Kayla Perrin - Single Mama Drama

“Oh, baby.” I lifted her into my arms and gently cooed, offering her comfort.

But as she cried, her raw emotion triggered the overwhelming sadness inside me that needed an outlet for release. It overpowered me, refusing to be contained any longer.

My own tears started to fall, my anguished cries mixing with my daughter’s.

Thankfully, an hour later, Rayna fell asleep. I’d fed her, bathed her, read her a story, and then she was out like a light. It wasn’t like her to fall asleep before eight o’clock—trust me—but it was just what I needed, and I was grateful.

She was so tired, she didn’t even ask about “Daddy.” I knew the question would come, but hopefully, when it did, I’d be in a better frame of mind to answer it.

The phone hadn’t stopped ringing while I’d put together a quick dinner of chicken strips and broccoli, so I’d taken it off the hook. Now, I gave Rayna one last kiss on her forehead, content with the fact that she was sleeping peacefully, and made my way to the kitchen to replace the receiver.

By now, the reporters were certain to have given up in their attempts to reach me, and I needed to use my phone. I would have to call my sister because she had no doubt tried calling me. After that, I would contact the police and find out what a person was supposed to do when her fiancé had been murdered.

But before I did anything, I needed a glass of wine. I poured myself an extra large glass of white zinfandel, then went to the living room and plopped down on the leather sofa.

For several moments I sat there, unmoving. Myriad thoughts ran through my mind like little feet trampling my brain, leaving me with a headache. There was so much I needed to do, but I wasn’t ready for any of it. Alaina had asked if I’d told Rayna about heaven. I hadn’t, and maybe I should head out tomorrow to buy some books on the matter. Children’s books, of course—something that could explain the concept of death to a child.

Or I could simply tell her that Eli was gone on a trip. That was something Rayna would understand. Every day, if she asked, I could tell her that Eli was coming home soon. Surely, one day, she’d just stop asking about him….

I took a sip of my wine and frowned, knowing I couldn’t take the chicken’s way out of the scenario. However I explained it to Rayna, she needed to know that Eli wasn’t coming home. It would be grossly unfair to lead her on, and ultimately make her think Eli had abandoned us. Kids didn’t forget things like that, and I’d be guaranteed to foot the therapy bill later if I dared to venture down that road.

My thoughts were disrupted by the shrill ring of the telephone. There was a cordless handset on the coffee table beside the sofa, and I quickly glanced at the caller ID.

It was my sister’s home number. I inhaled deeply, then picked up the phone. I knew I’d have to talk to her sooner or later but, Nikki being Nikki, I wasn’t relishing the idea.

“Hey, Nikki,” I said, offering her the most upbeat greeting I could muster.

“When were you going to call me?” she demanded.

I counted to three before answering. “It’s been a crazy evening. The media is camped outside my building, my phone has been ringing off the hook.”

“I called at least twenty times.”

“I was just going to call you.”

A beat passed. Then my sister asked, “How are you?”

Wow, genuine concern. “I’m…okay. As okay as I can be, I guess.”

“Is Rayna sleeping?”

“Yes. She went down a little while ago.”

“Good. So you can talk.”

I sipped more wine. “For a bit.”

“I’ve got to tell you, Vanessa,” my sister began, “when I saw the news earlier, I nearly crapped my pants.”

How did you respond to that? I decided not to.

“It was so disturbing—seeing the cops all over the crime scene, hearing the gruesome details, hearing your name in association with that creep…I had to turn the TV off. I didn’t want my boys seeing that.”

“Right,” I said absently.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Nikki demanded. “Didn’t I tell you that Eli was going to hurt you sooner rather than later?”

“Nikki—”

“Not only did the jerk have a girlfriend on the side, he still had a wife.”

I reeled backward, caught off guard. “What?”

“I turned on the TV five minutes ago and there was a news crew outside Eli’s wife’s house in Atlanta. They were hoping to get a comment from her or something.”

Suddenly, I understood what was going on. And leave it to my sister to find a way to rub salt into my wound without trying to decipher fact from fiction. Nikki had a way of getting under my skin without much effort. She never approved of any guy I dated, nor most of my decisions as a parent. When I got pregnant and found myself alone, she’d chastised me for having dated Byron in the first place, instead of offering me comfort over my predicament.

Nikki married the only man she’d ever slept with, her high school sweetheart, had two children with him, and was a stay-at-home mom. I was single, parenting without any help, and couldn’t find a decent guy to save my life.

Compared to her, I was a failure. At least that’s the way she made me feel.

“Eli’s ex-wife,” I corrected her.

“Why would they be at her house if she’s his ex?” Nikki asked.

“You know the damn media. The juicier they can make this story, the better. Besides, Eli was married while he played for the Braves. I’m not surprised they would want her comment, given what’s happened.”

“You sure he didn’t lie to you about her?”

I felt a surge of anger, but drew in a deep breath to keep it under control. “Of course I’m sure. I did an Internet search when Eli and I got serious. I saw with my own eyes the articles about his marriage breaking up. Apparently it was a bitter split. And that was back in 2002.” The various archived article headings in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution had all proclaimed the same thing—that Eli Johnson and his wife of six years were headed for divorce court. The headlines were all I could scan without paying a fee to read the full stories, but that had been enough. I wasn’t interested in seeing the entire articles and reading about Eli’s love affair with another woman, even if it had gone sour.

“Oh.” I wasn’t sure, but my sister sounded disappointed. “Even if he didn’t lie about being married, I knew he was a player as soon as I met him. That’s probably why he and his wife got divorced. Former professional athlete. Did you need a bigger clue than that?”

I rolled my eyes.

“Do you know how many women guys like that sleep with?”

“Nikki—”

“You remember that one basketball player—the one who bragged about sleeping with more than ten thousand women? Vanessa, you’d better get an AIDS test. Like, yesterday.”

“Nikki!”

“I say we go together tomorrow. If you’ve got AIDS, you need to know.”

“Nikki!”

She finally stopped. “What?”

I exhaled sharply. “Why can’t you just call and tell me you’re sorry that Eli’s dead? Sorry that I’m going through this? Why do you have to preach to me like you’re my mother? I’m a grown woman.”

“A grown woman who keeps making colossal mistakes with men. You worry about penis size and pretty-boy looks. That has gotten you nothing but heartache.”

“Ahh, now I get it. Morris has got a small penis. No wonder you’re so damn uptight!”

I couldn’t help the words that came from my mouth. My sister’s phone call was doing more to send me into a deep depression than to help me out of my funk.

“Fine. Lash out at me. I’m not the one who screwed around on you.”