“Where are you going with this?” Rochelle asks.
I ignore that. “But it’s like midnight, right? And he’s still out. So you text, Hey, how’s it going? Having a good time? Of course he’s having a good time. That’s why he’s still out with his buddies.”
Rochelle squints her eyes at me.
“He doesn’t answer. He’s drinking with the guys. No one answers a text when they’re out with the guys.”
“That’s not true. You always answered me.”
I hold up a finger. “Stay with me here, OK? So he doesn’t answer and you get mad, right? It’s three AM now and the bars are closed. Where the fuck is he? And then you think, holy shit, he got in a car accident. He’s in a ditch. He’s at the hospital. He’s dead. And then you start looking up the phone numbers for hospitals. And you consider calling to see if there was an accident. You’re imagining this whole life without him and you’re so fucking sad you just want to cry.”
Now she knows where this is going.
“But then, at four-thirty he stumbles through the door and flops on the couch. Passes out and shit. No hello. No sorry for making you worry. No nothing. He’s just too drunk to care. How do you feel then? Still sad?”
“Quin—”
“No,” I say, cutting her off. “No. You just need to listen for a second. I’m not trying to be a dick here, OK? I’m not. I just need you to know how I feel right now.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know,” I say. “You already said that and I don’t need to hear it again. But I feel like that girl. I imagined all the worst-case scenarios. I had you dead and buried. At one point I even thought you might’ve killed yourself. That I might have caused you to kill yourself.”
“Quin—”
“No. Just fucking listen to me, goddammit.” I stop talking and wait for her to decide. I don’t want to talk over her. I just want her to hear me.
“OK,” she finally says. “I’m listening.”
“A whole year,” I say. “I felt like that girl for a whole year.” She opens her mouth—then closes it. She was probably going to say sorry again. I know she’s sorry. Rochelle is not a mean person. There is not a mean bone in her body. She’s good. She’s sweet. She’s loving and caring. But she did something really fucking shitty to me. And she needs to understand this. “And that whole time I prayed to God you’d reappear. Or Bric would find you and bring you home. Or you’d call, for fuck’s sake. Call me. Tell me you were alive. But you never did. And then you came back and all I felt in that first moment was relief, right? She’s alive. She’s safe. She’s OK. I will see her again. I will talk to her again. I will get another chance.”
She sighs, puts her fork down and looks at her plate.
“I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I’m not. And I don’t need another apology. I have already accepted the one you gave me. It’s done. I’m over it.”
“Obviously you’re not over it.”
“I’m over that, Rochelle. I’m over the part where I missed you.”
This stuns her. She stares at me with the most hurt expression I’ve ever seen. It kills me. That look on her face kills me inside.
“I see why you left. I understand why you left. I don’t blame you for leaving. I get it, you were pregnant and Chella says girls get weird when they’re pregnant. So fine. You got weird, you got better, you came back. OK. The boyfriend is home from his drunken night out with the guys and he’s ready to pass out. But you want an explanation, right? Even if it’s just one sentence.”
“I was in Pagosa Springs.”
“Obviously I know that. That’s not what I want.”
“Then what do you want?” she asks.
“I don’t fucking know,” I say. “I don’t fucking know, Rochelle. All I know is that I’m mad. I’m so fucking pissed off.”
“Then why are you here?” she asks.
“Why?” I ask, smiling through my heartbreak. “Why? Because I fucking loved you, that’s why.”
“You did love me? Or you still do love me?”
I shrug. “That’s the part I don’t know about.”
“So I’ll ask again. Why are you here? Why get involved?”
“Because Bric asked me to.”
“So you’re here for Bric?” She laughs.
I really want to call her a stupid fucking bitch right now. I really want to yell and cuss her out. And tell her she’s all kinds of bad things just to make her feel what I’m feeling. But I keep my mouth shut. It’s nothing but a way to make me feel better at her expense and that will make everything worse.
“I’m just fucking mad,” I finally answer. “You just stumbled into the house at four-thirty, drunk. And the only thing on your mind is passing out. You can’t help that. You’re drunk. You’re not in control. You just need to sleep it off. But I want to say things mad people say. Except it’s pointless. It’s not going to help because you’re drunk. You won’t hear me. And even if you did, you wouldn’t remember when you wake up later. So I’m not going to say them.”
“I’ll just have to guess then?”
“At least you’ll know what it feels like.”
We both let out a long breath of frustration. When I look over at the baby, she’s staring at me, big blue eyes looking up at me like, Who the fuck is this guy? “She doesn’t even know me, Rochelle.”
“She doesn’t know Bric either.”
“Bric isn’t her father.”
“How do you know that?”
“I just know.”
Rochelle is silent after that. Probably coming up with all kinds of comebacks. I don’t know for sure, but I feel it. Adley is my daughter. Mine.
“I missed everything, you know. So I’m mad about you leaving, I’m mad about you never calling me, and I’m mad that I missed the birth of my daughter. I’m just fucking mad, OK?”
“So leave, then. If you’re so mad, then just leave.”
“God, you just don’t get it. I don’t want to leave. I never want to let you out of my fucking sight.”
“You make no sense.”
“I know,” I admit. “I know I make no sense. And the answer to your question is yes. I’m staying the night. I might stay every night and say fuck the rules. I’m gonna sleep with you in that fucking bed. Or wherever you plan on sleeping. In the second bedroom or on the couch. I’m gonna be there. Because I have lost all sense of… trust, Rochelle. I have become that girl. I want you to stay with me forever. I don’t want you to ever go out and get drunk with the guys again. I don’t ever want to text you at midnight desperate to know where you are. I don’t ever want to be sitting up at three AM wondering if I should call hospitals to see if you’re alive. I never want to let you out of my sight because I’m afraid, Rochelle. I’m afraid if I leave you, you’ll leave me too. And then you’ll disappear again. You’ll walk out and find another new life. Only this time, you won’t bother coming back in a year.”