I became a professional restaurant worker and mastered every job you could hold in the business. By the time I was twenty-three, I was managing a local bar that was the hot spot of the city. I wasn’t where I had planned to be at twenty-three, but I was actually doing quite well and had the same work ethic my mom had. I wasn’t good at taking tests or showing up for class, but I was good at working and making money. I had finally accomplished something I was proud of.
My life had made me proud and selfish. I did exactly what I wanted whenever I wanted and rarely took other people’s feelings into consideration. I watched my friends graduate from college and start careers, but I found it laughable. I was young, making good money, and doing whatever I wanted. As I watched others follow the path that was expected of us, I realized that I was never going to be like them and do the normal thing. I was always going to push the envelope and fight against who someone else wanted me to be. I knew deep in my heart that I wasn’t strong enough to be like them, so I pretended that I didn’t want to be.
In the middle of being an independent and selfish young woman, I made another fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants decision and ran off to Las Vegas with my boyfriend to get married.
I’ve never been one for weddings. They make me sweat. All I can think about is how uncomfortable the bride must be in all that lace and tulle. How is she even breathing? I always wonder if she is thinking about how uncomfortable she is instead of focusing on the joys of her wedding. The thought of having to use the restroom in one of those poufy dresses was enough to make me never want to put one on. Unlike most little girls, I never dreamed of my wedding day. I knew I wanted to get married but stressing over seating charts, flowers, and all the other details never appealed to me. I can’t imagine picking out colors or going to cake tastings. I wanted to be a wife, and I prayed that my husband wouldn’t mind skipping the huge wedding either.
Despite the protest from our friends and the concern from our families, we boarded a plane and headed to Sin City. He was good and smart and I was wild and free. The whirlwind excitement wiped out logical thinking on our part and two days after deciding we should get married, we were married.
In the absence of our family and friends, except for my mom and two aunts, we said “I do” and then made a beeline for the casino. It was behavior that was expected of me but to his family and friends it was shocking, and our rash decision proved hurtful.
Only a few short weeks after we got home from Vegas we found out we were pregnant. The stress and fear of becoming parents when we knew very little about being a couple, much less being pregnant, broke everything in us. Before we were able to become parents together our marriage was already falling apart. We had no idea how to navigate through what we had done and where we had ended up. We had made a selfish choice to start a marriage on quicksand, and now we were bringing a child into it. Fear consumed me. I hated myself for having the audacity to bring a child into a broken home and make it go through even an ounce of what I had as a child. For the first time my selfishness hit me, and I realized I would be responsible for the path this child would take. The weight of what I was doing to our baby was crushing.
Our marriage wasn’t going to survive, but we knew that we would have to figure out a way to be good and loving parents—together.
On March 20, 2000, our daughter was born and placed in her dad’s arms. The first person to hold her and look into her eyes was her dad. Seeing her in his arms took away my selfishness. In that moment, I made a promise to myself and to her that I would never let her feel desperate for her dad’s love the way I had felt for mine. I wanted her dad to be her hero, her knight in shining armor. I wanted her to cling to him when she was scared and trust every word that came out of his mouth. I would make it my number one responsibility to put her relationship with him above all else and do what I could to nourish it and make it healthy. I didn’t care what I would have to sacrifice; he would be the one she ran to.
Our signatures on the divorce papers and our signatures on her birth certificate dried at the same time. She had two cribs in two separate homes before she even made it out of the hospital.
We struggled to find our balance as new parents and did our best to share in the joy of raising her. I had failed her in giving her a home with both of her parents under one roof, but I would not fail her in having two parents who loved her enough to do right by her. Since we both knew how it felt to be kids of divorce, we made sure we treated each other with respect and love when she was looking. We had moments of complete despair and hurt with each other, but we became a united front for our little girl.
My daughter changed me in more ways than I ever expected. She gave me a purpose and made me a better person. She taught me how to be nice and how to make sacrifices I never wanted to make. She showed me that it’s okay not to always be right. Becoming her mother freed me from the pain and hurt my dad inflicted upon me, but it didn’t free me from the worthlessness I felt from not having my own dad love me enough to do right by me.
When I became a mother, my life changed. I set aside every desire I had to have him in my life or to be, on any level, his daughter. I wouldn’t even allow him a peek into what I was doing or what my daughter looked like. As her mother it was my responsibility to protect her from the things I knew he was capable of, and the only way I could do that was to cut him completely out of my life. For the first time in twenty-four years, I stood up to him. With my feet firmly planted, I told him he was no longer a member of my family. He hadn’t been actively involved in my life for many years, but I still fell for his act and his lies. I had allowed him to come and go when he wanted and to manipulate my feelings. Now, I played nice when we had to be at family events and allowed him to pretend he was still my dad when people were looking. However, as a mom, I was done. My little girl would never know the pain he inflicted on people. She would never know what it felt like to be kicked in the face over and over by someone you love.
