“Dam—” Erin bit off her
explosion of frustration in a habit of checking her language that was becoming
automatic. Settled instead for an outraged exclamation of “Seth!”
She rubbed her
face with her hands and tried to remember how many times they’d had this
argument over the last couple of months. Too many to count. This was the first
time it had pushed her into screaming at him, though. “I’ve told you and I’ve
told you and I’ve told you! I don’t want a nanny!”
Seth was angry
now too and equally frustrated. Erin was sure of it—if only because his
shoulders were tense and, when he wasn’t speaking, his lips were pressed
together so tightly they were practically white. “I understand that it’s not
your first choice, but I would think you’d be able to put your selfish hang-ups
aside and think instead about the well-being of our daughter.”
Erin was close
to tears now—of anger and hopeless exasperation. They’d been arguing for over
forty minutes, and they weren't any closer now to resolution than they’d been
when they started.
She wasn’t
actually used to arguing with men this way. Marcus had never argued with her at
all. He’d let her talk, and then he just did whatever he wanted.
Seth, however,
wanted her to change her mind.
After months of
putting off final decisions about the care of their child, they’d both realized
their time was finally running out. There was just over one month left of the
pregnancy. So Seth had come over to Erin’s apartment for dinner, so they could
discuss their differences in a mature and rational way and thus work things out
to the satisfaction of both.
Their mature
discussion had spiraled into this. Both of them standing in the middle of the
living room, Seth glaring coldly and making snide comments while Erin shouted
at him and tried not to cry.
Her back was
hurting, her feet were hurting, her neck was hurting, and her head was hurting.
The baby kept rolling around and kicking her in the bladder.
And she
couldn’t make Seth disappear off the face of the earth just by wishing for it.
All in all, it
was a very bad evening.
“Selfish!” Erin
choked. “I’m not being selfish, and they’re not hang-ups! I’m thinking about
her
.
I don’t want her raised by a stranger, and I don’t want someone living with me
who ends up knowing my daughter better than I do!”
She was revealing
too many of her fears and insecurities in her uncalculated, emotional response,
so she paused for a minute, breathing deeply, trying to get control of herself.
“Besides,” she continued, in a more level tone, “there’s no room here for a
nanny. The apartment has only two bedrooms. Unless you’re going to suggest I
turn the nursery into the nanny’s room and stick the crib in a back closet for
the baby.”
Seth was slowly
losing patience. She saw him clench his jaw. “That’s not a legitimate issue. I
could easily—”
Erin gasped
roughly before he could finish. “You could
what
? Buy me a larger
apartment?”
He rolled his
eyes at her shrill tone. “Yes. I could. I can easily afford it, and it would be
more comfortable and convenient for everyone.”
She was
sputtering now in her outrage. There was no other word for it. She hated
it—hated that she was so emotional when Seth was so perfectly controlled. Her
tone was harsh and biting as she responded, “Sure, why not? I’ll just let you
set me up in some overpriced luxury apartment.”
She pushed her
hair out of her face, annoyed that the loose tendrils were sticking to her
damp, hot face. “And while I’m at it, I could quit my job too. Just lie around
and take care of your baby. Let you support me like some sort of mistress—except
one who breeds instead of fuc—” She swallowed over the word with a frustrated
toss of her head. “Instead of has sex,” she amended, recognizing in annoyance
that the substituted words didn’t have as much rhetorical power as the
original.
Seth took a
deep breath and began in clipped tones, with the air of a man who was striving
to tolerate an irrational female, “I never suggested you quit your job, and your
implications are insulting.”
“They
are
insulting, To
me
. How dare you suggest you’d support me? I should have
expected some sort of ploy like this for more control, but you can’t do it. You
can’t just barge in like you did when I was sick last month, order people around,
and take over everything.”
“Erin!” The one
word was a bellow—but a calculated one, just loud enough to get her attention.
“Why are you being so stubborn about this? It’s not about control. It’s just
about money you won’t accept. But it’s just
money
. It’s meaningless.”
