"Did you find them yet?" He shouted from the kitchen, trying to keep the phone pressed between his ear and cheek while maneuvering under the table to check for the lost sneakers, "John?"
"It's me. It's me, Amy. Leave a message" Her voicemail chimed for the 6th time that morning, frustrating everyone.
"John!" He continued to huff through the apartment, stomping into the Livingroom to continue the search his son wasn't helping him with, "How does someone lose their shoes when they just wore them yesterday?" Pausing at the bookshelf, he scratched his brow, as his ex's voicemail chimed in his ear again for the 7th time. Her green eyes looked up at him, lip puckered before she stumbled and went straight down on her bottom, releasing an irritable screech. He sighed at her outburst, "I know, you're upset too - what's new," running his hand over her curls to comfort her. It didn't work as she screeched louder, lifting her arms for rescue. Glancing at his watch, Ricky sighed again and took off into the bedroom - where his son sat on the floor playing with one of his many action figures. "John, come on!" He shouted a little too roughly as it startled the boy who reacted with a tiny jump.
"I want mommy pwut my sh-oos on!" John declared sternly, his tiny brow furrowed at his dad, touching his sock-covered feet.
Ricky's patience was getting thinner and thinner with each minute they didn't walk out of the door. Having been up since the pleasurable hour of 4 am, with their combative, loud, and sleep-deprived baby, on top of having said baby wake up John at the same time, who immediately started in on wanting to see Amy... it was a mess of a morning, both emotionally and mentally, and his sanity was slowly starting to slip.
After they all had their morning wake-up call courtesy of Emma, he took them both back to bed with him and read stories until they all dozed back off around 5:30 - only to wake up at 7:50 and have to be at John's preschool by 8:45.
Another eruption of chaos ensued as he got everyone out of bed, skipped a shower, and prepared the box of pop-tarts as breakfast while he fought with Emma's tantrum, and John's refusal to get ready... and now they were missing a shoe. All at 8:14 in the morning.
Emma's loud cries beckoned him back into the livingroom, increasing in volume and pitch that he couldn't even hear the robotic tone of his ex's voicemail chime again in his ear. With a frustrated breath, he tossed his phone on the still-made sofabed and grabbed at his disheveled curls with his fingers, noting a strap sticking out from under the frame. Grabbing it, Ricky shouted, "I found it!" And pointed at his son who stood in the hallway, fiddling with his shirt, "Put your shoes on, grab your backpack, and let's go - before we're late."
Taking them from him, the tot frowned, "Mommy not hwere!"
Looking quickly between the child clambering against the playpen for his attention, and the child standing in front of him, he closed his eyes and tried to keep his rising temper at bay, "Buddy I can't get mommy to answer the phone -" John frowned more, letting one of his shoes drop to the floor, on the verge of tears. Knowing he had to remedy the situation before he had a complete meltdown, Ricky scratched his brow again, "Maybe she's already at the school though? You won't know unless we leave right now, right?"
With a slow nod, the boy plopped down onto his bottom and put the shoes on his feet before rushing to his backpack on the floor and galloping to the front door. Releasing a yawn, Ricky opened it and shuffled them both through, immediately turning on his boot heel with wide eyes as he gathered his other child from the playpen and grabbed the diaper bag.
Rushing into a vacant parking space, the clock read 8:38.
Wasting no more time than was necessary, he got out quickly and grabbed the car seat first, sitting it by his feet as he unbuckled his son and carted him in his other arm. They were already late, and having John walk in by himself would only increase their tardiness because that child was the slowest walker he'd ever seen.
Reaching their destination, Ricky bent slightly to put the boy back on his feet, leaning against the blue door. "Have a good day, okay?" He spoke softly, bouncing the car seat gently to keep the youngest child calm. John's brown eyes blinked up at him with sadness, the tip of his lip just barely starting to pucker. "What's wrong?"
Without hesitation, the tears started as he slobbered, "I-I d-d-don't see - see m-mommyy!"
His outburst caused the baby to start in, earning him a couple of stares from the other parents saying their goodbyes. Putting the seat down on the floor, Ricky got down on one knee and grabbed his hand, sighing, "I can't give you an honest answer for that, John... but I do know that you're going to have lots of fun with your classmates." John shook his head, sniffling. Stroking the hair by his ears, he nodded, "Yes, you are. Lilly and Evan and Taylor, they're all in there waiting to play with you..." Emma kicked her legs with a drawn-out whine, wanting his attention. Keeping his focus on him, he moved his other hand to her, slowly trailing his two fingers up her small body. "You can play, have a snack, and go outside to swing and climb up the slides... it'll be so fun - huh?" His fingers got to her tummy, making her squeal as they started to tickle her. He chuckled, "See, Emma thinks it'll be fun!"
"B-but mommy not hwere!" John protested, rubbing his fist into his eye with another hard sniffle, "S-sh-she jus pw-omised!" His chest was heaving; his breaths trying to keep up with his cries. It broke Ricky's heart to see him like this.
Brushing his tears away with his thumb, he lingered, letting John have his time to collect himself, "Hey... hey it'll be okay..." When his breathing slowed, Ricky's voice got softer, "Grandpa George will be here in a few hours to pick you up, okay? I'll see you after work?" Fisting his other eye, he sniffled and nodded, putting his palm on his hand. Leaning forward, he kissed his son's forehead, and wrapped his free arm around him, "I love you, buddy"
Heels clicked against the marble, the tall blonde coming up to them cheerily, "Hi, John! We're about to start story time... you wanna join our friends on the rug? I can take your backpack for you."
Seeing that it was time to go, Ricky stood up and grabbed the car seat, getting approximately 6 steps down the hallway before turning around to see that the boy still hadn't moved from the spot. Coming back, he looked at the woman, "Mind if I?" Without a word, she nodded and stepped back inside the room.
Placing the car seat back on the ground, Ricky unbuckled the infant and brought her out, sitting her up on his knee that wasn't holding up his weight. Bringing John's small frame into his, he let him cry into his shoulder, peppering kisses and scratching his buzzed hair with his fingertips, swallowing back the lump in his throat, "... I know everything is confusing, and a little scary right now... but you're so brave..." John continued to cry, flexing his fingers against his father's neck with a hiccup. Emma batted at her brother's arm before laying her head on it, making Ricky's lip tip up with admiration, "And I know that once you go play with your friends, you'll feel better..."
Bounding up the slanted driveway, he pushed the back door open with a labored breath. Trying to keep his temper in check and talk to George without yelling. The kitchen was empty, with one desolate cup on the countertop.
"George..." He called out, moving into the living room and climbing the first four steps to get a better view, "George?" No answer. Sighing under his breath, he returned to the kitchen, running his hand through his hair before sucking in his bottom lip and swiping the cup off the counter in anger. It hit the wall, breaking into three plastic pieces.
Throwing his head back when she started to whimper, he blew a long breath from his cheeks, turning on his heel just in time to see her standing in the doorway with a wide-eyed expression. Embarrassed by his actions, he swallowed quickly, "Sorry... I - I didn't see you there..."
Taking a step forward, she gathered some paper towels from the counter and went to sop up the mess from the floor, "Is everything alright?"
No, no it was not. He sighed, "You haven't seen Amy, have you? Or know where she might be?" She shook her head. "Does George?" She shook her head again.
"I do!" Said a voice from the doorway, asserting himself into the conversation as he joined them in the kitchen. "I saw him weave with a bag wast night..."
"You saw George leave the house last night and didn't tell me?" Kathleen scolded, putting her hand on her hip. "Did he tell you where he was going?"
Tom shrugged her annoyance off, "He dwidn't stop to twalk to me - he had to go."
"Go where, Tom? Was Amy with him?" Ricky questioned, fiddling with the pacifier clipped to his daughter's chest.
Tom shook his head, and shrugged again, pointing to his mom, "Y-ou nweed to cwall him!"
"That's not necessary Tom..." A deep voice stated from the opposite side of the room. He stood there in the kitchen entryway leading into the living room. Ricky's eyes hardened at his disheveled appearance.
"George, where have you been? Tom said you left in the middle of the night... and Ricky can't find Amy..." Kathleen paused, looking into her husband's eyes - giving away the answers to her questions. "Next time, tell me, okay?"
He nodded, moving further into the kitchen. He could tell by the look on his ex-son-in-law's face that he was angry and that a showdown was sure to take place once he told him the location and reasoning of her whereabouts. "... Hey Ricky..." The tension was so thick, it was stifling. He glanced over to see the remains of the cup on the floor, lowering his head slightly, "Can we talk - outside?"
Taking in a few deep breaths through his nose, Ricky accepted Kathleen's offer to take the baby and stomped off after him.
The door closed with an angry slam that caused Kathleen to jolt in surprise before adjusting the infant against her hip and looking over at her son.
"Where is she?" He asked through clenched teeth when they were a safe distance away from the kitchen.
Stopping on a patch of grass that was starting to dry up, George raised his head and put his left hand on his face, "First - take a breath and promise me you won't get angry..."
Ricky scoffed at the request, balling his fists at his sides, "You're joking, right? Just tell me where she is!"
"Not until you calm down!" He shot back, waiting there until he could see the rage leave the young man's eyes and his fists unclench before he started to speak again. With a calm tone, he sighed, "Amy isn't here. She's not in town either... She's in San Diego..." Putting one hand in the air between them, and the other into his jeans pocket, he pulled out a folded-up piece of paper. "She wanted me to give this to you... and tell you she's sorry."
With another scoff, Ricky took the paper from him. This was always her way out of having difficult conversations - notes. Half-assed apologies written on lined notebook paper that she never meant, nor upheld. It was the same song and dance: she runs away, puts a note somewhere explaining some lame reason why she left, with a written plethora of 'I'm sorry' to soften the blow, and then returns to her life thinking she accomplished something. So it was no surprise to him when he opened the folded-up piece of paper and scanned over it.
"... Ricky... I don't even know what to say at this point. What to think. What to do. Everything is just so messed up and I'm sorry for dragging you into yet another one of my screw-ups. I know you're probably angry at me again - or still - but I am truly sorry for everything I have put our family through. Give John and Emma a hug and kiss from me and tell them mommy loves them... and that I'm sorry..."
Same thing, over and over again. So it should have come as no surprise when he crumpled it into a ball and launched it across the dew-covered grass.
George watched it sail across the yard, a roughness coming to his voice, "What's it say?"
Balling his fists again, Ricky shook his head and turned on his heels, back towards the house.
Following him, George grabbed his shoulder when they got to the doorway, wanting him to turn around and face him.
"Don't touch me!" The teen seethed, forcibly shaking the older man off of him and stomping into the kitchen to gather their belongings. Emma had bits of banana caked to her fingers as he lifted her out, not even caring that within seconds his shirt would be covered in them too.
George stood by the counter, shaking his head, "Would you just listen to what I have to say?"
Adjusting the baby a bit too roughly against his hip, causing her to cough and whimper, Ricky simply closed his eyes and took a deep breath, "I don't care what her - or your - excuse is this time! You knew where she was and didn't even have the decency to call me!" His voice was starting to get rougher, "I sat up for hours, worried to death that something bad happened to her... all the while she was side by side with you..." Grabbing the diaper bag off the counter, he gave an apologetic glance to her, "I'm sorry, Kathleen... but I think I'll keep Emma with me for the rest of the day." And slammed the door behind him.
Kathleen turned to him, "George... what is going on? What did you do? Where is Amy?" He didn't speak, just kept a grip on the countertop and focused on the door he'd just slammed.
This was going to get ugly.
Handing another smaller box to Smiley, she checked her watch, catching the bell above the door swing, right as they stepped in. She didn't say anything, just looking at him was enough to know he was in no mood to speak, so she didn't push it. Instead just gave him a sympathetic look.
He caught her glance, and shook his head at them both, "I know I'm late. Hell, I know I have my kid with me too... but I just -" Sucking in his bottom lip to keep from exploding while continuing to shake his head, "I need to be by myself for a minute to figure all of the chaos that is my life, out."
Bunny nodded silently and stepped out of the way, waiting until he was out of sight before turning to Smiley and asking, "Those two having issues again?" Smiley put his hands up and shrugged at her question, hopping away from the counter to go into the freezer just as a loud door slam could be heard from upstairs. She jumped at the noise, putting her hands up, her face contorting into an 'uh oh' expression.
Slamming the door more forcibly than he would have liked to, he put the baby on the floor and shrugged out of his jacket, taking the initiative to also slam a closed fist against the coat rack by the door. Emma looked up at him, pausing the gnawing of her teething ring at his outburst. He sighed, hating that she had to witness so much of the anger he'd been working so hard, for so many years, to conceal.
Putting his hand out towards her, she scrunched her nose with a snort and raised her arms, accepting the invitation. Crouching, his pocket started vibrating as the loud drum beats rang through the tiny room. Cautious to answer, he pulled the phone out and scoffed irritatingly at who was on the other line, "Speak of the devil!"
It was silent for a second before she sniffled, "... I guess I deserve that..."
Ricky shook his head, looking down at their baby obliviously clapping her hands together and babbling, "You deserve a lot worse, but for the sake of our daughter's ears, we'll just stick to that." Standing up, he walked towards the kitchen, "What the hell is wrong with you? First, you just bolt out of the apartment crying and refusing to answer the phone all night... and now you break a promise to John, you never should have made! Why do you always do this!" The volume level of his tone increased, causing Emma to whine, and him to close his eyes while blowing a long, frustrated, breath from his cheeks. She was on the verge of crying into the phone - he could tell by the cracking of her breaths between sniffles. "... you could have been dead, Amy..." He let out a sniffle, "You could have been hurt, or something else and I never would have known it!" He raised a hand to the wall, gripping the plaster with his fingertips as he shouted, "And for what, Amy? Another one of your ventures to find yourself? Or was the 10 days you stayed just too much for you that you just had to escape again? I just -" Releasing his grip, he swallowed, "I can't deal with all of this right now -"
Another bout of silence on his ex's end as Amy tried to collect herself enough to speak, but it only came out as a sob, pleading, "P-please... p-please j-just listen..."
He was angry. Incredibly angry. And hearing her break only fueled his rage - because to him she had no reason to break; no reason to sob; no reason to plead. She made the decision - again - to walk away and he was done listening to the sobs of her reasons why.