My daughter was only 9 pounds, 1 ounce, but she was enough to give me the courage I needed to finally end the many years of desperately trying to force my dad to love me the way I thought I deserved.
seven
Building a Life on Shifting Sand
I began rebuilding my life as a single mom and did my best to coparent with my ex-husband. We managed to give each other massive amounts of grace in the parenting department, and together we figured out a way to help each other balance our lives between our jobs and our little girl’s separate homes.
I grew up watching my mom work hard at her job and do whatever she had to, not only just getting by but also excelling in her workplace. I tried to model her behavior and work ethic, and a few years after becoming a single mom, I was promoted to management and given a salary that would help support us both. Most of my days were spent at work and any time off was spent with my daughter. I was blessed with a huge support team, and when I was working my daughter was with either her dad or my family.
I loved every second with my daughter but I also loved my job, so there were rarely feelings of guilt for working so hard. Ultimately, I knew I was teaching her how to work hard and cherish each moment at the same time. Since I had already been working for the company for almost ten years, most of the people there were like my second family. For the first time in a long time I felt comfortable and secure. I felt good about where I was in life. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel that there was something missing.
A few months into a new management role, I was told we were getting a new manager from a neighboring city and that he would be my boss. I determined right then, before he even stepped foot in the restaurant, not to like him. All I knew was that he had been in a manager’s position longer than I had, by several years, and that he was much younger than I. I pictured some young punk coming in and bossing everyone around as though he’d been here for years, and I decided that wasn’t going to happen. The poor guy was a marked man before he even had a chance to say hello.
On his first day, I put on my best tough-girl attitude and headed into work. Trying not to appear obvious, I looked around for him. I needed to size him up before he saw me. I needed to have the upper hand. I wouldn’t be caught off guard.
I rounded a corner and there he was. He was helping our bartender stock shelves, and he glanced up as I walked by. A simple “Hi” was all he would get from me; he would have to earn the rest.
“Hi, I’m Brandon.”
“Hey.”
“I really like your hair.”
“Um, thanks.”
What?
Is he serious?
I really like your hair? That was his ice-breaking line? If there was something I wasn’t prepared for it was the new guy opening with a hair compliment.
I stayed away from him for as long as I could. I avoided being caught in the office with him and never invited him to eat with me after our shifts. We were simply coworkers, and I was comfortable leaving it at that.
But he had other plans. He began scheduling us to work together as often as possible. Every time I got my schedule I could see that his and mine were almost identical. Secretly I thought it was kind of cute but never showed an ounce of interest in him. I had made a promise to myself that I wasn’t going to become his friend or even like him.
Our days always turned into nights as we closed the restaurant and sent the staff home, leaving just the two of us to finish up paperwork, set the alarm, and lock up the building, most nights walking out the door long after midnight. On those nights that we closed together he took his time, slowly going through each task we needed to accomplish before we left. And we started to talk. We talked about everything in our lives. We spent hours alone forming a deep friendship I never saw coming. We talked about our daughters and what we wanted for their lives and what we wished our futures looked like. We talked about where we had come from and how we ended up where we were now. Our lives had uncommon similarities that most people don’t have in their lives. There was no denying that we understood each other and could relate to everything the other had been through.
One night, in the middle of one of our talks, he told me that he just wanted a family. He wanted a family to go home to each night after work. He wanted a wife and family to share dinner with and kiss goodnight. He wanted normalcy and routine, and I found that to be his most endearing quality. I couldn’t help but smile at this man who was opening himself up to me. He was gentle and kind, and in my head I thought how lucky the woman was who would get to be his bride. I was almost jealous of this future wife. I made a wish to find someone who wanted what he wanted. I wished for a husband with a heart like the man who was standing in front of me. The guy I had decided not to like before I even met him was suddenly becoming one of my strongest confidants and an example of a man I needed in my life.
After sitting in the office many nights confessing our life’s desires, we started hanging out in the front of the restaurant once everyone had cleared out. We cranked up the radio, set to our favorite country station, and we danced. I don’t recall how it started or how he asked, but he would take my hand in his and we would two-step around the restaurant as if we were the only two people in the world. The only light that entered the building was from the street lights outside and the occasional headlights from passing cars. We both smelled like the deep fryer in the kitchen and we were covered in food stains, but neither of us cared.
For the first time in years, I felt completely safe and comfortable just being me, the real me. He didn’t care about where I had been or what I had done. He just cared about being with me.
After one long night of sharing many other details of our lives, he confessed that he had fallen in love with me. Even though I had carefully built a wall around my heart, he had somehow gained my trust and love. He had found his way in.
As careful as I had been about letting him into my life, once he was, there was no stopping us. Only a few months later we were standing in front of the justice of the peace saying our vows.
