Why It's Called a Goodbye Page 9

  Malcom: What’s up?

  I want to write a paragraph about how he hadn’t messaged me in THREE DAYS, but I take a deep breath before replying.

  Me: Work right now

  Malcom: I was wondering if you would want to hang out again on Saturday night. Diego is busy.

  I take another deep breath before I message him to call one of his other females and see if they want to hang out since Diego is busy. I don’t know why I’m upset. That’s what you do when someone is busy, reach out to another friend to see if they’re free. Why am I being so petty?

  Me: Can’t sorry, I’ll have the boys this weekend. And I know they are old enough to watch themselves, but I only have three years left with them before they move out and leave their old mom.

  Malcom: You don’t have to explain. I get it. I don’t have a lot of free time outside of Elsie. And you’re right, you are old.

  Me: Shut up! You’re probably older than me. You old fart.

  Malcom: I’ll be 33 in January.

  Me: See, I won’t be 33 until the beginning of August. You’re the old one. Not me. I’m a baby.

  Malcom: Huh?

  Me: I always say anyone older than me is an old fart and anyone younger than me is a baby, or if there is a group of them, then babies.

  Malcom: Oh, you’re weird.

  Me: And yet, you still like me?

  Malcom: lol

  Me: Shouldn’t you be teaching or something?

  Malcom: School let out 5 min ago

  Me: Crap. I’m supposed to pick the boys up. Later.

  After picking the boys up, I dropped them off at the hardware store. My therapist had rescheduled my last appointment, and I don’t know what that says about her, but what if I had really been in a crisis?

  Rebecca Feldman is her name. Her practice is across the river and over an hour away from my parents. I didn't want to go to anyone too local. People always know everything about everybody.

  I don’t know if I should only focus on the divorce or not in our meeting today. Maybe I’ll let her ask the questions. I think I’m doing better with my anxiety related to the separation than I was before, but maybe it’s because I’m getting attached to someone I shouldn’t be getting attached to.

  Malcom hasn’t dated for years; he probably doesn’t want that. I’m not even sure I want that. I don’t think I can give someone my full attention with everything else that is going on, but I think I deserve to have some sort of happiness too.

  When I walk into Dr. Rebecca Feldman’s office, it smells of bleach and vinegar. It’s quite small with only three waiting chairs. I walk up to the front window and stare at my reflection in the mirrored glass until someone notices I’m here to sign in.

  I sign in and take a seat in the middle of the three brown chairs. There are some magazines hanging on the tan wall, but instead of flipping through one of them, I read over my notes in my phone for the next chapter I’ve outlined for the Christmas story.

  I’ve been waiting for thirty minutes. It’s now over fifteen minutes past my appointment time. There are two doors in the waiting area the restroom and a door no one has come out of or gone in since I’ve been here.

  I’ve decided to only talk about the divorce and the boys. I’m going to leave Malcom out of this session. I already know we’ve crossed a line we shouldn’t have. I need to talk to someone. I’m stuck in my own head, and now I think maybe I could get in trouble for adultery. I pull up Google on my phone to see if you can legally date while going through a divorce when the white door opens.

  A male, a female and three young children exit. I place my phone, screen down, in my lap and wait for my name to be called. Fifteen more minutes go past, and I’m getting agitated and anxious.

  I get up to go ask the receptionist lady if they forgot about me. The door swings open again and a disheveled woman who doesn’t look to be much older than me walks into the waiting room. She is a few inches taller than me, very slender, and wears her black hair in a short bob.

  She extends her arm out to me, and I shake her hand as she says, “I’m Rebecca Feldman, you must be Adaline Ripley. I am so very sorry, but I have to cancel our session today. Please reschedule with my receptionist. Tell her to squeeze you in as soon as possible.” She lets go of my hand and turns back to the white door. She opens it and turns back to me. “Again, I am very sorry.”

