By Single Mom Movement on November 09, 2012
My eyes find a small pile of Jason’s things I forgot when I gather his belongings together, which have now have found their way to the corner of my living room. What should I do with them? I guess I should return them. It’s time…time to get them off my floor, time to give them back to him, and yes, time to face him yet again.
I feel my heart beat faster and my nerves tense as I drive to where he is staying. I don’t know why I seem nervous, maybe it’s because I have no idea what he will say or do. I can’t stop thinking about all that’s happened in the past few weeks.
I know he is hurt. I know he is angry. But I needed time. Why didn’t he understand that? Will he yell? Will he not talk to me? Will he answer the door? I really don’t know.
Since his permanent residency isn’t in the metroplex, his company gives him a monthly stipend for his hotel room. I arrive at the hotel and park in the lot. I don’t see his car. Maybe he isn’t here. I never thought about what I’m going to do if he isn’t here. I’ll go up anyways, maybe he parked in the back.
I can feel my nerves increase with each step I take. I get in the elevator, and my mind goes a mile a minute.
What will he say? What will he do? Why hasn’t he contacted me? What is he doing? Does he not want anything to do with the baby? Is he still SOOO angry? What will he say when he sees me?
I arrive at his door, and forgetting to take a deep breath to calm myself, I just knock…half way almost hoping he doesn’t answer. That would be so much easier than facing him. And I’m not quite sure why I even feel this way. It shouldn’t be hard to face him. It’s like I got caught cheating and have to face my parents to tell them.
I knock again. As I stand there, I can feel my insides building up, anticipating his opening the door. But he never does. I look at the peep hole, and it’s dark. Maybe he isn’t here. I leave after a third knock and no response.
I walk to my car. Just as I’m opening the car’s door, I see his SUV pull up and park. I wait a minute to see if he spots me across the parking lot. If he does, he doesn’t move. I wait a little longer, listening to his engine still running.
What is he doing? Is he just sitting there? Does he see me and is just not going to get out? Oh, well, here goes.
I slowly walk to his side of the car, not knowing why he isn’t getting out. I just stand there looking through the window at him smoking and waiting for him to see me. When we met, he supposedly wasn’t a smoker so why is he now smoking? I hate smoke. He turns his head and stares for a moment at the unexpected sight. He rolls down his window and doesn’t say a word.
I say, “I just wanted to give you some of the things that were left at my place,” as I hand him the bag I brought.
He replies in a somewhat unpleasant tone, “I thought you packed up all of my things.”
“I guess I missed a few.”
He doesn’t say anything.
I put my arm on the window sill and continue, “I’m sorry you are hurt. I’m sorry you are still angry. I needed time to process this. I know you don’t understand, but this is a big deal for me.”
He sits in silence staring straight ahead and never looking at me as I speak.
I stand there waiting for him to say something. He finally does, “No I don’t understand that. You pushed me away. You got what you wanted. You pushed me away.”
“That’s not what I wanted. What I wanted was time. Time to think, time to process, time to wrap my brain around the idea and the reality…that my life was changing, that I was having a baby, that nothing that I thought about my life would ever be the same.”
“You said some things that really hurt me. I would never hurt you.”
I feel the tears sting my eyes, “I know you wouldn’t, and I never said you would. What I said was, ‘If I was a guy, you would have hit me.’ I could see it in your eyes. You were that mad.”
I was referencing a moment on the way home a few weeks ago after he and I went to eat. The night I found out the news and told him. We were on our way home from dinner, and he said he wanted to stay over. Then I was silent because I wanted time to myself. He said, “You are hurting my feeling,” and I still remained quiet. I could see the anger in his eyes, when he looked at me and raised his fist in anger. At that moment, I felt if I was a guy, I would have been hit. I also knew that he would never hit me. Later in a text conversation, when I mentioned this to him, I could feel his anger through his text messages. But it didn’t change what I had felt in that moment…that if I was a guy, it would have been physical.
