Hi my Jeca readers! First of all I wanna say thank you to those of you who still read this ship. For some reason, I continue to be inspired for them. Second of all, this is just part 1 to probably a 2-part series. As of right now, it'll probably be 2 parts but I will let you know if that changes! Happy reading, and please review!
…
I can still hear Chelsea's voice when she was newly three years old, on her birthday. The party had commenced, everyone was at the house except the man in question. "Where's my daddy?" she had asked, those baby blues blinking up at me in the way I was so familiar with.
"He'll be here soon, babe," I told her, smoothing her brown curls away from her face. "Don't worry about it. Go have fun with your friends."
"Is he late?" she asked, little voice wavering.
"Yeah. He's just late," I reassured, the sentiment geared both towards her and myself. It was a comfort to us both.
Luckily, I was right. Thirty minutes later, after the cake had been cut and the first presents had been opened, Luke blustered in the door still wearing his aviator sunglasses. "Where's my birthday girl?" he had bellowed, disrupting the scene and diverting the attention to himself. "Where's my Chelsea Joy?"
"Here, daddy!" she chorused, standing on the chair I had placed her in.
"There she is!" he cheered, lifting her up and twirling her around. Mid-twirl, he dropped a kiss to my cheek and lingered for only a moment. "Hey, B. Sorry, stuff ran late at the station. Made it here as fast as I could."
"You're late," I said through gritted teeth.
"Late," Chelsea mimicked.
"But I'm here now!" he exclaimed, tossing her in the air in the way he knew I hated. It made me nervous. She was a child, not a sack of potatoes. "Isn't that what matters?"
I sighed and pasted a smile on. It was what I was used to. Those words were what I told myself. Yes, he was late, but he came. He was home. That's what counted.
…
At least her third birthday had been different from her first, when he didn't show at all. That's what I compared everything to after it happened; at least he's here. At least he showed. At least he didn't forget his daughter's birthday. Because no matter how much he claimed otherwise, I know that's what happened that day.
I'd been planning Chelsea's first birthday party for months preceding, something I never thought I'd do. I always thought that mothers who got overly excited for a birthday their child wouldn't remember were crazy. The kid didn't even know what was going on, all they cared about was the cake. But once I had a baby of my own and she got closer and closer to 12 months old, I understood the excitement. Chelsea had almost completed a year on this earth, a year with us, and I couldn't believe time had flown as fast as it did.
I wanted to include Luke in on the excitement, which was a task in itself. I tried to understand his viewpoint; I had held the same beliefs at one point too - that it was overhyped. But that was before our child was born, before our world flipped on its head. Or at least, when mine did. He had acted lacklusterly at best, but to say I was surprised when he never turned up at his own house for his daughter's first birthday would be a huge understatement. I made excuses to guests, told them he was hosting someone very important at the radio station, when in reality I had no fucking clue what he was doing instead of being there for Chelsea's milestone.
He got home later that night when I was falling in and out of sleep on the couch, baby on my chest. She would normally have been in her crib at that hour, but I couldn't bear to part from her that night. She was one year old and everything seemed different, like she was growing up too fast. I just wanted to hold onto her for a little while. She didn't wake up when he stumbled in the door reeking of booze and smoke.
I didn't bother asking where he'd been because I knew. I just got up, breezed past him, and took the baby to her room. I laid her down then got in bed myself, but not before locking the bedroom door - a silent way of letting him know he wasn't welcome to join me.
…
I don't know how I let him bounce back from that and the thousands of other things that went wrong in our marriage. But the last straw broke on a rainy night a few months ago, when he came home drunk and stupid.
"You said you were going to stop drinking," I said as soon as he came into the kitchen. He was tripping over his own feet, holding onto the island for support.
"I said that?" he slurred.
I shook my head. "You said a lot of shit."
"Oh, so all I say is shit," he said, glaring at me with bloodshot eyes.
"Basically," I said.
"How can you say that? I'm your husband," he prattled on.
"I don't even know what that means. You're the furthest thing from a husband. You're never around, and when you are, you're drunk. What kind of an example do you think that sets for Chelsea?"
"Don't talk to me about Chelsea," he said, pointing a swaying finger in my direction. "I love that kid. You know that."
