’s sake. I did propose to you.”
Her snort through the phone sounded unconvinced. “She’s a single mom. It’s not fair to jerk her around like Ryder West did.” So that confirmed the asshole baby-daddy’s name. I knew who he was, and the anger in me simmered. Fuck-face played football, was pretty good, and drew a nice salary with endorsements, but he couldn’t provide for his kid. He was a deadbeat in my book.
“I wouldn’t dream of hurting her, Kristen, but I can’t have you girls meddling.” I needed these girls to find a hobby, or I would have the guys pull them over for every infraction they legally could until they left this alone.
“Don’t make me pull the, I know how big your dick is card,” she snapped back.
Kristen would do it too. Not that there was anything to be ashamed about, but I watched Remi give birth so getting my dick up with thoughts of her girl parts was different right now. Awkwardly different, but not in a bad way, just in the unexpected I-needed-to-scrub-my-mind-of-certain-images way.
So I pulled the only card I had, and let Kristen have it.
“So don’t, Kristen. I’d hate for you to be having regrets with Damien and long for something you can’t have anymore.” I hung up the phone to the collective gasp on the other end of the line and drove to work. Women were crazy, but I wasn’t an idiot dipping my feet into the crazy town pool with a whole gang of them out for my blood. Since when had I become the bad guy here? Didn’t I help her give birth, at least in some rudimentary sense?
I’d been the only one here, and I had no plans on going anywhere if she let me stay.
As it stood, I was going to have to deal with my judgmental father, who happened to be the pastor of the church Remington was hoping to baptize her son in. I wondered why I hadn’t been asked to be a godparent, even though I knew Remington had a deeper friendship with her bosses Adam and David. The truth that I might not mean as much to her as I thought stung.
15
Remi
Ethan hadn’t properly latched on. Breastfeeding was harder than it looked. Despite all the books I’d borrowed from the library and the late-night readings after work and between the part-time classes. I was in the middle of a mild panic attack with the knowledge that I would be released from the hospital tomorrow morning.
I had a killer headache and was terrified to take anything since the lactation consultant lectured me about how everything gets transferred to breast milk. She made sure to point out things like drugs and alcohol. What kind of mother did she think I was? I was young, yes, but not inherently stupid because I was a single parent.
And then all those horrible thoughts raced into my head like a train wreck that wouldn’t stop. Would they follow me home? Would they call child protective services on me? Would they judge me because I didn’t have designer boutique baby clothes for my son and because my car seat was purchased from the thrift store even though I checked the expiration date on it? Everything was a constant worry, and it was almost easier before he was born. Nobody could take him away when he was still in my belly, but now it was different.
More importantly, how did I take a child home that I struggled to feed? What if I was harming Ethan because he wasn’t eating enough? I’d been drinking so much water I might as well camp out in the bathroom. My poor butt had indentations from the toilet seat, and my legs were getting a heck of a workout wobbling to the bathroom. I had to figure out what was going on with my car since Evan brought me in his patrol vehicle. He said he had it brought back to the bar lot, and while I believed him, I needed to make sure. There were more flowers, balloons, and gifts than I knew what to do with.
I was beyond overwhelmed. I kept thinking about how my little nest egg from working double shifts for months would quickly dry up even though Andy and David told me not to worry about my job. I did worry. I couldn’t help it. Everything was a constant worry and mental battle as I tried to keep my head above water and a smile on my face because new mothers were supposed to be happy. Just look at the mommy-bloggers. Everything we did transferred to our babies because science and society said so; it was a fact.
I Googled it.
The baby books never went into detail about this weird afterbirth feeling. At least not the ones I read. Sure, they labeled it depression and gave you all kinds of numbers to call in case you had thoughts of hurting yourself, but it was so much more complicated than that.
In the moment, I didn’t know if it was my fear, feeling overwhelmed, or normal first-time mom anxiety. It was scary. I had feelings of wanting to get on a bus and run away, but I knew logistically I couldn’t. I wouldn’t abandon my son, not the way my parents did to me growing up, or how Ryder did when I told him I was pregnant. I knew that much, and yet I couldn’t shake the impossible feeling of being trapped every time the nurse handed him to me. Every time he cried because I failed to breastfeed successfully while being watched under hawkish eyes.
The nurse today glared disdainfully when I cried from the morning feeding. It was so painful and nothing came out. Cracked nipples were a real thing, and I was convinced I’d never feel like a woman again. The bikini season of my life was over, and I wasn’t even old enough to drink.
I felt like a failure and no amount of forced encouragement was going to make it better. I was happy when her shift ended so she would stop looking at me and my crying baby. The sound of his pitiful cries made me cry, and then we were both crying in a vicious cycle until someone took pity on us and handed me a bottle of formula. I always knew it would be the two of us against the world, but I didn’t realize then how lonely it would be or that powdered formula would save my sanity. Giving up wasn’t an option, but if I could have one moment of privacy, one shred of compassion, I might be able to pull my shit together and get through this.
A knock at the door startled me, and I wiped the tears off my face, fearful of being caught doing something wrong as I adjusted my hold on Ethan.
“Ms. Kennedy.” It was Doctor Eckart. He was one of the staff doctors I hadn’t met before.
I sniffed away my tears and kissed Ethan’s sweet pudgy cheek. “Yes. Hello.”
“How are you feeling?” He barely looked at me except to glance at my chart, flipping through pages and making notes.
“I just had a baby, so normal I guess.” I shrugged.
He made non-committal noises as his pen scratched the paper of his notepad with disapproval. His bedside manner definitely left something to be desired.
“I understand you’ve been having trouble feeding and sleeping.”
“Well, yes, but isn’t that normal? I’ve never had a baby before.” I awkwardly let out a guffaw and arranged the blankets on the bed over my legs.
“No thoughts of hurting yourself or others?” He clicked the pen a few times, and I had to give myself a moment to understand his questions before answering.