Addicted After All(136)

Poppy and Sam now focus on me too.

I clear my throat. “Mmhmm.” I can’t even form actual words. I went from being handed business cards for nannies to being plagued with sexual thoughts. I should be concerned about Moffy. And I hate when sex overtakes that. It’s not right. It’s gross.

Ryke presses a hand over Daisy’s ear, really gently so she doesn’t wake up or hear him speak. “Try again.”

He’s very pushy. This is known. “Nannies aren’t bad, right?” I ask, the business cards between my fingers. “I mean, we all had them. And normal people have them too. For working moms and dads…”

The heat of Ryke’s gaze shrinks me into the couch. I seek comfort in other places. Like Poppy.

“We had a nanny once, when Maria was little,” Poppy says. “But you shouldn’t hire one just because you feel obligated to do it.” She tenderly collects the business cards out of my hand. “How about I hold onto these for you?”

It’s like a bunch of bees just stung my esophagus, swelling it closed. I nod unsurely.

Ryke sets the plate of half-eaten chocolate cake on the coffee table so it doesn’t fall off Daisy’s thigh. “Look, if you ever feel overwhelmed, you have Daisy and me. We’re always around.”

Overwhelmed? Pressure compounds on my chest. I’m not a selfish monster. I care about Moffy more than sex. I do. I do.

“Lily,” Ryke says my name again, so forceful that Daisy’s eyes snap open in fright. “Fuck.”

I’m scratching my arm, I realize. I retract my hand, jailing it between my knees. What is wrong with me? I watch Daisy sit up straighter on Ryke, her skin pale. She looks like she’s going to puke. The guilt creeps even further inside of me.

I think I just inadvertently caused my sister a minor panic attack.

Ryke adjusts her in his arms, concern washing over his features.

“I’m okay,” she says in a deep inhale, able to breathe fully.

Ryke hardly relaxes.

“I’m sorry,” I apologize.

Daisy shakes her head at me like no, don’t be. It’s my fault though. Everything. My sex addiction going public did this to her. The fear. The ridicule. I can’t ever forgive myself for that.

Anxieties continue to pile on me. I need to shut my thoughts down, but my head is all messed up. I wish it would go back to normal. I peek over my shoulder, hoping Lo will appear. I can’t rely on him, no matter how much I want to.

Poppy scoots on the couch and swings her arm around my shoulder. I feel so much worse. She should be comforting Daisy. Not me. But Poppy gives me a sisterly squeeze. “When I had Maria, I felt panicked a lot. Thinking I was doing something wrong. It’s normal.”

My brain is not normal. If she could see inside of it, she’d realize how disgusting it is. I keep nodding and rubbing my eyes, trying to take the attention off me. I don’t want to admit the source of my anxiety: sex over a baby. But sitting here, agreeing with them that my panic is a normal motherly emotion makes me feel like a lying liar.

“I just need some air,” I mumble and push off the couch. I pause and lock eyes with my little sister before I leave. “I’m really sorry…for everything.”

“It’s not your fault,” she says softly, exhausted tears welling in her eyes. “I wish you would accept that. It’d make me feel better.”

Humans are cursed, I think. These are emotions too complex to overcome. Maybe it’ll take a lifetime to finally let go.

I just nod. It’s all I can do. On my way outside, I pass the dining room and retrieve Maximoff.

“We can watch Max,” my dad says, staring fondly at my baby who has a little grin on his face. My dad even reaches out and tickles Moffy’s foot. His garbled happy noise melts my heart. I glance at my mom who feeds Jane a bottle, Rose sitting next to her.

“It’s okay,” I say quickly. “He hasn’t been outside all day.” I don’t know if I still look upset, but I sense the worry from all corners of the room, cloaking me like a hot blanket. It’s almost suffocating.

I want them to believe that I’m strong enough to be a good mom.

Some days, I think I am. Other days, I have to convince myself all over again. But I’m going to get there. And I won’t give up.

I buckle Maximoff into his carrier and then pass through the side door, into the back patio. The weather lingers in the awkward stage between summer and fall, unsure of what it wants to be. I place the carrier on an iron chair and sit on the adjacent one, folding my legs beneath my butt.