From This Day On

Ping

Another text I don't want to read.

Ring Ring Ring

And another call I'm going to send to voicemail.

Ping

And yet another text.

This is how my last week has been. Constant attempted contact from an absent mother. Not my mother. My daughter's mother. The mother that left almost as soon as my daughter came into this world. That was equally the best and worst day of my life.

...

"Isn't she just precious?" I asked, looking into the eyes of my new favourite person, "What should we name her? We probably should have talked about this more."

Cassie still had yet to hold her, but I didn't want her to leave my arms just yet. I needed another five minutes, or maybe an hour, or the rest of my life, and then some.

"I'm not really picky on names, so choose whatever you want. I don't care," she said, looking at her hands as they played with the thin hospital blanket.

"Are you sure?" she nodded her head, "how about Emory? I've always liked that name," I said, looking back at my baby girl, "hey? How does that sound? Is Emory gonna be your name? I think that's perfect."

She wrapped her tiny hand around the finger I was running along her cheek. "Sounds good," Cassie said, still fiddling with the blanket.

"Are you sure you don't have any names picked out? She's gonna be stuck with it for the rest of her life."

Finally, she looked up at me. Her eyes seemed distant like she was trying to make a decision. But I'm not sure what it could be.

"I'm sure," she said, "I'm so sure about it, that you can make every decision about her."

"Wait, what?" my brows furrowed, "what are you talking about? I wouldn't make any decisions without you, you know that."

She rolled her eyes and let out a long breath.

"I don't think you understand what I'm saying. I. Don't. Care. You can give her any name you want. You could call her Gertrude for all I care. I don't want anything to do with her."

I was speechless. How are you supposed to answer that?

"What are you talking about?"

"What don't you understand? I don't want to be involved. As soon as I'm out of this bed, I'm gone. Then you can do whatever the fuck you want with her. I'm out."

...

"Hello?" I said, picking up after the third time she called in a row.

"Hi," her voice was soft as if she regretted what she put me through, "how are you?"

"You want to know how I am? Really?" I scoffed, "that's rich coming from you."

"Kyle, I really want to know how you've been. I genuinely care."

"I find that hard to believe after you left me," I say as I grab two mugs from the cupboard and make some coffee.

"Well, you should have known I'd be-"

"How could I have known? You told me you wanted nothing to do with us, and then you left," I said, interrupting her.

"Okay, fine. I get it. What I did was wrong, and I never should have left. Now can we actually talk about what I called for?" she asked, "How's my daughter?"