"No! No, I won't 'just listen'! I've had enough of 'just listening' to your lies!" He was shouting now, twisting the dish rag on the counter tightly in his hands, "No more sorrys. No more pleading. No more begging. No more tears... I'm done, Amy! I'll raise our kids by myself, and try to pick up the pieces of another one of the messes that you created, and you can just stay in San Diego to live your carefree and childless life! Do what you're best at, and continue to run away!" He didn't give her a chance to rebuttal, ending the call abruptly, and launching his phone across the room to hit Johns's toy lawnmower. Thankfully it didn't shatter, just lit up with the picture of them all, smiling and happy, in the background. He shook his head and tossed the twisted and frayed dish rag onto the kitchen table, pacing a few times with his hands braced against the back of his neck to try to calm himself down.
Emma watched his movements carefully, crawling quickly over to where he paced, and pausing to sit by his feet, arching her tiny brow to emote her confusion as she looked up at him. Ricky stopped pacing, bringing his hands down to his sides, and gave a little chuckle to his daughter flexing her fingers against the denim of his jeans. The look on her face was the same one her mother often gave him when he was acting a certain way - the "bad boy" way as she referred to it when speaking in front of their kids: Amy would tell John daddy was being a "bad boy" when he'd leave after one of their fights, or when he would slam doors, and raise his voice.
He was a "bad boy", and now even his daughter knew it.
"Dada!" She squealed through her pacifier-covered lips, laying her head against his leg.
He couldn't help the smile that came to his face, immediately scooping her up into his embrace, "Promise me one thing, Emma -" Stroking her hand as he met her eyes, "Promise me you won't take after your mom and leave me? You'll stay with Dada forever and ever. Okay, sound like a plan?" Taking the pacifier out of her mouth, she put it to his, blowing spit bubbles with her tongue as she tried shoving it in.
His lip tipped up, dodging the object covered in saliva each time her spit bubbles hit his cheek, "I'll take that as a yes, I guess." Giving the pacifier back to her, she put it back into her mouth and grabbed his nose with a giggle.
The crate paper crinkled loudly with her movements, shifting off the exam table and halfway down to the floor, catching her tears as they dripped from her lashes. The fluorescent lighting only amplified her sadness as the flashes of that cold hospital room started coming to her mind.
They had come to remove her IV right before she called him, but it still stung; the bright red of her blood soaking the cotton ball they had taped against her skin, only made the stinging worse and the dreaded images creep up.
She found out through that dreadful night that ever since having Emma, and nearly dying because of it, her body had issues allowing her blood to clot. This is why when... that happened... it came on quickly and urgently: there was no time to wait, tragedy happened, and she had to come to terms with it immediately to save herself, and her body, from any further damage.
But the damage was done. Her body attacked itself and the result was their gut-wrenching loss.
She touched the tape, getting a tiny drop of blood on her finger. Her breath hitched, and she had to swallow hard to keep from screaming at the top of her lungs.
"Ready?" A voice asked from the cracked doorway, scaring her. A woman with red hair and green eyes stood cautiously within the frame, a clipboard in one hand as she smiled with a twinge of sadness in her eyes upon seeing her on the verge of breaking down. Amy didn't know this woman, and this woman didn't know her, but somehow she could tell she understood. So she nodded quickly, swiping her eyes with her hand and getting to her feet. The woman nodded back, and waved her hand forward, "Follow me!"
The woman turned out to be Traci - the facility's designated coordinator and tour guide. Amy learned that Traci has been there for 15 years and that she also has two kids - who were born in the facility - with her second husband who also dabbles in the treatment center on the other side of the building. She went from being a patient there to one of their best employees and never left. Now she was one of the high-ups and gets to have a hand in helping all the women at the facility instead of staying on the sidelines, watching and hoping.
Amy didn't speak much, only giving nods or quick one to two-word answers. Aside from being in this unknown place, she was still reeling from the night before - the run-in with Ben, telling Ricky she was late, the negative pregnancy test, the guy at the gas station, and then her dad finding her drunk on that ledge - and trying to put pieces of hazy snippets together. She remembered everything leading up to telling Ricky and taking the test, but the rest was fuzzy. She knew she ran into a guy at a gas station - but couldn't remember his name; knew she had a bottle of alcohol - but didn't know why, and knew she was standing on a ledge because she could hear the water crashing against the rocks - but couldn't place why her dad was also there, or what transpired to put her on that ledge. One of the doctors said it was because she had consumed too much alcohol and her brain was trying to remember everything while impaired, but she had other ideas: like her brain was shutting down on purpose because of what she had done.
She hoped this nice woman handed out a map at the end of this because it was obvious that she wasn't paying attention. They'd gone to 4 or 5 different rooms at that point and each one looked the same - brown walls, florescent lights in domes on the ceilings, a couple of chairs behind a desk, and the stench of citrus-scented Lysol.
Amy knew that smell because it was his favorite thing to clean the apartment with - always saying that it made the place cleaner and just added a little pizazz. She'd laugh at his clean-freak enthusiasm and wrinkle her nose as she sprayed a little dab of her vanilla body spray into each room because she hated the smell of citrus.
Her lip tipped up at the memory, but just as quickly changed with utter embarrassment as she collided right into Traci's back - Further proving to both of them she wasn't paying hardly any attention. Traci just laughed it off though, touching her arm with a smile as she turned the knob to yet another room. Amy expected to see the same brown walls, but when Traci opened it, and they stepped onto a light creme-colored carpet, her eyes lifted with genuine surprise.
The walls were a pale blue - not enough to overpower the space, but bright enough to reflect nicely against the warm light coming from the two tall lamps on both sides of the room. A large dark brown couch was placed nicely in the center, with a small coffee table in front and a nightstand on the side. A fairly large-sized TV rested on the wall by a picture of some random family sitting in the grass.
"Whoa..." She whispered under her breath, taking in the quaint and calming space, following Traci and paying full attention to everything around her. They were now in a small little kitchen area, separated from the living room by a black mesh baby gate. Traci briefly reiterated that the previous young mother had left in a hurry and forgot some things - they boxed up all the personal stuff, but just kept the others for the next. Nodding after her explanation, she tapped her manicured nails against the spotless granite countertop and shifted to the side to let Amy step in front of her. When she did, they passed by more pictures of the same random family in the grass: their golden frames shielded by the darkness of the short hallway before getting to three doors - each painted white with black trim and black knobs. Without hesitation, she gripped the knob of the door the furthest down the hallway and gave it a light shove.
These walls were a darker shade of blue, with a ceiling fan illuminating three flower-shaped bulbs, over a queen-sized bed with a bedspread that matched the color of the walls, and a nightstand with a small lamp that complimented the space nicely. Beside it, a little further from the bed, was a dark-colored crib, its contents empty.
Amy ran her hand over her face, slightly overwhelmed by all of it. Traci smiled and ran her hand over the crib's dark mahogany paint, "We offer these apartments to our patients to provide collective healing. They allow the mothers to process and heal with family at the same time." She kept staring, taking in everything that was being offered to her with joy, but also feeling the pain in her chest at how she ended up there. Traci touched her arm gently, asking with a soft tone, "Will your family be joining us at any point in the future?"
The question made her eyes shift down to the floor, shame and sadness in her voice as she stuttered through a wobbling lip, knowing Ricky would never step foot inside the quaint little apartment, "I - I don't know... my dad...maybe..."
"Amy!" He shouted, rather loudly from the bedroom, "Amy, come in here - I want to show you something!"
She was in the living room, the phone perched between her cheek and shoulder to keep it against her ear without it falling on the fussy baby in her arms. His shouting was starting to upset her, trying to settle the restless infant back to sleep after John had spent the day wreaking havoc, and the onslaught of unwanted visitors finally left them alone long enough to take a breath. She was trying to get ahold of her mom to see when she wanted to come to see the baby, but to no surprise, she didn't answer, and she was left with her voicemail chiming in one ear, while his voice shouted again and caught the other.
Sighing tiredly, she stroked their daughter's cheek and gave John a look, before making the short trip into the bedroom. There Ricky stood, arms spread apart into the air, with a big smile on his face. "What do you think?" He asked after about 30 seconds of her scanning the room, his smile waning just a little.
If she wasn't so tired, she knew she would've been more excited and receptive to his little project, but with Emma squirming in her arms, and her drooping eyelids making it hard to focus, all she could give him was a half-hearted, "It's nice."
His lips pursed into a small frown, clearly hurt by her lack of interest or care. Their daughter started to cry, so he put his hands out, taking her with ease, and calming her. It drove Amy crazy that he was somehow able to instantly make their kids stop crying just by picking them up - like he was somehow rubbing it in her face that he was the better parent. He wasn't, and she knew that, but her hormones were raging and planting these thoughts into her head.
Ricky looked at her again, a twinge of concern on his face before giving his attention to the baby. "What about you, princess - You like what daddy did?" He walked Emma around the room slowly, pointing at all the bins, the toys, and the complete renovation he'd done to John's small bedroom to accommodate them both. She seemed more interested than her mother was, cooing with memorized eyes at either the decorations he had hung up - a picture of her sonogram, next to a picture of him, her, and John - and all the pink bins, or at him. Probably the latter.
Amy's lip tipped up higher at the way his smile widened, nodding along with their daughter's coos as he placed her into the crib. At first, Emma didn't do anything, just stared at them both with those piercing green eyes, but after about 15 seconds, she released a yawn and stretched.
"Look at you!" He cheered, leaning over the crib with admiration, and stroking her cheek with the pad of his thumb, "You like what daddy did, huh?" Amy couldn't help but chuckle under her breath at the response their daughter gave him - a big fart. Ricky rolled his eyes, remarking "You're just like your mommy" which earned him a playful-open palmed slap to the arm as her eyes widened at him in shock and embarrassment. He laughed too, picking Emma up out of the crib and over to the dresser he'd conveniently turned into a changing table.
Wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head between his shoulder blades, Amy mumbled, "This is all really nice. You did a good job."
Taking the compliment, Ricky turned slightly, making sure his eyes were level with hers, "Thanks, Amy. That means a lot to me." Emma farted again, and before he could put her down, she released all the regurgitated breast milk from her mouth, onto his shirt. He wrinkled his nose, giving her a look.
Amy shook her head at him, enjoying the fact that it was his turn to have to change the baby. "I'll leave you two alone..." turning on her heels to leave with a smirk.
"That's good. Any kind of support is always good to have. If anyone else decides to join you, please let the ladies downstairs know so they can get the proper things for you to accommodate everyone, okay?" Traci chimed, interrupting the memory, and checking her watch. Her eyes stayed on the crib, getting an idea. Traci looped her arm around her, "It's almost 11, we better get down to group."
Her brow furrowed, "Group?"
"Group therapy. It's a requirement that all our mothers go to group therapy at least three times a week. It helps create bonds and show that you're not alone here - everyone has demons they're also trying to fight." Shutting off the lights of the small apartment, she led the way down the brightly lit hallway, "While in group the daycare is open, and it's generally where the children have their play dates. It works for everyone involved so they don't have to worry about childcare. Same goes for individual therapy sessions, or if you just need a break - the daycare is available."
They walked down three flights of stairs and two more hallways before reaching a bright red door, propped open just a hare by a black wedge.
"Feel free to go in and have a seat if you'd like."
Amy stood there, silently, chewing on her bottom lip apprehensively. Group therapy wasn't new to her, having been to the program for teen moms in New York, they went all the time. But that was a room full of teenage mothers - like her - all sharing what they had in common. This was a room full of mothers and women probably older and better than her, all staring at, and silently judging her. No, thank you. But the way Traci kept lifting her eyes in anticipation that she would open the door, made her relent and do just that, slowly walking into the room.
24 blue-slotted plastic chairs were lined in a circle spanning the marble-colored flooring. Only 16 of them were being occupied though, by women ranging in age and race. They all stared at her; their eyes boring into her like they knew everything about her and didn't like what they saw. At least that's what she let herself believe they were doing. When in actuality, they were staring at her with concern and acceptance, urging her to take a seat. A few of them even ushered a "hello" when she did.
A darker-toned woman in her mid to late 50s, with dark brown hair that was starting to turn gray, smiled up at them, introducing herself as Jeanne. Her eyes were kind, focusing on each individual intently as they spoke and shared with the group.
She listened to three women share their struggles of that week - not knowing any of them, or why they were there.
The first one was a shorter blonde woman about 30 or so, named Taylor who shared that she'd spoken to her mother again for the third time since last time and that it looked to be heading in the right direction, before shrugging and taking a seat. They all clapped for her as she did, and then a skinny brunette named Gwen stood up. Gwen was 45 and had 3 kids - two of whom she got to see that past weekend when her ex brought them into town before school started. Again the same thing, they all clapped as another stood. This girl was different though. She was younger, about 25 or so maybe, with bright red hair and sad eyes. When she rose to stand, she fidgeted a lot, constantly looking away towards the exit.
"It's okay dear, just take a breath. Take your time." Jeanne reached her hand to grasp hers, giving it a light squeeze. The girl gulped, and began speaking softly - so softly it was almost impossible to hear her. Two of the other girls had to lean forward to catch even her name - which turned out to be Mickey, giving them all a chuckle as she confirmed that she was, indeed, named after the famous Mickey Mouse.
After they all had a little giggle, Amy saw Mickey's demeanor change. Her feet shifted, and the sigh she released told her, and the rest of the group, that she carried more than that of the other two women; the burden she brought with her, causing her eyes to well up with tears as she brokenly expressed her heartache to them all. "I met a few of you last week when I arrived, but... but I - I wasn't able to comprehend what got me here at that time..."
"And are you ready now, dear? Because if you're not, we won't push you." Jeanne nodded slowly at her and the rest of the women in the circle followed.
But she simply shook her head and took a deep breath, "No. No, I'm ready. I need to get it out and grieve properly..."
Amy's eyes widened at that word - the one all the nurses and doctors had told her to do so many times in the past year - Grieve.
Grieve for their daughter's traumatic birth.
Grieve for the way she, herself, almost died from it.
Grieve for the days she lost with their daughter hooked up to so many monitors and machines as she fought so hard to live.
Grieve for their son who didn't understand what was going on.
Grieve for her grandmother who passed away
And mostly, grieve for the sheltered loss she kept hidden from everyone; the one that did the most damage; the one she had to carry alone because telling him would destroy him more than she was capable of seeing him be destroyed.
Grief. Yes, people need to grieve. Grief is part of life. But her? If she allowed herself to grieve, she'd never be able to stop. It would consume her; rendering her unable to move from the sheer heartache of allowing it to break her.
