by Jay McLean
“What can I do?” I shout into the empty room.
“Nothing! Just leave me alone!”
My fists ball at my sides, anger and protectiveness reducing me to nothing but wild thoughts and wild actions… like marching out the back door and up the balcony steps and slamming my palm against Noah’s door.
He’s quick to appear, to slide open the door, his face void of any emotion.
“You’re moving out?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
“Because why? Because I didn’t kiss you back?”
“Because I don’t want to be here with you!” he snaps. “Because I don’t want you standing on my balcony demanding answers. Because I don’t want to be this close to you. Because I don’t want to be near you, knowing I can’t fucking have you!”
I step back, away from his assault, from his words, words that bleed into anger and fill me with shame.
“Fuck, Andie. Did I get it wrong the entire time? Were you not into me? Because I swear you were, and then you tell me that your heart belongs to some other guy?”
“It’s not—”
“Where is he, Andie? Because if he’s not dead or deployed or some other reasonable excuse, then he should be here taking care of you!”
A knot lodges in my throat, making it impossible to speak, while heat burns behind my nose, my eyes. I beg my body to keep it together until I’m in my house, away from my heart’s desire. I wrap my arms around my waist, keep my gaze lowered, and verbalize the reason why I came here in the first place. “You’re hurting Bradley and Milky.”
In front of me, the boy who once spoke of beauty now only speaks of undeniable truths. “And you’re hurting me, Andie, so where’s the compromise?”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Andie
I get dressed quickly while my sister sits on the edge of her bed, her eyes wide, an attempt at convincing me that she isn’t tired. That she hadn’t just finished her Friday night shift four hours ago and came stumbling into the house after spending the night with Bradley. It’s been over a week now, and Milky spends every spare second with Bradley, believing their time together is limited. According to Milky, the boys have already had a few interested people come through the house to take over their lease. Nothing has been signed yet, and Milky—she’s been praying for a miracle that nothing will.
“You didn’t have to leave Bradley for this, Milky. I got this.”
She forces a weak, exhausted smile. “I’m okay. And you—you look beautiful,” she says, catching my gaze in the full-length mirror in the corner of her room.
Last night—while she worked her ass off, literally—I spent a couple hours picking out my clothes for today. In the back of my mind, I knew she was right: that the clothes I wore wouldn’t determine the outcome we’d been working toward, but it couldn’t hurt.
“Are you nervous?” she asks, and I nod.
Blond hair a mess around her face, my sister straightens her shoulders. “You’re going to do great,” she says, and I nod again. “I’m really proud of you, Andie.”
Turning slowly, I hold eyes with the girl whose grays match mine. “Thank you,” I choke out, chest tightening at her words. “For everything, Milky. I don’t even know where I’d be without you.”
She stands, her arms outstretched as we move to embrace each other. I may have been born first, but she’d always seemed older. And while I was gifted with academic smarts, she was gifted with street smarts. She would have never, ever gotten herself into the mess that I had. Never. “You better go; you’re going to be late,” Milky says, releasing me. She offers another sleepy smile, and I leave her room, grateful for the girl whom I’d once despised.
I walk past Noah’s car parked in the driveway, Bradley’s truck behind it.
My car doesn’t start on the first go. Or the second. And on the third attempt, it doesn’t even try. Doesn’t rev, doesn’t click. I try again and again, minutes passing, my panic rising. I check my watch. Fifteen minutes to get there and I only have forty-five minutes allocated. With sweaty palms, I reach for my inhaler the same time I check the bus timetable on my phone. There’s one in three minutes, and I’ve walked there in ten. I grab my bag, get out of the car, and I run. I run until my legs and lungs burn, until sweat drips down my temple, and I curse myself for wearing Milky’s stupid heeled boots. A few yards from the bus stop, I see the back of the bus, its brake lights glowing from red to nothing as it takes off without me in it. I hunch down, my hands on my knees, gasping for air while I pull out my phone. She’s one of the eight contacts I have listed, and she answers on the first ring. “Mabel,” I cry out. “It’s Andromeda. My car won’t start, but I’m going to be there, okay? I promise. I’ll be there. Please don’t leave before I get there.”
