“What?” I ask on a dry swallow, my throat growing tight.
“I need you to not be so on me all the time. You’re consuming my life and I need to breathe.”
I debate arguing with her; the stubborn man in me wants to, but the father of her son in me makes me bite my tongue. What would I even say to that? I haven’t been anything with her. Not intimate in any way, no dating, barely any conversations or time spent together—which is why this hurts most.
I have been a complete stranger in my home, unknown to her in any way, and still she thinks I’m too much. She might as well ask me to fucking leave in order to get the space she needs. Her words can cut me deeper than a knife, open a flesh wound irreparable, and tonight, she slithered inside my chest like a serpent and poisoned me.
“Yeah, okay. Loud and clear.” Stepping back, I put my hands in front of us, showing her the physical space she needs.
Looking me over with a blank stare, she officially pushes me into damnation, where she is a woman I no longer know. With one look between both my eyes, she turns on me, completely burning the bridge she needs in order to get her distance. Back to four years ago, except now we can’t just walk away because of our son.
Tonight, I slept on Princeton’s floor, my only happy place.
Princeton’s cry wakes me from my slumber. Sitting up, I look to the spot next to me and see the bed’s empty. When I check the clock, I see it’s just after 6:00 a.m. Kingston is most likely already gone to the gym then straight to work.
Last night was a disaster. I became a completely unhinged mess and said some terrible things. I wish I could use Joel as the main source of my issues, but at this point, I don’t know what is anymore. I don’t feel like myself; I feel like I’m a lifeless soul inside my body. Trapped with no way out, and it’s daunting. I shouldn’t feel this way just after the birth of my son.
Walking into Prince’s room, I approach his crib and feel with each step my anxiety settle. He’s close; my baby is almost in my arms, I think to myself repeatedly. Leaning down, I pick him up and cradle his warm body into my chest. It warms me from the inside out.
“Hey, how did you sleep, monkey?” I coo, bouncing him with little effort in my arms. Making my way down the hall, his cries turn into little whimpers, like he knows we’re getting close to eating. Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, I pull my nightie down and hope he will latch. Please just latch. I close my eyes and bring him up to my exposed chest. He starts to latch, and I open my eyes excitedly, but it’s short-lived. After only two suckles, he drops me from his mouth and starts to cry again, making my heart rate speed up and a hot shiver run up my body.
“Monkey, what am I doing wrong? Please tell Mommy.” I start to cry, talking to Prince like he can answer me. I feel that lonely pit begin in my belly again. Wiping away my tears, I move to the kitchen, get him a bottle of pumped milk, and begin to prepare it for him.
My tears still come out and my breathing is labored, making me shudder with dry breaths.
I watch him watch me, him looking deep in my eyes as I warm his bottle. Reaching up, his pudgy little fingers touch my face and he begins to settle, no longer crying. He must be reading my mind, seeing into my soul, because he has to know it’s killing me for us to not have bonded.
“Mama loves you, I do, so much,” I purr, and he smiles up at me, helping my tears turn into stains and my sobs to sniffles. Feeding him his bottle, I wait till it’s all finished before I get us ready for the day. I come out of my morning bout of anxiety and focus my attention on moving forward. Tom called me and wants to see little man, so I’m meeting him and Kathy for lunch.
I put on a tiny stitch of makeup to keep me looking like somewhat of a functioning human and style my shorter hair in loose waves. I got tired of long hair with a grabby baby—therefore I chopped it to just under my chin. I dress in dark skinny jeans with ripped knees and a loose emerald green tank and bomber jacket. Dressing Prince up is my favorite thing, putting him in handsome little clothes, jeans that hug his diaper bum, little shoes that make his feet look way bigger, and a baseball tee that says Grandpa’s little shooting partner. I style his dark hair by brushing it to the side, the ends curling up in a swoosh, just like his daddy. I smile when he’s all ready.
I lightly blow little raspberries on his cheeks before I head out the door around 10:00 a.m. We’re suppose to meet in the city for an early brunch. As we make our way onto the highway, I begin to think about Kingston and all the things I said last night, better yet the lack of things I have said in the past four or so months.
I know him, and I have no shortage of problems, but doesn’t that make it worse that we aren’t communicating? Hell, I pushed him away and told him to give me space last night, knowing it’s not what we need. I’m too stubborn, though. I can’t help but feel like pushing him away would be better for him. And that must mean I have screws loose in the head. But knowing and telling myself I need help is one thing; however, doing it is another. Where would I even start?
Pulling up to the restaurant, I park and take a quick second to send Kingston a text.
Me: Hey, your dad and Kathy wanted to see Prince, so I’m meeting them for an early lunch in the city. Just thought you should know.
I wait a brief moment, before my phone chimes in my hand.
Kingston: K. Have fun.
He’s being vague, just like I knew he would. He took what I said seriously last night, and selfishly, I’m starting to rethink why I said it in the first place.
Me: Will do.
I wait for the dancing dots but they never come. Just the word Read shows. Man, this is shitty. Let’s just hope my game face can fool Kathy and Tom.
When I walk into the ‘50s themed diner, little man is looking around everywhere, his eyes taking in the sights while other patrons coo and “aww” as I pass. Princeton’s the sweetest, most handsome boy, so these reactions happen everywhere, causing me great pride.
Approaching the table, I see Kathy but not Tom.
“Lana, you look so beautiful! How are you?” she greets, standing to give me a hug after I place my monkey’s car seat in the booth.
“Good. Tired, but good. Where’s Tom?” I ask, taking my place at the table.
“Oh, Kingston called him. He dismissed himself.” My stomach flips at the mention of Kingston. I was just texting him. Why would he call his dad? God, I hope he didn’t tell his dad all our shit in hopes he will talk me off the ledge. If I wanted to fight with Ki