mentioned the fight Michael and I had when I dropped her off before class. I wasn't ready to tell her and had driven Monica to the daycare at Michael's work myself. But I had to cut class early to drive an hour out of my way to pick her up. I saw Michael's car in the parking lot and wondered where he was staying. I was curious if he checked to see if his daughter was in the daycare, to see if I brought her anyway and would be waiting for me. He never was, and it didn't surprise me.

  After classes, I picked my daughter up…on time, and rushed home to decorate for her first birthday party. Mom and Dad, Tammy and Ryan, and Scott and Jen were all coming over. I used the excuse that Michael had to travel for work and couldn't get out of it. Only, Tammy knew that he was gone. I didn't know what I was going to say when they noticed all the pictures were gone from the wall.

  The decorations were up—"The Little Mermaid” and Tammy made an Ariel cake. Though she was only turning one, Monica would watch “The Little Mermaid” for hours. It was a lifesaver when trying to get my homework done. And the fact that Michael was never any help when he was home.

  I hadn't heard or seen from him in four days, and I thought by chance, he would come for his daughter's birthday. But deep down, I knew it was the last thing he wanted to do. And it hurt more than ever to know he was sleeping with someone else. I just didn't know who and hadn't had time to find out. But soon, I would be consumed by Michael's betrayals and infidelities and would miss out on all of life's little joys with my daughter.

  Tammy and I both helped Monica blow out her candles. She was one year old, and Michael would never get this moment back. It was these special, little moments in life he found no importance in, and to think that anything was better than us came crashing down on my heart. I would have to give Monica enough for both of us.

  "So, what are you going to do?" Tammy asked once everyone was off eating their cake.

  "I don't know. If I get divorced, I will need to quit school and find a job. There's no way I could afford this house on my own. Even with student loans. Michael may be an asshole, but at least he pays for my schooling, with the help of the reimbursement program through Whirlpool. If we divorce, it goes away."

  "Which is more important? Your degree, or your sanity?"

  "Ahh, it's so tough. Why can't he just love us like he should? I was all ready to divorce him last year. Then, he suddenly had a change of heart. I thought it would last. But, you're right. I can't go on like this. I should talk to Mom, ask if we can move back home and give Michael the house." It was the last thing I wanted to do.

  "Well, if you're single, you may get better assistance with school and other stuff."

  "Not with Michael's income and child support. It's strange. He's the one who hates being in this marriage, but I am the one who feels trapped. Maybe before I talk to Mom I should talk to Michael. If he wants out so bad, maybe we could come up with an arrangement."

  "Like what?" Tammy asked, her eyes wide with unbelief.

  "I don't know. Maybe stayed married while I live at home…" I was starting to cry, and Tammy pulled me outside. We stood on the patio in the backyard, and I tried desperately to compose myself. "When we bought this house, Michael promised to build Jill a tree house in that tree," I said, nodding to the lone, large maple tree.

  "Well, she is a little young right now."

  "I know. But I thought it'd be one of those things a father would do with anticipation. Like when they buy their newborn son a baseball bat and hat. Maybe if she were a boy, he'd be different."

  "No, not Michael. That's just the way he is, Jill. The soo
ner you realize it has nothing to do with you and Monica, the better off you'll be. He's just not the settling down type."

  She was right. Guys like Michael would always live in the Peter Pan Syndrome. Denying growing old and never wanting the responsibility. I was just that one-time chase that he conquered before moving onto the next. Now, I was the obstacle in his way, and he hated me for it.

  After the party, I kissed Mom and Dad goodbye and told Mom I would like to talk in the morning. I could tell by the look in her eye, she knew something was wrong. Mother's always do. She also looked at the empty walls and made the comment that I must already be packing. I didn't have the heart to tell her that Michael destroyed all our family pictures.

  The house was empty of guests, and Monica was put to bed. Maybe I would stop in Michael's office after dropping Monica off and ask if he would talk. But instead, I called and left a message on his voicemail at work. I didn't know any other way to get ahold of him.

  It was dark, and lightning flashed. A storm was coming, and I went around closing all the windows as the rain began to pour. Before closing the blinds to the back door, lightning flashed again, and I saw the quick image of someone sitting on the patio step. My heart jumped, and fear shivered through my body. I locked the door and grabbed the portal phone to call 911. With my finger, I pulled down enough of the blinds to see if they were still there. The rain was coming down hard, and they were soaked. When the lightning flashed again, I recognized them. Michael.

  What was he doing in the backyard—in the rain?

  I ended the call before it rang and unlocked and opened the door. "Michael?" He turned around. "What are you doing out here?" He stood and walked toward me. He was soaked and looked…strange. "Are you drunk?"

  "No, Jill. I'm not drunk."

  "Then why are you sitting in the rain?" The look on his face was full of sorrow. It was not like him.