Bad Mommy(47)

“Darius? What? What did I say?”

I paused, the spoon suspended between us. “That he was wrong … bad.”

My father raised his eyebrows. “He has a problem with sex. I can see it all over him. But, he’s a nice guy. You know me, I like the degenerates.”

I frowned at him. “What does that even mean?”

“Eh, everyone has their demons, Jojo, babydoll.” He reached out and rubbed my knee, then looked exhausted from the simple gesture.

“Okay, Dad,’” I said. “Okay.”

When I left two days later, he was crying. It alternated who sobbed the most. But, that happened when you didn’t know if it was the last time you were seeing someone. I was getting used to the goodbye thing. That was so sad.

“I don’t think he’s it,” my dad said when I kissed him goodbye.

“Who, Dad?” I asked, confused.

“Darius.”

“Oh.” I didn’t know what to say. Did you argue with a dying man, or leave it be?

“There will be one more, but he’ll come after I die.”

“Dad!” I said. “I can deal with the one more part, but nix the death.”

“We all die, Jojo,” he said, sadly. “All of us, filthy humans.”

On my plane ride home I couldn’t stop thinking about what he said. My dad was insane, that was a given. I credited my career to the emotional chaos he inflicted on me as a child. But, he was also usually right. He predicted things, saw right through people. It was terribly creepy. He didn’t believe in a sixth sense and said psychics “licked Satan’s balls for a living,” but I’d always thought he’d been born with foresight. By the time the plane landed and I was collecting my luggage from the belt, I had convinced myself that I was trying to build a case against Darius. It was childish and offensive. I imagined how hurt he’d be. I had to stop this. He was the best man I’d ever known, and I was deeply in love with him. Like clockwork, Ryan texted me.

“Fuck you, Ryan,” I said, under my breath. It was like he had a sixth sense when it came to my emotional turmoil. He de-centered me. Was that even a word? But, he never pried, God bless him. Knew what to say and how to say it. You’d think my therapist husband would be good at that, but he wasn’t. Not with me anyway.

Your dad?

Way to hit the soft spot, I thought.

Dying, I sent back.

What can I do? Are you okay?

I didn’t answer him. I checked my texts from Darius. He’d not asked me that. He’d not asked me anything in the last forty-eight hours after the required: Have you landed yet? And then later: Where is Mercy’s toothpaste? He never called either.

What do you want from me?

You’d think I was shooting off drunken texts, and I guess Ryan sort of made me feel drunk, but enough was enough already.

That’s a really inappropriate question.

I laughed. I did. Leave it to Ryan to make me laugh at a time like this. I tucked my phone away and stepped outside into the cold.

Darius was waiting for me curbside. He popped the trunk and I loaded my suitcase, then walked around to the passenger side.

“Hey.” He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek even though I offered my mouth. He was distracted, dark … wouldn’t look at me. I wondered if he was angry because I went to Phoenix and he had to cancel his appointments to be with Mercy.

“What’s wrong?” I asked once we were on the highway.

“Nothing, just tired.” He gave me a half smile and turned back to the road. I ground my teeth. I didn’t want a fight. I was emotionally exhausted. I just needed someone to be soft with me, maybe ask me how I was and care.

“Mercy with your mom?” I asked.

“Yup.”

I pulled out my phone.

Okay, tough girl who doesn’t have feelings and doesn’t want anyone to check on her. I know you’re hurting, and I’m here. And I care. Talk soon.

Fuck, Ryan.

“My dad was eating when I left,” I said. “Just some soup, but still,” I glanced over at him to check his reaction.

“Good, that’s good,” he said.

Okay

“When did you take Mercy to your mom’s?” I asked, looking out the window. The sky was my favorite, a deep grey. When it was like this, the rain came down in a mist, the type of thing you felt when standing at the bottom of a powerful waterfall.

“After you left,” he said.

I wanted to say something. I was annoyed. Why would he send her away when he had the chance to spend one-on-one time with her? I’d been imagining them on the couch watching movies together, or playing tea party in her room.

“Then why were you asking for her toothpaste?”

“To send it in her overnight bag.”

“What have you been doing?” I tried to keep my voice casual, tried not to look at him, but there were alarms going off in my head.

“Working, Jolene. What do you think?”

Liar. He was a liar.



The next week I was about to settle down in my office to work on my manuscript when a notification popped up on my phone that Fig had posted a new photo to Instagram. I tapped the icon and a screenshot of a song popped up. That was a good sign, right? People who listened to music were in good moods. I was about to close it out when I noticed the tiny train emoji underneath the photo. I listened to the song. It was mournful, sad. I’d have maybe thought she just liked the sound of it rather than relating to the lyrics, but for that damn train emoji. I texted her right away with all caps: WHAT’S WRONG?