“Yes I was mad. I was hurt, but I would never hit you. And I’m hurt you would even say that.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t say that, but I understand what you are saying. I’m sorry that you are hurt…”
As I apologize a second time, his apparent anger when he first saw me today seems to have dissipated. He rolls up the window in the middle of my talking and says, “Watch your arm.” What the heck is he doing? I wasn’t done talking to him. Is that how we are going to leave things? That didn’t resolve anything.
I take a step away from the car, as I see he is opening the door. He exits the car and puts out his cigarette on the ground. I watch him as he walks to his opened trunk and takes out his laptop. He says, “I’m going inside,” as he takes a few steps in that direction.
Okay? I have no idea what that means.
I stand still and stare at him, not knowing what to do. I wasn’t done talking to him, but it appears he was finished talking to me.
Then he turns around and says, “You’re coming with me.”
Without saying a word, I follow him.
We walk to his room in silence. I don’t even know what to say, because at this point, I’m not sure what’s going on.
He unlocks and opens the door, turning on a dim light. He sits on the bed and takes off his shoes, while I find a chair nearest to the door and have a seat. He lies on the bed, which is at the far side of the room, and says, “Why are you sitting way over there? Why don’t you sit here,” as he pats the side of the bed.
“I was giving you your space.”
I get up and sit sideways on the edge of the bed, not uttering a single word. Then he pulls me down on my side to him, and we embrace. The tears immediately follow, almost so much that I can’t catch my breath. I try and hold them back, but I know he can tell I’m crying at this point. I have missed him so much. I have missed coming home to him, talking to him, and just seeing him. I have missed kissing him and being in his arms. I haven’t enjoyed going through all my feelings by myself. I wanted him to be there. I wanted him to stay and make it all better. I have felt so alone. And now, I don’t. It feels good just being in his arms…just having him hold me. I feel better.
He leans on his left arm to look at me and then he kisses me. All the stress and pressure of the past weeks dissolve with his one kiss, and I am relieved. As our intimacy increases, I think that everything will now be okay. Everything will be good…the way it should be.
He lies on my chest. Already knowing how I feel about the subject, but curious on what his answer is, I ask, “Do you want me to have the baby?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want me to have an abortion?”
“Do you want me to give it up for adoption?”
“Then I’m confused. You don’t want me to have an abortion or give it up for adoption, yet you don’t know if you want me to have it.”
“Well, we needed to wait a few more years before having kids. We needed to be more settled.”
“I understand that, but that’s not really an option right now.”
He doesn’t respond. I don’t know what to make of that, but there is and only ever was one option for me…having the baby.
An hour later, I wake up from a short nap, and quietly put on my clothes. Before I leave I say, “I have to go. I’m going car shopping for a new car.”
He says, “Just wait a little while, a couple more weeks, and we’ll get you one.”
“No, that’s fine. I’m going to look.”
“Are you coming back?
“Do you want me to?”
“Do you want to?”
“Jason, I asked you if you want me to.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Then I’ll be back. Make sure you answer the door.”
When I return and knock on the door, he answers still undressed. He climbs into the bed and lies down. He mentions he is hungry, and I volunteer to get him something to eat. When I get back, he hasn’t moved. He eats, and I sit on the bed next to him quiet…not really knowing what to say.
We he finishes his food, we lay back down. I tell him about the past couple of weeks and how I haven’t been to the doctor, because I’m waiting for insurance. He doesn’t respond. I don’t even know if he is listening or tuning me out.
Before I know it, I hear him snoring, and I know conversation is done. I try to fall asleep and never do. I finally get up and say, “I’m leaving. I can’t sleep with your snoring.”
He asks, “Do you want to be with me?”
“Do you want to be with me?”
“Jason, you know I can’t sleep when you snore that loudly. I won’t get any sleep if I stay.”
No sleep is not an option for me. My sense of security is back in tact since I think we are on the same page in trying to work things out. I lean over and kiss his lips. I say goodbye and don’t hear a response before I walk out the door….not knowing what is in store next.
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