Mickey's rough sniffle brought her focus back, swallowing roughly as this sad young woman spilled out her entire heart. "When I was 19, I had my son - Grayson... Grayson was an amazing baby, so sweet and patient... Truly a blessing beyond blessings..." Her lip started to wobble, "But when Grayson was a year old, he - My family had a party at my uncle's house. End of the summer pool party kind of thing... it was late, everyone was inside - the kids were all playing upstairs..." Sniffle, "We thought Grayson was upstairs with his cousins... but he - he must have snuck downstairs for a snack -" Everyone's eyes began tearing up, passing around a box of Kleenex prematurely like they already knew Mickey's story would have a tragic ending. "By the time anyone had noticed he wasn't watching the movie with his cousins... it was too late." She paused to sob into her palm, a rough sniffle breaking through, "H-h-he w-was g-g-gone."
A tiny pain shot through Amy's chest, watching this mother weep in this room full of strangers. She felt the tightening in her body at the thought of the unthinkable happening to one of her babies, and the tears stung her eyes.
"After the accident, my fiancé went off the deep end. I was blamed for everything, and when screaming at me didn't work anymore, he found other methods to dull the pain. His addictions caught up to him, and one night I got a phone call that he'd been in an accident. DOA. Three times over the legal limit, and unfortunately hit a poor teenager who is now paralyzed." The gasps from the group were audible, the women hanging on to every word of this truly tragic story. "I buried him next to Grayson so at least he'd be at peace with him... in one year I buried my baby, and the love of my life... and I tried to commit suicide twice with the hope and belief that I would see Grayson and Jamie again. But both attempts were unsuccessful and it cost me everything - my health, my body, my job, my family... all of it was gone... and I was still here..." Sniffle. "After that, I packed up and moved away to start fresh. My family blamed my fiancé for Grayson's death, while my fiancé blamed my family. I had to get away from everyone and be by myself. And unfortunately, that came with having to make some hard choices." Another sniffle, "I got a job at a club, and met a guy named Lance." She bit her lip, "Lance was perfect - or so I thought at the time. But he was battling his own demons, and sadly I gravitated towards them. Drugs and alcohol were simple pleasures that took away the pain for both of us... until I ended up pregnant, and Lance bolted right before Jamie was born. He refused to acknowledge a child named after my dead ex, and one night came into my friend's apartment that we were crashing at, to take Jamie..." She looked down at the floor, "That was the night I decided that in order for my son to have a better outcome than Grayson, was for me to change. So I did." Sniffle. "I called the police on Lance, got a restraining order against him, and fled to a friend's house who drove me here..." She wiped her eyes, "I want Jamie to know I did everything I could to better myself for him because I love him. I love him because he saved me from myself at a time when I never thought I could ever be saved..." With another hard sniffle, Mickey sat down slowly and accepted the box of Kleenex held out to her as six women in the group all stood up and clapped loudly.
Jeanne sniffled herself and tapped her nails against the clipboard on her lap, boring her eyes straight into Amy as she asked, "Would you like to share, dear?"
Quickly, and without words, Amy shook her head, not ready to divulge any of her truth in such a vulnerable setting. She applauded Mickey's bravery to do so, but she wasn't ready to strike the match and let everything she had been through kindle in the fire. Some secrets should stay hidden away from those who wouldn't understand. And that's what she wanted to do - keep her sins locked away in a box to avoid the cruel judgment and ridicule thrust upon her every time she broke away from the bubble within the four walls of that apartment. He didn't even know some of them, so why would she tell a room full of strangers?
Jeanne must have read her thoughts because she pursed her lips and sat back against the chair, "That's alright. You're not ready to share with a bunch of strangers, and that's perfectly okay. Just know we're here to listen without judgment. Sometimes the best way to help people is just to be that listening ear rather than the opposite voice. We're all here to achieve the same goal - to heal. Take your time, dear, we'll be here when you're ready."
And with that, they moved on and another girl rose to speak.
"What? What does that mean?" He chuckled, taking one of the blocks she handed to him that was covered in slobber. She squealed, raising both her little arms above her head, each hand fisting a block, while she babbled quickly and incoherently and pumped her legs atop the blanket on the floor. He couldn't help but be amused, playing along with the nod of his head, "Really? Tell me more..." Her bright green eyes met his dark brown ones, scrunching her button nose up at him just as a knock came on the door.
Ignoring it, he chuckled again, running his palm over her mess of dark curls as she put one of the blocks in her mouth, and the knocking got louder. Before he could mutter to the guest to go away, the front door popped open, the person on the other side grasping the shiny gold key in his fingers.
Instinctively, his head snapped towards the unwanted intrusion, eyes hardening at his ex-father-in-law standing in the doorway with a frown on his face. "I thought given the way I left Kathleen's, you'd figure out I have nothing to say to you." He replied to the silence, shaking his head as he glanced at the floor. George didn't care about his anger, stepping across the threshold and shutting the door lightly but remaining quiet. Expelling a hard breath from his cheeks, Ricky ran a hand through the top portion of his hair, grasping the roots with his fingertips, "Look - George - I can't do this right now, okay? Just let me enjoy some time with my kid, alright? Go home."
"We have to talk," George stated firmly, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
He shook his head again, "No, we don't. There's nothing to talk about, George."
Pursing his lips at his response, he caught a glimpse of a small hand flexing out to him. He smiled down at Emma, taking his hands from his pockets and picking her up with ease, "Hi, Princess." Putting his focus back on his ex-son-in-law, he sighed, "You think I'm the bad guy in all of this?"
Getting up from the floor roughly, he snapped back, "Obviously!" Stomping away into the kitchen, he clicked his tongue out of frustration as they followed on his heels, clenching his fists at his sides to conceal his anger, "You could have stopped her, George! Or at the very least called me! So I could have -" Ricky paused, looking at his daughter's lip beginning to pucker at their raised voices.
Taking notice himself, George gently placed her in the playpen and handed her a rattle, away from the gruffness of his voice in her sensitive ears. "Could have done what, Ricky? Went to get her? Caused more problems?" He sighed again, twisting his new wedding band around his finger, "The only reason I even knew where she was was because she called me, and I could tell she was in trouble just by the sound of her voice!" Ricky was unflinching, his back turned to him as he grabbed the countertop tightly. "You want to be angry, fine! Be angry at me for not telling you, I understand, but I had to take her away, Ricky... for her own good and yours..."
Turning around slowly, his brow furrowed, "What is that supposed to mean?"
Continuing to twist his ring, "... I talked to the clinic before I got here, Amy's being evaluated, and as soon as they share the results with her, they'll let me know - and I promise you'll be my first call when I do."
Ricky scoffed at the sentiment, "And what makes you think I would care?"
It got silent for a few seconds, George's eyes lifting to meet his, his voice starting to crack just a little, "... Because I know you, Ricky. You care, even if you pretend you don't." The young man's jaw twitched in response, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing any kind of concern in his features. Even though he was right. With a slow nod, George pursed his lips again and made his way to the door, opening it and slipping out without a word.
When he was gone, Ricky allowed himself to swallow the tight lump forming in his throat. He didn't want to be concerned about her. He didn't want to go back to the way it was when she was in New York. But he also couldn't help but feel guilty that she was hurting and he couldn't do anything about it. Regardless of his anger towards Amy for everything she's put him through, he still hated to think of her in any kind of pain.
Something hit his shoe, snapping him out of his thoughts. Glancing down, his lip tipped up slightly, "Throwing things at dada, now?" He playfully remarked, bending to pick up the ring of saliva-laced silicone and rubber keys from the tip of his sneaker. Emma grinned a three-tooth smile at him, flexing her fingers on her left hand out, while the right gripped the top of the playpen tightly.
Tossing the keys back inside the playpen, he lifted her out, grimacing in slight disgust at the drool covering her fingers, pooling around her mouth and dribbling down her chin. Turning slightly on his heel to be angled with the bookshelf, he saw a pack of baby wipes on the third shelf and quickly popped the lid open, not expecting his hand to hit something else in the process.
Moving the wipes down the shelf, his eyes caught sight of a small wallet-sized photo tucked behind a small golden plastic frame. It was of him and Amy on their wedding day. The same image that used to be his lock screen on his phone before pictures of their kids took over. The one she insisted on taking of them as soon as they got into the hotel room. His favorite one of them.
After his little rage fit in the hallway a couple of weeks ago, Ricky decided to go around the apartment and gather every visible picture of them together, or her in general, and put them away; lock them inside a drawer so that he wouldn't repeat his actions. He must have missed that one though, because its contents were untouched and unscathed by his anger. John still held onto that ripped picture of their family- the reminder of him losing his temper after he swore yet again he wouldn't. Another broken promise to his kids and himself amid all the other ones he and Amy had made to them; the cycle continued.
"Mm-m-m..." She babbled in his ear, reaching for the frame he now held between his forefinger and thumb.
"Yeh, that's mommy." He replied with a twinge of sadness, putting the picture back where he'd found it, "That was a time when mama and dada used to be so happy..." Sniffling, he looked up at her, her green eyes watery, as a whispery little "da" passed her lips followed by a little cough. Kissing her forehead, his lip tipped up, but a pain shot through his chest thinking of the fact that he was there, in the apartment with their daughter, and Amy was out who knows where, probably crying, wracked with guilt. He held the miniature version of the love of his life in his arms, while she was out of his reach.
Ricky kissed Emma's forehead again, lingering there as he took slow breaths, taking in her calming presence against him before drum beats filled the air and his pocket began to vibrate. Thinking - and maybe secretly hoping - that it was Amy, he quickly pried the device from his front jeans pocket and hit the button, putting it to his ear. Unfortunately, the person on the other end wasn't the infuriating brunette whose smile made his heart skip a beat, and for that, he sighed and gave a half-hearted "... Hey..." to the receiver.
"I kinda understand some of what you're saying, but -" He nodded his head along with the words that were being spoken, "Uh huh... so what does that mean exactly? Is she being kept there or -" biting the corner of his bottom lip, his eyes stayed on the wall, taking in the fast pace of the man's explanation, "Mhmm, I agree." Stuffing a hand into his pocket, he nodded again, pressing the phone harder against his ear and staring at his watch. It was almost eleven and John had to be picked up at 12:30 from preschool. That was if he was still even picking him up. Given Ricky's reaction to his presence, he may just decide that his help is no longer needed. He hoped not though.
Another round of word vomit came quickly into his ear, the doctor on the other end trying to cram as much of her diagnosis into lamens terms that he would understand, as he possibly could. He was grasping some of what he was saying though, having heard some of the same words and phrases that the other doctors used when she was in the hospital after giving birth, "I'm with you, doc, but getting my ex-son-in-law on board is going to be a whole other ballgame." Sighing, George tilted his head back, both not wanting to keep being in the middle of their problems, and just wanting peace for even a split second to keep his own sanity. "I'll see what I can do - yeah, thanks for the update."
"You're so tense..." She purred into his ear, feeling his muscles tighten with each drag of her lips down his neck. His hands lowered to her waist, bunching up the hem of her faded red t-shirt hugging her chest tightly as it dipped against his. She was eager, he could tell by the way her breathing increased when his fingertips touched her bare skin, and with one swift motion got the shirt above her head and off her body, exposing her hardened nipples peeking through her blue bra, to him.
He should have been panting, salivating at the thought of pinning his date down on the sofa and pounding into her. But the constriction in his chest prevented it; each kiss to her lips was a betrayal to Amy even though they were no longer together, and she left again. Shaking the negative thoughts away, Ricky pressed on, lowering her onto her back against the cushions and hovering over her, capturing her lower lip with his teeth as he harshly kissed her.
Clementine moaned, accepting the dominance of his tongue mingling with hers, and brought her hands to his neck, slipping her fingers into his dark curls as he trailed his fingers down the center of her chest and fiddled with the opening of her bra; her nipples getting even harder beneath it feeling his touch.
He smirked against her mouth out of habit, trying to extinguish the burn creeping into his lungs and radiating through his chest; desperate to replace the overwhelming ache of betrayal and loneliness, with the familiar one of anger and self-loathing. Sex for sex. No strings, no commitment. Just a girl, and his desires. No more navigating feelings and mind games. That's what he wanted now, even though a couple of weeks ago he had told her the exact opposite. He lied to her then, and he was lying to himself now. But if Amy wasn't ever going to be with him again, he didn't want anyone else. Not in that way, anyway. If he was going to have some girl slur his name, or run her hands down his body, it would be someone he didn't care about; someone he wouldn't allow himself to think of a future with.
The lies bounced through his thoughts intensely, threatening to snap his mind in half at the images of her flashing through like a film reel; chest tightening so much he thought his heart would explode and take him out right then and there.
"What's wrong?" Clementine asked quietly, breaking away from his lips. Her eyes were gentle, searching his that were clouded by lust and pain. He knew this wasn't right, to use Clementine like this to make himself feel better. He cared about her, he did, just not in the same way as he did Amy. It wasn't fair to her to compare, but he couldn't help it. Clementine held a portion of his life before Amy, and Amy held everything else - even his future. There wasn't a comparison to make, just lives to put in the crosshairs of the chaos swirling around him.
Ricky's breath hitched in his throat at her fingers dragging his zipper down. Did she know what he was doing? Did she care? Would she be hurt when she found out he only allowed himself to have sex with her to push Amy further back into his thoughts? How would she react if she knew that the entire time she was giving herself to him, he was imagining someone else? Gulping back the guilt washing over him, he took her hands away from his crotch, and shrugged it off, "Nothing..." lying through his teeth as he drove himself deeper against her, needing to release all of his tangled and tortured feelings in the only way he knew how.
A hard knock interrupted her moan in his ear, fingers gravitating over the waistband of her pale blue shorts, "Did you hear that?" The knock came again, more forceful, and angry. Choosing to ignore it, he pushed on, kissing her harder, and slipping his hand into her shorts - feeling the weight of his actions start to constrict his breathing again. One more hard knock made him huff angrily, sliding off her against her insistence to ignore it and stay, knowing that if he didn't answer whoever was there wasn't going to rest until he did, "I'll get rid of them."Sliding up the couch, she pursed her lips inward, eyes pleading with him to hurry.
Putting his hand to the knob, Ricky opened it before their knuckles could tap the aged wood again. His eyes were harsh, a disproving look on his face as he poked his head out just enough to speak, but shielded what was happening behind him, "Not a good time, George. I don't have anything to say to you." He spit, not wasting any more of his time and closing the door.
