Page 11 of Rectify

I laugh at her statement because it’s one hundred percent true. Occasionally I get clucky, missing Dakota as a little baby. Since I don’t intend or see myself as ever having another child, working here fills the infrequent void. “I keep missing her mum. What was her name again?” I pinch the bridge of my nose trying to remember. “I wanted to see how Lily has settled in, see if she looks a little less stressed.”

“Her name is Max, and she hasn’t been back. Her husband has. Or maybe he’s her partner,” Holly rambles. “Regardless, I haven’t seen her either.”

“Oh.” Getting Lily the spot wasn’t an easy feat, but I refused for there to be another outcome. I couldn’t say why I felt compelled to make it happen, but after confirming with the accreditation standards that I could apply for an extra load under the guise the family required urgent care due to mitigating circumstances; I called Max and told her Lily had a space here for three days a week. If she needed more, I would let her know the second something became available. “Well, does he seem to like the place?”

“He’sactually been hoping to bump into you, to say thanks.”

“That’s nice of him but completely unnecessary.”

“You’d want to see him at least once, he’s very easy on the eye,” she drawls out for emphasis.

“Holly,” I admonish. “Since when do you check out men?”

“Just because I sleep with a woman every night, doesn’t mean I have no appreciation for the opposite sex. And I really was thinking of you the whole time.”

I shake my head at her. “I don’t need you thinking of me, thanks.”

“Whatever. Be single forever. See if I care.” She throws a bag full of smocks at me. “Let’s avoid the argument and get the kids ready to paint.”

I do as she says, because she’s right, and I don’t want to rehash this conversation. I don’t want to have to continue to lie and say I enjoy being alone, while my heart secretly weeps because it’s lonely. Opening myself up to someone else is a scary thought. The fear of letting yourself bleed in the name of truth and happiness, only to find out it’s too messy for someone else to handle, is something I can’t endure.

I have too many battle scars for anyone else to put up with. Too much drama. Too much baggage.

My life is a fucking soap opera. The father of my daughter has recently come out of prison, and his brother is the man I’m still pining over, for all the wrong reasons. Add the necessity to play happy families for the sake of my daughter and most days are an exhausting attempt at keeping the mask in place.

Since walking out of Hendrix’s house over six weeks ago, and releasing us both from the cage I kept us in for so long, it has been a steady and unsuccessful climb to some semblance of normalcy. I’m more raw and fragile than I’ve ever been. In all the ways no woman wants to admit. I’m still beating myself up for all the ways I hurt him, wallowing in a pool of self-pity, and self-loathing; condemning myself to a life of isolation and celibacy.

Hendrix and I were never really together. Always an obstacle, always a mismatched moment; over fifteen years we shared more tears than smiles. I was too busy trying to achieve perfection, and he was working too hard to prove we were already there.

Never on the same page, he eventually moved on and found his happy ever after, while I’m still stuck in the adhesion plot of my story. No matter how hard I try, I can’t find the next beat, I can’t find my way out. I feel like I’m drowning, like breathing with ease is a skill I haven't quite yet mastered.

So, when Holly continues to pressure me about putting myself out there, these are the thoughts that overwhelm me, the thoughts I can’t escape. The very small but significant reasons as to why a life shared with somebody else, isn’t for me.

* * *

The day progresses, busy and fast, Wet clothes, spilled milk, tears of distress and a ridiculous amount of temper tantrums. There must be a full moon tonight, it’s always the reason kids go feral.

The distant sound of a phone ringing in my office has my ears perk up, waiting for Holly to answer it. After seven rings, I hear it come closer, the line diverting to the phones in the children’s rooms. Holly must be busy.

I glance between the phone and the kids eating their afternoon tea. “I’m just going to run inside, and grab the phone,” I tell one of the other workers.

She nods as I rush through the door, and reach for the handset. “Hello, Little Lights, Sasha—”

“Mum,” Dakota cuts me off, immediately recognising my voice.

“What is it? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m going to meet you at work this afternoon, is that okay?”

Not an unusual occurrence, I’m still skeptical of her reasoning. “You don’t want to go straight home?”

“No. I want sushi from the place near you for dinner.”

“And that’s the only reason?”

She groans on the other side of the phone used to my third degree. “Stop reading into everything, mum. I just want sushi.”

“Okay. Okay. I’ll see you when you get here.”

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