It’s Time
November, 2002
It was four years ago that I signed the lease to my cottage. The courage it took for me to put my name on that contract…the courage it took for me to break the news to Kurt that I was leaving him…the courage it took for me to sleep in it alone for the first time, all of it is something I wish I could write a book about. And, the first thing I would write is how much harder it was to leave than I ever thought possible. My little six hundred square foot dwelling has saved my life over and over again. Leaving it, feels like a death.
My landlord, although bummed he wouldn’t be getting any more of my money, was accommodating when I had to break the three-year lease that Leo and I just signed a few months ago. And knowing I had to break it because we split-up and I no longer had a man in my life, he was nice enough to help me pack up the place. Standing in it now, cold and empty just like it was the first time I stepped foot in it, I’m just as alone and scared as I was back then. Before I shut the door for the last time, I take one last tour of my love shack.
First, I scan the vacant bathroom, and my eyes land on the place they had so many times over the last year. The towel I had expected so much out of, is now sitting in the bottom of a box somewhere. When push came to shove, I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away. Aside from my Banana Republic ring, it’s the only physical reminder I have left of Leo, unless, of course…the human being growing inside of me is his. With that stomach-turning-mystery-of-a-thought, I move on to the bedroom. I stare forever at the outline of where the bed used to be, the bed I gave everything I had to Leo in. The mattress is now in the dump and the frame has been donated. I never want to be reminded of what I’ll never experience again. Next, I walk out to the deck and stare blankly at the creek, feeling sad I didn’t do it a lot more while I lived here. Finally, I walk to the kitchen, the place where so much happened. I glide my hand across the countertop one last time and touch the wall where Leo placed my hands the night I “bumped” into him at The Round Up. I close my eyes and feel everything all over again. The temptation to change my mind about leaving the cottage hits me hard, and I swiftly move my hands to my stomach to draw the strength I need to move on to the next stage of my life.
My landlord pops his head inside and tells me the U-Haul is ready and he’s waiting to follow me to my new house…that I’m now the sole owner of and can barely afford. The real estate agent made the buyout of Leo’s share of the home super easy and there wasn’t any need to deal directly with him on the transaction. I appreciated her willingness to get the job done as quickly as possible, but I pray it wasn’t so she could do him as quickly as possible. The thought of Leo even giving her the gift of his voice over the phone sends me into a frenzy, so I have to force any and all thought of him giving more to her out of my mind. Rubbing my stomach, I exhale, “It’s not healthy for either of us, is it?”
When I know my landlord is back outside, I take a Swiss army knife out of my pocket and start carving. Before I close the kitchen cabinet, I take a moment to admire my work. Carved deep into the wood are the words, “I loved here.” Then I bend down and grab the only box I wouldn’t let my landlord help me with, the one containing Kelly’s videos. Standing in the entryway, I give my refuge one last glance before saying “thank you” and then I close the door for the last time.
During the ten-minute drive to my new house, I mull over my next moves as well as the ones taken over the past few weeks, like my first doctor’s appointment. Slutty Co-worker, who so far is the only person who knows about the baby, came along for moral support. Actually, it was more like slapstick support…
“Can you estimate the time of conception?”
Before I have a chance to answer the doctor, my dear old friend chimes in with, “Ain’t that the million dollar question?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Well…she slept with her ex-husband and her ex-fiancé within…” looking back at me, “How many weeks between the two, hunny?”
Mortified, I attempt to clear things up for the doctor.
“I’m not exactly sure if I slept with my ex-husband, but if I did, it would’ve been two weeks before I slept with my…ex-fiancé, August thirty-first.”
Jesus, how is it that a woman who has only slept with two men in her entire life can have so many ex’s?
Confused, the doctor asks, “You’re not exactly sure if you had sex with your ex-husband?”
“She was drunk.”
I shoot a look at Slutty to stop doing me favors.
“I…um…I had a lot of wine that night, but I want you to know it had been nine months since I had anything to drink. It’s not like I’m an alcoholic or anything.”
“Yep. Thank God those days are over!”
The doctor peculiarly brushes off Slutty’s remark and hits me with the guilt I knew I had coming.
“Being highly intoxicated isn’t exactly the most ideal way to bring a child into the world.”
Thanks f*ck-head.
“I’m aware of that, and it scares me. If this baby is his…” Seriously! It does NOT get more Jerry Springer than this “…will it be okay?”
“Everything should be fine. I know being a first time parent can be really scary-”
“Oh, she’s not a first time parent! She has a daughter!”
I shoot Slutty Co-worker another shut the F up look.
“You do?”
Oh brother. “Yeah, I’m the guardian of my dead…best friend’s…daughter.”
“Where’s that father?”
“Uh, he’s dead too.”
I can tell by the look on the doctor dude’s face that he’s wondering if he should call social services or the police and his judgmental looks are all my big-mouth friend can take. She jumps out of her chair and attacks.
“No! No! No! You don’t look at this woman like that!”
I try to interrupt the outburst, but there’s no stopping her.
“Sure, she might sound like a f*ck up, Doctor, but this is a good woman with a heart as big as her stomach’s about to get! Two of her dearest friends are dead, and she’s raising their child like she’s her own, and she’s doing a better job than you or anyone else could do. And, yes, she might’ve slept with two men in two weeks, but she loved both of those guys more than I’ve ever loved half of one. So just lube up that stick thing, put it inside of her, and tell us everything’s okay, because we have a baby to plan for and your a*shole looks are holding us up from doing that! Got it?”
And that’s how my first doctor’s appointment went. Probably not something for the baby books, that’s for sure. But I left there that day knowing two things, Slutty Co-worker will do anything to protect me, and I’m due on either June seventh or June twenty-second…depending on who the father is.
Now, just five minutes from my new house, I’m idling at the stop light in front of The Round Up. Carefree girls, who aren’t eight to twelve weeks pregnant, wander in and out like remembering to apply their lip gloss is the most pressing thing they have to do. I grab the rear view mirror and stare at my make-up-less mom face. I’d look prettier than this if Leo was with me. We’d be making this drive together, laughing at The Round Up people and excited about meeting the furniture delivery guys at the new house. It would be a day to cross off of our shared life list. But, no, we have separate lists now. He’s probably hanging out with the types of girls I’m watching go in and out of The Round Up, and you know what? He deserves it. He deserves to be young. The light turns green and in the nick of disparaging time, I hit the gas.
Rounding the corner to my new house, I see the delivery guys loading a crib into the garage. Slutty Co-worker bought it for me. It’s vintage white wrought iron and it’s absolutely stunning. But, as beautiful of a gift as it is, it can’t go in the house yet…I still have to tell Kendall about the baby. I park on the street and watch from the car as my landlord immediately gets busy unloading what little belongings I have, and a few of my new neighbors start to approach my car with coffee and muffins. Yep, as alone and scared as I was moving into my cottage four years ago, it’s nothing compared to what I’m feeling right now. Placing my hand on the box of videos that’s buckled into the passenger seat, I whisper, “I think it’s time to start watching you.”