Erin had to
move around because she was getting stiff from standing tensely too long in one
position. Her movements were awkward and clumsy, and she was vaguely
embarrassed that Seth was there to witness them.
Then finally
she responded bitterly, “You just say that because you
have
money. Money
isn’t meaningless to me, and it
is
a means of control.”
Seth raised a
hand to rub the bridge of his nose between his fingers and thumb. “It can be. I
agree. But it’s not in this. I’m her father. Why the hell can’t I pay for my
daughter’s daycare?”
All of a
sudden, Erin lost her steam. She felt briefly like a deflated balloon and
barely had the energy to keep standing—but she didn’t want to try to maneuver
herself into a chair at this juncture so she shifted her weight from leg to
leg.
She was even
closer to crying now. It felt like they’d never get past this one issue. “You
can. You
can
pay for it. And I’ll appreciate it. But I don’t want some
stranger living with me, doing things for me, mothering my daughter. And don’t
insult me again by offering to raise me up to your standard of living.”
The lump in her
throat was so painful that she could barely breathe over it, but Seth was
blessedly quiet—watching her intently with a characteristically unreadable
expression. She went on, “It's not going to happen. I live a middle-class life,
and that's not going to change. So my daughter is going to have to muddle
through the way everyone else in the world who isn't you does.” Erin arched her
spine and rubbed at her lower back. “And she'll be raised to understand that
she can stand on her own feet. That she doesn’t need to give up her agency and rely
on a man to make her more comfortable, just because he happens to be able to
afford it.”
The words spilled
out before Erin could think them through—simply the result of months of
brooding about them, years living them out with Marcus.
But she must
have hit a nerve with Seth. His head jerked. “She’s my daughter too.”
“I know! I
know. You’re her father, and I want you to be a father to her. But she’ll be
living with
me
. So it’s different!”
And then, for
no reason she could understand, Erin lost it completely. “It’s different!
You’ll see her on weekends and write a check now and then. You’ll be there for
birthdays and holidays and all the fun parts. You'll get the good feelings of
loving a daughter but then get to go back to obsessing about work and dating
beautiful women. Not me! I’m going to be the one feeding her, dressing her,
putting her to bed, taking care of her, staying up all night with her,
disciplining her when she’s bad, trying to teach her to do...everything. I’m
going to be around her
all the time
. I won’t be able to just switch back
to my old life and fit her into a tidy compartment like you.”
The words
grated on her throat. “I’m in this
constantly
.
Forever
. And I
don’t know if I’m going to be able to—” She covered her face with her hands and
gave a few, little sobs into her palms.
The emotion almost
strangled her as she saw the progression of her days, of her future—inexorable,
endless—all defined by this one little life.
She wasn’t
angry anymore, not with Seth or anyone else. Instead, she was terrified and
totally helpless.
No stronghold
ever created could withstand
this
.
Seth had taken
a few steps closer. He looked both worried and awkward. “Erin.” He reached out
toward her.
She jerked away.
“Don’t touch me.” Then she regretted her automatic response to him.
Seth dropped
his hand immediately, and his face twisted uncomfortably. “Erin, don’t cry,” he
began, in what she assumed was an attempt to console her.
For some
reason, his composed words made her angry again. “I can’t help it,” she snapped,
trying to pull herself together. “I can’t just turn it off because you say so.
I feel things. I can’t just close down my emotions the way you do.”
Seth tensed.
His voice was thick as he asked, “You think that’s what I do?”
“Isn’t it? Look
at you.” She glared at him, her eyes trailing from his unrevealing face, to his
expensive, immaculate suit, to his hands—which were perfectly relaxed at his
sides. It was almost unnatural. And like a slap in the face. “Look at you,” she
repeated bitterly.
Suddenly, Seth
grabbed her by the shoulders, hauling her closer to him—so close her large
belly almost touched his. He met her eyes, and his gaze was intense, speaking,
breathtaking. “You think I’m not feeling things? You think this isn’t
completely changing my life too? You think I can have a daughter in the world
and then just forget she exists—even for a moment?”