George grabbed it before it clicked, shoving it forcefully, with his palm, "Well make time, and I don't care, just listen -" Storming into the space, he paused at the sight, his face contorting in a mix of disappointment and disgust, "Nice distraction." He looked away quickly to avoid seeing the guest's half-naked body, "Mind telling your date to put her clothes back on?"
Clementine's cheeks flushed red, embarrassed by her appearance and the man standing in front of her. She recognized him from another time, and his name rang a bell... George - Amy's dad. Rooting for her shirt, she quickly mumbled out an apology, "Sorry, we were just -"
Putting his hand up, "I know what you were doing." George shifted his footing to the left, getting ready to shut the door just as another person walked up to it.
"I could hear you from the stairs. What's going on in here-" Stopped by the sight, her eyes became wide and she gave an opened-mouth expression first to George, and then to him. "Hello there, I'm Margaret... Ricky's foster mother..." She greeted her, wanting to be polite to the half-naked girl on her son's couch in the middle of the day; her face showing disapproval, while her tone was as nice as she could muster.
Ricky didn't say anything, just stood there with his jaw twitching, embarrassed and frustrated. Clementine gave him a look just as the baby monitor erupted with a beckoning cry.
George scoffed under his breath, taking the walkie-talkie off the bookshelf and thrusting it into his chest, muttering, "Looks like playtimes over, Dad!"
"What does this all mean exactly? You're saying she's had this all along and never told anyone?" His brow furrowed, threading his fingers together with agitation.
George shook his head, pacing across the floor so much he was shocked there wasn't a hole in it, "Not exactly... according to the doctor there - he believes her postpartum depression after Emma's birth, wasn't postpartum: the hospital didn't have an answer so they just threw that diagnosis into her chart and was left unsuccessfully treated. The doctors at the hospital treated her with medications instead of process therapy - using pills to curb the symptoms, while she was still struggling with whatever she actually had." His exclamation was thorough, making sure to remember as many things as he could from his previous phone conversation. He wanted to get a point across to him that Amy wasn't just messing with him, something was seriously wrong with her and they were going to figure out what it was - together. He sighed, "...Which is where he thinks the PTSD comes in as well... Amy's doctors didn't give her the proper treatment, and as a result..." His voice cracked with emotion, having to pause and swallow back the lump in his throat. Tears had started gathering in the brim of his eyes, as he met his, "Now do you understand? You see why I had to take her there? She was a ticking time bomb, Ricky!"
It was quiet for a few minutes - other than Emma's whines and babbles from the other side of the kitchen where Margaret was standing and bouncing to soothe her restless grandchild. Ricky was sitting on the sofa, his hands pressed into the denim of his jeans, gripping his covered flesh with his fingertips. The rage was starting to bubble again. This time though, it was at the doctors and the hospital staff who, because of their neglect, the woman he loved was 3-hours away, and potentially deemed crazy. Because of their desire to push them aside, their lives had been spun upside down and kicked around like a soccer ball; she was struggling, and he didn't know what to do. Nodding silently, he swallowed, "This place - this facility... what exactly do they do? What kind of care is she going to get there versus here? Why THIS specific one? And how did Amy even find it?"
Another long pause before George blew a long breath from his cheeks, "I don't know all the details, but from what I've heard, it's a safe space for her, and that's what she needs right now..."
"What's your take on this?" His head turned slightly to where his mother and daughter stood, reaching for his wedding band that was no longer there out of habit.
Margaret gave George a knowing look, like she was appreciative that he'd managed to keep her involvement in this hidden, but knew he needed to know the truth. So with a light pat on her granddaughter's back, she told him the truth, "I think it's wonderful that Amy's getting proper help. I wouldn't have recommended the place if I didn't think she would do well there."
Ricky's eyes enlarged at her words, pupils dilating as he stood up hastily, unbelieving of what he was hearing. "You - you helped her?" His voice boomed, waking the baby with a rough jolt and a squeaky cry.
George took a step forward, interjecting, "Don't get mad at her, I called and asked for her help-"
"Yeah well... she didn't have to do it!" He spat back, putting his hands over his face to muffle the scream begging to come out of his throat. She had turned against him. His own mother was now helping the woman who abandoned him and her grandkids. He was seeing red, unable to do anything but rage like a bull to keep his rising temper at bay. Before he could even comprehend what his body was doing, he removed his hands from his face and reached for one of the two plastic cups on the coffee table; hurling it through the air and hearing it hit the wall and bounce against the countertop with a clack before hitting the floor - a piece of it missing from the ruins.
George's eyes went wide, grabbing his ex-son-in-laws arm before he could repeat his actions with the other one. "What the hell is wrong with you!" He shouted over the screeching, pulling his elbow down, "I know you're angry, but you need to get a grip!"
Blinking rapidly, Ricky was now able to see what he had meant: the cup on the floor was not nearly as bad as the petrified look of terror on his little girl's face. What had he done? Looking down, ashamed, he quickly rushed over to his screeching baby, taking her into his arms and cradling her against his shoulder with a tear dripping down the side of his jaw.
George bit the inside of his cheek, trying to stall to not say what he really came there for, "There's one more thing..." He trailed, taking a few steps forward and running his hand over what little hair he still had, the weight of his sigh heavy, "... Amy has requested that Emma come to San Diego too..."
At first, he thought it was a joke like George was just trying to mess with him to get back at him for acting like a child throwing a tantrum. But when George's eyes lifted, and he wrung his hands, he knew it wasn't. "Are you out of your mind?" Was his response, scoffing audibly into the air, "Seriously, you have to be to think I'd EVER agree to that!"
George didn't want to do this - be in the middle of all the resentment and hostility - but he knew that for his daughter's sake, he had to be the peacekeeper. If they were going to act like kids with kids, then they were going to be treated like them. "I wasn't asking, Ricky - I'm telling you." His eyes hardened as he spoke, "Amy and her doctors think that having Emma there will be immensely important to Amy's road to recovery, and as her father I agree with them. Which is why I'm telling you, let me take Emma to San Diego. You and I both know it'll do Amy well, and that's what we both want isn't it?"
"What part of this aren't you understanding, George? I'm NOT handing Emma over so you can take her 3-hours away! That's insanity! First Amy just storms off and leaves her behind, and now she wants to take her? Absolutely not! She'll just have to recover some other way because no way in hell am I agreeing to this!"
George stayed silent for a few seconds, drumming his fingers against his lips in thought, "You know Ricky... after what I just saw, you don't seem to have much of a choice..."
Ricky's eyes enlarged again, voice getting harder, "Are you threatening me?" George shrugged, his face contorted in anger. His jaw was twitching, holding the anger beneath its surface as he got closer and stated through clenched teeth a venomous, "Go to hell!" George shook his head and stomped away, slamming the aged wood hard behind him.
Margaret took a breath, trying to figure out the best way to handle everything. "Ricky..." She finally said after a full five minutes of silence where she watched him try to calm himself down by cradling the baby: Her big green eyes were heavy, fighting drooping against the soothing hums from his throat.
At the mention of his name, Ricky simply turned and uttered a quick "no", shaking his head and moving into the living room, "I don't want to discuss it. The answer is no." He leaned over, placing Emma's tired little body into the playpen, and folding her favorite blanket over her when she got fussy because of it and tucking a curl behind her ear.
Waiting until he was sitting on the sofa, Margaret walked into the room, peering over with a smile at her granddaughter sucking her thumb. "I didn't mean to upset you, son. But you know I'm a social worker and it's my job to help people..."
He scoffed at her explanation, touching the bottom of his lip with his teeth, "Help people do what, mom? Run away? Was it your "job" to assist the woman who abandoned me and my kids - YOUR grandkids - get further away from us? Huh?" His leg was bouncing furiously, eyes dark with anger.
She seemed unfazed by his harsh tone, choosing to take a step forward as she stated, "Amy is not a prisoner. She made a conscious decision -"
"One you helped her with!" He shook his head again, "How could you do that to me, Mom? You're supposed to be on MY side!"
Slightly irritated, her tone got rougher, making sure to get her point across no matter how he felt about it. "I'm not taking sides, Ricky. Amy may have messed up and done some stupid and questionable things, but you are not without your faults too!"
"What are you-"
Putting her hand up to stop his interruption, she continued, her eyes turning to slits, "You don't think I know who that girl was, and what you were doing? You don't think I know about the letter and all the fights between the two of you?" She took another step forward, her voice losing the edge, "Ricky... I'm your mother and I love you, but I also love Amy, and she needed help... so I helped her. And I'll continue to do so if she needs me to because I care about her." Taking a small breath, "And if you do too, you'll put your own feelings aside for a minute and realize that she is not okay... but Amy -"
"But Amy nothing!" Ricky boomed, shooting to his feet with a scowl, "Amy made her own choices! What about me, huh? I've done nothing but be here for these kids since they were born! Since Amy left for New York I've been here the whole damn time! So nobody is going to tell me that I need to bow down to Amy's whims! She doesn't get to leave our lives and then come back, demanding things and playing the pity card! Not this time!" Shifting his eyes down, he could feel his jaw tightening again and the rush of blood in his veins. A tear slid down his left cheek, his voice barely above a whisper, "Maybe you should go - I'm sure there's other lost causes out there for you to fix..."
Sighing, Margaret clasped her palms together and stepped up so her eyes would be level with his, stating, "You - you are not a lost cause... and neither is Amy. You both just need to figure out what is best for John and Emma and let everything else go. It's the only way you're going to be able to move forward." At the touch of her hand on his cheek, he turned away, not allowing her to see the tears brimming in his eyes. She pursed her lips, accepting his response, and walked towards the door.
Once it shut behind her, his hands immediately went to his hair, grasping the roots and biting his lip. He wanted to destroy everything; scorch the earth beneath his feet and leave it all behind. The old him would have done just that. If it were 4 years ago, the old him would have punched holes in the walls in a blackout rage and lit up everything he owned; taking off to some unknown location to take out his anger at the world. And he would have probably been in jail because of it. His anger was a weapon; a missile forced on him by his upbringing and inept need to survive. But his mother was right, he wasn't an innocent person in all of this madness - but it was much easier to be angry at Amy than admit his faults.
His eyes landed on that small golden frame now perched on the first shelf next to a discarded rattle.
Flipping the deadbolt shut with the flick of his index finger, he touched her wrist, grasping it to bring her to him. She touched the hem of his collar, planting a sweet kiss on his lips. He smirked into it, running his hands slowly down her body, and stopping at the bottom of her white dress. She started to giggle at the tickle of his fingertips brushing her skin, and moved more into him, her kisses becoming rougher with desire for him. A small moan escaped the back of his throat, his hands now on her backside in preparation to hoist her onto his waist.
Doing just that, he led them to the bed, laying her gently down on the duvet, he removed his suit jacket with haste, throwing it across the room before going to work on nursing her neck. She was taking quick breaths, trying to unbutton his shirt quickly before he got to her earlobe, biting down on it gently, causing her to whisper his name. Bringing himself back up, he lifted the hem of her dress to her stomach, exposing her pink lacy underwear to him - the thought of ripping them off of her and taking his time with it, watching as she withered at his every touch, made his mouth salivate and his lower region twitch. Hooking his fingers into the hem, his brow furrowed at a strange noise coming from above his head; like a monster's snarl before he attacked.
When it happened again, she couldn't help but giggle at the time her stomach needed to release an angry growl. "Okay, okay," Ricky chuckled too, taking his hands away from her body, putting them out to help her off the bed, "If you were hungry, Ames, you could have said something."
"And ruin the moment?" Amy replied with a hint of sarcasm.
"Ha. Ha. Our little Godzilla in there has plans to do that a lot, I'm sure." He smirked at her, taking hold of the phone on the nightstand next to the bed - ordering room service. Hanging up, his lip tipped up, taking a few steps towards her and putting his right hand gently against her covered abdomen while his eyes stayed on hers. A feeling he couldn't place washing over him at the sparkle in her beautiful eyes. "I love you, Mrs. Underwood..."
"I can't believe it!" She shrieked, happily, flopping onto the mattress and holding her hand up to admire her finger.
Smirking, he slid next to her, rolling onto his back, and matching her admiration, "I can't either" he chuckled, leaning over for a kiss. Reciprocating, she put her hands on his cheeks, caressing his face as his tongue gently prodded hers. When he broke away, he pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, staring deeply into her chocolate-brown eyes.
"I love you." They both said in unison, giggling after they did and adding a warranted, "Jinx!"
Grabbing her phone, he knew what she wanted to do - document the moment. Normally he'd protest that it wasn't necessary, but today, at that moment, he wanted to. So Ricky slipped his arm around her waist, and cupped her cheek, grinning with genuine admiration at the way Amy's cheeks drew up to showcase her perfect smile while one hand rested on her abdomen and her other held the phone above them. Cementing that particular piece in time, and its perfection, forever.
The memory disappeared, bringing him back to the harsh reality he was trapped in, with the image wedged between his palms.
With one more glance at it, he opened the front door and did what he did best - erasing everything he'd previously told himself about not letting his anger get the best of him - hurling the golden frame into the air and slamming the door, not caring where it landed, or if it shattered.
Ricky's eyes were closed, breathing heavily like his lungs were ready to collapse. Another panic attack.
When he regained enough control to open his eyes a fraction, he saw the watery green ones peering at him; daggering into his soul with their innocence to extinguish his rage. She whined, flexing her fingers against the blanket clutched in her tiny palm, as little coughs escaped her mouth - getting his attention.
"I don't - I don't really know how to do this - this therapy thing..." She admitted nervously, biting her thumbnail while her eyes stayed on her shoes, "Do I just start talking about myself?"
The woman sitting across from her nodded slowly, "You can if that's what you'd like to do." She crossed her left leg over her right one, clasping her palms together atop her lap, "You can tell me anything you want. We can talk about your life, or your interests, or the weather - Whatever you want, dear."
Amy sighed, "What if I'm not ready to open that box though? Talking about myself, I mean."
"It's only our first session, I'm sure in due time you'll open up. And I will be here to listen." The woman smiled, reaching out and touching her knee gently.
Like Jeanne, this woman was also older, about mid-50s. Her hair was a golden blonde that went almost entirely down her back with bangs sweeping her face on one side, and bright blue eyes. She wore dark-rimmed glasses and had the most perfect, manicured nails she had ever seen. She introduced herself as Olivia, but went by Liv for short after she got married because her married name was "Stong" and she thought the moniker "Liv Strong" was the perfect motivational sign to create for her office; 1 husband, 3 kids, 5 dogs and 2 cats.
