Pieces of Him (5 page)

“Hi, I’m Max,” I reply, giving her my first name because if someone else calls me Mr. Castillo, I might lose it.

She smiles again and comes to stand in front of me. She keeps her distance, though, careful not to invade my personal space.

“Xander had a good night. He fed regularly, his bowels are good, his heart and lungs are perfect, and he’s passed his hearing test. He’ll be fine to go home with you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” I question, sounding more panicked than I want to, but shit. Tomorrow is soon. I thought I’d get to hang out here a little bit more, have time to get comfortable with him, and get some more baby survival lessons from Nurse Marie.

“Yes, he’s doing great, and he’ll be okay to go home. He’ll have his first immunization today, we’ll get him in for circumcision, and then you can make an appointment to bring him to my office in two weeks.”

“Wait a minute. I’m sorry, circumcision?”

“Yes.”

She pulls up the empty chair across from me and takes a seat leaning into me, and for the first time since she walked in here, she looks a lot less than cheery. She looks almost empathetic, almost somber.

“I’m sorry, Max. His mother requested the circumcision, and I just assumed it was something you two had discussed. Oftentimes in childbirth, medical professionals take what mom says as the final word in the baby’s care because they usually fill out the paperwork.”

I shake my head at her assumption, and I know I should go with what Keri wanted here, but it seems like it may not be medically necessary and very painful for a tiny baby. I may not ever be father of the year, but I don’t want to cause the kid any more pain than necessary.

“I’m not sure I want him to go through that.”

“I understand. I’ll give you the facts and then you can decide, but I promise you the benefits outweigh the risk. We numb the area and the pain is minimal.” She goes on giving me all the scientific reasons why it’s better for him in the long run, and even I have to admit it makes sense. She sounds like she knows what she’s talking about, and after promising me more times than I can count that the pain and recovery are minimal, I sign off on it. She leaves me alone with Xander, and I pick him up with a lot less hesitation today than I did yesterday. I lie down on the bed with him, holding him close and watching as he sleeps when it hits me that I just made my first real decision as a parent. Then I think that maybe I’m not such a fuck-up after all.
Maybe I can do this
.

Emelia~

“We expect you home for your father’s company picnic, Emelia.”

“Yes, Mother, I know,” I reply, rolling my eyes only because I know she can’t see me. “You’ve already made that perfectly clear.”

“We just don’t understand why you have to move to another state to work. You couldn’t be a social worker here in Connecticut?”

The answer to that is yes. I could have been a social worker in Connecticut, but that would mean being close to my mother, which is exactly what I was trying to get away from.

“I found a position here doing exactly what I want to do.”

“There are needy people in Greenwich,” she says snobbishly.

Jesus, my mother is the most oblivious person I know.

“Mother, I’m sorry, but I have to go. The movers have just arrived.” It’s a lie; they arrived an hour ago, but I’ll say anything to get off the phone with her and get on with my day. I’ve been in my new apartment for one day, and she’s already calling and making demands of me.

“Call me tomorrow. Let me know how you’re getting on.”

“I will.”

Even on the telephone, my mother winds me up tight. I can feel myself begin to uncoil the minute I hang up. The thing about my mom is that she’s loaded, always has been, and barring some unforeseen catastrophic event, she always will be. She is your stereotypical rich girl—head in the clouds, self-centered, and completely out of touch with reality. Sadly, that is exactly how she raised my older sister, Hannah, and me. We were taught to be just like her, her clones, and for most of my life, I played the part to perfection. Hannah, not so much. She escaped the first chance she could and is now living in London and working full time as a buyer in an exclusive art gallery. My saving grace was my father, well—is my father. He didn’t come from a shitload of money; he made it the old-fashioned way with a lot of hard work, sweat, and tears. He’s always understood the value of a dollar, but more importantly, he understands the value of family. My dad taught me about love, family, and compassion. Lessons I never quite understood until I went away to school and got into social work.

My choice of career is a whole other story. Why would a spoiled little rich girl go into something as philanthropic as social work? It’s simple, really. Mother wanted me to major in business, and I thought that coming home with a degree in social work would drive her completely insane. I was right, and it was fucking brilliant. See, even though she raised me to be like her, a part of me knew that wasn’t how I wanted to be. It took me going away to college and meeting all sorts of new,
normal
people to realize that. I began to understand what my father had been trying to teach me all those years.

After college, I worked at a behavioral health clinic, and though I enjoyed the work, I didn’t enjoy living at home. There are several reasons for this. The most obvious being that this put me under the same roof as my mother because she would not hear of me living on my own when I could live at home … under her thumb. Then there’s Garrett, my ex, who refuses to believe he’s my ex. He’s the man who my mother has been trying to push off on me for years. Garrett comes from money, a prestigious family, and that is all my mother sees when she looks at him. In her eyes, he’s the perfect match for me. I’ll admit I crushed on Garrett when I met him—not because of his money but because he’s beautiful. The man could grace the cover of
GQ
; he’s so hot, and I loved that about him. We dated on and off for a few years, but his goals and values in life align too closely with those of my mother. In other words, he’s a fucking pretentious snob. If it were up to her, we’d be married with children by now.

I needed an escape from that. From all of it—the constant pressure to be perfect to fit into this mold she’s created for me. So when a position came up for a social worker at an adult day care here in New Jersey, I jumped at the chance. Not just because I wanted to get away but also because I knew the job would be right up my alley. As you can imagine, this decision was met with a lot of resistance, on the part of my mother and Garrett. Her, because she had already lost control of my sister. I’m the only hope she has left for world domination. Garrett, because he thinks our current breakup is just a phase I’m going through, and my leaving Connecticut makes his believing that I’ll come back to him a lot less realistic. I hope he’ll finally get the point now.

