phone number.
Damn it all to hell! Another dream about Noah interrupted by Declan! Declan, the ever-persistent, groveling ex, (or not ex. I’m not sure what to call him these days) who just can’t grasp the concept of taking space.
I silence the phone and slam it down on my nightstand with an angry thud. Not even a minute later, the phone buzzes with an incoming text message. I pick it up, already knowing what it’s going to say…the same thing he writes every morning since I made him leave.
I miss you, Mia. Please let me come home. I will never stop fighting for us. I love you!
I wonder when he’ll take the hint, especially now that I’ve stopped entertaining his requests with my replies of ‘leave me alone,’ ‘you need more time,’ or the more recent, ‘fuck off!’
Truth is, this is agonizing. All of it. Dealing with the kids alone on a daily basis. Lying to them about where their daddy is. Avoiding the meddling from my parents and in-laws. Dodging phone calls, surprise visits and unexpected deliveries from Declan. And the worst…the pain of trying to ignore the emptiness in my heart. The emptiness only Declan can fill.
But I can’t give in to the aching loneliness. Not yet. Right now he’s remorseful, regretful even, but that’s not the same thing as knowing what he wants. And a few weeks ago he thought he wanted another woman, someone other than his wife and the mother of his kids. He needs more time to let it all marinate. To decide if he’s sure he can live the rest of his life with just me. If I am enough to make him happy, to satisfy all of his… needs.
I’ve played around with these haunting thoughts over and over again, but I will not do that today. My girls have suffered for it, and I already promised myself, after a really crappy, grumpy night, that today would be a better day. They deserve at least one present parent, and I’m guilty of not really being here since Declan and I split.
I hop out of the bed and walk into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. Both girls are still sleeping, so I decide to jump in a quick shower. Seems those are a luxury these days, though few and far between. I reach on the top shelf of the linen closest for a fresh towel and a tiny glass nail polish bottle flies out of nowhere and comes crashing onto the tile floor. Damn it! This shower may have to wait too.
I’m thoroughly annoyed when I look down at the little particles of glass sprinkled across the floor, but I want to scream when I see the dark purple splatters of shimmery paint all over the walls, staining the grout in the tiles, smearing too many surfaces to even think of cleaning this early in the morning.
“ Nail polish ?” I yelp, wondering where the hell it came from. And then I remember...I hid it behind the towels, out of their reach, when I found the kids messing around with it last week. In hindsight, their mess probably wouldn’t have been as big as this one. What a way to start a day!
I try to sop up the spill with a paper towel, but apparently that’s not going to do the trick. The Insta-Dry formula has already started to harden and make itself permanent in places nail polish shouldn’t be permanent. I search the medicine cabinet for nail polish remover and cotton balls, cursing as the towel I placed around my naked body falls to the floor. And then, as if I have nothing better to do at this moment, the phone rings. After looking at the caller ID, I thank God it’s not Declan. I decide to answer when I see it’s Grace. Maybe she can shed some light on this rather inconvenient start to my day.
I answer, already exasperated, “How do you get nail polish out of grout?”
“Good morning to you, too. Dare I ask why?”
“No, don’t. But think of something quick, I’m getting high from the fumes.”
“Nail polish remover,” she says matter-of-factly as I eye the bottle already in my hand.
“Hold on a sec, okay?” I place the phone on the countertop and
Damn it all to hell! Another dream about Noah interrupted by Declan! Declan, the ever-persistent, groveling ex, (or not ex. I’m not sure what to call him these days) who just can’t grasp the concept of taking space.
I silence the phone and slam it down on my nightstand with an angry thud. Not even a minute later, the phone buzzes with an incoming text message. I pick it up, already knowing what it’s going to say…the same thing he writes every morning since I made him leave.
I miss you, Mia. Please let me come home. I will never stop fighting for us. I love you!
I wonder when he’ll take the hint, especially now that I’ve stopped entertaining his requests with my replies of ‘leave me alone,’ ‘you need more time,’ or the more recent, ‘fuck off!’
Truth is, this is agonizing. All of it. Dealing with the kids alone on a daily basis. Lying to them about where their daddy is. Avoiding the meddling from my parents and in-laws. Dodging phone calls, surprise visits and unexpected deliveries from Declan. And the worst…the pain of trying to ignore the emptiness in my heart. The emptiness only Declan can fill.
But I can’t give in to the aching loneliness. Not yet. Right now he’s remorseful, regretful even, but that’s not the same thing as knowing what he wants. And a few weeks ago he thought he wanted another woman, someone other than his wife and the mother of his kids. He needs more time to let it all marinate. To decide if he’s sure he can live the rest of his life with just me. If I am enough to make him happy, to satisfy all of his… needs.
I’ve played around with these haunting thoughts over and over again, but I will not do that today. My girls have suffered for it, and I already promised myself, after a really crappy, grumpy night, that today would be a better day. They deserve at least one present parent, and I’m guilty of not really being here since Declan and I split.
I hop out of the bed and walk into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. Both girls are still sleeping, so I decide to jump in a quick shower. Seems those are a luxury these days, though few and far between. I reach on the top shelf of the linen closest for a fresh towel and a tiny glass nail polish bottle flies out of nowhere and comes crashing onto the tile floor. Damn it! This shower may have to wait too.
I’m thoroughly annoyed when I look down at the little particles of glass sprinkled across the floor, but I want to scream when I see the dark purple splatters of shimmery paint all over the walls, staining the grout in the tiles, smearing too many surfaces to even think of cleaning this early in the morning.
“ Nail polish ?” I yelp, wondering where the hell it came from. And then I remember...I hid it behind the towels, out of their reach, when I found the kids messing around with it last week. In hindsight, their mess probably wouldn’t have been as big as this one. What a way to start a day!
I try to sop up the spill with a paper towel, but apparently that’s not going to do the trick. The Insta-Dry formula has already started to harden and make itself permanent in places nail polish shouldn’t be permanent. I search the medicine cabinet for nail polish remover and cotton balls, cursing as the towel I placed around my naked body falls to the floor. And then, as if I have nothing better to do at this moment, the phone rings. After looking at the caller ID, I thank God it’s not Declan. I decide to answer when I see it’s Grace. Maybe she can shed some light on this rather inconvenient start to my day.
I answer, already exasperated, “How do you get nail polish out of grout?”
“Good morning to you, too. Dare I ask why?”
“No, don’t. But think of something quick, I’m getting high from the fumes.”
“Nail polish remover,” she says matter-of-factly as I eye the bottle already in my hand.
“Hold on a sec, okay?” I place the phone on the countertop and
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