"Sometimes, I'm not sure."
"You better shut the fuck up!' he shouted, facial features pinching together. "That kid is the best thing that ever happened to me. Only good thing you ever gave me."
"Stop it, Luke," I said, turning away to try and diffuse the situation. It was never good when he started yelling. A raised voice always put me on edge; my anxiety was worse than ever due to his unpredictable temper. "I'm sorry."
"Don't turn away," he said, stomping over. "Look at me. Beca, look at me. I swear to god, if you don't look at me!"
I turned around in fear of what he might do if I didn't to find him already in my space. He had me trapped against the sink as he held my shoulders, then shook me once to rattle my head around. "Luke," I said, turning my face to the side. His breath smelled overpoweringly like hard liquor, so much that I could barely inhale. "I'm sorry."
"You better be fuckin' sorry," he said, then picked up a glass from where it had been drying on the rack and tossed it across the room - so hard, it smacked against the far wall and shattered into pieces. "Fuck you."
I jumped at the sound, closing my eyes in fear he might hit me. He'd only done it a few times before, and they were always bruises I could hide. He was never this drunk, though. I was afraid his fist was about to land on my face. How would I explain away a bruise like that? "Please," I said, trying to squirm free. But his grip on my upper arms was inexplicably tight. "Luke, let me go."
He shoved me again, this time so the small of my back rammed against the ledge of the sink. I winced in pain, clenching my jaw with closed eyes, but they sprang open when I heard a familiar voice whimper, "Mommy?"
Luke spun around as he heard it, too. And there was Chelsea in her teal nightgown, hair mussed, curls wild from sleep. She had her favorite stuffed rabbit under her arm and her thumb was halfway out of her mouth, which caused her to jumble my name a bit.
Instantly, Luke freed my arms and stormed out of the room. As he did, I could do nothing but collapse to the floor and listen to the vague sound of the front door opening and slamming shut, and before I knew it, my daughter was in my arms. She had hers wrapped around my neck, her face buried in my hair, and we were both desperately trying not to cry. I held her tight, though, and made a silent promise to the both of us that we would leave. That night.
"Mommy," she whispered, after some time had passed. We still hadn't moved. I was still formulating a plan and almost thought she had fallen back to sleep. "Is Daddy bad?"
It was the first time I couldn't force myself to come up with a lie for Chelsea. But at the same time, I couldn't stomach telling her the truth.
…
Now, my baby is five and we've been on our own for about three months. We live in a studio apartment twenty miles from our old house, the house that I let Luke stay in without a fight. I just needed out. I didn't want things to get messy, so I allowed him everything he wanted. He didn't ask for Chelsea, but if he had, she would've been the one thing I fought for. Obviously.
As she lies in bed next to me, turned on her side with her thumb in her mouth and stuffed rabbit under one arm, I study her face and sigh as softly as I can. Today, she starts kindergarten at a new school and I start a new job as a cleaning lady. There was a fancier title than that with the agency I went through, but that's basically what the job is. I go around and clean offices during the week, and it's what will pay our bills. My dad has helped with rent for the three months we've been out, but I can't rely on him forever. I won't do that. I can hold me and Chelsea up, even if it means doing a job that I would rather not do. Nothing is below keeping my daughter safe and warm. After she was born, I put aside my pride and my tendency of only accepting jobs that I deemed worthy. Now, my dreams of becoming a producer have been shoved so far to the side that they're essentially forgotten. Chelsea needs me too much to think about the dreams I had in college.
The alarm is about to go off and I barely slept. Being that it's autumn, though, the room is still dark as the clock nears 7. For the moments we have left, I cradle Chelsea's face with one hand and press my lips to her forehead, allowing my eyes to close as I breathe in her scent - maple syrup, no matter what.
She jumps when my phone sounds out the marimba, a familiar tune that rises us to wakefulness. Since we started sharing a bed in our tiny apartment, it's become her alarm as much as mine. "Good morning, beautiful," I say to her, finger-combing hair out of her bleary eyes.
She hugs her rabbit closer and tucks her knees close, rounding her body into a tiny ball. "I'm tired," she murmurs, voice muffled by the rabbit's fur.
"I know," I say. "Me, too."
"You, too?"
