Violet & Timeliness

A Breakup, Ordinary — Part II

At the end of the day, the most overwhelming key to a child’s success is the positive involvement of parents.

— Jane Hull

Friday, cont’d

I finish tapping out the text message to Jacob while I’m waiting for the light to turn green. I turn up the radio to drown out the noise of the squelching timing belt and rumbling engine. ur brothers insane btw. tickets 4 reading time?? whats up w htat???? also dropped the ball on wagp. my bad lol. I hit send and tuck the phone into the ashtray. The phone-sized cavity has been clean for the better part of a month. My second longest streak not smoking so far.

The light’s turned green, yet we aren’t going anywhere. There’s an idiot in the car in front of me, his jalopy stalled out. He’s still trying to figure out the whole clutch-gear-gas business — oh, he’s looking at his phone? What a dick.

I lay on him, “Move it, asshole!” I flash the one working high beam and blare the horn. We start moving.

I think we accomplished something here today.

“I’ve got something to put in you. I’ve got something to put in you,” I sing along to the song coming from the car’s speakers, off-key and maybe I don’t know all the words. “At the gay bar, gay bar, gay bar. You’re a superstar, at the gay bar — ”

“Mommy? Mommy?” my daughter repeats, getting my attention from the backseat. She’s swaying her legs back and forth over the empty space between her and the passenger’s seat. She’s been patient, quiet and staring at me through the rearview mirror.

This is after I picked up Josie from school, then went home to pack up her stuff. Her favorite princess dress (Elsa), her favorite stuffed animal (Mr. Octopus, a possum), and her favorite tiara (a tiara.) Her understanding of royalty is lacking. In what kingdom is the Queen Mother the Princess’s handmaiden?

Daniel’s still at work, but he left me notes scattered around letting me know what needs to be done around the house. Dishes. Laundry. Vacuuming. Combing out the matted knots from Persian Devil’s fur. Daniel works part time at a vape shop, why can’t he ever find the time to do it himself? So, handmaiden to Princess and housemaid to Daniel. And poster-girl to a host of drooling, heavyset dudes from the internet.

“Mommy?”

I turn down the radio. “Yeah, sweetie?”

“Do you love Daddy?”

“Uh.” I didn’t think anyone would ask me that question ever again in my life. Her dad and I broke up seven years ago, a few months before Josie was born. “I did, but not anymore. He’s your father and all, so I care about him. But love him? No.”

“Oh,” she says. She looks outside the car and back up to the rearview mirror. “He says he still loves you.”

How the hell do I respond to her question? “Oh, that’s nice,” I say to her flatly.

Early on I was worried about telling Josie why we split. For her whole life, it’s been this constant that there’s a Daddy and some woman called mommy. She gets to take it for granted that there’s two birthdays and Christmases. Which is great and all, but one day she’ll ask why we’re not together.

That day is coming up pretty soon, and when it happens, do I tell her the truth? ‘Yeah, Daddy wanted me to drive him to the Greyhound station in Eddyton so he could take a seventeen-hour bus drive to bang some chick that was in his World of Warcraft guild. He didn’t understand why I was being such an unbearable bitch about it,’ isn’t exactly something to tell a kid. But it’s the truth.

Almost seven years to the day, not that I marked it on my calendar, him and I were in the same car on the same road. Mark didn’t have his license, something about never being taught. In retrospect, that was more about him not wanting to learn. I took him to the bus station anyway, crying but telling him, “Don’t expect me to pick you back up.” Because that’s the strong position to take obviously.

Cut me some slack. I was nineteen.

“Britney and I are just friends,” he kept repeating as a conciliatory mantra, but he was sure to pepper in “Don’t you trust me” and “You’re being paranoid” a couple times to keep it fresh.

“Mommy, can we talk about Pokémon?” Josie asks from the backseat.

“That’s not how conversations work, sweetie.” I check my phone. “But sure, we can talk about whatever. Who’s your favorite?”

“Ditto,” Josie says. “He’s adorable. And if you hug him, he’ll always hug back!” it would be so cute if I knew anything about Pokémon. We could talk about Star Wars, but she only likes the Phantom Menace. Apparently some things we aren’t mean to share with our children.

A text from Daniel: I can’t wait for later! Please don’t be late, okay? Also tell Josie I hope she has fun this weekend. I’m so glad Mark’s finally getting his shit together.

Daniel and I spent the past few weeks fighting over everything. His laziness. My untimeliness. It’s nice we have something resembling a normal life. Even if he scatters the house with post-it notes doling out chores.

Another text, this one from Jacob: As your producer. It’s good for the show. As a friend: I’m so sorry. Do the commentary! We have a deadline. I know how you are with deadlines.

Josie and I waste the car ride talking about whatever she wants. Pokémon. Princesses. What if princesses were pokémon, which princess would be which pokémon.

We pass the bus station. I’m not thinking about it anymore. The thought of work comes up. “You know you can sit in on reading time now on my show, right?”

But she’s asleep already. I pull into the Dollar General next to the county line, and circle the building into the parking lot for a fast food joint. Great Burgers. A place that probably serves “sandwiches, beef-flavored meat patty” and “nugget, poultry, textured.”