  After I rescheduled with the receptionist for next week, I swung by the soccer field on my way home. Mom and Pops had already taken the boys home from the hardware store, and I hadn’t even noticed I was driving in that direction until I saw him out on the field.

  Malcom was kicking the ball around with his daughter. I drove past slow enough to watch them for a second. I wish I could have parked, but I’m sure that would have been very awkward, had he noticed.

  I’m out back on the porch now wondering why I subconsciously drove to see him. I know that’s what I was doing. I had hoped he might be out there. I bet Dr. Feldman would have a field day with this. I pull my phone out to do more research on dating while in the midst of a divorce.

  I could ask Inez, but she’s already helped so much with the divorce.

  So far, I’ve found out that I shouldn’t spend any money on whoever I am dating. It is not illegal per se to date but could be frowned upon. It suggests not bringing children around the new significant other, which I hadn’t planned on doing anyway. If I were receiving alimony payments and lived with a new significant other for more than three months, the payments could be diminished, interrupted, or eliminated. I’m only receiving child support at this time, and I hadn’t even thought as far as moving in with someone else. It also says I should not bring my new love interest to court; Stephen better not bring Kitty.

  I exit off the site because it’s making me more and more anxious about a relationship I’m not even technically in. I just wanted to make sure it wouldn’t cause me any undue turmoil.

  I receive a message from Malcom as I head inside.

  Malcom: Did you get to the boys in time?

  Me: Yes, they were upset I was late, but they’ll get over it.

  Malcom: Kids are relentless.

  Me: That they are. I’ve never been late before. I don’t know where my mind was earlier today.

  Malcom: Sucked into the work of writing a romance book?

  Me: Yeah. I guess. How was your evening?

  Malcom: Elsie and I practiced soccer for a while, and now she’s lying next to me playing on her iPad.

  Me: You’re a good dad. I know you know you are, but I just wanted to tell you I see it.

  Malcom: Thanks. Have a good night, baby.

  Did he just call me baby? I don’t know how I feel about this. I feel like things are moving really fast. I don’t think I like baby any better than Sugar Tits.

  Me: Huh?

  Malcom: You said you call people younger than you baby. You’re younger than me.

  Me: Oh. Well, good night, Malcom

  Malcom: Night, Sugar Tits. That better?

  I shouldn’t have said anything.

  Me: You’re never gonna stop calling me that now, are you?

  Malcom: Nope. Sugar Tits, I’m not.

  I want to ask if he’s still messaging and hanging out with his other females, but I feel like that’s more of an in-person conversation.

  Before I fall asleep, I brainstorm ideas to do with the boys this Saturday night. I want it to be fun and something we can enjoy. There aren’t a lot of options of things to do with teenage boys, and I’m sure they will complain, but I hope one day they look back and are thankful for their time spent with me.

  FOURTEEN

  I took the boys to a go-kart track. They had fun. At first, they complained that it was for kids, and they were too old to be playing with go-karts, but then after they got in them, I couldn’t hardly get them back out. I raced with them a few times, but then I got tired, and I truly enjoyed just watching them. Sawyer won almost every round except one. It was a great day;
one I will cherish for a long time.

  It’s Sunday morning now, and I head out to my car to grab my car Chapstick because I’ve lost my purse Chapstick and my lips are on fire. I open the door and dig through the center console until I find it. While I’m applying it, I notice an envelope underneath one of my windshield wiper blades. I open it and there is a small post-it note inside.

  ST,

  Call me sometime, baby.

  — M

  I smile before folding it up and shoving it my pant pocket.

  The boys are up in their room. I spend most of the day writing. I already emailed the article for The Hive. This book is absolute garbage though the editor who I sent the earlier chapters to seems to love it. I’m about seventy-five percent finished with it now. It’s going to be a short story, but it’s really all I can muster up. I just do not like this story.

  I feel like I’ve written enough for the day.

