I can feel Lydia glance at me, but I don’t reciprocate her stare. You would think after living with her as long as I did, I wouldn’t be so scared of her. However, it’s hard not to fear someone when they hold all the power over the one thing in life you want.
“Whatever it is, it can wait, Auburn,” Lydia says. “I’m exhausted and Trey needs to get to work.”
I run my hand through AJ’s hair. He has his father’s hair. Soft and fine, like silk. “Lydia,” I say quietly. I glance over at her, my stomach in knots and my heart in my throat. She always shuts me down every time I try to talk to her about this, but I have to get it over with. “I want to talk to you about custody. And I’d really appreciate it if we could talk about it tonight, because it’s killing me not seeing him as much as I used to.”
When I lived with them in Portland, I saw him every day. Custody wasn’t such an issue then, because I came home from school every day to the same house as my son. Even though Lydia had final say over everything that involved AJ, I still felt like his mother.
However, since she took him and moved to Dallas several months ago, I’ve felt like the worst mother in the world. I never get to see him. Every time I talk to him on the phone, I’m in tears by the time I hang up. I can’t help but feel like the distance she’s putting between us is intentional.
“Auburn, you know you’re welcome to see him any time you want.”
I shake my head. “But that’s just it,” I tell her. “I’m not.” My voice is weak, and I hate that I sound like a child right now. “You don’t like it when I visit on school nights and you haven’t even allowed him to spend the night with me.”
Lydia rolls her eyes. “For good reason,” she says. “How am I supposed to trust the people you allow at your place? The last one you had in your bedroom is a convicted felon.”
My gaze falls to Trey, and he immediately breaks eye contact with me. He knows that telling her about Owen’s past has just put a wedge between AJ and me. He can see the anger on my face, so he steps into the living room. “I’ll put AJ to bed,” he says.
I’m thankful for that, at least. AJ doesn’t need to wake up and hear the conversation going on around him right now. I hand AJ off to Trey and turn and face Lydia this time.
“I wouldn’t have allowed him to stay with AJ in the same apartment,” I say in my defense. “He wouldn’t even have been in my apartment if I knew you were bringing AJ over.”
Her lips are pursed together, and her eyes are narrow slits of disapproval. I hate the way she looks at me.
“What are you asking me, Auburn? Do you want your son to have sleepovers at your apartment? Do you want to show up every night right before his bedtime and get him riled up to the point that he doesn’t want to go to bed?” She stands up, exasperated. “I’ve raised that boy from birth, so you can’t expect me to be okay with him being around complete strangers.”
I stand up, too. She’s not about to tower over me and make me feel inferior. “We’ve raised him from birth, Lydia. I’ve been there every step of the way. He’s my son. I’m his mother. I shouldn’t have to ask you for permission when I want to spend time with him.”
Lydia stares at me, hopefully absorbing my words and accepting them. She has to see how unfair she’s being.
“Auburn,” she says, plastering a fake smile across her face, “I’ve raised children before, so I know how important routines and schedules can be for a child’s development. If you want to visit him, that’s perfectly fine. But we’re going to have to work out a more consistent schedule so that he isn’t negatively affected by it.”
I rub my hands up and down my face, attempting to relieve some of the frustration I’m feeling. I exhale and calmly place my hands on my hips. “Negatively affected?” I say. “How can he be negatively affected by his own mother tucking him in every night?”
“He needs consistency, Auburn—”
“That’s what I’m trying to give him, Lydia!” I say loudly. As soon as I raise my voice, I stop speaking. I’ve never raised my voice at her. Not once.
Trey walks back into the room and Lydia glances from him to me. “Let Trey give you a ride home,” she says. “It’s late.”
She doesn’t say good-bye, or even ask if the conversation is over. She walks out of the room like she just brought it to an end, whether I was finished or not.
“Ugh!” I groan, completely unsatisfied with how that conversation went. Not only did I not tell her I want my son to live with me, I couldn’t even work out something in my favor. She always brings up “consistency” and “routines” like I’m trying to drag him out of bed at midnight to eat pancakes every night. All I want is to see my son more than she’s allowing me. I don’t understand how she can’t see how much it’s hurting me. She should be thankful I want to fill my role like I do. I’m sure there are people in her situation who would love for their grandchildren’s parents to give a shit.
I’m torn away from my train of thought by Trey’s chuckle. I face him, and there’s a smile on his face.
I’ve never wanted to punch a smile so bad in my life, but if there were a more inappropriate time to laugh than right now, I’d hate to see it.
He can see I’m not amused by his laughter, but he doesn’t hide it. He shakes his head and reaches into the entryway closet for his things. “You just yelled at my mother,” he says. “Wow.”
I glare at him while he attaches his holster to his police uniform. “I’m glad my situation amuses you,” I say flatly. I walk past him and out the front door. When I reach his car, I climb inside and slam the door. As soon as I’m alone in the darkness, I break into tears.
I allow myself to cry as hard as I can until I see Trey making his way out of the house several minutes later. I immediately stop the tears and wipe my eyes. When he’s in the car with the door shut, I stare out the window and hope it’s obvious that I’m not in the mood for conversation.
I think he understands that he pissed me off, because he doesn’t speak for the entire drive back to my house. And even though there isn’t any traffic on the way home, twenty minutes is a long drive when it’s this quiet.
When he pulls up to my apartment, he gets out of the car and follows me inside the building. I’m still pissed when I reach my door, but my attempt to escape inside my apartment without telling him good-bye is thwarted when he grabs my arm and forces me to turn around.