"Do you remember what brought you here, Amy? Should we start with that?" Liv asked after a few minutes of silence, taking a pen into her hands and giving it a click.
The sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach had returned, struggling against the fog of her memory, and the lump in her throat, "I don't - I don't really remember much..."
"That'll come to light too, in time, don't worry." Liv jotted down something on a notepad, keeping her eyes focused on her writing, all the while watching her fidget, "You keep touching that scar on your wrist... do you want to talk about that?" Amy's eyes widened slightly, unknowing she was absent-mindedly running her fingers over the healed raised skin, and swallowed quickly, putting her arms down to her sides. Liv put the pen down, "This is a safe space, Amy. If you want to cry - cry. Scream? Be my guest. Punch a pillow, or throw something... the room is at your disposal. Whatever it takes to get you to be able to process what is undoubtedly bouncing through your head. I'm here for it all. Day or night. Because all of this - what we do here - is for women to be able to feel safe and heal from whatever trauma life threw at them." Her voice was soft but stern, looking directly into her eyes as she spoke, "Therapy isn't going to be easy, because it requires us to go places you've kept hidden from others - and unconsciously - even yourself." Amy swallowed again, trying to hold back her tears. "We don't have to go through any of that today. Today is about getting you comfortable. And if you're not, and think someone else might suit your needs better... just let me know. There are many of my colleagues here you could speak to. We are a unit. A unit built to provide a nurturing environment for healing. Okay?"
"You said she was coughing?" Dr. Hightower furrowed her brow, plugging her ears with the stethoscope draped over her neck, "Do you know what kind of cough? Was it a dry, bark-like cough, or a wet, congested one?"
"Is there really a difference?" He shot back a little agitated, bouncing his right leg to keep her calm. She gave him a look. "I don't know - it was just a cough - a baby cough." She started to whine at the cold metal pressed to her onesie, reaching her hand up to grab it from her neck. He glanced down, moving his left hand over her leg, "Could she have possibly choked on something? She's been eating more table foods - maybe something went down wrong?"
Moving the disc around her tiny body, she pursed her lips and unplugged her ears, "I don't hear anything. There's nothing in her lungs, and her chest sounds fine." Switching to a rounded black device she grabbed from her jacket pocket and maneuvered it around the baby's head, "I see a little teething rash starting to form, which is common and probably why she's been coughing - but other than that she seems perfectly healthy." She drew back, smiling at the infant, "Right, Emma? Grabbing hold of the crate paper on the exam table next to their chair, Emma squeal-screamed, trying to bring the material to her mouth.
Taking it away with a look of disgust, Ricky rolled his eyes in frustration at the blonde, "Maybe you should check again."
Catching on to his displeasure, Dr. Hightower took a few steps backward to retrieve the manila file folder on the rolling chair, "Is this really about Emma, Ricky?" Her tone was curious, "...Or is it about Amy?"
"Amy?" He responded harshly, squinting his eyes slightly, an icy edge to his voice, "Why the hell would I be here about Amy? What does she -" He paused, having answered his question by the shift of her posture. "Oh I see... she called you, didn't she?"
Without hesitation, she nodded, "I spoke with her, yes, and her doctors about their request for medical files."
His eyes widened, "Amy's medical records, right?" She pursed her lips, causing him to glare at her, "So you just gave them over without even consulting me? Doesn't that violate some kind of law or something?" Emma raised her hand to his hardened jaw, babbling aggressively.
Crossing her arms over her chest, Dr. Hightower couldn't help but chuckle, "Ricky, HIPA only applies to sharing information with other individuals not listed on a patient's medical records. Amy doesn't fall into that category. She's their mother, and has every right under the law, to obtain or seek her children's medical files."
Ricky wasn't laughing, adjusting his daughter into a standing position on his lap and scoffing, "Great, so she got to you too!" There was a tension-filled pause between them. "I don't believe her -" He mumbled, avoiding her gaze as he bent to retrieve a toy Emma dropped from the floor, "I don't believe her doctors either. How can Amy have PTSD when she's never been anywhere close to war? Her doctors misdiagnosed her before - who is to say they haven't done it again and that maybe Amy is really just crazy?" Giving the toy back to her grabby hands, he kissed her forehead.
"Are you sure you want to discuss this?" The blonde raised a brow at him, taking a seat on the rolling stool, "Bare with me, because I'm about to say something you won't like." He didn't say anything, just shrugged, giving his attention to the baby aggressively biting the toy in her hands. Dr. Hightower nodded, clasping her palms together, "I've had my eye on Amy since Emma's first visit here after her release from the hospital. I could sense just from that one visit - she was struggling. And I fought myself about it because Amy wasn't my patient; I couldn't give unsolicited advice, or ask questions, without spooking her. I had jurisdiction over John and Emma's health and wellbeing - but not Amy's." Pursing her lips, "So I kept my suspicions to myself, and respected that boundary - all the while keeping my finger on the situation by monitoring Emma's response to it: her weight gain, her eating habits, her growth and development - all factors that having postpartum depression can affect. And Amy's location problems only solidified my fears - that Amy was not only struggling but that she was struggling alone." She sighed heavily, looking at the baby rubbing her eyes with her fist, "Like so many in the same situation, she chose to ignore her mental health for the ways of being - being a mother to their son, who she knew didn't understand what was happening around him, and wanted to continue to shield him from it. So she took the backseat: focusing solely on the needs of her children versus her own." Another sigh, "Amy was a very healthy young woman - even after having a baby at 15 - until her placenta previa diagnosis with her second pregnancy. That's a lot for an individual to have to handle. And I believe her doctors at the hospital should have evaluated her more thoroughly before giving their stamp on her because she could have been properly treated before all of this transpired." Raising from the stool, she grabbed the folder off the desk again, "But unfortunately the health care system isn't perfect, and more often than anyone would like, young women like Amy, slip through the cracks."
His eyes were down again, trying to process all the new information without getting angry that such important details were kept from him, "Why didn't you share any of this with anyone?" Jaw twitching again, and eyes hardening, "Me, or George, or Anne, or my mom... someone? Someone who could have stepped in and helped her before it was too late? Why are you just telling me these things if you've known them the whole time, huh? Why?"
"I understand your frustration... but as you so helpfully pointed out earlier - HIPA prevents me from disclosing any information or comments about a patient, with another individual." She stated firmly, "Amy isn't my patient anymore. I can't legally share my suspicions or thoughts, or anything with anyone except her. Not even her parents because she's over 18. I am however required by law to disclose any information about John or Emma - to you, but that's it." Taking a pen out of her pocket, she clicked it and wrote down something inside the folder before turning back to him, "The only reason I'm even sharing this with you now is that I've spoken with Amy and her doctors at the treatment center, and they've given me clearance to reopen Amy's medical files and compare that of Emma's files to see if there is a thread connecting Amy's diagnosis to Emma's wellbeing."
This got Ricky's attention, losing the edge from his voice and replacing it with concern upon wiping the drool dribbling down Emma's chin with the hem of his t-shirt, "And is there?"
Jotting down a few more sentences, Dr. Hightower closed the folder and took a seat on the stool again, "...Post Traumatic Stress Disorder doesn't mean someone has to go to war or go through such trauma that they can't function. Trauma comes in all spades, and there's no one size fits all approach to unlocking it, or coping with it." Reaching out, she touched Emma's pink sock-covered foot, scrunching her nose playfully at the response she gave her: a quick reflex followed by a giggle and a snort. His lip tipped up at it too. "Ricky, Amy had a very traumatic birthing experience with Emma. That's just a fact. She almost died bringing this little girl into the world... Understandably, she would have lasting mental effects because of it. And again, like most women in that situation, she chose to ignore it and pretend she was okay... because admitting she wasn't, was a weakness to her." Repeating the same routine as before - rising from the stool, and jotting down more into the folder - she took the black hair tie from her wrist, using it as a demonstration tool as she pulled on it, "Over time, if an individual keeps stuffing things down, it becomes routine; a habit; a coping mechanism. Until it becomes dangerous... because now you've stuffed down everything, and there's no more room for anything else. You become numb, and agitated, feeling as if nobody could possibly understand what you're feeling... the rubberband of life just keeps being pulled and pulled, and pulled until... Snap!" The band split with a pop and fell to the ground, getting the baby's attention and pointing at it with a whine.
Ricky sighed, knowing that as much as he hated to admit it, Dr. Hightower was making valid points. "Do you know Amy wants to take her to San Diego?"
"I do." She nodded
"And you think it's a bad idea, right?" He pressed, blowing a breath from his cheeks at her silence answering for her, "Please tell me how you think taking my child away from me wouldn't be a bad idea!" His elevated voice caused Emma to hiccup and whine, squirming to get down from his lap.
"I think having Emma there, would help Amy come to grips with her diagnosis, yes." Watching him swallow roughly at her direct statement, her eyes softened, empathic to his feelings, "I know you're scared... scared that if you allow her to be with her, she'll forget you and that bond you've built with her will disappear; you'll become a stranger to her because you allowed himself to separate from her... It's perfectly normal to have those feelings, Ricky. Emma is your baby after all. I would be more concerned if you weren't torn up about it - but I'll tell you this: this little girl, isn't going anywhere. Even if Emma goes to be with Amy for a bit, that bond - that attachment she has for you - won't suffer because of it. Her love won't pick and choose - at least not until she's a teenager, that is." They both chuckled at the joke. Ricky drew Emma closer to his chest as she grabbed at his nose. The blonde smiled, "Emma's at the age now where building strong, healthy bonds with caretakers is crucial, and she's already got a very healthy one for you. Amy realizes this as well, and knows that she doesn't have the same kind of bond with her that you do... but she's trying to change that..." Jotting down one more sentence before shutting the folder and tucking it under her arm, she met his eyes, "So ask yourself this - don't you want her to have the same kind of attachment she has to you, her father, - for Amy, her mother?"
"No, Gran-pa not th-at one!" He shouted, taking the blue block from his hands to prevent him from using it, cocking his head, "Kaff-ween - you jus h-elp Gran-pa?"
George shook his head at the boy, grabbing a different colored large plastic lego from the table, "I don't need any help. I know how to build a tower!"
"George, it's leaning..." She chuckled, adjusting it with her hands just as it fell apart and crashed onto the floor.
Defeated, he threw his hands up and slunk back against the couch cushion, "I never said I knew how to make a good one."
She was still laughing, as was he, nodding in agreement. "Clearly."
Dropping to his knees and picking the blocks up off the floor just as the door opened, "Daddy!" John scurried to his feet and rushed into his legs.
"Hey, buddy." Ricky greeted back, tightening his grip on the baby in his arm at the collision, lip tipping up at his son, "How was school?"
He beamed with excitement, "Goooddd! Ms. Bwook jus g-iv us animwal cwackwers for sn-ack!"
"Ohh, exciting! Did you get a tiger?" John nodded vigorously. Ricky tousled his hair, "That's your favorite animal, huh?" He nodded again, reaching his arms up to him.
George took a few steps forward, avoiding making direct eye contact with him as he touched his grandson's shoulder, "Hey, little man - can you help Kathleen build that tower again? She really wants to fix it with you."
Cocking his head at his insistence, John glanced over at Kathleen before shrugging, "OK" and plopping down on the cushion, taking the blocks in his small hands with an excited squeak, "We jus go-in bwuild it so big!"
Blowing a small breath from his cheeks, Ricky shifted the baby's weight in his arm, walked over to the playpen, and put her inside; kissing the top of her head and handing her a toy. He knew what George was doing - distracting John so he could corner him. It was obvious by the lack of eye contact and the shifting of his feet. Once he rose back up, George quickly, flicked his arm and motioned towards the hallway with his head. Ricky shook his head in response, but the older man wasn't letting up, even gritting his teeth with a more aggressive neck motion.
Sighing, he led the way, stopping right when George closed the door behind him, "Look, I don't want to do this alright? I appreciate you going to get John, but I'm not changing my mind. So if you just came here to try to threaten me again - you're wasting your time."
He took a half-step towards him, his head hung low, "You think I don't know how hard this is on you? I do. I know this is the last thing you want. But now I'm coming to you - man to man; father to father... If you would have seen Amy when I found her... so broken... you'd understand where I'm coming from." George sniffled, twisting his ring, "And I hope as a father you never have to experience it; the deep crippling fear displayed behind their eyes, knowing something wasn't right... It's not a fun feeling." Pausing, he wiped a stray tear from his cheek, meeting his ex-son-in-law's anger filled eyes, "But if you were in that situation... wouldn't you do everything in your power to help them? Wouldn't you move heaven and earth to protect them, no matter what the consequences?" His eyes softened just a hare, swallowing quickly, "I know you - I know if it were John or Emma, you would scorch the earth beneath your feet, regardless of the fallout."
He was right, he would. If it were John or Emma in peril, there's nothing he wouldn't do, and no amount of fallout he would care about to protect them.
He sighed, "I don't want to fight with you, Ricky. I really don't. But I have to focus on MY daughter, and her issues, and a part of that is this -" gesturing with a quick flick of his wrist between the two of them. "Amy isn't okay. She's just not. And the last thing she needs is more anger, hostility, and resentment towards her from the man who vowed to love her forever."
That word made his blood start to boil, and angrily started shouting, at him, "Don't talk to me about vows! She broke those the minute she decided New York was more important than us! And we weren't really married, remember? You know because she also lied about that too!" Ricky shook his head, closing his eyes, "If she really loved me - loved us - she wouldn't have left! She would have stayed here and been a mother to our kids. A good mother!" A small sniffle, "But instead, she walked away and left us behind, not caring how it affected me, or them!" Opening his eyes, he made sure to meet his, and with an icy edge to his voice declared, "So yes, George, she does deserve my anger, and my hostility, and resentment! She deserves more than that because SHE chose this! She chose to walk away - again! Our vows didn't mean shit to her when she said them, and they don't mean anything now! And you can tell her that! I'm done here!"
He started to stomp off, getting his hand on the knob just as Geoege's hand grabbed his elbow. "Amy's not perfect, I know that! But hey, neither are you! I seem to remember a time when you also took off for a beat -"
Shaking him off, Ricky's jaw began to twitch, "Don't compare the two - they're not the same. My going to seek out my mother to get closure and understanding isn't even close to Amy's blatant lies and departure."
