by Brianna Karp
What? What?! But it was his flat! She’d had her Christmas with Kelsey; now it was Boxing Day and she was supposed to be going home. He hadn’t even invited her to stay this long in the first place, had he? I was his fiancé! I’d spent the previous two days in panic, freaking out, because I had no idea what was going on. He’d just shoved me off his doorstep and treated me like a near stranger. We had made every single possible concession in order for Lori to feel comfortable, but this was the part where he was supposed to put his foot down and stand up for me, for us.
That’s when he lowered the boom on me.
“It’s not my flat anymore. That’s the problem.”
Oh, my god. Oh. My. God.
“You didn’t. You didn’t sign over the flat to her already.” Silence. “When did you sign over the flat to her? Why?” Why, why, why would you be so fucking stupid?
A couple of months back—he couldn’t really remember exactly when. She was getting paranoid and starting to push him. Asking when he was leaving for California already, when she could have the flat and be with her daughter. Her aunts were freaking her out, too, saying that Matt would go back on his promise. So he’d put the flat in her name to keep her from worrying. It was a gesture of good faith, he insisted. So that she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she could move in after we were married.
How could you not tell me this?! Every single major life decision I had made since we’d been together, I had talked out with him. We were partners. He had gone on and on about how he could never be with someone who didn’t treat him as an equal, wasn’t completely honest with him. And yet he’d hidden this from me for months. It was too much to take in all at once.
He started to cry.
“I’m sorry. It was supposed to be a surprise. The good kind of surprise, to show you how serious I was about making a life with you. I was going to tell you when I came out to marry you. Everything would have been all taken care of already.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. It was like a perverse, not-at-all touching version of Gift of the Magi. We’d each planned a surprise for the other and now everything was all shot to hell. Still, my surprise would have been relatively harmless if he hadn’t broken his promise and let her stay, I thought. My surprise was sweet and romantic and thoughtful. His was dangerous. Reckless disregard for our future.
I didn’t want to rub it in, though. I mean, the guy was weeping in front of me. I was really starting to resent having to be the sane, rational, pregnant one, though. Pregnant women got to throw tantrums and demand foot rubs and be smug and self-righteous and bitchy, and then blame it all on their fluctuating hormones, from what I’d seen. I thought of a former dance teacher, who’d brought his eight-months’ pregnant girlfriend to the Big Bear Jazz Festival with my swing team when we’d performed there. She spent an entire weekend making nineteen people crammed into a six-person cabin absolutely miserable, tiptoeing around her like she was some dormant dragon not to be awakened. And everybody took it for granted. She’s pregnant. That’s what pregnant women do.
Not that I wanted to be a sanctimonious bitch. But I was really beginning to see the irony—and feel the strain—of holding it together, as Matt fell apart in front of me. What could I do, though? By the way, I’m pregnant, you well-intentioned dimwit. Put that in your pipe and smoke it. Mull that one over, in addition to all the angst you’re feeling right now. No, it had to be a happy occasion, when I told him. It had to be right. Now was not the right time. We had to tackle this first.
“And now,” he continued, “she’s threatening to take me to court! She’s saying she’ll throw me out of the flat and take Kelsey away if I don’t get rid of you! Every time I try to talk or reason with her, she either screams and throws things, or refuses to speak to me.”
You idiot. You fucking, goddamn idiot. I love you, but right now I have no idea why. You’ve put our entire future at risk. You disregarded every last thing I ever said. You laughed off all my fears as completely irrational and did exactly what you were going to do, and now we’re fucked.
He said it for me.
“You were right. You were 100 percent right about everything. Everything you said was going to happen has happened. I’m so, so sorry.”
I held him and let him cry.
“What’ll we do, Bri?” We. We was good. He was still thinking we.
We’d figure something out, I told him. But the first thing he needed to realize was that she had no right to tell him whom he was allowed to love and whom he was allowed to marry. There were no excuses for her behavior. He needed to stand up to her.
I couldn’t process his sudden (or maybe not-so-sudden) spinelessness. A horrible thought struck me. “Matt, I don’t mean to sound like I’m attacking you. I’m not. But your actions have put us in a very bad position, and it all seems completely out of character for you. So I have to ask. Are you still off your medication?”
He gave me a deer-in-the-headlights look.
“Yes. You were right. I should have gone back on it. I’ve made bad decision after bad decision. That’s probably got a whole lot to do with what’s happened so far.”
Of course. It’s just one other thing I said that you disregarded. Why on earth would you be on the meds that keep you healthy and rational? Brilliant.
I began to formulate a plan of action, outlining each step for him. First, he needed to get back on his meds. I knew they took about a month to kick in, but that was all the more reason to get started now. Then, he needed to go to the council and see if there was any way of getting the flat back in his name. He could sign it back over to her later on, once they had a binding custody agreement, but as long as she was threatening to take him to court, it was not a smart idea to give her that kind of leverage. He didn’t want to be homeless again, right?
“I don’t think it’s possible to reverse. It’s all completed.”