"Uh-huh. But we still gotta go to work and school today."
"Work and school every day."
"But today's pretty special, isn't it?" I say, letting my voice rise with excitement. "Your very first day of kindergarten."
She looks up at me, baby blues wide and wondering. "Are you coming?" she asks.
"Of course," I say. "Someone's gotta drive you, unless you learned how to drive overnight. Is that the case? Or maybe Rabby learned?"
She giggles despite herself. "No, he didn't, mommy."
"I didn't think so," I say.
"But I mean are you coming in my class?" she says, running the rabbit's ears between her first finger and thumb.
"I'll walk you in," I tell her.
"And stay," she suggests.
"Well, I can't stay," I say. "You know how school works."
She pauses for a moment before asking, "Do I have to go all day?"
"Yes…" I say. "It's not like preschool, where I come get you at lunch. You get to eat lunch at school now. Do you want me to make it, or do you wanna buy it there?"
"Mommy make it," she says softly.
"Alright," I say. "Are you gonna be okay?" She shrugs, so I squeeze her shoulder. "Tell me that you're gonna be okay. You're my big, strong girl. Aren't you?"
"I'm not big," she claims.
"Okay, my little strong baby."
"I'm not a baby!" she laughs, then puts the rabbit in my face. "You're a baby."
"Oh, I'm a baby?" I say, chuckling. "I don't think so."
"You're a baby!" she sings, then props herself up before leaning forward and wrapping her arms around my neck in a big hug.
"Oh, morning hugs," I say, patting her back. "We gotta get up and get going, Chelsea-bear."
"Chelsea-bear is not going to school," she says playfully.
"Oh, yes she is," I tease back, tickling her belly. "Oh, yes she is!"
She laughs, head thrown back with her mouth wide open, then I let her catch her breath. "After school, can we have ice cream?" she asks.
"Sure," I answer instantly, then rethink my answer. "Oh, wait. Mama has a cleaning job that I have to do after you get out of school. You gotta come with me, but we can hang out together while we're there. How about we get ice cream on the way?"
"Okay," she says. "And we can sing while we're there?"
I shoot her a mischievous look. "Only if no one else is there. You know how it goes."
She flashes me a smile, one I wish didn't look so much like her father's, and says, "Yeah."
…
The cleaning company hasn't yet given me a uniform, so I'm instructed to come to work in tidy clothes that I can get dirty. So, picking out the first t-shirt that I find, I end up driving Chelsea to school in dark blue jeans and an old Bellas t-shirt.
"Mommy, you said I can have that shirt," Chelsea says once we're in the school parking lot. "Why are you wearing it?"
"I said you could have it when you're bigger," I tell her, unbuckling as she does.
"I'm older now," she says. "It would fit."
"It'd fit you like a dress, munchkin," I say, taking her hand to help her out of the car. Today, she's wearing a first-day-of-school outfit that she let me pick out - a blue and white striped short sleeved dress with gold, shiny high-top shoes. Her hair is in a half top knot with the rest down and curly; she looks like the angel she is.
"Can I wear it to bed tonight?"
"It's gonna be dirty from working," I say. "I'll find you another Bellas shirt to wear."
"Auntie Chloe said she's gonna make me one special that's my size for Christmas," Chelsea shares. "But I want yours 'til then."
"Sounds good," I say, smiling as I drop a kiss to her forehead and take her hand to lead her in the school.
When we get to her classroom where she met her teacher a few days ago, my daughter suctions herself to my leg and will barely look up. She's like me in the way that in a new environment, she's not quite sure what to do with herself. But once she gets comfortable, she'll shine. She always does. Her teacher comes over to greet her and Chelsea gives a meager wave, and once it's time for me to bid her goodbye she wraps her arms so tight around my neck that I start to worry about air supply.
"Alright, Chelsea-bear," I say, pulling her off with a certain degree of difficulty. "It's time for me to go now. You gotta do this on your own."
"I want Mama," she peeps. "I don't know anybody. All my friends are at my old school."
I sigh a little, feeling guilt swirl in my lower belly. "I know," I say softly, tucking a piece of brown hair behind her ear. "I'm sorry, I wish you could be with them."
"I wanna be with you," she says, clinging to my waist and latching her hands together behind me.
