Jesus. I was messed up.
“When do we get to meet the famous Jillian?” my mother asked, setting the pie on the counter. “You could have brought her tonight, you know. Did you invite her, like I asked?”
“She’s with her family,” I said, avoiding the question. Later, at the table, I fretted so much I could hardly eat.
Jillian was getting restless. I could feel it. And she had every right to be. It was wrong of me to keep her from meeting Scotty. She loved me and she wanted to be part of my whole life, not just my Girl Friday anymore. Could I blame her?
I didn’t like it either. From Saturday through Thursday, I thought of her every other minute. So many times I caught myself wanting to bring up her name to Scotty, so it wouldn’t be such a shock to bring her into our life as someone who was important to me but completely unknown to him. A gradual approach would be better.
And she would be so great with him, wouldn’t she? She’d understand his mind and his quirks and his sweetness better than anyone could, not only because she loved and understood me, but because she was a pediatrician, which meant she’d dedicated years of her life to helping kids feel better. What more could I ask for?
She’d been totally right about the lucky stone idea. After the Thursday math test debacle last month when he’d wet himself in the attempt to get out of school, I’d purchased a satiny smooth Petoskey stone for him at a gift shop and told him it was a lucky rock. He kept it in his pocket at school, and when he felt anxious about a test or an assignment, he’d take it out and hold it in his hand or put it on his desk where he could see it.
When I’d thanked her for the idea and told her she was brilliant, she’d blushed and said how happy she was to be of help.
So why the fuck was I so scared of taking the final step and letting her all the way in?
I’d made a thousand excuses in my head—it was too soon, it wouldn’t be right for Scotty, it would take away from our alone time, she was only saying she wanted to meet him to be polite, my family would criticize me, Scotty might act up…
But the truth was, I was scared.
And I hated myself for it.
But I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that she wanted me that much. That she’d be willing to stay once she saw that some days, I was barely holding things together. That she’d be willing to love a child that wasn’t hers for me, when I hadn’t been enough to make even his own mother stay.
I hadn’t loved Tara, so her leaving didn’t hurt me, but her abandonment of Scotty had scarred me in a different way.
There were times in the last eight years when he’d needed a father and a mother, when I’d needed someone with whom I could share the beautiful, painful honor of bringing him up in this world, someone who understood the blame I placed on myself when things didn’t go well for him, the way he could break my heart and put it back together again.
I hadn’t counted on falling so hard for Jillian. What if Scotty took to her and she didn’t take to him? What if she did but decided she couldn’t handle the way we had to live? What if letting her in only meant revealing to her all my weaknesses?
What if she left? Then what?
When Tara left, it had been hard, but it hadn’t broken me. I’d been solely concerned with my son.
If Jillian left, it would break me.
And maybe I would deserve it for my shortcomings.
I couldn’t put it off forever. But I had to protect myself a little longer.
The week after Thanksgiving, Levi and I made a date to do some Christmas shopping at the mall and have dinner. I knew it was pointless to ask, but I did anyway.
“Does Scotty want to come along? We could go out for Italian after.”
“No. He doesn’t do well at the mall. Too many sounds, smells, noises. It’s overwhelming for him.”
“OK.”
The week after that, Scotty was sick and Levi didn’t feel it would be right to leave him. “Poor thing,” I said. “What does he have?”
“Just a virus, I guess. We saw the doctor this morning. He’s pretty miserable.”
“Why don’t I bring you both some dinner? I don’t have to stay. I can see you for a minute and bring you something to eat so you don’t have to cook.”
“You’re sweet to offer, but no. I wouldn’t want you to get sick.”
“I’m a pediatrician, Levi. I’m around sick kids day in and day out.”
“I know, but it’s OK. If my mom comes down tomorrow, maybe we can have coffee or something.”
My stomach churned. “Sure. Whatever you want.”
We hung up, and I was so worked up that I went to the gym and got on the treadmill, walking fast and hard for forty solid minutes, huffing and puffing, my anger boiling inside me.
This was not OK. It was one thing to accept being less than the top priority in his life; it was another to accept being treated as if I were frivolous, insignificant, good for a laugh or a fuck, but not essential.
This wasn’t asking too much. I saw that clearly. I wasn’t asking for a ring. I wasn’t asking to live together. I wasn’t even asking for a promise that those things would happen. I was asking for a chance. I was asking to be given the opportunity to love them both.
To deny me that at this point was unfair.
My sisters were right. Levi was right.
I deserved more.
I loved him with all my heart, but I couldn’t go on feeling like this—like I wasn’t enough.