Page 81 of Without You, Scotch and Sammy 2

“We’re a little over a month away from it being finalized, I think.”

“How long have you had her?”

“Since the day she was born. Since before that, even.”

“Where are her folks?”

“Deceased.”

Meg sighs. “The state wants you to have her, Sammy. You’re a good person, and they know that – otherwise they would have taken her already. People divorce all the time. This is the land of quitters, and divorce is almost as easy as getting married in Vegas. Just let him go, babe. Shake him off, adopt her by yourself. Move up here and we can live in a commune together and never wear bras again.”

“I really wanna do that, Meg.”

“Adopt her alone? You can. I’ll help you. I know loads of lawyers.”

“No,” I laugh. “The no bra thing. The adopting Lily thing, too.”

Meg snickers. “We can do both. I promise. I’ll help you.”

***

Meg and I say goodbye about twenty minutes later, then sitting at the table, I don’t move a muscle until fifteen minutes before Lily is due to wake. I simply stare at the seemingly inoffensive papers in front of me, and I click the pen in my hand.

I laughed and I cried with Meg. She gave me half an hour of reprieve from real life, but once we hung up, reality slammed back down on top of me, like I’m living hell week and they’ve stacked hundreds of pounds of wet sand on my shoulders and expect me to get up and keep fighting.

I feel like from the day the doctor told me in the hospital that I lost my baby, right through to today, has been one single long ass day that just won’t end. I want it to end. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t survive in my half in, half out world.

Picking up the pen, I decide I’m officially tapping out.

I lose.

I just hope Lily will still be mine when this is all done.

– Scotch –

Empty, Like My Heart

I pull into the parking lot behind my apartment the following Tuesday, and feel the first stab of emptiness tear through my gut. I’m not even inside yet, but my home feels empty.

I grab my bag of cleaned and pressed clothes that Britt insisted on fixing for me, then slam the car door and kick rocks as I move toward the stairs. I’ve been hiding out in my sister’s spare bedroom for a week, even at the expense of being teased by her husband’s family. I’ve had to watch Tink walk by and glare at me, and her husband walk by and smirk at me. I’ve had to listen to Britt explain a billion times why I’m making the right decision, and then I’ve listened to Ang and Luc lecture me on why I’m making the wrong decision.

I’ve snuggled with Charlie so much I’ve been kicked off the Roller estate for not sharing him. And the whole time, I wanted it to be Lily I held, and I wanted Sammy to be by my side. I wanted to hear her laugh, and above all else, I just fucking want her to tell me she’s sorry. I want to forgive her. I want us to at least be on talking terms again. But I can’t let her ‘my bad’ go. I can’t push my pride aside, because she fucking hurt me, and I need something back. Something to plug the hole of hurt.

All I’m accomplishing is plugging the hole with pride and stupidity.

I haven’t seen Sammy once since I walked away from our meeting last week. I haven’t received a text or call. I asked Jules, and while she said she had seen her earlier in the week, she ‘can’t and won’t’ tell me why.

I’ve stayed away from my apartment so Sammy would have somewhere comfortable to stay, but I haven’t been man enough to come home and make sure they’re okay.

But today is Lily’s pediatrician appointment in the city, and I said I’d be there. Even if Sammy’s shitty old car isn’t sitting in my lot, which means she’s probably already driven in herself, I’m still going to be there, and I’m going to use my self-proclaimed husbandly duties and pretend I’m there purely out of obligation.

Really, I’m going because I miss them so fucking much it hurts, but I’m too proud to admit it.

I open my door and walk into freezing air and silence, and I shiver as the cold stings my nose and ears. Jesus, it’s freezing in here. I walk around my kitchen to the thermostat, and swear as I read the dial. Fifty degrees. I press the screen and pump the heat up, and I wait to hear if the air kicks in, or if my thermostat is broken and I’ll finally have to pay to get one of those programmable fuckers.

I blow warm breath into my hands and step foot to foot in an attempt to shake my balls loose of my body. When hot air blasts up through the floor, I breathe a sigh of relief. Shoving my hands into the pockets of my hoodie, I walk through the kitchen and into my living room, and the emptiness of my home niggles at the back of my brain. I know she’s not here. Her car is gone. But why does it feel emptier than it should?

I walk to my room and throw my bag down, then pulling my sweater off and pulling on a clean one from the top of the stack, I walk out again and move slowly through my living room.

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