“We’ll try,” the middle-aged woman says. “But you know we have to leave by a certain time.”
“I know. Just please,” I cry, liquid heat falling from my eyes. I hang up so I can use my phone to check our bank account. I could catch a cab, an Uber, something. But I’d just transferred our pay into the savings account—the account that needs me to go to the bank to withdraw money. I let out a sob when I see the amount: $12.38. I push the cold plastic of my inhaler between my lips, press down and suck in my dependency. Once. Twice. My head spins, panic crushing my insides. I run back to the house. What the fuck am I going to do? My lack of physical activity throughout my entire lifetime doesn’t help my desperation, and I slow to a walk a few yards from home. When I get there, I race into my apartment, hoping Milky has some hidden cash, but Milky’s bedroom is empty. So is the bathroom. Where the hell could she be? There’s no way she could’ve gone anywhere except—
I run out of there and knock on the boys’ front door.
Nothing.
I bang harder.
Still nothing.
I call Milky.
Nothing.
I kick the shit out of the door. And I’ll keep kicking it until someone answers. That someone is Noah and going by his physical state, I’ve just woken him up.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, suddenly alert.
“Milky,” I wheeze out, struggling for air.
Whatever he sees in me sets off his own panic, and his hands reach out, grasp my shoulders. “What’s going on? Is that fucker—”
“My car won’t start, and I need to go somewhere and Milky—”
“If your car’s not starting, then Milky can’t take you—”
“She might have money for a cab or something!” I’m shouting at him, not from anger, but so I can be heard over the music thumping from somewhere in his house—from Bradley’s room. Where Milky is. “Fuck!”
“Calm down, Andie,” says the boy whose frantic eyes match my own. “I’ll be back.” He runs upstairs, returning a moment later; dark denim, white T, cap on backward. He picks up a set of keys from the kitchen counter and ushers me outside while he closes the door behind him.
Noah swiftly walks to Bradley’s truck and unlocks it, motioning for me to get inside. I’m glad he’s able to think straight because I can’t. I can barely breathe. The thought of missing out on a visitation has my heart thumping, my stomach in knots.
I settle into the seat, pulling at the belt too quickly for it to work. With calmer hands than my own, Noah tugs on the belt slowly, locking me into place, while I look down at my watch, cursing every second that ticks by.
“Where are we going?” he asks, and it’s only now that I realize who I am to him—a girl he can’t stand to be around…
“I can drive,” I tell him. “You don’t need to—”
“You’re in no state to drive, Andie.”
Knowing he’s right, I say, “You know the state park near the airport?”
Noah doesn’t ask questions as he drives over the speed limit, my urgency clear. I hunch over in my seat to catch my breath, inhaler in my grip in case I need it.
We get to the park, and I direct
him to the right area, my gaze shifting, searching, pulse beating wildly in my eardrums. “Stop!” I shout when they come into view. My seatbelt’s off, and I’m opening the door before he comes to a complete stop. And then I ignore everything else, even the sound of a car door closing behind me: Noah getting out of the truck.
I run.
With arms wide open.
Toward the little girl whose crazy curls fly in the wind as she moves toward me. “Mama!”
Chapter Forty
Andie
“We’ve only got fifteen minutes left before we have to go,” Mabel says.
I stay squatted down, holding my daughter in my arms, swinging her from side to side.
“Okay,” I breathe out, pulling back so I can take her in. It’s only two weeks between short visits, but she grows so much every time I see her. Today, she’s wearing a blue shirt underneath denim overalls and ratty blue shoes; all hand me downs from the foster family’s five other boys.
“You look so pretty, Aries,” I coo, cupping her face. Then I kiss her little button nose, the rose-colored cheeks, all belonging to the girl I see as my reward.