I count the cars. Mark’s car isn’t here. Well if we’re being honest, not Mark’s car, Britney’s. Either way, it’s just me and a ratty minivan. He’s late.

I hope she doesn’t show up. I’ve heard all about the future Mrs. Mark Sparks from Josie. Did you know she’s an amazing cook? And she’s cool and is an artist and is a tattoo artist and loves Pokémon? Well whooptyfuckingdo.

For the first couple years of Josie’s life, he was spotty. He didn’t see her at all except for important holidays. He tried to go out of his way for every birthday, Valentine’s Day, Christmas, all in his own way. Though he’s been not so hot about Halloween, but I barely count that as a real holiday. And when he didn’t pull through, it blew up in my face. Not his. He gets the best parts of Josie, the ballerina-gymnast-dancer-astronaut-dreamer-princess Josie. He never gets the mopey-yelling-screaming-door slamming “Why won’t you let me see Daddy, Mommy?” Josie.

Now he’s late and we’re slipping back into old times. Or I’m scared we are. Or maybe I’m being too harsh. I can’t judge too harshly.

Why does he still love me? Why did he tell Josie that?

Fuck. This pisses me off.

I think I have enough change for a pack of cigarettes.

where the duck r u??? I furiously tap out on my phone to Mark. This is after I send Daniel a text that reads, Marks srsly l8 rn im pissed

Daniel responds: k. I leave him on read.

Josie’s sitting in the backseat, holding up Mr. Octopus, having an animated conversation and feeding him fries. We’ve been here for an hour now. I’m on the hood, facing the sunset, sipping “beverage, dairy shake (vanilla).” I stuff the lighter back into my pocket. It’s barely a minute after I send that text that I’m calling.

Voicemail.

“Seriously, dude. Your daughter is waiting on you.”

Two minutes pass. I call again.

“Pick up your phone, asshole.”

One minute.

“It’s in the damn custody agreement. You’re supposed to meet me halfway. If you don’t want to see Josie, just say so.”

Could have been thirty seconds tops before I call him again.

“You worthless son of a bitch. Why is this so hard?”

He calls me midway through my next message. His voice is froggy, scratchy, slow. Lazy. Is he stoned or just waking up or both?

“Can you not be all psycho ex-girlfriend on me?” Mark says. “Like, Brit’s car’s in the shop and I’m sick. I thought I sent you a text, but I guess it didn’t go through.”

“Holy shit, Mark, don’t throw out your shoulder shoveling that bullshit,” I say. “Just say it. I want to hear it from your mouth so we don’t have to go through this again.”

A nervous laughter. “We’re not doing this.”

“Doing what? I’m not doing anything. You are,” I say. “You raised this huge stink about me keeping her from you. You missed the first four years of her life. You promised to drop off clothes and toys for her and money for me. You’d make up your absence with stuff, and then you’d be a no-show? And the next time we’d talk, you’d feed me excuses on top of more excuses about why you couldn’t make it. I don’t care. We have an agreement. I’m not going to drag you kicking and screaming so you can pretend to be a fucking father.”

“Mommy,” Josie says. I’m standing now, pulling a Terry. She looks upset. “Why are you yelling?”

I bleed my gas tank dry across Howitzer County, all the way to Mark’s “residence, prefabricated (double-wide).” He assured me Britney’s car would be out of the shop by Sunday night. But it was in the driveway. Not in the shop. Regardless, I’ll probably have to pick her up Sunday.

Silence from Daniel. No texts. No calls. No voice mails. He’s been moody. I’ve been moody. I forget to empty the dishwasher, and he’d just add more dirty dishes to it. He lost it, we got into a fight over the dishes. It’s never about the dishes, is it?

And it’s not about Mark being late. It’s about me being late. I’m expecting a fight now. I’m sorry that our prescheduled dinner at what he calls a fancy restaurant is canceled. Large chains can’t be fancy. They aren’t any good for a three-year anniversary dinner.

And I can at least enjoy this quiet night driving back. It’ll be close to midnight by the time I get home. And when I do, Daniel’s going to turn into the Incredible Sulk for the weekend. And when he does, he binges on Firefly until he’s exhausted. Only takes about an episode for me. The show’s not that good, fight me.

I’m leaning against the car, filling the tank and I call him.

“I asked one thing out of you, not to be late for dinner. We had a reservation. We could have canceled or rescheduled.”

“Mark was late, babe,” I say. “I told you. I had to drop Josie off. Oh, you know what? We can still grab Italian from that 24-hour drive-thru. Spicy Meatball, I think? The place with the garlic bread you love? Call it in. I’ll pick it up on my way home. And we can snuggle up and watch Firefly together.” I say with this night-isn’t-ruined-it’s-going-to-be-perfect smile drawn on my face. Despite the revolution in my gut. Not the sort of involving disenfranchised laborers against the oppressive bourgeoisie, but a questionable dairy shake and my intestines.

“Whatever. Make it up to me?” His code words for oral.

I wince. “Sure. I love you.”

Breakup, Ordinary returned with Violet & Argument on Story of the Week@Medium.