get all hyper about it around him right now because we don’t want to scare him. We’re going to get all his supports lined up and talk to him slowly about it. I don’t know how, though.” Tears form at the thought of trying to explain, in words, to my almost-five-year-old, that he won’t be able to hear any of us soon.
“How’s Eric handling the news?” Tosha knows all too well how perfect Eric likes things to be. Hence, the marriage while I was pregnant with the twins.
I roll my eyes. “He got annoyed at the prospect of learning sign language. I know he’s overwhelmed but—”
“No,” Tosha cuts me off, “fuck that. He doesn’t get to pick and choose which ugly comes into his life. None of us do.”
“Ha, no shit,” I snort as I pick at the remains of my salad.
We pay the bill, and Tosha suggests we take a drive over to Atkins Market to take advantage of the fresh, local produce. I’m a willing hostage, given how much I was able to get done this morning without eighty pounds of children hanging off of my body.
* * *
I still remember cutting after I got home from Ryker’s house the night he pushed me. I was suffocating under the fear and guilt that breaking up with him had pushed him over an edge I didn’t realize he was standing so close to. I stormed through our door, and Tosha was startled at my appearance, I’m sure. My butt was dirty and the backs of my legs were scratched from my skid-landing across Ryker’s driveway, and I was sobbing uncontrollably. I didn’t look at her as I headed straight for the bathroom.
Turning on the sink, I readied the blade and started slowly drawing straight lines across my forearms. I hadn’t cut there in a long time, but it was easily accessible and gave the biggest rush. After several minutes of careful marking, my head started to spin as my stomach churned. I didn’t think I’d cut that much, but as soon as I looked at my arms—rivers of red pouring across them—I collapsed to my knees and started heaving into the toilet.
“Natalie?” Tosha started banging on the door as I heaved, and cried, and bled. “Natalie! Open this door or I’m going to have to break it down.”
It was an empty threat, but I unlocked the door anyway. The noise that came from her throat when she walked in is something I’ll never forget. Within seconds, she had me over at the shower, washing my arms in a panic. It turns out I didn’t cut that deep, but there were a lot of cuts that made it look worse than it was.
“Damn it, Natalie, what the fuck happened?”
I don’t know if she meant at Ryker’s or with me, but I sat on the bathroom floor and she cried with me as I told her absolutely everything.
It wasn’t easy convincing Tosha to leave my parents out of the situation with Ryker at his house, or with my cutting, but I managed to do so. She’d only met my parents a few times, but knew well enough that my mother wouldn’t hesitate to push legal action on Ryker, and probably take me out of school if she knew about the cutting. I promised Tosha I wouldn’t cut anymore—that I’d make it to Thanksgiving Break—and then be able to get my shit together when I went home for a few days.
I’d ignored all calls and texts from Ryker. They were apologetic and self-deprecating. He said how sorry he was, asked if I was hurt, and went on about what a fool he’d been. It was hard ignoring him. I knew he probably was sorry, but I didn’t know how long that would last, and I couldn’t focus on how to construct a safe environment for us to have a conversation with so many papers due before Thanksgiving break.
It had been a few days of silence from Ryker, and the soreness in my tailbone had mostly subsided, when Bill called. My sigh put Tosha on alert.
“Is it him again?”
I shook my head. “It’s Bill.” I closed my notebook and sat cross-legged on my bed.
“Hey, Bill . . .”
Instead of Bill’s voice of assurance, I was met with Ryker’s strung-out voice.
“Natalie.”
No. No. No.
Before I could think of doing anything else, I slammed my flip-phone shut and threw it on the bed.
“What?” Tosha asked, walking toward me.
“That was Ryker, from his dad’s phone. He sounded