I put my phone down and look around the one-bedroom apartment. There’s not much to it—a largish living room/dining room combo, an apartment-size kitchen, a small bathroom, and a not-so-small bedroom. The massive windows in the bedroom that overlook a beautiful park sealed the deal. I bought all new furniture for the place, including a bedroom set complete with a king-size sleigh bed. All of which was delivered two days ago, when I officially moved in. My father hired a moving company for me behind my mother’s back to bring the rest of my things a little while ago.

I’m currently staring at the boxes that have taken up the majority of available space in my living room. I stare at them completely overwhelmed and not having the slightest clue where to begin. Deciding to tackle the ones labeled "kitchen" first, I start moving boxes in there when my phone rings again.

“Hello,” I answer not bothering to look at the caller ID. Only a few people would call me and I’ve already heard from my mother so I know I’m safe.

“How’s it feel to be free from the warden?”

“Hi, Hannah.” I squeal with delight, excited to hear my sister’s voice. If it weren’t for her and my dad, I’d have probably lost my mind by now. I just wish she didn’t live an ocean away.

“Hi. How’s the new apartment?”

I sigh, looking around again, seriously considering leaving it all where it is. “I’m standing in the middle of a mountain of boxes wondering how in the hell I’m going to go through all of this stuff alone.”

“The alternative is to let Mom help you go through them.”

“I’ll take my chances on my own,” I return quickly. The thought of my mother helping me unpack is laughable at best. She’d supervise and delegate, and when we were done, the apartment would look like something out of a furniture store showroom.

“Good choice. When do you start the new job?”

“Tomorrow,” I tell her, fighting back those first-day-of-work nerves.

“I’m really proud of you, Em. I know how hard it is to go against anything Mom wants, but it’s about time you start doing the things that are going to make you happy.”

“I’m happy.” I try to assure her, but it comes out more like a question than a statement of fact.

“Why don’t you sound happy?”

I lean against the kitchen counter, placing my head in my hands and sighing. What do I tell her? Should I say I don’t know how to be happy because I’ve never been happy, at least not for any extended length of time? This is the closest I’ve ever come to being happy, and even now, I can’t quite grab hold of it. “I don’t know. I’m here, but I’m alone. What if I don’t meet any people, make any friends?”

“Emelia, you’re amazing. You’re going to make a lot of friends, I promise,” she says reassuringly. “Shit. I sound like a mom.”

“Not our mom,” I reply sarcastically, and we both burst into a fit of giggles.

“Do you have any neighbors that are your age?” she asks after regaining her composure.

“Everyone here seems older. I did see a young pregnant woman going into the apartment down the hall on Friday morning.”

“A young couple is good. Maybe you’ll get to know them.”

“Yeah, maybe,” I agree, thinking that it would be cool to make friends within the building. We talk for a few more minutes as I unpack a box full of dinnerware and cutlery before she has to go, explaining that she has a lunch date. I still have a hard time figuring out the time difference between us, but somehow, we manage to make it work. When we end the call, I open up my laptop and put on some music, needing the motivation to help me through unpacking. It helps to pass the time, and I find that when I get lost in the music, I get more accomplished.

The sound of something crashing against a wall breaks me out of my zone. It was loud, and for a minute, I think it came from in here, but I have nothing on my walls yet. I turn the music off and listen and I could almost swear I hear a man’s voice shouting, followed by more crashing sounds. I pick up my cell phone just in case I need to call for help and head in the direction of the front door. As I walk through my living room, the crashing gets louder, and I hear what I can only imagine is something being bashed.

What the fuck?
I think to myself as I make my way to the front door. I look out of the peephole, but from my view, the hallway appears to be clear. I should probably mind my own business and stay inside my apartment where it’s safe, but I feel the need to make sure that no one is out there getting their ass kicked, raped, or murdered. I’d want someone to come and check on me if I was out there in a bad situation. Slowly, I unlock the door and open it up, careful not to make any noise. Invisibility is my friend right now. If there’s a lunatic out in these halls, the last thing I want to do is to alert them to my presence. I creep out into the hall looking both ways as I go at the same time noticing that the noises have stopped. I see no one in the hallway and turn back toward my apartment when a door flies open. Whirling around in that direction, I note it’s the same apartment I saw the pregnant woman entering a few days ago. A man storms out, and I immediately take notice of the fact he’s extremely handsome. Even with the seriousness set in his features, he’s his own brand of hot. His kind of hot makes Garrett look pathetic. He quickly slams the door shut and blows right past me narrowly missing me in his path of destruction. He catches me completely off guard, and I let out a yelp as he passes, but he never looks back. He disappears out of the building, and I’m left wondering what in the hell just happened.

Why was he so angry? Why was he in such a rush? Where’s the woman I saw the other day? Is she his wife? Then I think that maybe she had the baby. Then I wonder if something happened to the baby and maybe that’s why he was in such a rage. The thought actually worries me, and I hope that it isn’t the case. It would be awful for them; I couldn’t imagine going through something as traumatic as losing a child. I shake my head, mentally chastising myself for jumping to such far-fetched conclusions. Whatever the case, it’s none of my business, so instead of speculating, I decide to head back into my apartment and continue unpacking. I spend the majority of my day doing nothing but that, stopping only to eat and take a call from my father. From time to time, my mind goes back to him … To the man from across the hall. All of the anger he exuded seemed to mask an air of sadness. I can relate to feeling sad; for me, the lack of control over my own life triggers it. How I wish my mother would accept me for me and not who she wants me to be.
Poor, Emelia,
I think,
feeling sorry for myself because I’m too scared to stand up to mommy.
Maybe it’s time for me to grow the fuck up and act like an adult.