"We have tonight," I say. "We're gonna get ice cream and go clean an office. While we sing. Remember?"
"Yeah," she says, tracing the collar of my shirt. "Can I just come with you now, though?"
"No, not now," I say, standing. "You're gonna stay here and learn a lot. Can you remember some things to teach me when I pick you up?"
She shakes her head. "No," she says.
"You can try," I say, then kiss her once more. "I'm gonna go now."
"Mommy," she whines, sounding desperate. I hate hearing her voice in any sort of despair, because it reminds me of the night I would do anything not to go back to.
"Go ahead," the teacher says, giving me a kind look. "This is common on the first day. Don't feel bad." She looks at Chelsea. "Your mom will be back to pick you up after we're all done spending time together!"
Chelsea's expression tells me she doesn't trust the teacher as far as she can throw her. "I'll see you soon, Chels," I say. "Promise. Have a fun day today."
"And ice cream tonight?" she says.
"Ice cream tonight," I say, intent on keeping my promise. "I love you."
I leave the school with my stomach in knots, then sit in the car for a while as I try to clear my head. I know my emotions aren't unique in the sense that every parent feels this way dropping their young child off at school, but this feels like more than separation anxiety. I don't like having Chelsea where I can't see her and know she's safe. It makes me feel like Luke could be around any corner, though I know that's not necessarily true.
I haven't heard from him, nor do I want to. We're legally divorced, but he isn't paying the child support that was assigned to him. I haven't gotten a single check in the months we've been apart, though I can't say I expected to. I refuse to get the court involved, though, because I can only imagine how he'd react if I did. I'll find a way to make ends meet somehow. I don't need his help. I'd rather have him cut cleanly from our lives, anyway. That'll make things easier in the long-run.
I spend my day away from Chelsea in a retirement home, cleaning and turning off my mind. The people are decent and kind, but most leave me to the job I'm there for, which I prefer. By the time I'm finished and it's time for school to let out, I've tried to wash the smell of bleach from my skin but I'm not sure how well it worked. Hopefully, it doesn't bother Chelsea too much.
I pull in front of the school and wait outside the car, unable to stop smiling when I see her. She reciprocates the expression but not by much. Usually, she flashes her teeth in an uncontrollable, wide grin. Today, only the corners of her lips pull up. "Hey, beautiful!" I say, kneeling as she approaches. "How was your first day?"
She attempts a better smile, but it doesn't quite work. But either way, she says, "Good."
"Just good?" I say, holding her at arm's length to get a better look at her. "Only good, that's all I get? Since when did you start being quiet like your mommy?" She shrugs again, this time with a bit more light in her eyes. I give her a kiss on the cheek and then stand, my eyes catching on two big blotches of dirt on her knees. "What happened here?" I ask, trying to brush off the stains. "Did you get hurt?"
"Falled," she says, but there's something about the quick way she answers that makes me second guess her.
"You fell?" I ask. "That's all?"
I know it's not abnormal for kids to get dirty while they're at school, but there's something about her diminished demeanor that tells me it's something other than that. It's intuition; something I never trusted before Chelsea came along. "Yeah," she answers. "Can we go to your work now?" she asks.
"Babe," I say, cupping her chin. "Did something happen today at school?"
"No, mommy," she insists, an edge creeping into her voice that I recognize from my own. "I just falled."
"Alright," I say, deciding to trust her. "Then let's go get that ice cream we were talking about."
Chelsea's mood picks up once she has a cone filled with cookies and cream in her hand, legs swinging to the song on the radio as we drive along. "What kinda place are we gonna clean?" she asks, licking her lips as remnants are all over her face.
"Um…" I look on the sheet of paper resting in the passenger's seat. "A recording company."
"What's that?"
"People write songs there and others come in and record them," I say, something strange yet familiar panging in my gut.
"Like you!"
"Well," I say, chuckling. "Not quite."
"But like you used to."
"Kind of."
"Like Daddy?" she wonders quietly.
I pinch my lips and force myself to answer straightforwardly, as best I can. "No," I say. "He had his radio station. They play other people's music. This is where people create their own."
"Oh," she says, still eating. "I wanna make my own."
