Page 7 of Possessing Her

“I’ve still got some things to take care of, and you have shit to figure out. One thing at a time. And I’m thinking with Winnie back in town, you’re going to need help around the club.” Tysen makes it sound like Winnie and I are reconnecting and shit will be unicorns and rainbows. That couldn’t be further from the truth. She left, went dark mode, and now she’s back asking for a divorce. I already know I’m not signing the papers. I also know she’s going to watch me burn them even if that means I lock her in a room with no way out. We’re getting to the bottom of shit, we’re talking, and I’m going to control my goddamn mouth while doing so.

“Keep living your life, man. Things are going to work out, and if I need help, I know you all have my back. Seriously, though, come up with a business plan and get out of the hell you’re in right now before things get worse,” I offer a bit of advice. Tysen will be happier in the long run, I can guarantee that.

“Will do. I’m not on rotation this week. Doing the side gig, so I’ll be around more. Call, no matter what. I can pick up when needed.” I never in a million years thought I’d have a friend group like this. Lucky doesn’t even cut it when it comes to what we all have.

“Thanks, man. Same goes for you.” We say our goodbyes, I hit the end button and finish my drink, forgoing the tax situation. I’ll fuck with it tomorrow. The pile of papers with the wordsPetition for Divorceis staring at me like a bomb ready to detonate. I sit back in my seat, lift my head, and stare at the ceiling while thinking back on the times that were good, so good I knew Winnie wouldn’t leave my side. I guess all good things come to an end, except I’m not done fighting for my wife. Tomorrow, I’ll head to my parents’, talk to them, come up with a game plan, and fix my marriage.

5

WINNIE

“Look how high I fly!” After leaving Asher’s and heading back to Isla and Santiago’s, we had what I could only describe as a normal rest of the evening. We laughed, we played, we ate, and then, when it was time for Sebastian to take a bath before his bedtime, I dragged the process out. Allowing him to splish and splash longer than usual. He begged for more stories than his normal, and since he has my whole heart for my whole life, I gave in without so much as a hint of a hesitation. After a day like yesterday, I needed some semblance of normalcy.

“Oh, my goodness, you can almost touch the clouds.” I clap my hands and help him swing. Sometimes I’ll sit next to him, and we’ll do this together, but today, I’m making it all about Sebastian. Last night, once the prince was tucked into bed, a bed I currently share with him. Isla and Santiago have a three-bedroom house, meaning they have a master bedroom, a spare bedroom, which Seb and I are using, and Isla now has a room for her hobbies. She’s always had a creative flare. She paints abstract art; it’s big and beautiful. When I was working at the art gallery, I never knew this side of her, and part of me felt likean asshole for not asking the right questions. But she cleared the air and told me this is something new. She needed something to channel her energy now that everyone is settled down, Johnny doing his thing and my sister-in-law refusing to have children until she’s financially set. I looked from Santiago to my mother-in-law as we all laughed because would that ever really happen? Only if you were to marry a millionaire, and even then, there’d still be problems.

We moved the conversation away from her artwork and right into my shit. I tried to veer it away, hating talking about myself and my problems, but neither of them was having it. They quite frankly tag-teamed me, asking all the hard questions about Melanie, what has me back in Florida, and what are my plans in the aspect of the what-ifs.

It hit me as I sat down at the kitchen table last night that my phone wasn’t ringing even though I’d been checking it constantly, wondering if maybe there was something wrong with my phone. Like maybe my ringer was turned off, when it never is, when you have a little one depending on you. The last thing you’ll ever do even while at work is not have some kind of alert set up on your phone in case there’s an issue at daycare.

The what if Johnny doesn’t divorce me? The what if I’m not back in Georgia when I’m court mandated to appear on time? What if I failed the only person Sebastian ever had to rely on?

I broke down. I sobbed, I wailed, and through it all, the Gonzales family held me. The man I really wanted to wrap his arms around me is the same man I served divorce papers to yesterday.

“I touch dem, my feets touch dem.” Sebastian has a few delays we’ve been working on, some of them being his speech, the others we’ve overcome. Potty training during the day has finally become a breeze, but at night, he still has to wear a trainer. It’s not ideal, and I’ve seen the looks other parents giveme when they see me check out at the store. I try to ignore them when all I really want to do is scream at them to mind their own damn business. Instead, I keep my mouth shut. The last thing I want is for Seb to feel some type of way because of strangers who can’t get their heads out of their own asses.

“You are. Wow, look at you go, bud,” I reply. He’s got a big toothy grin on his face, dirt swiped across his cheeks and hair drenched in sweat. The Florida heat and humidity are already high for it being mid-morning, and come lunchtime, we’ll be relegated to indoors until the sun starts to set.

“Me go, go, go!” I’m standing in front of him, helping push while he kicks his legs back and forth. He’s not helping in the least. I don’t care, though. Hearing his little boy laughs, knowing the scent of sweat and dirt is coating his body, and he can’t so much as feel the insurmountable stress I’m carrying on my shoulders, it’s all worth it.

“You’re going,” I respond, my own smile bright and cheerful.

“No, no, me gotta go. I need to potty.”

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath, spurring into action and stopping him as soon as possible. The last thing I want is for us to cut our trip short, and while I have a change of clothes in the car, it’s still not the same in the clean way of things if he has an accident.

“You saidshit,” Sebastian repeats after me.

“I did. That doesn’t mean you should.” I stop the swing, help him off, and because I’m not sure how long he’s been holding back telling me he has to go to the bathroom, I pick him up.

“I big boy. I sayshit.” He’s on my hip. I’ve abandoned my bag with our drinks and snacks, more worried about my boy losing his will to hold it.

“Big boys and little boys don’t say bad words. Abuela wouldn’t like you or me using that word,” I pull out the big guns. This parenting gig doesn’t come with a manual on what to doand what not to do on the fly. Obviously, cuss words are a major no, but shit happens, quite literally.

“Mi Abuela,” Sebastian responds.

“Yep, she’s yours. Are you good for me to run? You’ll have to hold on tightly.” He nods his head, gives me that smile of his I love, and we book it. Thankfully, this playground has a restroom within view, and it’s also open. We’ve gone to countless parks where they’ll be locked and we’d have to find a tree. I’d maneuver it so my body was to anyone potentially coming our way and pray to God no one came from the other side.

“Run, run, run!” I take off. My hair is flapping in the wind, his doing the same, reminding me that he needs a haircut in the worst way. But it’s a struggle to get him to sit still. Sebastian wants to move and wiggle every which way. We’ve tried a few places specifically for children, and no dice. Sebastian and I both leave in tears, so I’ve taken it into my own hands. It’s not the best of what a professional would do. Yet at least doing it at home with him in my lap, he's able to remain calm and his hair isn’t in his face.

“I’m going, I’m going. You’re getting to be so big you’ll be carrying me before too long,” I say, becoming breathless with each stride I take. He’s got his arms hooked around my neck, my arm under his rump, and my other arm is pumping with the wind.

“I big, I big. I carry you,” he says loudly.

“Soon enough, you will.” I slow our pace as we make it to the stand-alone building.

“I will.” When we walk through the doorway, the light flickers on, and I see there’s only one big area, which works even better. I flip the lock in place, lower Sebastian to the ground, and he heads toward the toilet to take care of business. There are times I’ll have to help him up on the seat when he needs to sit. Sometimes it’s because he likes to, others are because he wantsto, and when we’re at home, he’ll strip down completely naked only to go potty. I don’t question it, only telling him he can do that at home but not at school or in public buildings.

“You need help?” I offer, not knowing what business he’ll be doing.

---