His apartment door opens and we both turn to the sound. Natalie stands in the doorway. “Josh, where are your towels?”

Josh faces me and ignores her. “If you have something to say, say it now.”

I look over at Natalie, and back at him, and I think about Tommy. My best friend. The boy with the smile just like his father’s. But as I look at Josh now, I realize how long it’s been since I’ve seen it on him. And I know that I’m the reason for it. I think about his confession—about wanting Tommy to have both his parents. And I remember his words—that he’ll always love her.

So.

I stay silent.

And I go into the house and back up to my room, where silence becomes my new best friend.

-Joshua-

Natalie enters the bedroom after her shower and sits down next to me on the bed. “What a crazy homecoming.”

I stay quiet, not knowing what to say.

“I know this is weird for you, Josh, and I get it. Obviously we need to talk. That’s why I came home. But when I called my parents to tell them I was here and they said that Thomas—”

“Tommy,” I cut in.

“Right.” She exhales loudly. “When they said Tommy was in the hospital, I drove straight there and I just… I mean, I was going to ease into things, you know? I was going to come back and talk to you and hopefully maybe earn a little of your trust back and see how you felt about me seeing Thomas—I mean Tommy—again. I just want to be part of his life, and yours, and…”

She keeps talking but I can’t hear her, not over the blood rushing through my eardrums. “We can talk about it tomorrow.” I stand up and grab a pillow off the bed. “You can sleep in here. I’ll be on the couch.” I turn to leave and out of habit, I glance out the window. And I regret it the instant I see her emerald eyes staring back at me. They’re not the same though. They’re lifeless, dull and dark.

23

-Becca-

Days pass.

Natalie stays.

I dedicate my life to staring at my wallpaper.

I can’t even look at Tommy.

Not after what I did.

I don’t look for Josh.

And I definitely don’t look for her.

-Joshua-

Days turn into weeks and nothing changes. The seconds tick by and the world exists without me ever really taking part in it. Natalie stays with us, sleeping in my bed while I take the couch. At first I was afraid to tell Hunter that she was back—that she was here with us. I was afraid of his reaction… of his judgment. I expected him to ask what the hell I was doing or why I let her in so easily. But what I didn’t expect was for him to understand. And when I told him that he simply said, “It’s what you’ve always wanted, right? I mean you always said that if she came back you wouldn’t turn her away. Is Tommy happy?”

“Yeah,” I’d told him, because he really was. He seemed happy to have two people in his life that genuinely loved him. And Natalie—she did. It may have taken her three years to realize that, but it was clear by the way she looked at him. By the hundreds of questions she’d ask about him—about his past and my plans for his future. Even the little things like how he likes his sandwiches cut. The questions only went one way. I never asked her about what she’d done in the three years she was away. I didn’t care. And to be honest, I didn’t really care about her at all. The feelings I’d had for her three years ago were no longer there. Natalie—she never really loved me. I don’t think I ever really loved her. And I know that because while I lay on my uncomfortable couch every night, my son in one room and his mother in the other, all my thoughts are filled with Becca.

★★★

I find a letter in the mailbox. Hand written with my name on it—no stamp. No address. I open it quickly and pull out the check for a thousand dollars.

I knock on her door. “Becca!”

She answers, her eyes lowered.

“What is this?” I ask, waving the check in her face.

Without responding, she attempts to close the door in my face. I block it with my hand.

So she just stands there—one hand on the door, the other at her side.

“Becca.”

Then she looks up and my heart breaks and nothing makes sense anymore. Nothing. Her eyes, filled with tears, are surrounded by darkness. Her nose is red. Her hair’s a mess. And she’s looking at me like she’s not seeing me.

As if I’m a stranger.

I didn’t want any of this, Becca, I want to tell her.

But I can’t.

So I don’t.

I ask, “What’s the money for?”

She points to the back of the check and I flip it over.

Ambulance.

I look back up at her. “I see you’ve gone back to not talking… even to me?”

She shrugs.

I sigh. “Becca, I didn’t mean what I said. I was just upset… how did you even get this much money?”

Her gaze drops again, and just when I think I’m not going to get an answer, I see her hand move, almost like she doesn’t realize she’s doing it. Her thumb spins against the ring on her index finger—the ring I gave her.

Both my hands grip my hair when realization sets in. “Holy shit, Becca. Please don’t tell me you sold your camera?”

She looks up now, her tear soaked eyes pinning me to my spot. She blinks twice, the tears fall, and I reach out to wipe them away.

But she flinches.

She flinches away from my touch.

Then she sniffs, the only sound I’ve heard from her in days, and closes the door in my face.

And I hate everyone and everything and most of all, I hate myself.

★★★

Thanksgiving comes. I drop by my parent’s house. Dad doesn’t acknowledge me when I enter and the rest of the time is spent with him staring at the wall and me staring out the window.

We don’t talk.

We never do.

Natalie has made herself nice and comfortable, decorating and rearranging furniture exactly the way she likes it. She likes owls, apparently. I didn’t realize how much I hated them until my house was filled with them. But she cooks and cleans and she does everything a mother’s supposed to do and Tommy—he loves having her around.

I kick the dust off my work shoes and slip them off at the front door before I enter my house—or at least what used to be my house. The aroma of whatever Natalie’s cooking floods my senses the second I walk in. “Hey Momma!” Tommy says, running toward her. I hate that he calls her Momma—that it took me almost a year to get him to say Daddy and she just gets to be called that. Apart from the seven hours in labor, she hasn’t earned the name. Not even a little bit.

From the kitchen, Natalie looks at me and smiles; her blonde hair up in a bun, wearing her stupid owl-patterned apron.

“What are you making?” I ask.

She answers with something I’ve never heard of and I tell her I’m taking a shower.

She cooks a lot—something different every night.

She can’t cook for shit.

I don’t tell her that though. I sit at the table and eat the damn food because I don’t care about it enough to start something.

I don’t care about her stupid food or her stupid owls and right now I’m pretty sure I don’t care about much of anything.