Ida Sue was right.
It’s time I either shit or get off the pot.
Fucking hell. I’m starting to sound like Ida Sue. Maybe Maggie is right, and I should be scared of having to deal with her mother…I’m even starting to sound like her in my damn head.
10
Maggie
“Aw! Dad!”
Bryant throws his head back in laughter as Terry loses again and the whipped cream hits him in the face. I laugh, too, of course. This pie in the face game is funny—as long as you’re not the one getting pied. Right now, my gaze is fixed on my son and his father. My heart squeezes in my chest. I love them both with all my heart. Sometimes the love nearly overwhelms me.
I watch Bryant, his throat moving, stretching with his laughter, tightening the skin. The corner of his eyes are crinkled, and his brown hair has a couple of strands of gray starting along his sideburns. He’s beautiful.
Inside and out.
I fell in love with him when I was sixteen. We were in high school and it was picture day. Bryant was dressed in a suit for some reason that I can’t even remember. I was standing at my locker and he walked by. He was so tall, the tallest man I had ever seen and since, really. I’d never been attracted to the guys who dressed in sweaters or any kind of pullovers. I was a strictly jeans and faded t-shirts kind of girl. Yet, when I saw Bryant walk by talking to his buddy David, my heart sped up. My palms were sweaty, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him. Then, he looked at me, our eyes met, and it felt like something out of a damn movie.
I don’t know how I knew it, but in that moment, I was sure I had met the man that would be mine forever. It was silly, maybe, but Bryant once confessed he felt the same way about me even before then. Maybe I did, too. After all, we’d known each other and been close since grade school. Yet, it wasn’t until that day that I fell irrevocably in love.
Now, I wonder if Bryant curses the day he met me. It’s not like I could even blame him. If I were in his shoes, I’d curse it. I’d hate me for the hell I’ve put him through, but he doesn’t hate me. Even after all of this time, he loves me. He’s never stopped, and I know I put him through hell. I’ve put us both through it. Nothing like wondering if you’re going to die to figure out how much time you’ve wasted.
Shit, I’m lucky that I haven’t scarred my child for life. Instead, he’s happy, well-adjusted and just a great kid.
Will that continue if Bryant leaves and moves to Washington? What if I don’t survive this? What if I really am sick?
My stomach churns at the mere thought.
“You okay, Maggie May?”
“Yeah, you okay, Mom?” Terry asks, and I force myself to turn off my thoughts and focus my attention on my son—and on Bryant.
“Yeah, just thinking how blessed I am,” I tell them, which is mostly the truth. “How about we get you in the shower and cleaned up for bedtime?” I ask my boy, reaching over to ruffle his whip cream dampened locks.
“But Mom! I want to play again!”
“We can play tomorrow, son. You’re going to spend the day with me, and I don’t have to go to work.”
“You don’t?” Terry asks, and you can tell he’s extremely excited at the thought of spending an entire day with his father. Can I live with myself if I cost him that opportunity? If I’m sick, is there a way to talk Bryant out of this without giving in to his demands fully? I don’t want him to think I chose him only because I knew I was sick…
Even as I ask myself all of these questions, I know I’m a bitch for even contemplating them. Bryant is a good man. He deserves a wife who is normal...
The biggest issue is that I’m not normal.
People say I’m like my mom, and I guess I am in a way. But that’s not truly the reason I’ve made the decisions I have. I know Bryant wants me to make him understand, but how can I? I don’t even understand myself.
“Nope, I’m off work for a bit.”
“Yay! Okay then!” Terry cries, already running off to the bathroom.
“Guess I better go adjust his water,” I laugh. I start to get up, but Bryant puts his hand on my hip. My eyes close at how good that feels, the heat that pours from that simple touch warms my entire body, causing an all over tingle that seems to center between my legs.
“I’ll do it, honey. You sit back and relax. You have an early morning,” he says. He gets up, leans down and kisses my forehead. The emotion that I’m feeling clogs in my throat. I watch him walk away and for the millionth time, I ask myself what in the hell is wrong with me.