Chapter Nineteen
Present
Sam is on my side — or at least I think he is. He doesn’t judge me. I like that. He knows the basics of what happened between Caleb and me. So far, he hasn’t asked any probing questions. I almost want him to.
I feel like we’re a team. He cleans the house, keeps me fed, does the laundry and tells me when to feed the baby.
I feed the baby.
Sometimes I watch when he gives her a bath and hand him the towel.
Motherhood isn’t nearly as hard as I thought. Except when it is.
Caleb doesn’t call.
Caleb doesn’t call.
“What’s with all the tattoos?” I ask him one day. He has his sleeves rolled up to the elbows and he’s gently rinsing the soap from the baby’s hair. He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. I trace the pictures with my finger, something I’ve never done before … to anyone. It’s a mess of artwork: a pirate ship, a lotus flower, and an incredibly tacky spider web. When I reach his elbow, he raises his eyebrows. “Would you like me to take my shirt off so you can continue?”
“There’s more?”
He smirks and lifts the baby out of the bath. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were attracted to me.”
I cackle. Really. It’s kind of embarrassing.
“You’re gay, Sam. And no offense, but I’m not really into the Kurt Cobain, tattooed look.”
Sam carries the baby into the nursery and sets her on the changing table. “I hope you’re at least into the Kurt Cobain sound, then.”
I swallow. God. I feel dizzy all of a sudden.
I’m shaking my head before words can make it past my lips. “I listened when I was younger.”
He looks at me quizzically.
“I’m gonna go get something to drink…” I slip out of the room before he can say anything else, but instead of going to the kitchen, I head for my bedroom. I shut the door as quietly as possible and crawl onto my bed.
Breathe, Leah.
I am trying to think of happy things, things my therapist gave me to focus on, but all I can hear are the words to a Nirvana song, echoing so loudly in my head I want to scream.
I scream into my pillow. I hate that. I’m a goddamn mess and there is nothing I can do about it. When my heart stops racing, I go downstairs and get a drink of water.
I am channel surfing a few hours later when I hear Olivia’s name. I flick past the channel and have to backtrack. Since Caleb’s been gone, I am desperate for any news on her. I know he’s watching. I pluck at my eyelashes and watch as Nancy Grace gives me an update on what’s happening in Dobson’s trial preparation. She’s on a tirade. I snicker. When is she not on a tirade? She moves on from Dobson and it takes me a few minutes to figure out that her sharp southern accent is directed at Olivia. I turn up the volume and lean forward. Yes! Olivia bashing! This is exactly what I need to feel better about myself.
I snuggle down in my seat to watch, a full glass of Scotch sweating in my hand. One corner of the screen is reeling footage of Dobson’s victims. They range in age and appearance, but they all have the same haunted look in their eyes. When a video clip of the rapist comes on the screen, I scrunch my nose. He’s in an orange jumpsuit, handcuffed and shackled. Officers wearing plain clothes surround him as he walks the short distance from the vehicle to the courthouse. He gives me the heebie-jeebies. He’s huge — linebacker size. The cop next to him looks puny. How this buffoon managed to get girls to come within five feet of him astounds me.
Suddenly, the screen flashes to Olivia. I want to change the channel, but as usual, I can’t pull my eyes from her. Nancy is waving her bejeweled hand in the air. Her voice is rising in crescendo and she’s told three people on her panel that they’re idiots for defending Olivia’s case. I reach over for a handful of popcorn, not taking my eyes from the screen. Nancy is right. I feel a sudden fondness for her. She obviously knows how to read people. Then I hear my name. I spit out my popcorn and lean forward.
She won a case a year ago, defending an heiress on clinical fraud charges. Nancy calls to someone on her panel. Did she win that case, Dave?
Dave gives a brief summary of my case and affirms that yes, indeed, Olivia did win the case.
Nancy is disgusted.
The evidence against that girl was overwhelming, she says, stabbing the desk with her finger.
I change the channel.
But, the following night, I turn it on again and watch all fifty-two minutes of blond fury. By night three, I’ve called into the show as a Ms. Lucy Knight from Missouri, and expressed my disgust with Olivia too. I make sure to tell her that I appreciate what she does for women, that’s she’s a goddamn hero. Nancy tearfully thanks me for being a fan.
By the end of her show, I am usually drunk. Sometimes Sam stays to watch it with me.
“She’s really pretty,” he says about Olivia. I spit an ice cube at him and he laughs. The baby is almost sleeping through the night now. I still sleep in her room, just in case she wakes up. Sam thinks I’m finally bonding with her, but I only do it so I don’t have to walk far in the middle of the night. Caleb is supposed to be back from his trip late the following day. He sent me a text saying he’d pick up Estella as soon as he got back. I plan a trip to the spa in the morning. If everything goes my way, he won’t be going anywhere.
“So, they were together in college?”
I look over to where Sam is sipping on his soda. “What the hell?”
“What?” He shrugs. “I feel like I’m watching a soap opera without all of the back-story.”
I sniff. “Yes, they were together for a few years in college. But, it wasn’t that serious. They never even slept together.”
Sam raises his eyebrows. “Caleb stuck around for a girl who wasn’t having sex with him?” He lets out a low whistle.
“What does that mean?” I curl my feet under my body and try not to look too interested. The lack of sex between Caleb and Olivia always confused me. I had wanted to ask questions on the rare occasion it came up, but never wanted to seem like the jealous girlfriend. Besides, Caleb protected his past like it was the goddamn crown jewels.