“You’ve been off your medication for several months now. When you go to the doctor, get a note from him explaining this. I’ll bet if you show that note to the council, you can get the transfer canceled on the grounds that you weren’t in your right mind. You weren’t taking the meds necessary for you to function and make rational decisions.”
“I don’t know if that will work!” He was getting agitated. “She’s going to throw me out and take Kelsey! And her family’s coming! Her mother’s coming!”
I wanted to shake him like a bobblehead doll, until his teeth chattered. Focus, Matt. You got us into this by underestimating my input in the first place. Now I’m trying to get us out of it.
I promised him I’d see what I could find out about custody law in Scotland. He just needed to try to convince Lori and her family to leave and go back to Peterhead for the time being. He’d been Kelsey’s sole caregiver since she was born. Most likely, Lori couldn’t just take her away from him without a court order, I figured. I encouraged him to sit Lori down and talk to her, and not to take no for an answer.
“Don’t cower when she throws things and screams, and don’t give up and let her ignore you. You’re a grown man. You can handle this.”
“I’ll try.”
If he did end up having to go to court to resolve this, we could work around it. Instead of us going to New York, I could come to the UK instead, if that would make things easier. We could use the book advance money to rent a flat in town, so that he and Lori could be within a couple of blocks of each other and share custody of Kelsey until everything was mediated between them. There was no rush for New York. We could set up house in the UK instead. Or we could even make that permanent, so that he could be close to Kelsey year-round.
He insisted vehemently, though, that he still wanted to move to New York with me, even now. He’d talk to her.
“You’re right. You’ve been right all this time and I was a stupid fool, and you’ve been the most loving, supportive girlfriend any man could ever have. I don’t deserve you, but I’m going to try so much harder to.” He was crying again in my arms.
“Stop it, honey. I love you. It’s all going to be OK.”
He took me up the street to a small bed-and-breakfast, the Dunedin Guest House. It was the most affordable place in town; half the price of the Huntly Hotel in the main square. I couldn’t figure out why it should be cheaper to get a larger room, internet access and free breakfast, but I wasn’t complaining.
The post office wouldn’t be open for two more days, so Matt paid for the next two nights. He would meet me in the square on Monday morning, I could exchange my currency, and by then he was sure he’d have dealt with Lori and I could come back to the flat with him. He seemed renewed with optimism and relief that I had been so understanding and supportive. I was feeling pretty optimistic myself.
He walked me upstairs to the room, and pushed me up against the wall, kissing me deep and hard. It was the first time he’d kissed me since I’d arrived, and I immediately knew it would all be fine. Over and over again he kissed me, and I thought that maybe this would be a perfect time to tell him that I was pregnant. We were both happy again.
I sat down on the bed and patted the covers next to me.
“Can you stay for a little bit? There’s some stuff I’d like to talk to you about. I have so much to tell you.”
“I can’t. I need to get back to the flat. I’ve been away so long already—she’s probably fuming.”
My face fell. For fuck’s sake, we just had the conversation about standing up and being a man! He explained that every time he’d tried to leave the flat the day before, even if it was just for an errand, Lori had gone on a screaming rampage, accusing him of visiting me.
“Accusing you? What’s there to accuse you of? So what if you were seeing me? I mean, I’d assume that’d be a given. She knows that we’re together…right?”
Of course, but he couldn’t really explain it. My presence was setting her off. There’d always been an undertone of her wanting him back, but for a few weeks, he said, she’d started talking about it openly, pushing him to leave me and reconcile with her.
“Why wouldn’t you tell me something of that magnitude? You promised you’d tell me if she ever tried to make a move on you!” I was right back to feeling betrayed.
“Look, I haven’t given her any hope whatsoever, OK? I’ve told her that it’s never going to happen.”
That wasn’t enough, I insisted. She needed to be told, flat out, “I don’t love you—I never have and I never can—and I’m marrying somebody else. Case closed. Now we need to focus on parenting our daughter in a healthy manner.” I couldn’t believe that I needed to spell this out for him, and then I felt guilty for being frustrated with my lover when he was off his medication and falling to pieces in front of my eyes.
He sighed.
“I suppose you’re right. It probably does need to be said.”
He would tell her. He’d wait until her family left that night: He didn’t want to humiliate her in front of them. But he would tell her. I agreed that that was fair.
Just like that, back to happy again. My brain couldn’t keep up with the emotional pendulum. I was getting a headache.
“But I need to go. It’s going to be hard enough telling her if I get her upset at me today. I love you. I’ll see you on Monday.”
Deep kisses, and then he bolted down the hallway.
Chapter Twenty-Two
On Monday, I exchanged my currency at the post office, and Matt met me outside. He was lugging my heavy trunk full of Christmas gifts, which had been delivered over the weekend.
I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him. He looked distant.
“Homeless Tales is down, I noticed yesterday. It looks like Michael forgot to pay the bill again.”
Michael Abehsera hosted Matt’s website on his Media Temple server, in exchange for Matt promoting his social media work. Matt more than fulfilled his end of the bargain, but Michael often forgot to pay the $20 hosting fee, and we had several times known the frustration of a flurry of panicked emails from the HT crew: “Why is the site down?” More often than not, Michael would plead that money was tight that month, and I would end up buying a prepaid debit card from Walmart and logging in to the Media Temple account to pay the $20 myself.