We got married on a Thursday. It was easy to agree on because we both had the day off and knew the courthouse wouldn’t be busy. The details of a wedding didn’t concern either of us; we just wanted to seal our marriage and get on with our life together. We were out of pocket sixty dollars, which included parking and lunch at a local restaurant. My mom and my brother’s wife met us at the courthouse to witness the big event, and my daughter skipped school to watch her mom get married. It was a free-for-all, and everyone showed up in whatever was most comfortable. My daughter chose a pink, glittery Mrs.-Santa-style dress with white fur-lined cuffs and matching Santa hat. It was a hot Texas day in mid-March but that didn’t matter to her. She dressed in what she thought was her most beautiful outfit, and we didn’t stop her. There was no outside pressure or need to look a certain way, have matching outfits, wear a poufy dress, or have a perfectly decorated cake; we just enjoyed becoming Mr. and Mrs. Curry.
The lack of stress that day was a far cry from what we would face in our marriage. Neither of us was prepared for what was to come, and before we even made it through the year, we found ourselves struggling to catch our breath. We had failed miserably to build our life on a sturdy foundation. We thought we could build as we went, but we failed to lay the groundwork for success. We both came from families of divorce. My entire life I had bailed on the hard stuff without considering the rewards that might come from the sacrifices. I was a my-way-or-the-highway type of girl and when things went south, I ran. I never knew that weathering the storm was what often brought the rainbows.
Rescue Me
We knew we were pregnant before we said I do, and only a week after our quick nuptials we headed to our first doctor’s appointment. We had randomly picked a doctor with a few recommendations from our friends because my regular doctor couldn’t fit me in for several weeks. Reluctantly we headed to a new and unknown office to learn when the baby was due. There was no fear about the pregnancy; we had both agreed that we wanted more children. We each had a daughter from previous marriages and couldn’t wait to add to our blended family. The pregnancy wasn’t a surprise and even though we didn’t have the perfect plan, it was our plan and what we wanted.
We filled out several forms and were led back to the sonogram room where we eagerly waited to get a glimpse of our baby’s heartbeat. Brandon held my hand in support, and I tried to give him a comforting smile through my own nervousness. The sonographer squeezed the cold blue gel onto the machine and gently placed it on my stomach. I held my breath. While both of our eyes were glued to the screen, she softly moved the probe over my stomach and searched for the baby’s faint heartbeat. We waited. We waited some more, until she moved the screen out of our view and excused herself from the room to get the doctor.
This wasn’t the first time in a room like this for either of us, and we both immediately knew that something wasn’t right. Neither of us was brave enough to speak the first word and acknowledge what was going on. So we sat in silence and waited. Everything about the room was cold, from the actual temperature to the bareness of the room. She left the lights off, and the darkness gave way to despair. The absence of light created a deep place to think hard thoughts.
The sonographer came back in accompanied by the doctor and a nurse. After giving us polite introductions, they began to search my belly once more. Slowly and methodically the doctor covered every inch in me that could possibly hold the beating heart of our child. Once again they found no heartbeat and asked me to please get dressed and meet the doctor in his office.
As I carefully stepped down from where I had been lying, the ice-cold floor came as a shock. I hadn’t remembered it being that cold. I felt more fragile than when we had made our way back to the room. I didn’t want to move too fast and somehow hurt the child any more than I had already. Everything seemed like it was about to fall apart, and the slower I got dressed the more time it bought us before our world crumbled.
Brandon sat in silence. Nothing he co
uld say was going to ease the tension and sadness we were feeling. In an effort to spare my feelings for just a few more minutes, he pretended like everything was okay. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him sending a text, and I knew he was preparing our family for my phone calls or lack thereof. Once I was dressed he sweetly took my hand and guided me down the hall to the doctor’s office. What had seemed like a short walk just minutes before had now become a never-ending hall. We reached the door to his office, and he invited us to come in and sit down. The first sentence out of his mouth was that we were miscarrying twins. After that I heard nothing but a dull vibration in my ears rather than words. I mentally checked out and hoped Brandon was listening. From what the doctor could tell, one of the twins had not formed correctly and was unable to survive. The other twin had lived only a week or so longer, then lost its heartbeat along with its sibling.
I didn’t care about details and just wanted him to let us leave. I needed to kick and scream, and I did my best to keep the tears from waterfalling down my face.
The receptionist scheduled another appointment exactly one week later and gave us some instructions to follow prior to arriving.
They sent me home with a womb that had failed to sustain the life of two babies and an appointment to have them removed. Even though I knew my husband’s heart was equally crushed, my self-pity was overwhelming and I couldn’t help him through his pain. I needed to go home and sleep for a week and not face anything else the world had for me. I called in sick to work, turned my phone off, and pulled the sheets over my head. The crying never stopped, and Brandon did his best to comfort me. He worked his shifts at the restaurant and covered mine, pulling double duty to save me from having to see anyone. The loss of a child was overwhelming, but the loss of two and the loss of the chance at twins was more than I could bear. I didn’t want to hear anyone’s attempt at words of comfort. I just wanted to sit still for seven full days, completely by myself.
The Con Man's Daughter Page 7