George shrugged, "Apples to oranges - the point is, you became overwhelmed and took off to cool off, right? Nobody said you didn't have a right to do so, and nobody called you a bad father because of it! You demonizing Amy isn't doing anyone any good! Especially your children -"
Having enough of his ex-father-in-law questioning his judgment, Ricky shoved a finger into his chest, his tone dropping to a low and venomous level, "Leave them out of this! I'm tired of people thinking they know better than me about what's best for them. They are MY kids, alright! You know who advocates for them? ME! Not you - not anyone else - Me!" Lowering his finger, "And in doing that I won't allow anyone to dictate what I will - or won't - do! That includes you."
While his finger was pointed at his chest, George reached into his pocket, pulling out the picture he had picked out of the remnants of the now swept-up glass on the other side of the hallway. He shoved it against his chest, muttering, "... Does this look like someone who is trying to manipulate you?" Gesturing to the image of them both, smiling and happy, with a sad sigh, "You know Amy sent me this picture that night... and even through a text message... I could tell she was happy; in love and beaming..." He sniffled, "She needs love and support... Ricky... She needs someone to fight for her." Ricky's jaw twitched again, but this time it wasn't out of anger. "She loved you, regardless of what you think, or what you tell yourself... she did. And she loves those children, even more than she loved you." His eyes were starting to brim with tears, "You can hide it all you want, but I know - and you know - that you're fighting me because you know I'm right. You see it too. You see Amy isn't okay, and it's killing you - so you keep trying to bury it by pretending you don't care. But I know you do. We know each other well enough now for me to see it." They both paused before George let out a little chuckle, "Where's the man who defied my direct order to stay away from my daughter when she was pregnant? Or the guy who waltzed into my kitchen to tell me there wasn't really anything I could say that would deter Amy from moving in with him? Huh? What about how you went around me and asked her to marry you, without asking for my blessing? Or going toe-to-toe with Anne because she upset her? Where's that man?" Ricky's eyes were now brimmed with tears, being plagued by all the memories swirling together like a tornado and making his chest hurt.
Putting a hand on his shoulder, George lowered his voice, "I know you're hurt and angry - Hell, we all are - but don't let that cloud your judgment, or your true feelings... You vowed to love my daughter, and be there through sickness and health... regardless of the marriage being void, those vows still hold true: you loved her through all of the other stuff... why not now?"
About to respond against the lump in his throat threatening to strangle him, he was cut off by a loud beckoning from the other side of the door, "Daddy!"
Knowing he had said all he could without hurting him any further, George swiped at his left eye and nodded slowly, "Think about it..."
As his grandson's beckoning became louder, "C'mere, daddy!" Walking past him, he opened the door to attend to the boy, who held a wide grin that looked like his mothers did when she was that age.
Standing there, Ricky glanced down at the photo gripped between his forefinger and thumb, creasing the once-perfect cardstock.
They were sleeping - or at least he was - on the hotel bed, wrapped beneath the sheets. He was dreaming; feeling the bliss of uninterrupted slumber coupled with gratitude and admiration for the woman lying naked next to him; unbelieving that she was his wife and they had the perfect little family.
He felt a shift in the sheets, her body heat wrapping over him like a warm blanket. Not wanting to leave the state of peace, but also not wanting to miss a second of seeing her beautiful face, he slowly opened one eye.
She giggled at the gesture, "That's all I get? Really?" Moving her hand slowly down under the sheet until her fingertips brushed his thigh.
Knowing her game, he opened his other eye and chuckled, his words slurred with sleep, "Unless you're planning on treating me to something..." He shifted her hand over to her side of the bed, "You'll let me go back to sleep."
"Treat you?" She cocked a brow, a smirk coming to her lips, "I thought I did that plenty tonight..." Reaching over, she caressed his cheek, shifting her weight so she was rolling on top of him.
With a tired smirk, he pressed his lips to hers, giving her a sweet peck. "I love you, Ames, but you wore me out." He gave her another peck, brushing a strand of hair from her face, "Come to bed with me." Her lip tipped up slightly, lowering her head to kiss his chest before rolling off of him and grabbing her nightgown off the end of the bed. He followed suit, reaching for his t-shirt piled on the floor and slipping it over his head. Nestling into his side, she put her head on his chest and closed her eyes; taking in the calming sound of his heartbeat as they both slipped into slumber.
"Look Gran-pa! Look Daddy! My t-ower is so big!" John beamed, throwing his hands above his head in accomplishment, and giggling at the one built starting to lean to the right, "Kaff-ween jus bwuild a littlest one!"
Kathleen smiled at him, playing into his enthusiasm, "Well you'll just have to teach me how to make one as big as yours, huh?" He nodded vigorously, biting his bottom lip.
George nodded too, bending forward to tousle his grandson's short, buzzed, locks, "That sounds like fun, but we should go -" before kissing his forehead, "See you later, little man!" Doing the same to his granddaughter chewing on her fingers inside the playpen, and giving a little wave, "Bye-bye, monkey."
Raising off the couch to stand, Kathleen took hold of his elbow and whispered, "Can I meet you downstairs?" He looked into her eyes, noting how she subtly kept glancing at the young man on the other side of the room, knowing she had a secret plan up her sleeve. When she released her grip on his elbow, George nodded and made his way out the door, closing it softly.
His eyes were low, fixated on the array of toys littered across the pink blanket spread out on the floor, purposely avoiding her gaze to prevent himself from saying something he might regret.
"You know, Amy wasn't the only one who suffered trauma that day... you did too." She stated softly, keeping her eyes on him, "Nobody wants to ask how it affected you - do they? How you were also very broken by it all."
Ricky sniffled at her words, raising his head to let her see the tears brimming in his eyes, "Why didn't I see it? Huh? What kind of monster doesn't notice his wife falling apart at the seams? I was so blinded to everything but my own needs, that I -" He paused, choking on the lump in his throat, "I should have freaking realized something was off and she wasn't okay!" The tears slid down his cheek, his voice barely above a whisper, "Do you think it's too late for her?"
Without hesitation, Kathleen wrapped him in a hug, "No, I don't - she's taking the steps, and getting the help... if treated properly she can beat this. I have confidence and faith that she will."
Pulling back, he sniffled, "What makes you so sure though?" Swiping his cheeks with his right palm, "What if she's never the same?"
She shook her head, "You can't think that way... it's not good for either of you..." Pushing her hair back from her face with her hands, she sighed, "After I had Grace, I was like Amy..." touching her necklace apprehensively as she began to explain, "Something shifted in me after we got home from the hospital and it seemed like physically my body was there, but my mind was elsewhere all the time. I never neglected Grace or anything, but I wasn't bonding with her either. I would tend to her needs while ignoring my own: I didn't sleep, barely ate, and was just in an unconscious state of panic that something was going to happen to my baby..." Taking a deep breath, she swallowed roughly, "One day - after Grace had turned 6 months old - Marshall found me curled up on the bathroom floor, with my knees drawn into my chest. Grace was crying from her crib - she hadn't stopped since Marshall had left that morning. Nothing seemed to please her... it became too much and I just needed a moment to myself before I lost my mind." Another sigh, "Marshall barged in and pulled me to my feet - giving me the ultimatum: pull myself together, or he was leaving with the baby."
Pausing for a moment, Kathleen sniffled and started twisting her wedding ring, "After he slammed the door in my face and went back outside, I grabbed her and locked us both inside my bedroom; afraid that if I didn't, she would hurt herself, or Marshall would take her away... I reached out to my mother - but to no surprise, was told to suck it up, put on a smile, and push the thoughts from my mind before the church got wind of what was going on, and looked down on Marshall..."
His face held an odd expression, taking in the story and the important details within it, but not knowing how to respond to what he was being told, "Why are you telling me all of this?"
She touched her necklace again, fiddling more with it than before, "... Because I was forced to conceal my struggles and bury my emotions to appease others, regardless of how it affected me for fear of ridicule and judgment if anyone knew the truth." She sniffled quietly, "Most women suffer quietly because society has attached this stigma that every woman needs to be a doting wife and mother... who cares if you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders though, right? Smile for the people, and cry alone in the dark when nobody is around because it's the only way to release what you've been forced to bottle up! And if you don't, you're deemed crazy and need to be locked up somewhere..." Another sniffle, "Forget about our struggles and emotions though, because we're mothers - we need to be thankful for it... but society doesn't see the toll being a mother really takes on a woman, do they? They don't see the weight gain, or the hair loss, or the feelings of inadequacy when looking at themselves in the mirror. Nor do they see the overwhelming exhaustion coursing through every fiber of our bodies to try and get through another day." Her fists were balled at her sides, the emotion and anger starting to rise out of her normally composed body.
Taking another long breath, and unclenching her palms, she relaxed, "My point is - Amy didn't want you to see her struggling, because it showed weakness. She was determined to stuff it down by denying anything was wrong, until there wasn't any more room to do so and it was consuming her from the inside out." Touching his shoulder, she made sure her tone was soft, comforting, "There's nothing you, or George, or anyone could have done at that point. The damage was done. And I'm not advocating for one side or another. I respect where George is coming from, but ultimately you have to decide on Emma's behalf. But before you just set it aside, I wanted to clarify some things for you. And I hope it helped at least a little bit. But I know this isn't easy for you, or for John or even George - but George is coming from a good place - he just wants to see his daughter get better..." With a light tap on his shirt, Kathleen gave him a nod and made her way to the door, accomplishing what she set out to do with minimal damage. She could see the internal struggle he was having with himself in his face and in his eyes; the pain and guilt he was feeling over Amy's diagnosis plaguing him while the anger was still raging. And as much as it hurt her to see it, she knew she had no place in fixing it, and left him be.
When she left, John rushed over to him, grabbing his hand quickly and ramming his head into his palm. He could see the tears running down his daddy's cheeks and knew he was sad and needed cheering up.
Ricky sniffled hard, running his other hand over his face, "Hey bud."
The boy cocked his head to the side, swinging his hand with his own, "Daddy - I'm hungwey!"
Ricky sniffled again, nodding, "Me too. Whatcha thinking?"
Closing his eyes for a moment, John tapped his lips with his forefinger and proclaimed, "Um, um rwelly hot-dogs and dino-mac is jus the good-est!"
"You know that actually sounds perfect." He agreed with a smile, grabbing his son's face with his hand and shoving it playfully, "Do me a favor - keep an eye on Emma while I make a phone call real quick, okay?"
The tot nodded quickly and turned on his heel, putting his hands up and curling his fingers while shouting out, "Boo!" Making his sister giggle.
Seeing that they were entertaining each other, Ricky quickly slid into the bedroom and dialed the first number in his contacts, blowing out a breath when he got the machine.
"Boo! I s-ee you!" John squealed, popping up from the other side of the playpen, with his hands covering his eyes. Emma was mesmerized by him, her green eyes lit up while she loudly shrieked in excitement each time he repeated the game.
Coming back into the room, Ricky grabbed him up and hoisted him over his shoulder backward, "Is dinner done yet? I'm starving!"
Cackling at the action, John pointed, "Noo-hooo daddyyy! You hav to do it!"
Tickling his son's stomach, he swung him back upright, questioning, "Me? Why me?"
His little brow raised slightly, eyes squinting like he couldn't believe he asked such a dumb question. He got that look from his mother. "Cuz I t-oo little!"
"I'm sorry about before - can we talk?" His voice softly came through the receiver, being saved before it replayed for the fourth time. Her feet were resting upon the wall, head low, facing upside down on the couch in the little apartment.
After group, she felt a strange sense of calm wash over her, like she knew exactly that this place was where she needed to be. During her individual therapy session, however, she also realized that in order for her to get better, she was going to have to allow herself to be vulnerable, and open up some boxes that she was barricading herself against to remain closed. The thought of unlocking years of trauma - both within her home life, and her relationships, was nothing compared to reliving the day their daughter was born; a day she fought so hard within herself to forget; a day that would always haunt her no matter how much she pushed it aside, or chose to deny it. It was unfortunately a part of her, and they were going to chip away bit by bit until she was curled into a ball on the floor, having to come to terms with it.
It scared her to think of it.
Replaying the message again, Amy honed in on his tone - the way his breaths wavered when he spoke. She could always tell what he was feeling by the tone of his voice - that was one hidden detail about him that even he knew she could crack. He sounded sad... pained even: a tiny crack in his voice between "I'm sorry" and "Can we talk." He uttered those same words, in that same tone, another time as well: The night before John's meditation hearing.
"I'm sorry about before - Can we please just talk?" He pleaded through the receiver, a long breath passing his lips just as the machine cut off and asked if she'd like to replay, save, or delete the message. Ignoring the prompts, she moved her jaw, careful of their child sleeping peacefully in her arms; his eyelids fluttering ever so slightly in dreams. She had his right hand in hers, stroking his perfect little fingers with her thumb, trying not to cry and wake him.
The mediation was set for tomorrow afternoon. 12:45 to be exact. She looked over at the clock on the nightstand - its green digits telling it was half past midnight: 12 hours until her life would change, and her comfortability would be ruined.
John sighed heavily in his sleep; his chest slowly rising just to fall quickly, and with a small snort just for comedic relief for her. She giggled, craning her neck a little to kiss his cheek sweetly, closing her eyes and seeing the error in her logic. She told Ricky at the park she didn't want John to love him. It was wrong. It was selfish. It was untrue because John already did love him. He loved Ricky so much that he constantly squealed "Dada!" whenever he just sensed his presence. He was half of Ricky, and that both delighted her and scared her.
Why did she say she didn't want John to love Ricky though?
Amy sighed heavily, realizing that her own feelings were starting to trickle through and that the hurt and betrayal given to her by Ricky that night at Bandcamp, would also be passed onto their little guy - and the idea of that - the idea of his heart getting broken by the same person who broke hers - scared her, and was clouding her judgment about their son's wellbeing. Or was it? He had just come back from being gone for a whole week - he left without so much as a goodbye... who's to say he wouldn't do it again? Who's to say he wouldn't get angry and take John with him?
Her breathing started to quicken in anger at the thought; pushing to the surface her feelings about Ricky's impromptu departure the week before. At first, she was concerned - it was unlike him to leave without at least seeing John first - but as the week went on, a whole slew of emotions were hitting her: she was happy she got John to herself, but also upset because John didn't understand the situation, or why "dada" wasn't coming over. He cried a couple of times for him, and it broke her heart, but also fueled her anger: anger for leaving her yet again, only this time she didn't sob in heartbreak - she seethed in rage. Everyone was blaming her for his leaving - like she caused him to abandon their son even after he swore he never would. The snickers, points, and stares of hatred and ridicule were all geared towards her because she was the one who got him into the situation he felt he needed away from.
