He said he’d tell Christopher about us because he didn’t want us to be a secret anymore. But he soon proved to be another disappointment in life because I wasn’t even six weeks pregnant when he left us.
He left without a word, and to this day, I have no idea where he is.
I was heartbroken, but I couldn’t share that with Christopher. No matter that I would now be a single mom, I would never betray Michael like he did to me. When I began to show, Christopher’s big brother protective mode went into overdrive, demanding I tell him who the father was.
But I never told. And after a while, Christopher stopped asking.
I only met a few of his friends because he was very protective of me. He rarely let me out of his sight, but the times he did was when I could be alone with Michael.
I didn’t know what he did late at night, but I imagined it wasn’t good, especially when I was cleaning blood and god knows whatever else from his clothes. But I didn’t judge. We all had our flaws. And that’s how I remember my brother.
He wasn’t perfect, but he was all I had in this world. So when he also left me, a small part of me went with him. Getting pregnant changed our relationship. I was his little sister, the person he protected, but having a baby changed that. It wasn’t just us anymore. I hurt him. I also betrayed him by going behind his back. All he did was try to better my life, and in return, I fell in love with his best friend when I knew it would wound him. I live with that guilt every day of my life.
Although I don’t know where he is, I continue to hope he’ll come back into my life and let me make it up to him.
I know Jordy is missing a male figure in his life, which is the reason he’s acting out. His psychologists have confirmed it. He’s been kicked out of five different schools for fighting, bullying, and vandalism, among other things.
His psychologist diagnosed him with ADHD. And the reason he hates school so much is because he’s dyslexic. I can’t blame him for being frustrated because kids can be cruel. I work so much because even though the private school he’s currently enrolled in is smaller and better catered for his needs, it’s not cheap.
Neither are his therapy sessions as well as his tutoring.
I can’t afford all of this waiting tables. And I have no other qualifications other than my love for dance. Everything I do, I do for Jordy because when I look into his blue eyes, all I see staring back at me is his smart, funny, and gentle father who wouldn’t hurt a soul. He was perfect.
But me, I am anything but perfect, and I can’t help but blame myself for the way Jordy turned out. My genes polluted the gene pool, not Michael’s. And I will spend the rest of my life making it up to my son. I won’t allow him to live the same childhood I did.
When Jordy walks into the kitchen, I quickly wipe away the lone tear with the back of my hand. I don’t want him to see me cry.
“What time is the movie?” he asks, slumping into a kitchen chair. He’s wearing clothes about two sizes too big for him and has a red bandana wrapped around his head. He looks like his uncle used to.
Switching off the kettle, I reach for the instant coffee. “About two hours,” I reply. “But we’re not going anywhere with you dressed like that.”
“Like what?” he rebukes, poking out his bottom lip.
“Like a wannabe gangster.”
“I am a gangster,” he says proudly while the spoon trembles in my hand.
“In this house, you’re Jordan Hope. Now go change.”
“Mom!” he whines, but this isn’t up for discussion.
When he sees I’m serious, he stomps off to his room, mumbling under his breath. If only my mom did that to Christopher, our lives would have turned out so differently. But you live and you learn, and I won’t make the same mistakes she did.
The movie was great, and mother son day was a complete success. When we bumped into one of Jordy’s friends at the mall, he begged to go to his house to play the latest video game and have a sleepover. I only agreed because his friend’s mom was there and said it was okay.
Parenting is about balance, and I don’t want to give my son too much freedom like my mom did with Christopher and me, but I don’t want to be a helicopter parent either.
Once I got home, I crashed, absolutely exhausted. The only thing that wakes me is a knock on the door. Groaning, I fumble for the clock on my bedside table and see that it’s after ten. Who the hell is knocking on my door at this time of night?
Kicking off the blankets, I tiptoe through the apartment. When I get to the front door, I look through the peephole but don’t see anyone outside. I’m wondering if I dreamed it but decide to open the door a fraction to make sure.
Unlocking the door, I open it slowly, but keep the chain in place. As I peer through the crack, I see a small gift box with a pink ribbon sitting in front of my door. Getting on my knees, I reach through the gap and drag the box inside.
Once the door is shut and relocked, I turn the box over, but there is no card or sender’s address. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I pad back into my bedroom. Sitting on the end of the bed, I carefully unwrap the meticulously wrapped box.
The blue velvet box feels expensive, and when I open it, the diamond earrings only confirm my thoughts. There is a small card inside, and although what’s written on there isn’t much, it’s enough.
Only the best for my girl.
~C
There is only one person whose name just happens to start with a C who thinks I’m his girl. Fucking Carlos.
The earrings are beautiful, and their sparkle practically reflects rainbows all over the room, but I would rather be eclipsed in darkness than be bought this way. This is just a chance to flash his wealth, hoping I finally cave.
But I’m not a whore. This expensive gift and his promises to take care of me only seem to deepen the line in the sand between us. He thinks he can buy me because I’m poor and he’s, well, he’s an asshole who needs to be put in his place.
I have no idea how he knows where I live, and if he thinks leaving gifts at my doorstep is cute, he’s shit out of luck.
Springing into action, I rip off my pajamas and step into my jeans. I’m about to put on a sweater, but Bull’s AC/DC T-shirt catches my eye. I regretfully took it off when I showered earlier today, but now, I lunge for it, and the moment I slip it over my head, I inhale deeply because all I can smell is him.
It’s way too big, so I tie a knot in it and wear it Daisy Duke style.
I remember the way he looked last night in his suspenders, black pants, and white button-down with the sleeves rolled up, exposing his taut, tattooed forearms. He looked like he ate a hipster for breakfast and stole his clothes.
Once I’m in my Chucks and black hoodie, I grab my keys, only to realize my truck is still at work. Bull must have caught an Uber or cab back to the motel with me in tow. My plan to rip Carlos a new one is put on pause, but when I look at my reflection in the mirror, or more accurately, when I look at Bull’s T-shirt, I’m suddenly zapped with a surge of adrenaline.
He’s never backed down from a fight before and neither will I.
As I’m charging out my front door, I organize an Uber, who thankfully arrives only seconds after I catch the elevator downstairs. The driver isn’t one to socialize, which suits me just fine. I send a text to Jordy’s friend’s mom, who confirms the boys are having a fun time.