“Shin,” she tells me, tugging on my hand.
I stand up, let her lead the way toward the playground. Then I help her onto a swing while Mabel, our social worker, takes a seat on a park bench and pulls out her folder to take notes. I wonder what she’ll write this week. That I was late? That I showed up with—
I glance over my shoulder to see Noah leaning against Bradley’s truck, his hands in his pockets, watching us.
“Poohh!” my daughter says, and I set aside all other thoughts, at least for the next fifteen minutes. Because fifteen minutes is all I have. Then I push her on the swing, letting the sound of her laughter fill my heart.
We play on the swings, on the slide, and I carry her while she attempts to cross the monkey bars. She asks to play in the sandpit, but I don’t allow her to. I read an article about used syringes in playground sandpits, and it worries me to no end. But one day, when she’s all mine, living in our own house, I’ll buy her the best damn sandpit there is.
“Do you like your shoes?” I ask her, contemplating shifting around enough funds to buy her a new pair.
“Boo,” she says, pulling on my hand to go back to the swings.
“They are blue. Good girl, Aries. And do you like blue?”
She nods, motions for me to help her get on the swing again. Once she’s settled, she points to the sky. “Jamana?”
I smile at her attempt to say my name. “Jamana can only be seen at night, remember?”
She nods. “Tars.”
“With the stars, that’s right.”
“Shin?” she asks, blinking up at me.
“We’re on the swings, sweetheart.”
Her little head moves from side to side. “Shin! Tinka Tinka!”
“Oh! You want to sing “Twinkle Twinkle”?”
“Yeah. Pooh. Shin.”
So I do as she asks, I push and sing her the song I wasn’t around to teach her.
Too soon, Mabel approaches, Aries’s jacket that I’d brought held in her hand. “It’s time to go, sweetheart.” I don’t know if she’s speaking to Aries or me, but I nod anyway, carry Aries off the swing, take the jacket from Mabel, and help Aries’s arms into the sleeves. I push down the lump in my throat—the same lump that’s there every time we have to say goodbye. Aries takes my hand, starts leading us to Mabel’s car.
I ask Mabel, my voice low so only she can hear, “How is she? Is everything... I mean...” I never really know what to ask in these moments. I want to know that she’s okay, that the foster family she’s been with for the past year is treating her well, but I feel as if I’m being intrusive, ungrateful almost.
“We’ll talk when she’s in the car,” Mabel says, and it’s only now I notice that Noah’s parked right next to Mabel. I offer him a smile, not knowing how else to act. I don’t even want to think about what’s going through his mind right now. If he’s wondering why I kept this from him. The truth is, I’ve wanted to tell him. I’ve tried to tell him. When he assumed that there was another guy in my life, I tried to tell him that he was wrong. That it wasn’t like that. And before that, I tried… but…
Fear.
Fear is what stopped me.
Because history has made me that way.
After getting Aries secured in the car seat, I give her one more kiss. One more cuddle. Followed by an I love you. And my usual: “I’ll see you soon, okay?”
Tears threaten to fall, but I hold them back, not wanting her to see me that way. When the door’s closed, creating a barrier between us, Mabel tells me, “She’s settled in well. She’s getting along with the other foster children, and she seems happy.”
I chance a peek at Noah, who’s still standing by the hood of the truck, staring down at his feet. “Is she still, I mean, the last place wasn’t good—”
“Her emotional stability is improving,” Mabel says, and I tear my gaze away from him and back to her. She adds, “The current family she’s with has had children like your daughter in the past, so they’re familiar with her needs.”
“That’s good.”
“I don’t want you to worry about her; that’s my job. I want you to focus on you. How are things with your sister?”
“Good.” I nod, try to level my emotions. “We’re good. We’re saving every penny for when... Do you know? Is there a date set yet?”