Sam looks thoughtful as he chews on a mouthful of beef jerky. He eats so much of the stuff I’ve come to associate the smell with him.
“Seems like a long time to ask a college-aged guy to wait. The only way I see someone doing that is if they are crazy in love … addiction love.”
“What do you mean addiction love?” Caleb has the most non-addictive personality I’ve ever seen. In fact, it bothers me. One year he will be a full-fledged skier and the next year when I book a trip to the lodge, he’ll tell me he’s not interested anymore. It happened countless times throughout our relationship — with restaurants, clothes … he even traded his car in every year. It almost always started with him loving something intensely and then gradually becoming bored with it.
“I don’t know,” Sam says. “I guess it sounds like he was willing to do anything for her … even if it meant going against what he was used to.”
“I hate you.”
He slaps my leg playfully and stands up. “Just trying to clear your head a little, Mommy monster. Seems like he’s your addiction and it’s not a healthy one.”
I glare after him as he heads for the door. He’s such a pompous ass.
“See you tomorrow,” he calls over his shoulder. “When Mr. Perfect returns…”
But, the next day Sam calls to say he’s having car problems. I cancel the spa. I haven’t spent an entire day alone with the baby since Sam’s run with the flu. I eat a mini bag of frozen corn before going up to get her. For most of the day, I repeat everything I see Sam do. We have tummy time in the living room. I wipe her face after she’s done eating. I even splurge and take her for a mini walk in the stroller I have never used.
When I discover I'm out of diapers, I call Sam in a panic. He doesn’t answer, because no one is ever around when you really damn well need them! How am I supposed to take a baby to the store with me? There has to be some kind of service that runs errands for new mothers. After debating for more than an hour, I pack the baby in the car and head to the nearest grocery store. It takes me ten minutes to figure out how to load her car seat onto the cart. I swear under my breath, until a more seasoned mother comes over to help me. I thank her without meeting her eyes and steer my cart into the store just in time to miss the rain. The minute the cold air conditioning blows on the baby, she starts wailing. I push the cart haphazardly to the kid aisle and toss in five packages of diapers. Better safe than sorry.
By the time I’ve raced back to the register, people are looking at me like I’m a bad mother. I load everything onto the conveyor and lift her out of the car seat. Holding her against my chest, I pat her back awkwardly. I am fumbling with my wallet and trying to bounce her when the cashier — a bubble popping juvenile delinquent — asks me, “Will that be all?” I look at the bags of diapers that are now bagged in my cart and then at the empty belt. He is staring at me with his watery marijuana eyes, waiting for my answer.
“Um no, I’d like all of this invisible shit too.” I wave a hand at the conveyer and he is actually dumb enough to look.
“God,” I say, viciously swiping my credit card. “Lay off the pot.”
The baby chooses that exact moment to have a bowl movement. Before I’ve pocketed my credit card, the contents of her diaper have leaked onto my hands and shirt. I look around in horror and bolt from the store.
Without the diapers.
I send Sam to go back for them later when he finally calls me back. When he shows up at the front door, I still haven’t changed my crapped on shirt, and in addition to my daughter’s brown artwork, both of my breasts are leaking. He shakes his head.
“You look worse every time I see you.”
I burst into tears. Sam sets the diapers on the counter and hugs me. “Go shower while she’s sleeping. I’ll make us something to eat.”
I nod and head upstairs. When I come back down, he’s made spaghetti.
“Sit.” He points to a barstool. I obey, pulling in the plate he slides toward me.
“You’re losing it,” he says. He wraps spaghetti around his fork without looking at me.
I use a knife to cut mine into little pieces so that they fit onto my fork.
“How do I get him to come home?”
“Get a new personality and learn to shut the f*ck up.”
I give him a dirty look as I dab at my mouth.
“Are you attracted to me?”
There is a long pause.
“I’m gay, Leah.”
“What? I never really thought you were.”
“You’ve been saying it all along!”
“But, you have a daughter … what’s her name, again?”
He laughs. “Kenley. And, I guess I only figured it out later in life.”
I drop my head in my hands. This is an all-time new low for me, seducing a gay man. I take a deep breath and look up.
“Caleb’s going to leave me again. I know it.”
For a second Sam looks taken aback, and then he scoots over on the couch and puts an arm around my shoulders.
“Probably,” he says. My head snaps around to look at him. Weren’t gay men supposed to be sensitive? The minute he announced he was gay, I was planning on using him to replace Katine. “Probably. I can’t believe he’s stayed with you for this long.” He smiles at my expression.
“Did you really just say that?”
He nods. “Maybe the guy loves a good bitch — but you’re treading a thin line between attractively bitchy and psycho. You messed with his daughter. He’s probably going to leave you and take his kid.”
“No way. I won’t let that happen.”
“What? —The husband or the baby?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. It’s obvious what I mean.
“He won’t believe it — if I start acting all supermom. He sees through shit like that.”
Sam raises an eyebrow.
“He won’t leave me. He thinks I’ll fall apart if he does.”
“Is that how you want to keep him? By manipulating his emotions?”
I shrug. “I try not to think about it, honestly.”
“Yeah, that’s kind of apparent. Why not just let him go? You could find someone else.”
I have the urge to slap him across the face. I light up a Slim instead.
“I won’t ever let him go. I love him too much.”
Sam smirks at me and plucks it from my fingers, stubbing it out on my granite. “Never?”
“Never,” I say. “Never ever.”
Sam points a finger at me. “That’s not love.”
I roll my eyes at him. “What do you know? You’re gay.”