When I was confused, she explained what she meant. Turns out, her drunk brain meantself-esteem.
Today, as we pull apart and share a private smile over her drunken joke that painful night, I realize those words are still as true today as they were back then, over a year ago.
“I haven’t come far on my mental mirror, but at least I have a house now.” We walk to the counter, and Goldie takes a seat as I get her sparkling water from the fridge.
She cracks the can a moment after I slide it to her, saying before her drink, “I hate that you left the city, but I totally understand this is what’s best for you and Jett.” She sips, and her eyes water. “Hey, where’s the Jetster at, anyway?” She sets the can on the counter and wiggles her fingers. “I’m craving baby!”
I press my palm to my chest. “He’s out back with mom. Bring him in.” My face scrunches reactively as I pat my achy breast. “He needs to eat, or I’m going to have to dig through the boxes to find my pump.”
She stares at my huge chest a moment before looking back up at me. “I don’t know how you carry those things around all day. You really deserve a medal.”
I laugh as she walks to the backdoor to find my son. “I don’t need a medal, but once I feed him, I will have a stiff drink.”
Goldie’s laugh makes me laugh. “A stiff drink it is!”
* * *
After three pizzas between Mom,Dad, me, and Goldie, we finished a green salad and ice cream. Jett nearly emptied me, too.
I guess moving makes us very hungry.
I gave Jett a bath while everyone was cleaning up dinner, and I sang him Folsom Prison Blues as I poured warm water down his back, watching suds melt away. One day I’d have to change some of the lyrics, but for now, they’re just fine. I rubbed his back as his nightlight tossed stars along the walls of his new room, and I peered at him through the crib slats as his eyes blinked slower and slower until he fell asleep.
Bedtime felt bittersweet without his dad here. First night in a new house is a milestone his dad doesn’t even care about missing.
At this point, I am overmissingmy ex. But I’ll never be over missing him for Jett’s sake. That’s a mother's job–wanting the best for her child, even when it hurts her.
Mom and Dad walked home, and with Jett asleep, Goldie and I were left to our devices.
Our devices tonight were bottles of booze.
Here we are now, two hours later, drunk and bitching. Well, Goldie is gorgeous, can pull off overalls, and wasn’t left by her college sweetheart with a positive pregnancy test and a whole different world view of life.She’scommiserating, andI’mbitching.
I hiccup.
“This is your chance to start over,” she says, her voice growing hoarse. We’ve been talking and drinking for so long that it’s getting hard to do anything but get sleepy. My body aches from moving and unpacking boxes and staying crouched next to Jett’s crib while he fell asleep. All I wanna do is curl up in a ball on my mattress–which is still on the floor–and go to sleep.
But we’re melting into the couch with every second that passes. My head rests on Goldie’s shoulder as she strokes the top of my hair. Her head is back, and our feet rest straight out in front of us on the coffee table.
“How can I start doing anything?” I ask, shaking my head as she kicks her shoes off–straight onto the table.
“Go,” she hiccups. “You just go do it.”
I shake my head again, sleepiness setting it. With one eye, I peer at the baby monitor to double-check the green power light is on. It is. “You Kanye’d me. I wasn’t done.”
She hiccups again.
Then I hiccup.
“How can I start doing anythingwhen I feel so fucking lost?”
The question is heavy, and it’s the last thing I say before I hand my worries over to the wine and fall asleep on Goldie’s shoulder on the couch.
The first night in my new life.
3
Beau