Morning sickness isn’t the only part of pregnancy kicking my ass. My breasts have gotten bigger, harder, and they fucking kill. I can’t even sleep on my stomach these days and wearing a bra is like shoving them in a torture device. Even now, as the worn cotton falls over them and brushes my nipples, I cringe and hope this is just one of those things that will go away after the first trimester.
Mentally noting to buy one of those expectant mother books and join oh, I don’t know—a dozen or so of those parenting groups on Facebook; I grab my phone from the pocket of the jeans I threw on the floor before I decided to cry a river in the shower. As I thumb through the list of contacts, I walk out of my bedroom. However, my bare feet come to a halt as I reach the middle of the hallway. Listening as Blackie walks the floors downstairs, I decide I’m not ready to face him. I’m still bitter and fear I’ll say something I can’t take back—look at the maturity. I swear sometimes I surprise myself.
Instead of walking back to our bedroom, I stop in front of one of the spare rooms. I don’t know what makes me turn the knob. Maybe I’m hiding—maybe subconsciously I know if Blackie comes up here, he’s going to head straight for our room and I’m doing everything I can to avoid him. Or maybe I’m not hiding at all. Maybe I’m searching for something—what that something is, I’m not sure.
Peace.
Assurance.
Guidance.
I’d take any of the three.
Closing the door gently behind me, I glance around the room. Aside from a box of Christmas decorations and a suitcase, both of which I’ve been asking Blackie to bring up into the attic for months, the space is empty. It’s not likely I’m going to find the answers to whatever I’m seeking in this room and yet, I still take a seat on the floor, mulling over the space, wondering if this should be the baby’s room. It takes me a good five minutes of trying to configure what wall is best suited for the crib before I realize I’m procrastinating. I’ve got months to figure out where my child is going to sleep, but I may only have hours to say goodbye to my father.
Taking a deep breath, I look down at my phone and stare at the contact, wondering when I changed it from Dad to The Lacey Whisperer, a nickname my mother gave him when I was a baby. She said he was the only one who could get me to sleep. Twenty-six years later not much has changed. He might not lull me to sleep anymore, but he always manages to calm me. If I ever need to rationalize the chaos in my head, it’s my dad who acts as my sounding board. It’s funny how a man so mentally unstable can be the voice of reason in so many situations.
Hitting send, I lift the phone to my ear and wait for him to answer. His voice sounds on the third ring, calling my name and sounding ever so calm. I’m not sure why I expected anything less of the man who made it his life’s mission to roll with the bunches and show the world he was and always will be a hardcore badass. Mental illness couldn’t knock him down and apparently, neither can an impending prison sentence.
That thought makes me smile, but it quickly fades. Tucking the phone between my ear and my shoulder, I drag my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them, sucking my lip between my teeth as I try to find my voice.
“Hi, Dad,” I choke.
“There’s my girl,” he says on a sigh. “How’s it feel to be home and not holed up in that shoebox of a cabin?”
A laugh bubbles in the back of my throat and the phone nearly slips from my shoulder as I shake my head at the absurdity of his demeanor.
“I don’t know if I should laugh or cry with you,” I admit. “Come to think of it, I don’t think I ever did.”
“Ah,” he says with a sigh. “It’s part of my charm. Always keeping everyone guessing.”
“Yeah, I suppose it is,” I say.
“Blackie talk with you?”
“If you’re asking if I know about the deal, then yes,” I say pausing for a beat. “Part of me wants to be angry and the other part isn’t sure if I should thank you…the only thing I know for sure is that I’m going to miss you,” I rasp. My vision blurs as my voice crackles with emotion.
“That’s what phones are for, Lace,” he replies roughly. “You can come up and visit too. I’m not dying.”
Funny, it sure feels that way.
“How’s Reina handling it?” I ask changing the direction of the conversation. Hearing him sigh, I hug my legs a little tighter and think back to the day I showed up unannounced at their door. She looked devasted then. I could only imagine how she is now.
“Reina knew what she was marrying, Lace. I don’t think all this comes as much of a shock.”
“And Danny? Does he know?”
A dull ache pinches my heart as I think of my little brother saying goodbye to our dad. Until now I’ve been too selfish to think about him and how losing our father would affect him. Nor did I think about how my father would feel abandoning his young son. He had such high hopes for Danny and him. I think he saw Danny as his second chance. Time had been cut short for him and Junior and he never got to enjoy watching his firstborn son grow. He never got to teach him all the things a father teaches his son or experience any of his milestones. Now, he was being robbed the opportunity of being a father to another son and I couldn’t help feel guilty.
If Blackie wasn’t my husband would my father be signing his life away tomorrow?
“Truth?” he questions hoarsely.
“You haven’t lied to me in twenty-six years,” I answer pointedly.
“This is the best thing for Danny too.”
“How can you say that?” I ask harshly. “He’s going to be heartbroken.”
“Out of sight, out of mind, Lace,” he says in a matter of fact tone. If he was in front of me, I probably would’ve shaken him until he realized how stupid of a comment that was. “This way, I’m doing both of my children a service.”
“You don’t really believe that, do you?”
The idea of him thinking any of us are better off without him breaks my fragile heart.
“With me gone, he’ll be spared the pressure of following in his old man’s footsteps,” he argues, drawing out an exasperated breath. “Look, Lace, it’s too late for me. I’ve made my bed, gotta lie in that fucking thing now, but it ain’t too late for you, Blackie and Danny. Just do me a favor, hmm?”
“What’s that?”
“Take care of your brother. Remind him of me every now and then and always make sure he knows how much I love him. I’m sure Reina will, but you’re his sister,” he rasps, his voice finally breaking. “You’re the only one who knows me as a father and while I might not have been the best, I gave it my all. Make sure he knows that.”
The tears that were blinding me finally fall and the conflicting emotions I felt earlier are replaced with unconditional love, so much love and gratitude for this man. I’m grateful for his sacrifices and for the honor of being his daughter.
“Of course,” I cry. “It will be my honor to make sure Danny knows how blessed him and I are to have you as our dad.”
“I don’t know if blessed is the right word,” he quips.
“I do,” I say softly. “I love you dad and I’ll be forever grateful for everything.”