Crippling Up

Before I can keep reminiscing, a tornado comes to disrupt my peace.

"Dad forgot me!" my daughter shouts all of a sudden, bursting into my room with a lunchbox on her hand. She's breathing hard, "I literally ran after his damn car, but he never even looked my way."

"He was running late," I explain with a chuckle, keeping my covers up to my chin so she doesn't realize I'm naked, "I'll drive you. Wait in the car."

Bobbie grumbles, still pissed, but she leaves. I stretch again and I go put on some clothes before driving my daughter to the same school we went to.

"I won't let this go," Bobbie threatens, just as vindictive and resentful as her father, "This is the second time he forgets to take me somewhere. But if he ever forgets to pick me up again, then he's really dead."

"I won't let that incident happen again, I promise you," I say, shaking my head and remembering last year, when he forgot to pick her up from school so she sat outside waiting for two hours before I realized his mistake. That's why she has a phone now, "Have a good day, Bobs."

"Bye mom, you too," she says and gives me a kiss on the cheek before running away, almost tripping over her long legs.

Bobbie grew three inches this summer, out of nowhere. I thought she was done growing when she hit my five-foot-three height, but no. She's five-foot-five now and more like Farrow every day. Rowdy, wild and unrestrained. She has us in the school apologizing for something every other day.

I return home and for some reason, I feel nostalgic when I arrive and the house is empty. I think I got used to having Bobbie all the time during this summer break. I sigh and look down at my own body, my flat stomach.

What if...? I mean... I’m twenty-eight, we’re doing great financially, I have nothing to do most of the day and Farrow has been nagging me about having another kid for the past year, so why not? Most of my friends are going through this whole baby thing just now, so it could be fun to relate to them again.

All day, I try not to feel too lonely without my two loves around, but for some reason a strange bad feeling starts to grow inside of me.

I try go out to distract myself, but it only disappears when it's past six in the afternoon and the front door opens. My husband and my daughter walk in together, laughing at something with the exact same laugh.

"Hi, mom," Bobbie says, dropping her heavy backpack before accepting my hug when I go for it.

"I missed you today," I admit and hug her tightly before letting her go to open my arms for my husband because I haven't seen him in like eleven hours, "Are you tired? Was it crazy today?"

"Yes, it was. But doable," he says, hugging me quickly before letting me go to check a text. The fact that he let me go so suddenly as if my hug bothered him makes my uneasy feeling return, but I almost chuckle at myself. That was an overly dramatic thought, "Nico did a good job with this team, most of them are competent already."

"That's really nice," I say and try to lead him to the kitchen, but his attention is only on his phone, "Well, I made dinner. It’s getting cold now..."

"I can't eat dinner, mom. I need to cut five pounds so I can stay in the lightweight division with the rest of my friends, remember?” Bobbie snaps at me with an annoyed tone, as if I’m the one forcing her to do that, "I'll just drink some milk and try to sleep before I get too hungry.”

"Oh… alright," I nod, trying my best to be supportive. She's been extremely annoying about her weight since she convinced me to let her join the MMA girl team in Farrow’s training center. Now she's ‘cutting’ or ‘gaining’ every other day, "Do your thing, I guess."

Even though I fucking hate it.

"Before we decide you're way too young to be doing that shit," Farrow mumbles absent-mindly as he keeps typing on his phone. Farrow is even more against Bobbie doing MMA than me, but he’s the one who set that fucking center and accepted kids, so it’s only karma that his own daughter decided it would be extremely fun to get kicked, punched and thrown around for hours instead of just swimming or something ‘girlier’ like he expected. I only allow it because Bobbie clearly loves it and because I don’t hate that she wants to be a strong woman. I like that about her.

"That's why I need to lose weight this time, so I can stay with the little girls and you can stop yapping about me being ‘too young’," she says, mocking his voice at the end, then she walks to the kitchen with heavy steps. A few seconds later she emerges with a big glass of milk and two bananas.

I shake my head and snort a laugh. I don't think she can cut five pounds in a week, but I'll let her try.

"Why are you still so busy?" I complain at Farrow once Bobbie is upstairs, crossing my arms as I look at him, lost on his phone, “It’s annoying me.”

"Sorry, the new guys are asking a million fucking questions," he complains, his fingers moving way too fast, "I'm telling them not to bother me after six."

I wait with my arms crossed for another three minutes until he finally gets rid of his phone and looks at me with an easy smile.

"You look cute, did you go out?"

"You say it as if I only look cute when I go out," I scoff and roll my eyes, "But yes. I went to see Emily and her newborn."

"Oh, right, I'll send Randy a text," he says, finally wrapping an arm around my waist to bring me closer to him. Mmh, he smells like a man who spent hours sweating. It’s both awful and really good at the same time, "You always look cute, but comfy. Today you look cute but not comfy. This is a going out outfit. How long did you stay there?"

"A few hours," I admit and I take a deep breath, looking up to lock my eyes with his, "I just... well, I loved to hold the baby and be around him, I almost didn't want to give him back to Emily. So, I started thinking... maybe I'm finally ready for another kid."

I can feel his demeanor change immediately, but not in the way I was expecting. He takes a step away from me, letting go of my waist, and he just nods without a smile or a joke, which is weird. Very weird.

I'm not the one who kept pushing for another child all throughout last year, it was him. So, why is he being so weird now?

"I'll go met their baby this weekend," he mumbles, changing the subject. Still no smile or acknowledgement of what I said, “I’m really hungry, let’s go eat.”

The bad feeling I had, returns.