Or as Adrian so snidefully put it, "Maybe he's tired of playing daddy..."
Amy hated her. She hated Adrian. So regardless of how she felt about Ricky - at least one good thing came of his leaving town: he and Adrian were over for good and she wouldn't have to deal with her anymore. Or at least she wouldn't have to deal with them anymore. After all, Adrian did help her rally her friends in support of her during their custody argument. With another sigh, she saw the laptop on the bed, remembering that he was also rallying their friends for their support, and knowing his power of persuasion, he would get it.
Tilting her head back against the chair, she took slow breaths and closed her eyes, feeling John's fingers twitch in her grasp, and tipping her lip up.
A weird, soft knock, drew her out of her thoughts, the tears gathering on her cheeks as the picture on her phone screen stared back at her. It was fixed now, the smiles of their children no longer ruined by tiny fractures... and his eyes no longer hidden behind a large crack of glass. The only one missing from the picture? Her.
The knocking became louder and more forceful like the person on the other side was in desperate need to speak with her. So with a heavy sigh, she slung herself over the sofa and onto the carpet, getting up and begrudgingly turning the knob.
In front her of stood a few of the girls from the group - Taylor had her hand balled into a fist, preparing to knock again, and another girl, who she thought was named Nicole, stood next to her. Both girls had smiles on their faces, as they asked, "Would you like to join us at the rec?" Amy opened her mouth to politely decline their invite, but before she could, Nicole grabbed her hand, puckering her lip out like John did when he wanted the candy she had in her purse. "It'll be fun, I promise! We all meet at the rec once a week to unwind and socialize outside of group - plus Shiela makes killer food: her chicken pot pie is to die for! You have to come!"
Taylor joined in, nodding quickly at Nicole's persistence, "Just try it. If you don't like it, you can come back here and we will never ask again - okay?"
"There we go - now we're all clean. Until you decide to make another mess - huh?" He quipped, running his hand through her disheveled dark curls under the towel she was wrapped in as they exited the bathroom. She giggled at the action, making him chuckle, "Is that funny?" She continued to giggle. He nodded, "Yeah it is, because you know it's true." Tossing her in the air gently before disappearing into the bedroom to get her changed from the bath he had just given her.
During dinner, Emma had taken an interest in mimicking her brother as he tilted his bowl of Mac and cheese up to his mouth to catch the noodles on the side of the bowl. Only while his mouth was able to catch the remnants, hers was not, and a glob of watered-down artificial cheese sauce plopped on her face and ran down her body; covering her, the highchair, and creating a puddle on the floor. Which then immediately led to a bath.
Coming back into the living room, they paused at the coffee table, Ricky's lip tipping up at the sight of his son in deep concentration, hovering over a coloring book, with his tongue pushed out. He chuckled, "Whatcha coloring, buddy?"
Without looking up, John answered, "A pit-chwer for mommy." Grabbing a purple crayon from the stack of seven rolling around the table, and holding it up for him to see, "I got dis one cuz it mommy's f-av-wit c-olur..." his son's little nod of approval at himself, made him smile - but quickly start to wane as he lifted the now finished drawing up and beamed, "I go-in to g-iv it to mommy at skool!"
Knowing he couldn't keep putting off the inevitable, Ricky sighed lowly so the boy wouldn't hear him, and situated the baby safely on the couch before taking a place on the cushion opposite. Leaning down slightly so he was level with his eyes, he touched his arm gently, "Well you're doing such a good job, mommy's gonna love it... can I talk to you for a minute, John?" John glanced at his picture nervously, his lips starting to purse in thought. "You're not in trouble, daddy just needs to talk to you..." Accepting that answer, he nodded and climbed up beside him, tilting his head up, his eyes curious.
Picking him up and putting him on his lap, Ricky grabbed his hand gently and stroked his knuckles with his thumb, "You know how much mommy and daddy love you, right? That you and your sister are the most important people to us, and that we love you both and want the absolute best for you... you understand that, don't you?" John nodded. "Okay, good... because I found mommy..." This got his attention, and his head immediately snapped over to the door, ready to jump off his lap. Steadying him, he continued, "She's in a place called San Diego: it's a few hours away from here, not as far as the school mommy went to in New York, but still far enough that we can't just go visit after dinner -"
Ricky could tell by the way John's eyes were starting to glaze over that his little mind was spinning, trying to understand. "Why is her jus in San D-wago, Daddy?"
"Well... she's there because she's getting treatment from some really nice doctors who are trying to help her - " He answered honestly, mouth slightly agape to gather his thoughts on how exactly to explain Post Partum Depression and PTSD to a toddler. Would he even understand any of it? Or would he just feel the crushing weight of her absence once more? Would it be too much for him, and lead him right back into Dr. Sarah's office, being scrutinized by individuals who didn't know him, and only saw the issues he was having - not understanding the hell he was going through? The thought of strangers judging him made his breathing start to quicken slightly.
Poking his finger into his dad's shirt pocket, he mumbled sadly, "Is mommy s-ick?"
"Uh - yeah, kinda... Mommy's body is okay, but her head isn't feeling good." Ricky swallowed, knowing he had to figure out how best to break this all down to the boy. Emma snorted, thrusting a teething ring into her mouth and crawling towards them. John touched her hand, quickly drawing it back with a grimace and shaking it to rid the saliva from it. Taking a breath, Ricky set his eyes on his again, "You remember when Mommy had Emma? And they were both in the hospital because they were sick, and mommy was sad?" John nodded. "Well, this is kinda like that. Mommy is being seen by doctors and therapists who are trying to help her get better because after she left the hospital with Emma, she got sick again... sort of like how when you went back to the nursery, you got sick, remember? You got sick and got better, but then you went back to the nursery and got sick again..." He continued nodding, twisting his fingers. "When mommy got sick again... she didn't tell anyone..." Ricky's tone lowered, trying not to let his emotions show, "She wasn't as sad anymore as she was when she had Emma, but she wasn't all the way better either. She was... overwhelmed... yeah, that's a better word. Mommy was very overwhelmed - amongst other things... and her brain just became very... sleepy."
Emma slammed her teether on their father's knee, eagerly babbling to get his attention. John looked at her with a blank expression, swiping her hand away, his eyes lowering, "Why did her bw-ain jus not t-ak a nap th-oo?"
Pausing to situate her ansty self more properly, Ricky stroked his hand again, "See, in a way it kinda did - mommy's brain was sleepy while her body was awake, and when her body was asleep, her brain was awake. She couldn't get them to balance, which is why she would always fall asleep during playtime with you, but be up all night with Emma." Having heard her name, she looked up and chortled before shoving her foot in her mouth. He chuckled softly at her, "But lucky for us, these really nice doctors are gonna help Mommy get better. It's just gonna take a little bit of time -"
"Jus a l-ong twime? Too-marwo?" John interrupted, his eyes wide
Swallowing, Ricky's voice cracked a little with sadness. He had to be the bad guy and dash his son's hopes, "A little longer than tomorrow, buddy... mommy isn't gonna be home for a while."
John's head fell, turning away from him, rubbing his eye with his fist, and starting to sniffle, "Mommy jus w-ent bye-bye again..." Emma whined at his words, grasping onto him to try to pull herself up. Ricky didn't flinch, just held his sad frown while a few tears rolled down his cheeks.
"Do you want me to take him?" He asked, putting his hands out towards them in the hallway.
He glanced between him lying against his shoulder and the door in front of them, nodding slowly while releasing a big sigh, "I think it would be best - they're telling her about her setback right now..."
George touched his face with his palm, sadness playing into his features, "How's she going to take it?"
"Probably not well." Ricky sighed again, hating that they were once again in this unknown state of waiting, and hating what it was doing to their whole family. Every time it seemed like their daughter's recovery took a step forward in the right direction, she would have something come up that pushed them two steps back in the wrong direction. And while he understood some of it, and was able to cope with it better, Amy was not. Amy carried that baby all those months and didn't know how to handle not being able to touch her. Which is why she had been under some more supervision as of late because, for every victory, she could feel the heartbreak coming. And unfortunately, today it was one of those times. "They were supposed to let her do skin-to-skin today. But now -" A loud crash sounded from behind the door and it took all of five seconds before George threw it open and they saw her standing there.
"I hate this stupid place!" Amy screamed, weeping into her hands that were covering her face, "She's MY baby! I'm not going to hurt her!"
They gave each other a look, both ready for John to be taken away from the scene. Ricky put him down on his feet, walking him over to his grandpa who picked him up with ease, "Hey...little man, what do you say we go get a happy meal for dinner?"
John didn't flinch, just held a blank stare at the wall and rubbed his eye, "I wa-nt mommy..."
Patting his back, George kissed his forehead, "I know buddy, but mommy is a little... sad about the baby right now. So we're going to let her and Daddy have some time while we go back home to Kathleen and Robbie, okay?" He tried to make it sound fun because John and Robbie always had fun, but he could tell the constant being whisked away from his parents was starting to get to him. John was only two and a half. He didn't understand all of what was happening around him, and with Amy being so unstable at certain times with her mood swings and outbursts, Ricky didn't want John to have to see her like that. So it was easier on everyone if he just went back home. Easier for everyone, except John who just cried for his mommy the large majority of the time.
John shook his head passionately, kicking his legs against his grandfather's torso in a tantrum, "No! I wa-nttt mommyyy c-um hwo-meee!"
Grasping onto his body a little tighter, George took the beating and put his hand on his son-in-law's shoulder, "Keep me posted."
Ricky nodded, swiping his hand over his son's red tearstained cheeks and kissing the top of his head, "Bye buddy, I love you." She was still on the other side of the room, crying into her hands, not paying attention.
With a small shrug, George turned on his heel and headed out into the hallway, John's shrieks breaking Ricky's heart, "M-momm-yyy!"
"I want mommy c-om hwo-me..." He continued to cry softly into his palms, breaking him from the memory. She was on her back, also crying.
Shifting his weight on his lap, Ricky scooped her up and settled them both, resting his cheek against his son's head as he comforted, "I know you miss mommy, buddy, I do too..." She whined again, flexing her fingers against his shirt and then headbutting into his torso tiredly. Now came the harder part of the conversation. "But now I gotta tell you something, and it's - it's... there's gonna be some changes for us, John..." He trailed, blowing a breath from his cheeks to buy even a fraction of more time to collect his thoughts, but he knew he had to just rip the bandaid off and come clean, "... Mommy, and her doctors... they think mommy would get better faster if Emma was there with mommy... not forever, just a little bit... just until mommy's brain isn't so sad anymore."
John's red face peered up at him, breaking him even more with his squeaky voice asking, "Me go-in t-oo?"
Ricky shook his head slowly and sadly, feeling his heart start to physically ache from the pain swimming in his son's big brown eyes as they welled up with tears and he immediately started crying again. "I'm sorry, John... I can't pull you out of school or else you'll lose your spot... and you don't want to leave your little friends, do you?"
"I - I ww-wa- want m-mm- mommyyy!" He whimpered through rushed breaths, choking on them.
Wrapping his arms tightly around both of them, he kissed his head repeatedly, letting his own tears fall on his short blonde hair, "I know... but hey you have me, and if Emma is gone to be with Mommy, who will I cuddle with?" John's cries softened just a little, as he nestled into his chest. Ricky sniffled, patting his back soothingly, "You're always such a good cuddler..." When his son's breathing had evened out and his cries had ceased, Ricky pulled back slightly and raised his chin with his finger, his voice low, "I know this is a lot to grasp, John. I don't like mommy being gone anymore either..." swallowing, he wiped his eye with his other hand, "Which is why we need to help mommy get better. If she gets better, she'll come home for good, and be with us again..." John nodded slowly, biting his lip to prevent himself from crying again. His lip tipped up in a half smile, kissing the top of both their heads, "We can be sad - that's okay. You can cry. But just know that your mommy loves you so much and that she'd be really happy to know you are supporting her and trying to help her get better - both of you." He nodded again and grabbed his sister, pulling her against him and patting her back.
"This is good," she nodded, twisting her fork into the mound of lasagna sprinkled with grated parmesan on the plate in front of her.
The rec room where they were sitting was bustling with women having conversations, while children chased each other around the rounded tables, some of them old enough to acknowledge the many people staring at them for their behavior. The blonde sitting across from her, rose her chin, giving a knowing look to the boy across the floor flipping his dark hair out of his eyes. "Fe!" She warned, pointing now to the child with a sternness in her eyes, before turning her attention back to the table, "Sorry, Felix can get a bit rowdy."
Mickey took another bite of her food, nodding, "Grey was an animal. Always climbing on everything..." She trailed, glancing over to her, "What about you, Amy? What's your little ones like?"
Caught off by the question, she swallowed too quickly and coughed, "Me?" They both nodded. Her throat got dry, gulping water from the glass on the table, "They - I don't know... they're kids..."
Taylor scoffed through closed lips, "Yes honey, we know that - what are they like? Like what do they like to do? What are their names?" Amy stayed silent, now poking at her food with the fork. She shrugged, putting a piece of her garlic bread to her lips, holding her hand over as she spoke, "You know you can't hide forever. This place demands things of you that you want to keep hidden in the closet. None of us want to divulge the darkest parts of our lives, believe me. But you'll never heal if you don't unlock it..." Amy peered up at her, pursing her lips with a slow nod. She nodded back, putting her hand on the table to cup her wrist, "So what's your story, babe? What brought you to this place?" Amy looked away quickly, swallowing roughly. "Come on, Mickey had the guts to share her tragedy... surely your story can't trump hers."
Pursing her lips again, she closed her eyes, "I - I'm a teen mom..." whispering under her breath, and sucking in another, "I'm a shitty teenage mother who married my baby daddy and then decided my dreams were more important than my family..." Is what she wanted to say, but instead mumbled, "My son... John... was born when I was 15, and my daughter, Emma, when I was 18. Complicated second pregnancy, premature baby, and a whirlwind of problems..." Pausing, she twisted another fork full of food around her plate, agitated, "My mother no longer speaks to me, my baby daddy hates me, I have no education beyond high school, and I don't even remember what brought me here because I can't remember what I did last night! Okay, is that what you want to know?" She seethed, her eyes like daggered slits when she raised her head to look at the woman sitting across from her, "Do you want to berate me for being a screw-up too?" A tear fell from her eyes, "Because get in line and take a number."
