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I do think he feels guilty for what he’s done, but instead of getting the help he needs, he just falls deeper and deeper, letting the alcohol soothe that pain.
If I had walked away sooner, maybe I could’ve avoided all of this. Maybe I’d be in a healthy relationship right now. Maybe Ryder would have another man in his life who was capable of showing him how a father is supposed to act.
My phone rings, the sound startling me, and I realize it has rung more than once when I see both of them staring at me.
“I have to take this,” I snap as I stand and rush down the hallway.
I close myself in my room, darting toward the closet for an added layer between myself and the two in the living room.
“Hello?” I answer as I pull the closet door shut.
“Mommy?”
Tears immediately pool at the sound of his voice.
“Ryder?” I sob.
“I just wanted to hear your voice.”
“Sweetheart,” I manage, tears a torrent down my cheeks, my hand pressed to my chest because there’s a real chance my heart is going to break.
“I’m having so much fun. Mrs. Angie took me to the arcade yesterday, and I got to pick the type of cheese for my hot dog.”
“What kind did you get?” I ask, a little torn at him being so happy without me being around.
I refuse to give voice to those insidious thoughts trying to convince me that maybe he’s better off without both Travis and me.
If I were a better mother, then he wouldn’t have ended up with his drunk father driving him around twice. Fool me once and all that.
“The kind you put on those salty chips,” he answers.
Nacho cheese.
“It was delicious. I got tokens and then tickets. I used them to get a slinky!”
“I’m glad you had a good time,” I manage through my tears, but inside I’m dying a little more with each word.
Extras have been few and far between for a long time. I never knew when Travis was going to have a job or if he’d even contribute to the household expenses when he was working. That kept me on edge, and responsible for everything—daycare, rent, utilities, the cost of groceries. All of it landed on my shoulders. When Travis did contribute, he acted like he was a hero rather than the deadbeat he truly was.
Even though moving in with my mom meant no rent, the added expense of saving for the attorney still meant I didn’t have money to do all the fun things.
My mind goes back to the Happy Meal I bought for Ryder not long ago. It doesn’t compare to a trip to an arcade, although I know my sweet son appreciated what I had to offer.
“Are they treating you nicely?” I ask after he spends a couple minutes telling me about all the games he played.
“They’re really nice. They have two cats, and one of them slept in my bed with me last night. It made me feel less scared.”
“You’ve been scared?” I sit up a little straighter.
“It’s too quiet here,” he explains, as if living in chaos was his normal and he’s struggling to adjust to calmness.
Another wave of failure strikes me.
“I miss you, Mommy. Maybe next time we go to the arcade, you can go with us. I’ll share my tokens if you don’t have any.”
“Maybe,” I lie.
“But I understand if you have to work.”
The blows just keep fucking coming. I put in so much effort to make up for the times I had to dip out early for a second shift, the days I was off from the care facility but still needed to drop him at daycare because I picked up an extra day or managed to get a shift working for the local cleaning service when they had someone call in.
I took him to the park as often as I could. When I had a little extra to share, we went to the playland at McDonalds. We played board games every night. I let him pick what he wanted to watch on television. I’d spend hours at a time, throwing a ball to him or trying to figure out a game he was playing on his tablet enough to hold a conversation with him.
But for some reason, his focus is on the times I wasn’t there. I know it’s silly to be upset with a five-year-old because he doesn’t have the ability to process all the adult shit going on in his life, but I’m hurt with the comment.
“We have to leave,” I hear a woman say. “We don’t want to be late for church.”
“I have to go, Mommy.”
“I love—” The line goes dead.
Normally, I would smile at his lack of phone manners, but today, it feels like another blow I won’t be capable of recovering from.