"Maybe someday," I say with a smile.
We pull up and park, and I enlist Chelsea to help me carry some of the supplies inside. She totes the spray cleaners and rags while I take care of the vacuum and mop, and once we're in the building I get her set up on a spinning chair while I work on vacuuming inside the sound booths. "Sing, mommy," she says a little while later, while spinning in circles. "Nobody's here. It's all empty, like you said."
I look over and find her covered in ice cream though she's finished eating. "Here, sticky," I say, handing her a wet wipe.
She cleans herself up with it then throws it in the trash bag attached to my unit. "Now sing?" she asks. "Do something Taylor Swift."
"What am I gonna do with you, Swiftie?" I ask. "When are you gonna start picking something more original?"
"Taylor, Taylor, Taylor!" she cheers, teasing me.
"Fine, fine, alright," I say, then start. "My castle crumbled overnight, I brought a knife to a gunfight, they took the crown but it's alright…" I walk over to her chair and place my hands on both armrests, smiling right into her pretty face as she returns the gesture. "All the liars are callin' me one, nobody's heard from me for months, I'm doin' better than I ever was. My baby's fit like a day-"
"Beca Mitchell?"
The voice comes out of nowhere and makes both me and Chelsea scream. I flip around, shielding her body with my own as the worst-case scenario always comes to mind first. Chest heaving, I expect to see Luke staring back at me. But instead, I see someone who I haven't let myself think about for years and years. It's Jesse Swanson, in crisp jeans and a button-down shirt, looking at me with the same brown eyes I once fell in love with.
But instead of amazement, I feel anger first. "You can't sneak up on someone like that!" I shrill, one arm still in front of Chelsea like Jesse is some sort of threat to her, which is so far from the truth that it's laughable. "You could've…" I press one hand to my chest and close my eyes for a moment. "I didn't think anyone was here."
"I didn't, either," he says, eyes still smiling as they haven't moved from my face. "Then I heard the singing and… well, I thought I recognized the voice. And I thought… no way, you know? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you." I nod, feeling awkward. His gaze moves a little lower and his shoulders bounce with a silent chuckle. "I like your shirt."
Shit, I have the Bellas t-shirt on. Looking like a total idiot, like I wear this regularly and I'm still stuck in the past. But how am I supposed to explain myself without looking like a bumbling idiot? So, all I can say is, "Oh. Yeah."
Then, I feel a tug on the back of it. "Mommy?" Chelsea questions.
Jesse's eyebrows raise as he peers around me, and I move to the side to allow him to see her, the little brunette mini-me sitting on the spinning chair. "Is that an… aca-child?" he asks, grin growing wider.
"What?" I say, eyes squinting as I'm thoroughly confused.
"Never mind," he says, sounding bashful.
I take a look at my daughter to find her watching us with trepidation, unsure of how she should react. She has no idea who Jesse is - how would she? She has no clue if he's a friend or if she should be scared, and I need to clear that up. "Chels," I say. "This is my friend, Jesse. In college, we…" My sentence falls off and I'm unsure how to finish it. "We were friends in college."
He nods as if to punctuate my statement. "That we were," he says. "Hi, Chelsea. You must be Beca's daughter."
"Yeah," she says happily. "How'd you know that?"
"Well, you two look exactly alike," he says, then smirks. "And you're almost as tall as she is."
"See!" Chelsea says, pushing herself onto her knees. "Mommy, I told you I'm tall and that shirt will fit me!"
"The tallest," Jesse says, catching my eye. "Obviously, if you get your height from your mom."
"I do," Chelsea says boastfully. "I get everything from my mom."
I smile awkwardly, ducking my chin while keeping one hand on the top of Chelsea's head. "So, you work here, I assume?" I say to him a few beats later.
"Yeah," he says.
"Your dream," I say.
"What?"
"It was what you always wanted," I say quietly. "To write music for movies. Isn't that what you do?"
"Well, I don't write it," he says. "That's above my pay grade. But I fit it into the picture, yeah. I help, at least."
"That's great," I say. "That's awesome."
"And… you?" he says.
"This," I say, gesturing to the cleaning supplies. "At least for right now."
"Nice."
"That's a word for it."
"Yeah."