  I attempted to get the boys to come down and watch some Halloween movies with me. Sawyer will not leave the room, but Atticus came down, and we just finished watching Beetlejuice. He heads back upstairs, and I turn on The Corpse Bride and message Malcom.

  Me: So, there is this guy. Well, I’m assuming he’s male. He left a note on my car. He called me baby.

  Malcom: So, you’re telling me I have competition?

  Me: Quit trying to act like it wasn’t you.

  Malcom: What gave me away?

  Me: Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that you used ST…

  Malcom: Maybe some other guy refers to you as Santa’s Toddler.

  Me: I’m really laughing over here. Santa’s Toddler?

  Malcom: I don’t know. It was the first thing I could come up with. What are you up to?

  Me: Watching Halloween movies. You?

  Malcom: What I do almost every night. Sitting on the couch with Elsie. We’re watching kid Halloween stuff right now.

  Me: Soak it up because one day she won’t want to hang out with you anymore. I barely got Atticus to watch a movie with me earlier, and Sawyer straight up refused.

  Malcom: I’m sorry.

  Me: It’s not your fault. I’m gonna leave you alone so you can soak up your time with Elsie. Talk to you later Malcom.

  Malcom: Goodnight, Sugar Tits.

  I have my appointment with Dr. Feldman this afternoon. I called before leaving the house to make sure she could see me today. Driving that far only to turn around and come back home is for the birds. Her receptionist relayed that Dr. Feldman was very sorry for having to reschedule before, but she was there and giving me my session for free today.

  I was taken back to a room as soon as I arrived at the office. The room is dark with bookcases that circle the walls. There is a couch that has tables at each end with lamps. The lights from those two lamps are the only light in the room besides the sun peeping through sheer curtains.

  I lie down on the couch and cross my legs like you see patients do in the movies. I’ve never seen a therapist before. I begin to feel stupid and sit up. I scoot closer to one end.

  The door opens, and Dr. Feldman walks in and takes a seat in the only chair in the room. She looks as I remember her. Prim and proper in white and black.

  “I don’t want to waste any of your time. I’m not sure if you have brought topics you’d like to discuss or not, but what brings you here, Adaline?”

  She gets straight to the point. She flips open a white legal pad and chews on the end of her pen while she waits for me to answer.

  “Well, Dr. Feldman,” I say.

  “You can call me Rebecca.”

  Rebecca seems awful informal. “I’m in the midst of a divorce. I started having panic attacks, and my anxiety had been through the roof. I thought coming to see someone might help.”

  “What do you mean when you say that your anxiety ‘had’ been through the roof. Is it better now?”

  As I answer, she begins to write on her pad.

  “It was hard at first, picking up and leaving, but it's been two months now, and I’m doing better with it. I found a job and that’s been keeping me busy.”

  “What about a social life?”

  “When the boys are away with their father, I’ve been hanging out with some old high school friends.”

  She writes more. “If you could wave a magic wand and make positive changes in your life, what would they be?”

  “My divorce would be final. The boys and I would have our own place. Right now we are staying with my parents. I’d also like to see where things go with Malcom.”

  “Who’s Malcom?”

  Crap. I hadn’t meant to bring him up yet. “Malcom Murray, he’s an old friend from high school. We’re both single parents, and we’ve kind of connected. I’m scared to pursue anything further with him right now because of the divorce.” I can already feel her judging me. “And I just want you to know, I hadn’t even talked to him at all until after I had already left my husband.”

  She clicks her pen a few times while crossing and uncrossing her legs. “Interesting. How do you know your husband was cheating?”

  I told her about everything with Stephen, and before I knew it, my hour was up, and I was angry with him all over again. I told her I had started smoking but have since quit. She wrote me a prescription for an anxiety pill she said to only take when necessary but to take it instead of smoking. She also offered to write me one for a depression pill that also helps people quit smoking, but I told her I really wasn’t addicted to nicotine. She then asked that I come back again next week.