Erin gasped in
surprise. She rubbed at her running nose and was momentarily speechless. “Well,
yes,” she mumbled at last, feeling confused and strangely shaky. “That’s how
you’re acting.”
“Well, I can’t.”
He wasn’t speaking loudly, but his voice and gaze were deep. “This has been the
most terrifying thing I’ve ever done. I never had a family. I don’t know how to
do this. I’ve always just walked away—if things threatened to get too hard, too
vulnerable. I don’t want to do that with this, but I don’t know how to be a father.
I don’t know how to be part of...” His voice dropped off before he’d finished
the sentence.
Erin gaped at
him. “Part of what?”
“I don’t know
how to do any of this,” he amended softly, finally releasing her.
Her upper arms
tingled where his strong hands had been. “Me either. But you’ll be fine. You’ll
be great.”
“How can you be
sure?” The words were almost diffident, but she realized he really wanted to
know.
Erin wiped the
rest of her tears away, feeling awkward in the wake of so much emotion. “You’re
good at everything.”
Seth gave her a
very strange look in response.
They stared at
each other for a minute.
She was anxious
and confused by all of this, and her cynical side screamed at her to find
something to mock, something to laugh at. Anything to break all this intensity.
She had to
escape momentarily.
So she heard
herself muttering, “I have to pee.” Then she trudged into the bathroom.
After she’d
finished, Erin began to wash her hands, turning the wet soap slowly between her
palms. She realized in that moment that she was actually rather comforted by Seth’s
outburst.
At least hers
wasn’t the only life that had been turned upside down by this. The idea was
somehow heartening.
She glanced
down. “You weren’t listening to what I said about your daddy, were you?”
Only silence
followed.
“Good. Because
that’s nothing for you to worry about. He’s going to try to be a good daddy for
you. We'll just ignore all the rest.”
She squeezed
her hands together spasmodically, and the soap she was still holding shot out
from between her palms, flew over the side of the sink, and plopped onto the
tile floor.
Erin rolled her
eyes. That would teach her to use the fancy, French bar soap Liz had given her
instead of plain, old liquid from a pump.
Without
thinking, Erin bent over automatically to pick it up. Then rethought the
movement when her lower back muscles cramped up and she almost lost her
balance.
So, instead, Erin
used her legs to lower herself the way she was supposed to, bending her knees
slowly into a squat and balancing herself with one hand on the side of the tub,
before she reached again for the soap.
She’d almost
reached it when her damp hand slipped on the slick tub.
The result was
inevitable, but unreasonably terrifying. Erin lost her balance and started
falling forward. In a panic, she jerked backwards so she wouldn’t fall onto her
stomach. Tried to catch herself with her hands.
She steadied
herself for a moment in a tenuous squat, but her hand was still a little soapy.
It slipped again on the tub. This time, Erin started tilting backwards, and she
couldn’t stop.
Landed on her
butt with a bump that jarred her but didn’t really hurt her.
She was
breathless, disoriented, and suffering from residual panic, however. It
shouldn't have been that scary—just a minor debacle caused by her
thoughtlessness and her unavoidable clumsiness from the extra weight in her belly—but
her heart pounded painfully and she was sweating a little anyway.
Her butt was
sore from landing on it, and her thighs ached from trying to catch and support
her weight.
She tried to
breathe deeply and force her anxiety down. This wasn’t the end of the world. It
wasn’t always easy to pull herself up from the floor now, but she could do it.
She’d done it before.
She tried to
arrange her legs effectively and then grabbed at the tub and sink for support,
but she couldn’t seem to stop shaking. Her thighs and arms seemed weaker than
normal—not strong enough to pull her up. And her hands kept slipping, even
after she tried to wipe them on her pants.
It was like an
absurd nightmare. Trapped on the bathroom floor with a fucking bar of soap.