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Me: Does that mean I can?
While I wait for her response, I open an app and request a ride.
Idaline: I’m starting to think your relationship with Lila isn’t all that great for you to be able to crash at my place, what, three times now? Am I right, Farrid Clabert?
Me: It’s complicated. Can I come or not?
That’s all I’m willing to acknowledge and share with Idaline. The thought of telling her the gritty details about my relationship with Lila makes me sick to my stomach. Idaline probably doesn’t see me as the type of man who would find himself in a relationship with a woman who abuses him. As if there is a type. She probably doesn’t see me as a man who wouldn’t leave either. Or one who has too much pride, shame, and embarrassment. The last thing I want to do is change the way she views me.
My ride shows up and gives me a lift to the apartment complex. Since it’s habit to carry my keys with me, I don’t have to go up to the apartment for anything. Idaline texted that I could come, thankfully. I have the rest of the day off, something Lila insisted on because she wanted us to go out on a date tonight, but that’s obviously not happening.
Before I can unlock my car doors, I hear the worst voice in history. “Where do you think you’re going?”
I sigh. “Somewhere away from you. We could both use a break.” I turn to face Lila and watch as she advances on me.
“You’re not going anywhere, FC.” She lifts her hand, and thinking she’s about to hit me, I grab her wrist. I’m sick and fucking tired of being hit. Her eyes narrow. “I wasn’t going to lay a finger on you.” She yanks her wrist out of my hold and points a finger at my face. “If you leave, we’re done.”
My laugh happens before I can stop it. “That’s supposed to be a threat?”
She huffs. “Where do you think you’re going anyway?”
“Same place I’ve been going, Lila. To a hotel! If you’re done badgering me, I’d like to leave now so I can have some peace for a change.”
Again, she slaps me in full view of a neighbor walking by. Again, no one asks if everything is okay or interferes in any way. I can guarantee if the situation was reversed, the cops would be on their way right now.
“You’re fucking worthless, FC. After all I do for you, you treat me like shit.”
“Then why the fuck are you still with me?” I shout.
“Because I love you!” She’s fucking crazy! “And because I’m having your baby. But you can’t do one fucking thing right because you aren’t worth two shits.” And then, she actually spits in my face before stalking back to the building.
I lift my shirt to wipe the saliva away and then get into my car. North Carolina is the last place I need to be. I drive on to South Carolina, not wanting to be tempted by knowing the liquor store isn’t too far away or the fact that I know where all the bars are. The anger over what just happened is fueling my thirst. The bitch seriously spit in my face. And people are seeing her do this shit to me, but heaven forbid anyone get involved because it’s not a man beating his girlfriend.
Unfortunately, Idaline is working and won’t get off for a few more hours. To keep from tempting myself by exploring Greenville further, I park in the complex, roll down the windows, lean my seat back, and take a nap. Sleep is still a hard thing to come by. Lila either wakes me up complaining, wanting something to eat, or I simply can’t fall asleep because my thoughts run rampant and leave me restless.
I wake up with about an hour to go before Idaline shows up. Since I now know the sex of my baby, I better start looking into names. Passing down my name isn’t something I particularly care to do. Yes, my name is old family names, but I don’t really like them. Hence, going by FC. I don’t want to pass down any family name and put pressure on the kid to live up to any expectations either.
I once felt like that. People in my family would talk about my namesakes and how different I am than them, as if by just having their names means I should have inherited their traits and characteristics as well. It messed with my young mind for a bit before my parents set me straight and told me it didn’t matter where my names came from; I’m supposed to be my own person.
How does a parent pick a name for their child anyway? This is a name that we give them now, but they’ll have for a lifetime. I mean, sure, that’s obvious, but how do you pick a name that you hope withstands the passage of time? Maybe people don’t care what it sounds like down the road. Obviously my parents didn’t, but then again, they let me go by FC instead.
After about thirty minutes, I?
??m frustrated. So many names, yet none stand out to me enough to want to give my baby that name. Maybe I should ask my mom for help. Even Nana might want to toss some names into the hat. I do take a few minutes to call my parents and let them know that my baby is a boy.
The longer I wait for Idaline, the more I want something to drink. This name thing is stressing me out. I might have accomplished being sober for these past three months, but that doesn’t mean it’s been easy. Every time I’m stressed, I want a drink. And I’m stressed a hell of a lot more than not.
Finally, she pulls into her parking space and I see her beautiful face. She’s still fucking cute in scrubs. I get out of my car and grab my bag. At the sound of my trunk slamming shut, she whirls around. The smile she’s already wearing goes from curious to downright thrilled. She jogs and meets me halfway, throwing her arms around me. Does she greet Justin like that?
“It’s so good to see you, FC! You haven’t been waiting long, have you?” She pulls back, letting her arms fall.
“No,” I lie. “Not long at all.” With a hand on her lower back, I lead her to her door. “Have a good day at work?”
“Yes. I’m really glad you needed a place to crash. I could use my best friend right now.” She unlocks her door and we step inside.
“What’s going on?” I ask as she takes her shoes off, drops her purse, and I find a place to put my bag.
“Well, you know I haven’t been doing well.” She points to her head and I follow after her to the kitchen. “And Justin’s been great, he has, but I don’t know. I think I need my best friend.” She grabs the pitcher of sweet tea and pours us both a glass. “But enough about me and we’ll put you on pause. What would you like for dinner?” She hands me a glass and takes a sip from her own.