There's another stilted pause where neither of us really know what to say. At least, I don't. He probably does, because he always did, but he chooses to keep his mouth shut. Maybe that's for the better, I don't know. "Well, we should get back to it," I say, slapping my palms down on my thighs.
"Right," he says. "Sorry for distracting you. I promise, no more sneaking around."
"Thanks."
"Chelsea, I'm gonna trust you to keep an eye on your mom."
She giggles and looks at Jesse with shining eyes. "I will," she says.
"Good," he says, the nods at me. "See you around, Bec."
…
"Jesse said I'm tall. Did you hear him, Mommy? Now, you have to believe me. I'm tall, right?"
"Right."
"'Cause Jesse said so."
"Yes, Chels."
"Were you guys best friends in college?"
"Kind of."
"How come you never telled me about him before?"
"I don't know. It just didn't come up."
"You telled me everything about Auntie Chloe. Does Jesse know Auntie Chloe?"
"Yes."
"How come she never said anything about him? Is he a secret?"
"No, baby."
"Did you forget about him?"
"Kind of. Not really. No."
"Just for a little while you did?"
"Sure, yeah. Just a little while. Are you done asking questions?"
"Not yet. Did you know that was his office job?"
"No."
"Are you glad we saw him, mommy?"
"I guess… I don't really know how I feel about it."
"How do you not know?"
"Because feelings are confusing, Chels."
"Not really."
"For grown-ups, they are."
"That's silly. I liked him. Know why I liked him, mommy?"
With my eyes drifting closed, I ask, "Why?"
"'Cause he called me tall. He said I was tall like you. Almost as tall as you!"
"Mm-hmm," I say, rolling onto my side to face her.
"Are you falling asleep?" she asks.
"I am. And you should be, too."
"So we can go to school and do more work tomorrow?"
"Exactly."
…
A week later, Chelsea and I end up in Jesse's office again. Everything is just as dark, and we do the same work we did the week before. "Are we gonna see Jesse again?" Chelsea asks, seemingly for the tenth time this hour alone.
"My ears are ringing," we hear, then Jesse peers around the corner. "Sorry. I didn't scare you, did I? I was trying not to." I shake my head no. "I brought dinner. I assumed you guys would be hungry."
"Yay!" Chelsea cheers, clambering down from the chair she plunked down in only a few minutes ago. "Sandwiches!"
"Subway," I say, eyebrows up. "You really went all out."
"Mommy, he brought cookies!" Chelsea announces.
"They have the best cookies around, you know that," Jesse says. "Come on, Bec."
"Come on, Bec," Chelsea echoes, taking a big bite out of a chocolate chip cookie before giving me a cheesy smile.
"Hey," I say, pointing playfully at her. "That's 'mommy' to you."
The three of us eat, exchanging surface conversation as we do. Jesse asks Chelsea about school and she gives him perfunctory answers, and once she's finished picking at her sandwich she hops down and busies herself in the corner with a bag full of toys that I packed for her.
"So," Jesse says, giving me a look that lets me know he expects me to spill everything because he plans to. "Where've you been the last five years?"
I nod towards Chelsea, who's now playing with a couple dilapidated Barbies and making them talk amongst themselves. "Little miss over there is five years and four months old," I say.
"Ah," he says. "Right."
"Where've you been?" I ask.
"You're lookin' at it," he says. I laugh a little and he follows up with, "What's funny?"
I shake my head. "Just… nothing," I say. "But it's weird that you were this close all along and I never knew."
"Funny what you don't see right in front of your nose."
We lock eyes and share a buzzing moment, both of us reading the others thoughts - just like we used to. I try to block his out, though. I can't handle them at the moment. "Yeah," I agree, then clear my throat. "So, you're probably wondering who…" I look towards Chelsea again.
"I admit it, yeah," he says. "But I wasn't gonna ask."
"You can ask," I say. "Um, Luke's her dad."
Jesse's eyebrows go up and his mouth opens to respond, but Chelsea gets there first. She looks over her shoulder and adds to the conversation like she was a part of it the whole time. "On the night we went away, Daddy grabbed Mommy and pushed her. She had big bruises on her arms and we haven't seen him ever since."
No one knows what to say after. In all my years, I've never heard silence so loud.