“Oh, crap. Can you pay it?”
“No, I don’t have a debit card with me. I didn’t know this was going to happen.”
“Shit. I don’t have internet access yet. Can you try to get hold of Michael and get him to pay it, or ask around and maybe find a friend to front us the money? We need to get that site back up. Ask around, and when you find somebody, give them the Media Temple login info.”
“I’ll do my best.”
I turned my attention to my trunk. “Why’d you bother bringing that? Those are gifts for you and Kelsey. You can just keep it at the house.”
“I can’t do that.”
Oh, come on. Not another problem.
“You didn’t talk to her.” I said it flatly. I could have slugged him.
“I’ve tried! I’ve tried everything! She refuses to talk! The rest of her family went home, but her mother stayed. They’ve set up camp in the flat and are refusing to leave! I can’t go anywhere without them screaming at me, and then when they start to scream, Kelsey gets terribly frightened and starts to cry! Bri, I love you and I want to marry you, but I…I hold my daughter and I just realize that it’s not possible. I can’t have you both. Lori won’t let me.”
What the fuck?!
I was watching the scene as if floating high above myself. It was the very first time that, gazing into his eyes, I saw nothing of the Matt I knew. There was no sign of the man who’d spooned with me tight all night long discussing quantum physics, and taken such giddy, boyish pleasure in sharing memories of his childhood with me—the man who’d laughed over my shoulder as we watched Paddington Bear and Bagpuss together, or who’d insisted on reciprocating my favorite classic black-and-white movies, The Ghost and Mrs. Muir and Roman Holiday, with his own, Brief Encounter. It was like trying to get through to a stranger. His eyes were blank with panic, like a drowning man whose only thought is to save himself.
“You’re going back to her.”
“No! No, I’m not going back to her. I’d never go back to her. I’m not saying anything about going back to her. But maybe if I live in the same flat as her and coparent Kelsey, you know, living like roommates, she’ll back off and things will calm down. She’ll stop freaking out and Kelsey can have a quiet life, instead of all this constant conflict.”
I stamped my foot hard in the snow. Perhaps a childish gesture, in retrospect, but I felt completely and thoroughly provoked, and I’d reached my breaking point.
Was he crazy? Was he listening to himself? Her behavior was so far over the line, beyond abusive and insane and irrational, and he was caving to it. He was pandering to her. Appeasing her. Did he honestly believe that allowing this kind of insanity to dominate their lives was creating a healthy environment for his daughter? If he loved me and wanted to marry me, then he should fucking well do it. She had no right to make such a demand. I begged him to stand up to her now, draw the line and set boundaries with her now, while Kelsey was still a baby. For the umpteenth time, I wished he’d done it before Kelsey’s birth as he’d promised…but he had waited too long and put us all in jeopardy. Still, if he stood up for himself now, he could get the unpleasant part over with while his daughter was too young to remember all the fighting and conflict. I thought back to my own mother, and knew that if Matt allowed this craziness to continue, Kelsey would grow up thinking that her mom’s warped, twisted power plays were normal. The realization was like a dagger in my heart.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I did this. I don’t know what to do anymore.”
“Yes, you do. You know what to do, you’re just too scared of her to do it. But think about this, Matt: Single parents fall in love and get remarried every day. It happens. Normal, healthy people don’t allow their exes to dictate their choice of partner. Lori is the only person in this entire
scenario who’s told you that you need to give up one of the people you love—your wife-to-be or your daughter. I haven’t asked you to, and Kelsey hasn’t asked you to.”
“You’re right.”
He kept saying that he knew I was right, but I needed to see some action from him. Be an adult, already. You’re thirty-seven years old. Time to grow up.
“You know what I spent the past two days doing, Matt? Calling all the Scottish child law center hotlines I could locate, asking them what to do. And you know what? Every last one has verified what I suspected before.”
He could get his flat back in a heartbeat. He just needed a doctor’s note. He was considered the parent of residence, not Lori. He was entitled to status-quo custody until a court ordered otherwise, and that was highly unlikely, especially with both their names on the birth certificate, and with Lori’s unstable actions. He was even entitled to free legal representation if she took him to court.
And the most frustrating thing? She didn’t need his flat. She had never needed his flat. All the wheedling and emotional blackmail, pushing him to sign the flat over to her—and all she had to do to get one from the local council…was ask. She could still ask, I stressed to Matt. Any single mother with no job gets a free flat within a matter of weeks, just by asking. She could have asked the moment she found out she was pregnant. There was never any need for all this drama and manipulation. But instead, she had done her best to fuck up all our lives, just so she could have another shot with a man who never loved her in the first place; a man she had to lie to and trick into pregnancy, all in hopes that he’d come back to her. And now that it had exploded in her face, he was just going to let her do this to us?
I hated him at that moment. It was simultaneous with loving him, but I think I can safely say that in that instant, there was no room in my body or mind for anything else but rage. What had we worked so hard for? Why had we bothered going to all the trouble of building a life and happiness together, if he was just going to go off his meds, roll over, wave a white flag and die?