  I’ve had writer’s block this week, so I haven’t written anything since Sunday. It’s now Thursday, and I’m going to have to miss Atticus’ soccer game tonight. I feel horrible, but I’m trying to catch this story up, so I can turn it in to make some money.

  I was really surprised when Sawyer said he wanted to stay after school and watch the game. He never wants to watch Atticus play. I can only assume a girl has something do with it. I’m glad he’s doing something besides sitting up there in the room.

  Malcom and I have chatted briefly the last couple days. He usually tells me good morning and good night. I felt uneasy after talking to the therapist, so I’m trying to distance myself a little from him. I think I’m falling way too fast.

  I’ve been in my head a lot recently. I know I’m not the only girl he’s messaging and that upsets me. Maybe we can talk in person this weekend. The boys said something about staying with a friend. I’m excited they are making friends. I know the change has been hard on them.

  By the time I pull in the parking lot, the boys are the only ones left. They’re going to hate me for running late again.

  Atticus shoves Sawyer. “I’m riding up front.”

  Sawyer shoves him back, and I say, “Neither of you are riding up front if you’re going to fight about it. Both of you get in the back seat.”

  I wave at Malcom who seems distracted by his phone when the boys hop in. He nods his head, and I pull out of the parking lot.

  “Sorry I was late again. I was writing, and the time slipped away.”

  Sawyer leans over the center console. “Dude, you won’t believe what happened.”

  “Please don’t call me dude. I’m Mom.”

  Sawyer urges, “Tell her, Atticus.”

  Atticus leans in over the center console. I say, “You two should be wearing your seat belts.”

  Atticus replies, “You know you’re a real bummer sometimes, Mom.”

  “You’ll thank me someday when you’re still alive. What were you going to tell me?”

  Atticus continues, “You’re not going to believe what happened at the game tonight! Some chick showed up and was yelling at Coach. He wasn’t having it. He told her that the choice was hers – either he was calling the cops or she could leave and he would call her later. It was so cool, Mom, you shoulda been there.”

  What? “Does he have like a girlfriend or something?”

  Atticus responds, “I don’t know, but she was mad
, big mad, Mom.”

  After we arrive home, I try not to dwell on what the boys told me, but I can’t help it. Who is this chick? Why was she yelling? What could she have done that would make him call the cops? So many questions, but I can’t ask him because I’m mad at him.

  I haven’t filled my anxiety medication yet and now I’m regretting it.

  I text Inez.

  Me: Does Malcom have a girlfriend?

  Inez: When you gonna call him Mac like everyone else in the world? I already told you he hasn’t had one for years. Not that I’m aware of anyway. Why?

  Me: I like to call him Malcom. And no reason.

  Inez: You’re not a very good liar. You like him?

  Me: I know. And yes. And I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. He’s such a good dad, and on top of that he’s, super attractive. I can’t resist him. He’s been single for so long, so there has to be something wrong with him, right?

  Inez: Probably. He probably traps girls in his basement or something.

  Me: Shut up. I don’t even know if he has a basement. You’re right though, I’m sure it's something crazy like that.

  Inez: As your friend, I say go for it. As your lawyer, I say go for it.

  Me: You would.

  Inez: It isn’t going to hurt your divorce. Just keep it quiet until after.

  Me: There isn’t anything to keep quiet. Apparently, some chick showed up tonight at Atticus’ soccer game and caused a scene.

  Inez: Did you talk to Mac about it?

  Me: No.

  Inez: You’re mad at him, aren’t you?

  Me: Maybe.

  Inez: Quit being irrational. You know you’re gonna be upset until you ask him what’s going on.

  A message from Malcom lights up my screen.

  Malcom: Good night, Sugar Tits.

  I open it and leave him on read. I think I might blow up on him if I respond right now. I take a shower and think of all the ways the conversation might go with him. The boys didn’t give specifics on what she was yelling about. It could be a number of things. I have no clue what she looks like, and even if I ask the boys, I’m sure they can’t remember.