No — I square my shoulders. If I am going to do this, I will not go to the damn park. I will go to France, and I will feed her caviar and pâté. I can do better than a stereotype. I can be a Chanel mother.
By the time I climb out of the shower, I feel like a new woman. No wonder Caleb drinks that expensive stuff. I’m practically walking on air. When the baby wakes up, I feed her from the stock of milk I pumped earlier. She already seems fussy, like the bottle is an inconvenience instead of a meal. She screams and thrashes her head around until her skin flushes as red as the troll fluff that’s sprouting on top of her head.
I wiggle it in her mouth, until finally she latches on, grunting with her eyes closed.
“Lost that battle, didn’t you?” I say, resting my head back in the rocker and closing my eyes. “If you think I’m going to be doing that all the time, you’re wrong. Spoiled little redheaded brat.”
I wake up in the rocker. The baby is asleep on my shoulder. I can feel her heat seeping through my clothes, and hear her little breaths in my ear. I lower her in her crib as gently as I can and check my phone.
Nothing from Caleb, but two calls from Sam. I am about to call my good for nothing manny when he sends me a text.
Sam: Stomach flu, need a few days off.
Before I know what I’m doing my phone is spiraling out of my hand and toward my beautiful f**king marble staircase. I close my eyes as I hear it smash into a dozen pieces. My whole life is falling apart.
The baby starts to cry, I start to cry. I smash a few more priceless antiques and pull myself together. I have a gosh-darn baby to take care of. When I march back into her room, my sobbing has subsided to a whimper and I already have my boob out.
Sam finds me in my usual spot on the floor next to her crib. He nudges me in the ribs with his foot, and I shove his leg away.
“Did you stop bathing?”
When I don’t respond, he pulls me to my feet, casting a quick glance into the crib before ushering me out.
“I didn’t kill her,” I sputter, “if that’s what you’re thinking.”
He ignores me, pushing me toward my bedroom.
“Just because you’re a mother doesn’t mean you can’t take care of yourself.”
I shoot him a nasty look. Obviously, he has no idea what it is to take care of a baby. He shoves me into the bathroom and turns on the shower.
“Caleb called to say he won’t be coming home,” he says without looking at me. I slap his hands away. “What else did he say?”
Sam won’t answer me. This is bad. This is really bad. Caleb doesn’t air his dirty laundry. If he’s telling the damn manny something, it must be because he’s made up his mind. I climb into the water and let it roll across my face.
God — why didn’t I think of these nasty consequences before I flung that zobmondo at him? Did I really think I’d be hurting only Caleb? I pretty much screwed myself from here to Mars, and now that poor, little brat isn’t going to have a father.
Unless.
I shook my head. How could I even think that?
Chapter Eighteen
Past
Caleb came back to me. I knew he would. Not because we had something irreplaceable, but because I was true blue. I fought for what I wanted, and I drove his past out of town. She wouldn’t come back. I was fairly certain of this. She was too much of a coward. I knew on some level, when I found those letters and pictures, that she had deep feelings for him. A woman didn’t keep a box of mementos unless the flame was still burning strong. I used that to my advantage. I played on her guilt, and thank God, she responded. If she had fought harder, something told me I would have lost.
He retreated into himself after she left. I had to watch his heart break … silently. It was awful. I was so jealous I could barely breathe. He didn’t tell me what happened between them, and why would he? He was confused. I had no choice but to wait. It ground at me; the fact that he had obviously cared very much for her before the amnesia, so much so that the feelings were all there, even though his memory was not. It would have made for an interesting psychological study had it not been so incredibly f**ked up. He stared off into space a lot after I put an end to their little romance. I could have stood right in front of him during those days, and he wouldn’t have seen me. I wondered what he would say when his memory came back. Would he tell me that she was a girl from his past, or would he pretend it never happened?
And then his memory did come back. It happened suddenly, on a Tuesday in April. I was at work when he called to tell me.
“Oh my God,” I said, standing up. I was having lunch with a colleague in the break room, but I wanted to go to him right away.
“How do you feel?” I asked, cautiously. I stepped into the hall for privacy. Would he mention Olivia? Was he angry?
“I’m fine,” he paused. “Relieved that it’s over.”
“We should celebrate. As soon as I’m done with work, I can meet you.”
He hesitated. “Sure, Leah. There's a lot I want to talk to you about.”
My heart fluttered. What did that mean? Now that he remembered who I was, maybe he wanted to move forward with me. I pushed the thought away. No use getting my hopes up for nothing.
“Okay, I’ll see you after work. And Caleb…” I held my breath. “I love you.”
There was a brief pause, during which my heart went to battle with my stomach for who felt sicker.
“I love you too, Leah.” He ended the call. I slouched against the wall.