Taking her hand from the table, Taylor pushed a strand of hair from her face, "Girl, if I was to berate you, I'd have to look into the mirror and chastise myself as well. Believe me, nobody is judging you here. We all have fucked up lives - hence why we're here. Utilize that anger at the world because it will help you come to terms with your trauma and what everyone has done to you. You think my life is glamorous? Ha!" She laughed out loud, "My baby daddy asked me to marry him the day before he told me he was going to Afghanistan. Six weeks after I had just given birth to our second son, Asher. My mother cut me out of her life after I refused to let her babysit Felix due to an incident she caused when she babysat prior; she just up and stopped calling me, refusing to see the boys or even sending them cards for their birthdays or holidays. I called her one night after I was struggling with Felix and Asher and being alone... and you know what she told me?" She blinked back tears, "She told me... good. I deserved it because I was evil. I was an evil woman who allowed a man to impregnate me and drag me and the babies down to hell with him. My own mother told me she wished I never would have had children because she has to live with the shame of it... So before you throw yourself a pity party and think that you're the problem... think back to everyone who threw you away like my own mother did to me, because if not for her, and her venomous declarations of how she truly felt, I probably never would have snapped and found this place." She sniffled before a smile appeared on her face, "Three years and counting - healing sure does take time."
Blinking a few times at her words, all she could muster as a response was a slightly shocked, "Three years...?"
He held them until they fell asleep, basking in the calming of their presence and the rhythm of their heartbeats in time with his own. They were so peaceful against his chest, wrapped against each other that it hurt him to have to wake them and put them in their beds. But if he had to make a major life decision in just a matter of hours that would effect everyone he cared about, he had to do some research first.
After 45 minutes of continued shushing, soft humming, and reassurances that he loved them and would be there when they woke up, they both drifted back to sleep.
Going back into the kitchen, Ricky grabbed the laptop from the bookshelf and started typing - floored by what he was reading, and even more guilty seeing it in black and white.
"I just really want to be alone right now, okay!" She shouted at him from her bed, twisting the blanket in her hands as she cried for the fourth time that day.
He walked over, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, "You want to talk about it?" With a shake of her head, she recoiled against his arm and fell back against the hard mattress of the hospital bed. He became irritated, clenching his fists and angrily declaring, "You can't keep doing this, Amy. This shutting me out. It's not healthy" Her response was nothing, and she curled into a ball, upsetting him further, "Don't do that! Don't sulk in the bed and pretend like nothing is happening! I'm sick of it!" His tone was rising, having had enough of his wife completely shutting down whenever things got hard. He was there everyday regardless of only getting two hours of sleep, having to deal with John's tantrums, and having to balance work and school - all while dealing with their daughter's recovery and all the ups and downs that it came with. He had to do it - so what made her so special? "You need to come to terms with the fact that you can't just mope around all the freaking time! Our daughter is fighting to get stronger every day and all you want to do is sit in that room and cry because you can't hold her! Well, guess what? Neither can I and you don't see me crying about it all damn day!"
Amy rose off the bed, her eyes pooled with wet tears and her voice cracking with fatigue, but still managing an icy, "Get the hell out!" Ricky shook his head and obeyed, grabbing the blue door and slamming it closed behind him.
Flip
He had been working since morning, Ben failing to show up again and Bunny swamped with customers, leaving him to put away the six deliveries they had gotten that day by himself. Exhaustion washed over his whole body from not having more than an hour or two of sleep last night due to Emma's excessive crying for human attention, and John's combative reminder that he needed attention too. So it was a no brainer when Bunny called and asked if he would be willing to come in earlier that day to open the shop before the delivery trucks came. Anything to get out and away from the screaming that bounced off those four walls of that tiny apartment.
The bell chimed overhead, alerting them a customer was in the shop. Closing the freezer door, Ricky grabbed a box from the shelf and yelled out "I'll be right there!" Carting it over to the display center where Mr. Peterson stood with his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face. He was their easiest customer, always got the same thing, at the same time every single week, and almost always came in with a smile on his face. Smiley had a hunch it was for Bunny because Mr. Peterson was attracted to her, but Bunny's rough demeanor and brash tone of voice whenever she spoke to him, told Ricky otherwise.
"Pastrami ultra-thin, two ham steaks, two pork steaks, and half a pound of..." He paused, leaning further back to see if he had misplaced where he put the other pound of Cajun turkey - but it wasn't there. Putting up his finger, "must have ran out, I'll go get some in the back" He sprinted into the freezer again, oblivious to the noise around him until he heard a loud crash. Not thinking anything of it, he walked back to the counter and put the meat in the slicer, making sure the measurements were precise for his order of thin-but-not-too-thin slices. Mr. Peterson kept glancing around the store, his face holding a confused look. "Is something wrong, sir?"
He tilted his head slightly, adjusting the hat on his head, "Do you hear a - a baby crying?"
At first, he shook his head, but as he listened more closely, he could hear the all too familiar sound of his daughter's wailing. "Sorry, that's my daughter upstairs - she must have woken up from her nap and is letting my wife know" Ricky tried to play it off but was utterly embarrassed as he handed Mr. Peterson the food and rung up the order, accepting the $4 tip he always left them, and put it into the register.
As soon as he was gone, he stormed up the stairs angrily and threw open the door, Emma's screams getting louder with each step he took.
When he got into the apartment, they were both in the living room. John was on his knees throwing his army men across the floor, crying and having a tantrum, while Emma was sharply shrieking for human attention from inside the bassinet. And Amy was absent from the scene. "Amy!" He called out roughly, trying to be heard over their children's coupled meltdowns. When she didn't answer, he turned his attention to the boy sulking in a pile of his toys, "What's wrong - why you crying?" John's response was a grunt and to throw more army men at him in disdain. He shook his head, getting irritated, "AMY!"
She emerged a few moments later, disheveled and fatigued, not bothering to speak.
Picking the baby up, he scowled, "What is going on in here? And where the hell were you?"
The edge to his tone, startled her, "I -" Amy swallowed with a shaky breath, "I just needed 5 minutes to myself-"
Grabbing hold of the red bucket now empty from the floor, Ricky rolled his eyes, "Yeah well, you don't think I don't!" Scoffing at her with venom, "And don't use your exhaustion as an excuse - I'm the one working, busting my ass all day putting away deliveries on like 2 hours of sleep and you don't see me barricading myself behind the freaking bathroom door!" He hollered, upsetting everyone - including the baby, who started to cry - "What? What Amy?"
She shook her head at him, "If you don't get it, I'm not going to enlighten you." Taking the baby from his grasp and beginning to pace across the rug to calm her shrieking, "But if I'm such a terrible mother - you do it!" Her voice cracked, closing her eyes at their daughter's wails raising in pitch, "If you think staying home with these kids is easy - be my freaking guest! I'll go back to school and the nursery, and you can be up here full time, 24 hours a day taking care of both of them since you once again got your way about John going back to daycare!" She glanced down at their sniveling son, putting her hand on the top of his head, "You can also only go to the park to try to get even a shred of your sanity back while being constantly stared at, embarrassed, and ridiculed because you're the one with the screaming kids. While I work all day and come home just to berate you for what a shitty job you did!" Fuming, Amy grabbed his pillow from the couch and placed it on her lap, adjusting the infant against it so she could nurse, all the while keeping her glare on him, "Doesn't sound good, does it?"
Now Ricky was frustrated, putting his hands on his hips, "Look... I love you, and I understand some of what you're going through, but you need to pull it together." His eyes were hard, his voice cutting, "Find a new way to cope with whatever you're dealing with because this whole locking yourself behind doors isn't going to work for anyone!" And to nobody's surprise, he grabbed the door and exited with a hard slam.
The sound of it caused him to pinch the bridge of his nose to combat the range of emotions washing over him as the tears fell from his eyes.
According to the screen, it was right there - having no energy or motivation, anxiety, mood swings, crying for unknown and prolonged periods for any reason, insomnia, losing interest in things or activities you used to enjoy, eating too much or too little, unknown or sporadic episodes of rage, withdrawing from friends and family... and finally... saying "I'm fine", or "I'm okay" when you're struggling.
The warning signs were all around him, flashing brightly to alert him of their presence. But he ignored them; chalked them up to her being a nutty or paranoid wife when it came to Clementine and her advances, or her lack of affection for him being because she fell out of love with him, hell even believing she was doing everything on purpose sometimes, just to get attention... All the times she either slept in John's bed, or brought John to sleep with them, the lack of affection she showed, and all the mood swings that he could never decipher... they all added up now. Dr. Hightower was right - Amy was a rubberband being pulled on and pulled on and pulled on until she snapped and fell apart...
And he was partially to blame for it.
"You gonna take care of her for me?" He whispered, tucking a curl behind her small ear, and pecking her cheek, "Huh - you gonna look after mama, Emma?" She looked up at him with a snort, her tired eyes getting watery as she babbled incoherently. He smiled at her, adjusting her weight and tossing her gently into the air, "That's my girl." Eliciting more babbling coupled with excited squeal-screams.
The door opened suddenly, his lip tipping up at the sight. "Everything is loaded in the car..." George trailed, knowing this was going to be the hard part for him. "Look Ricky, I'm sorry about -"
Ricky's eyes were low, but his voice was stern, putting up a hand to stop him from speaking further, "Promise me something, George -" He nodded, taking a step forward, "Promise me that you won't let anything happen to her..."
After his realization, he called George in the middle of the night, wanting to know more about the program Amy was in. It was after that conversation that he stood by their baby's crib, crying silently into his hand because he knew what he had to do. He had to let Emma go to be with Amy. She needed her mother - they both did - and their mother needed them, both for her recovery and their relationship.
George nodded again, raising his hand, "Scouts honor. You have my word that I'll be there until I'm not needed anymore." A long 30 seconds of silence passed between them before he hesitantly handed her over to him. Emma poked her grandpa's face with her finger, giggling when he pretended to eat it. "She's gonna be okay, Ricky..." He assured, the statement holding a double meaning.
With a tearful nod, Ricky sniffled, "I know, I just -"
"Daaaaa!" She squealed, flexing her fingers out for him before they went into her mouth.
He let out a sad chuckle at her, putting his palm on her head and kissing her forehead, choking on the lump in his throat, "Be good for Grandpa, Monkey - Dada will see you soon, okay?" Taking a step back, a tear rolled down his cheek. She squealed again, swiping a fist to her eye. "She - she likes warm baths with a washcloth instead of a cup, but not lotions on her feet, at bedtime, and if you put socks on her feet, she'll kick them off when she's sleeping and chew on them, so I tend to stick with footed sleepers and her blankie..." Sucking in a breath, "Bananas and peaches are her favorite, and apple puffs will generally work as a bribe to get her to do something... but not too many or else she'll throw them and -"
"I got it." George assured, kissing her forehead, "You're doing the right thing... you know that."
Looking around the semi-empty apartment, Ricky sniffled again, harder, letting more tears roll down his cheeks as he confessed through a weak sob, "Then tell me why it feels like my heart is being ripped from my chest..."
Adjusting the earbud in her ear, she stood on her tiptoes, reaching for the box of cereal she had picked up from the rec the night before. It was almost 10, which meant it was time for group, and the rest of the day's activities mainly just consisted of therapy sessions branded with different titles: group, individual, family, etc. A knock at the door startled her, causing the cereal to drop to the floor. She groaned at the disturbance, "Who is it?" No answer caused her to groan again and shake her head in frustration that Traci probably stood on the other side of the door. "Fine, don't tell me..." She turned the knob slowly, completely unprepared for who stood on the other side.
"SURPRISE!" He shouted excitedly, jostling his partially sleepy granddaughter in his arms as he smiled at his daughter.
Amy's hand went to her mouth, a gasp escaping her lips, "What - How -" He gave her a knowing look, and nodded his head along with the baby's gurgles of "Hi!" and slurred babbles. She giggled at her, poking her arm with her index finger, "Hi, peanut!" Accepting her from him, she tucked a curl behind Emma's ear and kissed her cheek, whispering sweetly, "Mommy missed you!"
"I'm going to unload the car. Call him - Let him know she's here, and she's safe." George instructed, pointing at his granddaughter now laying her head on his daughter's shoulder before disappearing down the hallway.
As if someone had read her mind, her phone rang; and his name flashed across the screen. She grabbed it off the counter, not being able to control her emotions as she picked up and held back her tears, "Thank you... thank you for this... "
There was a short three-second pause before he answered, "You're welcome - how is she?"
Amy smiled down on her patting her fingers against her shirt sleeve, "Little sleepy, but just as sweet as ever - huh?" Raising her head, Emma pointed curiously at various things in the apartment, making her giggle. "What made you change your mind?"
Another pause followed by a long breath Ricky blew from his cheeks, "Perspective... maybe some guilt..." the last part coming out in a whisper.
She raised a brow cautiously even though he couldn't see it, "For what?"
"For not seeing it. For being a part of the problem... and for making it worse..." His tone lowered in shame, the audible cracking of his voice becoming noticeable
"You didn't. I did. I should have -" She sniffled, looking at their daughter's perfect face
"Don't do that, Amy... don't beat yourself up anymore. We both had a hand in this. And I've come to realize that we're going to beat this - together... I'm here to help you however I can - because I owe it to our kids to fix the damage I had a hand in helping to create..." He paused again, she heard him taking deeper breaths to combat the emotion seeping into his words, "I care about you, Amy..." He choked, his walls starting to come down, "And I know I haven't been the greatest person to show that these past 9 months..." Sniffling, "... And I'm sorry for all of it - the hospital, the rough days after we brought Emma home, and every day since that you ever had to question if I truly cared about you... because I do... and I always will... " She could hear him start to cry and knew he had his hand over his face.
She sniffled again, swiping her own eyes with her palm, "Thank you, that means a lot to me." Patting their daughter's bottom gently, she closed her eyes, asking quietly "Ricky?"
"Hmm?"
Amy's lip tipped up, pressing the phone deeper against her ear, "I wouldn't want to do this with anyone else, you know... I'm truly happy I have you in my life and I don't know what I'd do without you..." Even though she couldn't see it, she knew he was smirking at her words. No matter how much he tried to hide it, he had a soft side hidden under that rough exterior.
"Well, thankfully you'll never have to find out because like it or not, you're stuck with me, Juergens." Ricky chuckled lightly, shutting off the engine of his car, "Call me after I get off work?"
Taking their daughter's hand and playing with her fingers, she smiled and nodded, "It's a date."
If you guessed tha Amy went to rehab/treatment center for Post Partum Depression and Trauma... DING DING DING!
We're diving in deeper, guys... hang on tight... ;)