Mabel frowns, and it tears my heart in two. “It’s still going to be a while, and to be honest, in your case, the more time you have to set things up, the better it’ll be for the custody hearing. I’ll let you know as soon as I can.”
“Okay,” I breathe out, my chest rising with my intake of breath.
“Is this...” She motions to Noah.
“This is my neighbor, Noah.”
Hearing his name, Noah looks up at me, then at Mabel. Mabel says, “Thank you for giving Andie a ride; it means a lot to her daughter to be able to see her.”
Noah nods, his throat rolling with his swallow before he pushes off the hood and approaches us. “It’s no problem,” he says, his voice strained.
I find what little courage I have left. “Noah, this is Mabel. She’s a social worker for children’s services.”
Always the polite one, Noah extends his arm. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”
“Likewise,” she says, taking his offered hand. “Can you give us a minute, Noah?”
He disengages their contact, gives another nod, and without looking at me, murmurs, “I’ll wait in the car.”
Mabel motions for me to follow her to the driver’s side of her car while Noah gets in the truck. She waits until he’s seated and the door’s closed, just like she did with Aries, before lowering her voice, her words barely a whisper, “There’s nothing going on between you two, is there?”
I shake my head, look down at the space between us. “No. He’s my neighbor.” That’s all he’ll ever be.
“Good. Because the judge might not be happy about you getting out and starting a relationship with another man. Your psych evaluation showed—”
“I know,” I cut in. “Trust me, I know. Like I said, he’s just my neighbor.”
“Okay. Well, I’ll see you in two weeks. Call if you need anything.”
I nod as she opens the door, speaks to my daughter, “Say bye to Mama, Aries.”
“Buh, Mama.”
I choke on a sob I hope isn’t too obvious. “Bye, baby girl.” Then I force a smile. “I love you.”
She pokes at the holes in her jeans, but doesn’t offer the same affection.
She never does.
With one hand clutched to my chest, the other covering my mouth to stop the sob from falling—I watch as my reward moves farther and farther away from me until she disappears completely behind a cloud of dust left by the spinning tires.
Then I take a moment for myself, not ready to be in such small confines with the b
oy who’s on my mind almost as much as my daughter. Normally, I would get in my car the moment they’re gone and release my emotions into my hands, the sounds of my helpless cries bouncing off the interior. But now, there’s nowhere to hide, nowhere to discharge my desperation. So, I get into the truck, wait for him to speak first. It’s not until we’re halfway to our destination that he shifts in his seat.
I hold my breath.
Wait.
He says, his voice cracking, “Your daughter... she’s...”
“Got Down’s Syndrome? Yes.”
He’s quiet a moment, and the sound of his silence releases the first set of tears. I clasp my mouth shut, not wanting him to hear my weakness, but my heart is breaking, knowing I’ve already lost him, just like I’d once lost her.
“I was going to say beautiful.” Noah clears his throat. “You’re daughter’s beautiful, Andromeda.”
Chapter Forty-One
Noah
I’d lived next door to Bradley all my life. Our parents were friends, but as kids, we barely talked to each other. We were into different things. He was an only child, my sister was my best friend, so it was only when our parents got together that we ever really interacted.
When we were nine, Bradley’s father passed away. His funeral was the first I’d ever attended. It was the first form of grief I’d ever experienced, and even though the loss wasn’t mine, it still affected me. Bradley’s mom was a stay-at-home mom. His dad worked what he called “a boring office job in finance.” I didn’t really know much about him, other than the fact that every second Sunday, like clockwork, I’d hear the sound of the lawnmower going, smell the scent of freshly-cut grass. His dad loved his yard. Besides his son, it was his pride and joy.
One afternoon, I heard Anita, Bradley’s mom, crying to my mom. She spoke about losing her husband, having to find a job, and Bradley. Bradley—he wasn’t doing too well, she said. He’d shut down completely. He wouldn’t talk to her. Wouldn’t eat. Wouldn’t leave his room. My mom, a renowned child psychologist, offered to see Bradley for no charge.